#but somehow i am more impatient this time round

[jakeperalta]

if my signed the good witch vinyl doesn't arrive tomorrow I'm burning something down

[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

[wileys-russo]

being taller than Mapi and tease her about it but being shorter than Ingrig and then get tease by her >>>😭

literally would like to read anything about this couple

teasing II m.león x i.engen

you watched on with a knowing smile from your place on the bed as your girlfriend entered the room, clearly looking around for something.

“hermosa have you seen my-“ the words dried up in her mouth as she spotted them, eyes narrowing in annoyance.

“get them down, now.” the tattooed spaniard ordered, glaring at you as you shrugged, dropping your book onto your chest and moving your hands behind your head. “why? i didn’t put them there.” you shrugged innocently with a smile, knowing they were too out of reach for the shorter girl to get herself.

them in question being mapi’s kit shorts and favourite pair of football boots which had somehow ended up on the very top shelf of your shared wardrobe, which given its height was normally just used for storage for your holiday decorations you only needed once a year. however considering she was packing for an away game mapi needed them now, not in december.

“i will not ask again. get them, down.” your girlfriend warned firmly, moving to stand right beside you as she crossed her arms over her chest and gave you an intimidating stare.

you stayed quiet, only smiling up at her charmingly as the older girl sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose in annoyance. “you may be taller cariño but i am stronger. so get them down.” mapi flexed to prove her point and admittedly you couldn’t help but admire the way her tattoos moved and rippled against her incredibly toned biceps as she did so, even if it was supposed to be another form of intimidation from the older girl.

“if you’re so strong then you get them down.” you replied with a simple smile, picking your book back up and continuing where you left off.

“princessa? ingrid!” you smiled to yourself as mapi huffed at your stubbornness, yelling out loudly and impatiently for your other girlfriend to solve this for her.

“what happened? what’s wrong?” the girl appeared in your shared bedroom with a worried look painted on her features. a little out of breath from running so quickly up the stairs, assuming something bad had happened from the obvious urgency present in the defenders voice.

“she is being a brat again.”

you smile only grew as your eyes remained trained to your book, scanning over the same sentence ten times without retaining a thing, as you were far too happy with yourself and how easy it was to tease the shorter girl, and how much enjoyment you got out of something so simple.

“maría! i thought something bad had happened!” the norwegian scolded the eldest girl with an unimpressed smack to her shoulder. “something bad has happened, look what she did again!” mapi groaned, pointing to her shorts and boots tucked well out of her reach in the wardrobe.

ingrid sighed with a shake of her head, rounding on you now as your book was snatched out of your hold. “excuse me baby, i was reading that?” you smiled gesturing for it to be given back as you held your hand out expectantly which your girlfriend batted away, placing your book down on the side table.

“get them down.” ingrid ordered firmly, nodding her head toward the wardrobe, knowing she could get them for the tattooed girl but wanting to make the point of you needing to do it.

“why? i didn’t put them there.” you repeated and again smiled innocently, only annoying mapi further who groaned from the foot of the bed, muttering angrily under her breath in spanish as she grabbed the things she could reach and continued to pack her case.

“i don’t care. get them down for her, now.” the older girls tone shifted into something much sterner, a raised eyebrow and a clench of her jaw all you needed to know that if you didn’t you would be in trouble a lot more serious than you intended.

so with a huff you stood, marching over to the wardrobe and grabbing down your girlfriends belongings. “here babe.” you dropped them at her feet instead of placing them in her awaiting hands, the once satisfied smile now wiped off her face and replaced with a scowl as she snatched them up.

“you are a permanent pain in my ass.” the half blonde half brunette muttered with a roll of her eyes, moving toward her half packed case. “your short ass.” you commented right away, grinning happily with your quick response and the withering glare it earned you from the tattooed girl across the room.

suddenly you felt a body behind you as a long arm wrapped around your shoulders and grabbed your chin, tiling your head upwards as her fingers dug gently into your jaw.

“stop teasing her.” ingrid warned, face now softer but the same stern tone present in her voice as you rolled your eyes. “but she makes it so easy.” you smiled innocently up at the taller girl whose grip on your chin tightened a little.

“hey!” you whined in discomfort and your head swivelled with a scowl as the defender used her towel to suddenly whip you, a loud crack echoing around the room, the tip of it just making contact with the top of your bare thigh.

“what? i did not do it.” the girl grinned, mocking your earlier words as she folded the towel and tucked it away into her case. “say sorry to her.” your scowl melted into a smirk hearing your other girlfriends words of warning.

“yeah maría say sorry.” you teased with a happy smile, feeling ingrids grip on your chin tighten again as the girl moved your head to look up at her, your head resting on her shoulder now. “not her, you.” ingrid corrected as mapi’s laughter echoed around the room.

“me? for what!” you protested, her fingers digging into your jaw, eyebrows knitted into a small frown. “say sorry for teasing her and hiding her things.” ingrid demanded and you knew from the look in her eyes you weren’t getting out of this one as you nodded and she let you go.

“sorry for teasing you, shorty.” you grinned insincerely to your other girlfriend moving closer to her, feeling ingrids hand smack your behind in warning and you glanced over your shoulder to see her watching you, arms crossed in waiting.

“i’m very sorry for moving your things and teasing you amor, i won’t do it again.” you apologised much more sincerely now as mapi hummed knowing the last few words were a lie, her hands gabbing your hips and pulling you into her as her eyes roamed your face.

you ducked your head expecting to kiss and make up but to your surprise she made no move to meet your lips. “lo siento baby i cannot kiss you, i am too short to reach.” mapi pouted mockingly, her hand patting your cheek as she pushed you away and walked past you with a grin, making a point to stop and feverishly kiss your other girlfriend before leaving the room, her laughter following after you as she did.

with an annoyed scowl at the rejection you reached out to ingrid who wrapped you in a hug, her body vibrating with quiet laughter as you huffed into her shoulder. “it’s not funny.” you pouted up at her with a small frown as the norwegian only smiled, placing a tender kiss on the top of your head.

“you missed.” you tapped your lips expectantly, craning your head back further. “oh sorry my love, i cant bend down that much, it will hurt my neck.” she apologised with a mocking smile, letting go of you as your jaw dropped and she sent you a wink before walking out of the room after mapi.

hearing their combined laughter downstairs you knew she’d told your other girlfriend what she’d done and your scowl returned, not appreciating their teasing which deep down you knew you probably deserved.

your eyes flickered to their cases in the corner of the room, ingrids having been packed and ready for hours while mapi still hadn’t finished, hers laying open on the floor. your mind wandered to all the places in your shared home you knew the shorter girl couldn’t reach, but you thought better of it as you rolled your eyes and left the room, making your way downstairs.

you felt their eyes on you as you joined them on the sofa, making a point to sit on the other end away from where they lay entangled together, ignoring the way mapi opened her arms to welcome you into them.

“hola mi amor, did you learn your lesson about teasing?” the tattooed girl grinned, her eyes burning into the side of your head as you only huffed in response, folding your arms over your chest and refusing to move your eyes away from the spanish soap opera you all adored which was playing on the tv.

“come here bebita.” she chuckled at your attitude, hands wrapping around your ankles and pulling you within her reach as she grabbed you properly, hauling your taller form to collapse in between them.

your bare legs now laid over her own much more tattooed ones as your head and torso landed on ingrid, sandwiched in between them just as they loved.

“hello elskling.” ingrid smiled fondly, one hand carding through your hair, nails scratching at your scalp as the other touched your cheek, ducking her head to press her lips to yours.

the kiss was soft and sensual and tender, the brunette pouring every ounce of adoration she held in her heart for you into it which left your ears feeling as though they were filled with cotton as she pulled away, pecking your lips a few more times with a loving smile which you reciprocated.

fingers clawed at your top as mapi yanked you closer, her hand sitting at the back of your neck and the other slipping up the inside of your jersey as she now pressed her lips to yours.

her kiss was much more needy, messier, her tongue instantly invading your mouth as her nails gently scratched at your stomach and she held on firmly to the back of your neck, in full control of the passionate kiss, pouring her love for you into it in her own way.

when she eventually allowed you to pull away for air she smiled, placing a few much softer kisses to your swollen lips and letting go of you, your top half melting into ingrids waiting arms, your head falling to her shoulder as mapi’s fingers traced absentminded shapes on your bare legs.

your girls.

[elliethejellie]

There Are Two Types of Dancers

A oneshot with both Fool and Sol from the renowned @venomous-qwille story - Ghost in the Machine

I've been working on this for so much longer than I expected to pfff- I just wanted it to be perfect for Qwille and all the readers of GITM! A bar has been set with that story and I wanted to at least reach it hahah-

Fool and Sol have become my personal favorites so far (although I'm sure it'll change as time goes on and I learn more about the others). Sol was rather easy to write in my opinion. But my lordy - Fool was a challenge! A fun one, at that, but still! I'm glad I got to challenge my writing and receive some amazing constructive criticism from others as I went!

Also - this is entirely self-indulgent hahah! I just love dancing scenes and I'm too impatient to wait for the possibility of such a scene happening in the story! So here you go, and I hope this lives up to your standards Qwille!!!

Read it on AO3 Instead -> Here

Or read the oneshot under the cut <3 Enjoy!!

*****

Fool definitely fascinated you.

His odd ramblings that always either ended in your confusion or laughter were somewhat... endearing.

Something told you that he didn't spend as much time with the others as he did with you. He seemed to make it a point to bring attention to his loneliness in jest when you would show up to the storage shed looking for different things. He would pursue a conversation with you every time without fail - whether with friendly banter or mocking jests or cheeky jokes all depended on the day. But each instance would still somehow end with you staying longer than you originally intended.

This time had been no different. You had allowed him to convince you to linger and play a game or two of mahjong (although you were pretty sure he only offered the particular game because he knew it had become your favorite). He used the excuse of not letting you walk back the short distance to the house in the rain - which you didn't wholly disagree with. Without your jacket back from Sol (or a replacement, at this point), you really didn't want to deal with the chilling water soaking through your clothes again. So you allowed him to entertain you with a few rounds.

Now you rested within the nest of pillows that filled the resin chariot as light thunder rumbled overhead - watching curiously as Fool shuffled a deck of cards with practiced precision. He was humming a tune you didn't recognize - but it filled you with memories of running around with friends and stuffing your mouth full of pink fluff that melted when it touched your tongue. You made a mental note to ask him about it later, given that you didn't want to interrupt him.

"Hasn't anyone told you that staring is rude, Sweetling?" he piped up suddenly, setting the cards up for a game of solitaire. You scoffed.

"I get told by Sol practically every day." The bot's eyes upturned into crescents, amusement sparkling in the dim lighting.

"My, my, then we'll have to fix that staring problem of yours," he fired back. " It can come across as terribly impolite. Although you are rather lucky I am so gracious as to accept your presence as a most humble apology." You mocked a scoff, fighting the grin that threatened to pull at the corners of your mouth.

"I think the circumstances of my arrangements should allow me some breathing room in that regard."

Fool didn't miss a beat with his response. "Oh, so you find me alluring enough to stare~?"

"Don't flatter yourself. The others are just as interesting as you."

The bot placed a hand to his chest as he did every time you managed to get in a silly insult. "Why must you always be so very cruel," he cried, using his other hand to dramatically scatter the cards on the table as he fell backwards to the floor. You couldn't help the giggle that fell from your lips.

"Oh no, have I broken you finally?"

He lifted his head slightly to peer at you over the edge of the low table. "Finally?" he repeated, sounding somewhat discouraged. "Is that really your harrowing intention? To break me down with your beautiful voice spewing malicious language until I am nothing more but a hunk of wires and metal? All so you can woefully put me back together and claim me as your own charming creation?"

"Who knows?" you asked mysteriously. He dropped his head back down.

"Hm... Would this be the right time to inform you that I've been keeping track of your insults to compliments ratio? I think it tells quite a lot about your character."

"Oh really?" You didn't need to be sarcastic - you were genuinely interested. "And what conclusion have you come to about my 'character'?"

He sprung up suddenly - startling you a bit further into the nest of pillows. He grabbed at his baton - spinning it around a few times before settling on placing the moon side in front of his face. "You're a terrible friend. Naughty. Rude."

"Surprising." You rolled your eyes and resettled yourself on the edge of the chariot, looking down at the mess he'd created with the cards. "How ever shall I make it up to you?"

There was a pause from the jester bot as he dropped the baton from his face and smiled. Mischief sparkled in his expression. "Oh, I thought you'd never grace me with such a question, Sweetling."

Before you had the opportunity to object, you were being lifted from your comfortable resting place to stand in the clear area in the center of the shed (which wasn't very much space, honestly). "Fool," you said, irritation clinging to the edge of your voice as you tried to regain your balance.

"Hm?" he hummed, listing his head to the side in an attempt to feign innocence. "Is something the matter? You're wearing quite the nasty scowl upon that pretty little face of yours." You placed your hands on your hips.

"Fool."

"Have I told you just how much I adore hearing my name from your beautiful lips, Sweetling?" He snatched up one of your hands and brought it to his mouth, ignoring your tone. He bowed his head down and spread his free arm out to the side. "Dance with me."

Seriously?

"I don't know how to dance."

He lifted his faceplate enough to peer at you from the tops of his eyes. "Ah, and neither do I," he whispered, before standing back to his full height and emitting that musical laughter you had come to adore. He tilted his head down and gave you a cheeky smile. "But you, dearest, had so graciously promised to make it up to me~"

"I didn't promise you any- Ah!"

Fool swept you away through the door of the shed before you could protest. Before you knew it, you were standing in the backyard as light rain poured down on the two of you.

"I thought you didn't want me to walk in the rain?" you questioned, quirking an eyebrow up at the bot - already feeling the chill of the water on your back.

"Correct!" he blurted, tugging you towards him with the hand that still held yours. You crashed into his chest embarrassingly. "But I never said anything in relation to dancing in the rain," he corrected, spinning around in a circle with you pinned to his body.

"Fool! Squishy human, remember?! Easily breakable!" you exclaimed. Fool released you immediately - drawing his hands away like a child discovering a hot stove for the first time. You didn't give it much thought, though. You were too busy trying to catch your breath.

"You need to work on your breathing, Sweetling. Hyperventilating in such conditions can give you a nasty bout of dizziness," he tutted, snatching up one of your hands again. He looked at you expectantly.

"You're not going to let me go back inside until I dance with you, huh?" you questioned once you stopped heaving. His smile stretched wider as he shook his head. It must've been contagious, because you chuckled and let a soft smile lift the corners of your mouth. "Fine. But how do you expect me to dance if we have no music?"

The bot tugged you again - gentler this time. You let him spin you around and dip you down so you were leaning back in his arms, looking up into his monochromatic eyes. "Ah~ But we need no accompaniment when the sound of your voice is already music to my ears, Sweetling," he mused. Then he lifted you back up and grasped your waist. "Can't you hear it now?" he called up into the downpour. "I think my sweet is bound to sing again soon!"

A giggle fell from your lips as you watched him. He mocked a gasp and looked back down to you. "Why look at that, the music is back! Now we must dance before it disappears again!" 

Laughter overtook your body now as you joined him - dancing lively in the chilly rain. You almost didn't notice the water slowly drenching your clothes. Somehow, Fool was actually a pretty good dancer in your opinion. He kept you moving - swiftly pulling you closer to him and pushing you away with the same precision he had when shuffling cards. It was fun all the way up until you caught something out of the corner of your eye.

When you turned towards the house to investigate, you barely saw the curtains being tugged back to the closed state you were used to seeing them in. The only thing you could make out in the blur was a low, glowing blue. Maybe you hadn't seen anything. The rain was really starting to come down now, and it wasn't exactly like you were standing still.

Fool must have noticed it, too. He had slowed the speed in which the two of you were dancing and pulled you closer to him again - although this time, he brought your hands up to rest on his shoulders and then dragged his own down to rest upon your waist. "There are many a people I've danced with in my lifetime," he started. You swore he shot a smug glance towards the house, but it could have just been your imagination. You were starting to feel the chill of the rain through your wet clothes now that the two of you were merely swaying from side to side, and it was proving to be rather distracting. "But you, my Sweetling, have been the most pleasurable to enjoy such a spontaneous moment with."

A shiver forced its way through your body. "Uh, thanks?"

The bot stopped his swaying, took hold of one of your hands, and dragged you back towards the shed. "Now - if you'd so please - I believe we were just about to indulge in a marvelous game of Go Fish, were we not?"

You rolled your eyes to the best of your ability despite Fool not even looking your way. "I believe you were setting up a game of Solitaire, actually."

"Oh my, was I now?" he asked as the two of you reached the door to the shed. He held it open for you. "How very forgetful of me. I guess my distraction must have been a rather breathtaking one to indulge in for me to forget such an important detail."

You felt your cheeks warm despite your steadily dropping temperature. "I guess so."

*****

The silence between a stare can relay a million emotions even with no words exchanged.

One stared from the window. One stared from the rain.

*****

"I saw the two of you," Sol piped up, keeping his hands clasped behind his back as he watched you work from the other side of the workbench. Your brows knitted together as you tried to decipher what he could possibly be talking about. A moment of silence passed as you hoped he would elaborate, but he didn't.

And then you remembered - the pull of curtains in the kitchen window and the blur of the glowing, pale blue you saw darting behind them. At the time you thought it to be nothing but a funny reflection from the gloomy lighting, but now...

"Are you talking about when Fool and I were dancing in the rain?"

A sound reminiscent of a scoff emitted from the bot as he leaned away from the work table, dragging your gaze from your work to look at him.

"You call that dancing?" he asked, listing his head to the side ever so slightly. The faint sound of mechanical clicks and internal fans emitted from his body - making his tauntingly benign smile take on a sinister shadow. "The imbécile didn't stay in time at all, and you kept tripping over your feet." You shook your head and went back to your work.

"What, thinking you can do better?" you asked, offended by his words. He grew silent, but you thought nothing of it. You didn't have time to appease Sol's unusual sudden interest in your time spent with Fool. You had to finish this, and his questions were only going to distract you and cause some sort of mistake in your meticulous work. So you turned back to your task at hand.

That was, until your wrists were being seized by the bot. You opened your mouth to object, dropping the tools from your clutch as you were dragged away from the table and to the only free spot in the room. What the hell was with these bots and their lack of understanding in regards to personal space? "Sol, what the fu-"

"A basic waltz is simple," he interrupted. He placed one of your hands on his shoulder, grasped your other hand with his, and then rested his free hand on your waist. "It starts with a box step."

Your brain fumbled for words as he gently pushed you backwards. Why was he teaching you how to waltz? Dancing in the rain with Fool had been a spontaneous decision with a rather large lack of judgement - leaving you freezing and shivering by the time the two of you had gone back inside. There wasn't anything proper about said dance, and you especially hadn't anticipated anyone watching it take place to begin with.

"Are you even paying attention?" Sol's voice pulled you from your thoughts as you stepped on his foot.

"S-Sorry," you muttered. Why were you sorry? You didn't even ask for this!

"You're not stepping in the right direction," he said simply. "This is a 3/4 time signature dance, not 4/4. You have to focus."

He started over, pushing you backwards yet again. You let your right foot fall behind you while he pulled you gently to the left, your left foot following suit. When he pulled you forward, you were unsure of which foot to move first, so you hesitated. Ungracefully, you tripped forwards and almost smacked your head against his chest.

A light blush defiantly dusted your cheeks as he sighed. You started over yet again, and your competitive nature made itself known with the bubbling frustration in your stomach. If he said it was simple, why were you struggling so much?

After a few clumsy tries, you eventually understood the rhythm. Backwards, sideways, together. Forwards, sideways, together. Repeat. You were by no means perfectly in time with Sol's feet, but he silently continued nonetheless. The only thing that messed you up was when he brought the hand that rested on your waist up to your chin.

He tilted your face up until you looked into his eyes and were no longer staring at your feet. "Darling, it's considered rude not to look at your partner while dancing."

The same frustration from before returned as you tripped over your feet again. "But I can't know where your feet are going to be if I'm looking at you," you huffed, avoiding his gaze.

"Relax. And focus." His smile loomed eerily over you as you looked up into his eyes nervously. There had to be some kind of trick to this, right? He talked about it as if it were the easiest thing in the world, yet here you were, unable to focus on the movements of both your feet and his at the same time without looking.

You shoved your frustration back down and drew in a breath. Backwards, sideways, together. Forwards, sideways, together. Repeat.

It took longer to get your feet to move the way you were telling them to, but once you ran through the steps three full times without messing up, you smiled.

"I'm doing it!" you said excitedly, almost tripping up at the deviation from your concentration. Sol didn't praise you, though, instead informing you that there was a lot more to it than what you were just starting to get a grasp on.

"You have to turn counterclockwise with every half box," he said, pulling you to the left. You couldn't remember what step you were on, letting out an exasperated breath as you kicked his ankle.

"Gah- Why can't we just be happy that I learned the beginning and leave it at that?" you cried, attempting to pull your hands away from him. But his grip on you tightened enough to make you look up into his eyes fearfully for a moment. Memories of your first encounter with the bot danced across your vision - bringing the ghost of an ache to your wrist. He loosened his grip at your expression, but still refused to let you go.

"There are a lot of things I let slide when it comes to you. But this, I simply will not let go." You felt your mouth go dry.

"What do you mean you let a lot of things slide? You're not my parent," you retorted, narrowing your eyes to accompany an annoyed glare. There was a long moment of silence after that as he just stared at you - perfectly still as his unchanging smile sent a shiver down your spine.

But then he was pushing you backwards again, restarting the steps and ignoring your comment entirely. You gave up, simply redirecting your attention on the steps you had to implement a counterclockwise turn into. You figured that it would be easier to learn had there been music playing or even a metronome sounding off your beats, but you were too stubborn to ask.

It took an embarrassingly long time to relearn the steps with the turn. But once you started to understand the pattern, it seemed to click in your head where your feet were supposed to go and when. You held Sol's gaze a little more confidently after that - even smiling at one point at the realization that you had been going on fifteen or so rotations without tripping or hesitating once.

Sol's blue eyes seemed to flicker for a moment when you smiled, but it could've just been the dim lighting of the workshop playing tricks on you as the two of you spun around. You actually felt yourself starting to enjoy the simplicity of the dance - wondering if there was anything else you were supposed to add.

When Sol stopped and dropped his hands from you suddenly, you frowned. "Wha- Did I do something wrong?" you asked, brows furrowed in confusion. "I thought we were doing pretty well."

"I was doing well," he countered. "You were only following my lead."

You scoffed and settled your hands on your hips. "Why can't you just be nice for once and compliment me?"

There was that silence again. But Sol's gloved hand shifted as he clenched it into a loose fist, filling the quiet space with the soft sound of silk on silk. You swore you could see emotions shifting behind his pale eyes for a fleeting moment, but you couldn't decipher which ones. As the quiet stretched on longer, you felt your frustration dwindle - hesitant anxiousness replacing it.

"Nevermind," you mumbled, pushing past him to your work table. You took your seat again and felt the frustration boil your blood as you fought the blush that warmed your cheeks. There was no reason for it. Sol was just being the same bot he'd been since you showed up - cold and blunt and honest.

So why did his refusal to compliment you make you feel so... bad?

You picked the tools back up and tried to distract yourself from the sunbot as he approached the side of the work table again, hands clasped behind his back once more. You ignored him - continuing with your task. After a bit, you started to hum to yourself while you worked. The melody was familiar, though you couldn't recall where you'd heard it. But soon you became so engrossed in your work - paired with your curiosity as to the tune you were emitting - that you almost completely forgot that Sol was even in the room with you.

"Do you prefer his company over mine?"

The question startled you to silence. You held your gaze to the table, though, as his words echoed in your mind. Was he referring to your time spent with Fool? You honestly hadn't put much thought into comparing the bots with each other besides physical appearance. There just wasn't a need - they were all different to you. Far too different for comparisons.

Your lack of a response must've struck a nerve, because Sol placed both of his hands on the table and leaned forwards. As you looked up at his smiling face, goosebumps erupted down your arms as a small reminder of the lack of warmth in the workshop. A faint click, click sounded from him before he spoke. "You were humming the same dreadful tune he does."

So that's why you'd sworn you had heard the tune before.

"I don't think I can answer your question without eliciting some kind of negative response from you," you quipped, peering back down. "I'd prefer if you would just let me work."

Apparently, that was the wrong answer as well.

Sol rounded the table in an instant - spinning your stool around and pressing you back into the wood's edge as he loomed over you. A gloved finger hooked under your chin and forced your eyes to meet his - that same unnerving smile burning its image into your mind. "Oh mon dieu," he tutted, the disappointment in his tone making unease cloud your mind. It almost felt as if a slow finger dragged its way up your spine, eliciting more goosebumps across your body. "Ma poupette, what ever are we going to do about your poor manners?"

*****

A/N: I wanted to leave what happens next up to your imaginations~

But ahhhhh how did I do?! Is it good?? Or is it GOOD??? I'm literally shaking right now as I'm typing this because I'm so excited and nervous for everyone to read this rahhh-

But as always, likes, comments, kudos, and reblogs are VERY MUCH APPRECIATED!! Stay sweet, my lovelies~!

[fungusgnat444]

It might as well be spring (1945 post war König au)

SFW, slight xenophobia (someone calls König a Gerry because this is set in 1945), non canon König, implications of size difference, implications of trauma and anxiety, mentions of war, reader gets kinda harassed a little by a customer, reader’s name is Marlina, mentions of smoking, fem reader, I think that's it. Let me know if I missed anything. This chapter is relatively short 2.2k words

“Hey! You listening?”, your friend asked exasperatedly as she waved her hand in front of your vacant eyes. You were daydreaming as you often did on your criminally short coffee break. After all, Bill's Diner wasn’t exactly the most enriching place to work.  “Jeez, Marlina. Always off with the fairies, huh?”, she huffed, rolling her eyes at you. Betsy was a good friend but, by God, she was chatty. You often thought if she kept prattling on, her bottom jaw would end up falling right off her pretty little heart shaped face. Unfortunately for you, her jaw always manages to cling on somehow. 

“Sorry Bets. You were talking about Tommy again right?” You sighed as you raised your coffee mug to your lips. 

“Hey! Don’t say it like that, mopey Marli. I’m just excited, is all. He’s coming back today”, she whined as you shot her a perturbed look at the mention of the ‘fun’ little nickname she always used when she wanted to get a rise out of you.

”I know. you’ve been talking about it all week”, you chuckled weakly as she pouted at you. Boys in uniform had been coming in all day. The place was alive with their loud, cheerful chatter. The jukebox blaring, one song after the other; It Might As Well Be Spring by Dick Haymes had played more times than you could count. “… I am happy for you, Bets. I promise”, you reassured as you offered her a soft smile, patting her hand with yours. Although her chatter could get awfully repetitive, you did understand why she did it deep down. She was worried about him and for good reason. Your older brother had come home the week prior. You knew what it was like to worry yourself sick over someone; sleepless nights whenever you’d read something in the paper about the war over the shoulder of someone’s worried father as you served him coffee, waiting impatiently for the mail every Tuesday, desperately hoping another letter would come. You were just glad the war was finally over. The diner was no fun but it sure beats the monotonous work at the ammunition factory. ”… You think he’s really going to propose?”, you asked quietly as you leaned closer, a cheeky smirk washing over your face. She blushed and cast her eyes down to her lap shyly.

”He says he got me a pretty little ring from Paris”, she chuckled gleefully looking back up at you.

”Well, whatever your answer is just please, for the love of god, don’t pick those hideous lilac bridesmaid dresses you showed me. If I have to wear that I might not even show up”, you jested. She slapped you on the arm playfully as she tried her best to protest through the laughter that erupted from the two of you.

”That’s quite enough, girls. Back to work”, Bill’s gruff voice warned joylessly as he waddled past you. He was such a tubby, little grouch of a man but at least he paid well. You both stood reluctantly, rolling your eyes and groaning an annoyed ‘yes sir’.

As you tightened your pinny around your waist, you heard another groan from Betzy’s lips. “Ugh, great… More army boys”, she sighed. Your eyes followed hers out the large windows, seeing several more cars full of boisterous men pulling into the car park. You huffed as each of them bustled into the diner in their shabby green clothes. God, you were sick to death of that stupid muddy coloured fabric. A group of about five of them sat at one of your tables and whistled you over. Great… more touch starved boys for you to serve. 

“Hey fellas. What can I get for you?”, You chirped with a faux-polite grin on your face. 

“Coffee and apple pie all ‘round… maybe throw in your number just for me, sweetheart”, one of them jeered with a cheeky grin, making all the others burst into shameless laughter. It took every ounce of your remaining energy not to roll your eyes. You just stared back at them bemused as you jotted down their order. You knew they probably hadn’t seen a girl in ages but that didn’t stop you from fantasising about spitting in every cup of coffee you served them as each of their greedy eyes stripped you bare.

”Sorry, hon. My boyfriend came home last fortnight, so it seems you’re all out of luck”, A bare faced lie. The lie was worth it though; their greedy smirks all turning into butthurt pouts. You strutted away trying your best not to giggle. You walked behind the counter and Betsy’s eyes met yours knowingly, as you grinned. “Order up”, you said cheerily to Bill, handing him the order so he could fetch the pie.

As you returned to the table with the pie and began to pour their coffee, you noticed something quite peculiar out the window. At first the sight annoyed you but eventually your annoyance transformed to curiosity. Another man in uniform pulled into the car park, but this one was different. He was all alone. All day car after car had rolled in from the military base nearby; all packed to the brim with jolly, cocky boys in green. He was the first to arrive alone. Not even a hint of a smile decorated his face; a sad half finished cigarette hanging from his glum lips. His uniform was different too, the green was a deeper, forest green. On the shoulder of his jacket was a patch with red and white stripes; maybe a flag, you thought but a flag you weren’t familiar with. Maybe Poland? You couldn’t quite make it out. As you finished pouring the last cup of coffee the men sitting at the table all looked out the window and collectively groaned. 

“Oh Great. Giant Gerry’s here”, one of them grumbled. You looked at him confused.

”Giant Gerry?”, you asked curiously. All their heads turned to you, an unwelcoming look on each of their faces.

”Yeah… that's what we call him anyway”, one of them said bitterly. “He’s built like a horse and about as talkative as one. Our lieutenant says he was some kind of  double agent. He’s from… um… Belgium… or something. I don’t really remember, I don’t really care either. He’s a miserable freak”, he explained, taking a sip of his coffee.

”yeah most of the time he’ll just sit there silently watching everyone at base. Gives me the willies”, another one adds as ‘Giant Gerry’ exited his car, flicking his now spent cigarette to the ground and stomping it out with his shiny black boots. It was only when he stood that you truly understood his nickname. From where you stood his head blocked the sun like he was a great big oak tree. Now that he was out of it his car looked almost comically small; like one of the toys your little nephew would play with. You quickly looked away and retreated behind the counter to get more coffee. As the giant strode slowly to the door you poured the last cup of coffee for the men, trying your best not to stare at the way he had to duck his head to fit through the doorway. As he sat at one of the only empty booths in the place, he removed his cap, revealing a full head of curly copper locks. That’s when Betsy noticed him. Her eyes wide as she approached you. 

“Jesus… Who the hell is that?” She whispered to you. Looking back at him as he pinched the bridge of his nose and slouched slightly against the table.

”I don’t know but you’re about to find out. He’s at one of your tables”, you chuckled softly with a mocking wince.

”Marli, please. You do it. He looks like he’ll eat me alive”, she said clutching your arm. Always so dramatic. You looked at her, annoyance and a hint of fear in your eyes.

”Bets, no! I- … okay fine, but you owe me big time”, you folded, as you always do. You knew that if you made her do it, you wouldn’t hear the end of it for weeks. Plus you couldn’t deny your curiosity. She nodded emphatically and you went on your way to face the giant. As you approached you sighed shakily and mustered the most convincing smile you could. He was even more intimidating up close. His face was littered with scars, the biggest of which started at his clenched jaw, ploughed through his right cheek and finished after cutting through one of his thick, low eyebrows.  His eyes were different, however. Big, bright blue pools, glistening in the afternoon sun as he stared out of the window; heavy lidded and gentle. Eyes that didn't belong on a scarred giant like him. 

“Hello, sir. What can I get for you today?”, you ask quietly. No answer. He just kept staring out the window, his thick fluffy lashes fluttering every time he blinked. Your eyes flicked down to a badge laying against his broad chest. König. A name. Maybe that would get his attention. “Um… mister König, sir?”, you asked tentatively. Suddenly his spine straightened and his eyes snapped towards you; like a dog catching the smell of food. Now his eyes were wide and his brows were furrowed in confusion. He looked down at his name badge and back up at you, still silent. You tilted your head slightly and shifted your weight from one leg to the other. “Sir… you alright?”, 

“Sorry, miss”, he said quietly as his eyes fluttered down to look at his hands resting on the table. “Most people here don’t say my name right. I was… surprised”, he said quietly, his eyes meeting yours again. You offered him a small chuckle. “Well… there’s a fella who works at the library. I think he said his parents were… Swedish..- Anyway, his name’s Björn. I figured your O was pronounced similarly… I can't remember what those dots are called… an amulet or something”, you rambled. Oh god, you were starting to sound like Betsy.

”Umlaut… An amulet is a type of necklace, no?”, he said softly, his eyes still boring into you. His voice was deep and velvety and his accent manifested itself in throaty, rolled Rs like the purrs of a kitten and long, clear vowels. Giants aren’t meant to sound like pretty little pussy cats, are they? “I’ll have to find this library, hm? I haven’t had anything good to read for months”,

”Oh… here”, you said cheerily as you leaned forward to grab a napkin from across the table. You were about to start writing on it when he spoke again.

”what are you doing?” He asked. As you turned to face him you realised that hunched slightly over the table like this you were now at his eye level, face to face and much closer. Close enough to smell his musky cologne and feel the warmth of his brutish body. He almost looked frightened, like you’d pulled a gun on him. A giant scared of a little mouse; it would almost make you giggle if he wasn’t so imposing.

“Just giving you directions… to the library”, you uttered quietly, offering him a smile. Finally his expression softened, although his body remained rigid. All he gave you was a short little hum of acknowledgment as his eyes fluttered down to the napkin. He was probably the strangest man you’d ever met. Maybe it was a European thing, you weren’t sure but his disposition was so opposite to his appearance it was honestly a little unsettling. You started to write, trying hard to ignore the unfamiliar knot forming in your stomach. “Here’s the address. It’s right across the road from the town hall so it's pretty hard to miss”, you said gently.

he smiled gently down at the napkin for a moment. “Danke, Fräulein”, he said as he slid the napkin into one of his pockets. You stared back at him confused for quite a while before he registered that you had no idea what the hell he was saying. “Oh- thanks, miss”, he stuttered as his cheeks reddened slightly. You tried your best not to laugh.

”Anyway. What can I get for you?”,

”I haven’t looked at the menu yet, my apologies”, he said with a deep chuckle. “Hmm… what do you recommend?”, he asked.

“Well, the cherry pie here is alright. I wouldn’t touch the coffee if I were you. It’s pretty awful”, you said absentmindedly. 

“Water then. Hopefully that won’t ruin the pie, yes?”, you wrote down his order with a little chuckle.

”Any cream with the pie?” You asked. He nodded and off you went, pleasantly surprised by the polite giant. When you returned you were met with a smile. 

As you went on with your work you couldn’t help yourself from casting curious glances at him while he ate his pie. Then suddenly one of your glances was met with the sight of an empty booth. His car wasn’t even in the car park anymore. He’d vanished like a phantom. However as you approached his booth you saw what he’d left for you. The sight almost made you faint. Three dollars lay in a neat little pile on the table with a little note. Thankyou for being so kind. König. You called over Betsy who let out a dramatic gasp at the sight. “Jeez, Marli! I guess he liked you”

those words would end up being truer than you could ever imagine.

Hope y’all enjoyed it. I’m already working on part 2. 3 American dollars in 1945 is the equivalent of about $50 today btw. Our big Austrian boy is so silly sometimes hehe. Title comes from a song called it might as well be spring by Dick Haymes. It’s pretty cute hehe

[arachnixe]

The Hangover

(Part 11 of Night’s Longing - Previous: Homecoming)

The castle should be darker than it is. Without so much as torchlight illuminating the passageways, we would ordinarily need to rely on our lamps as we make our way to the beating heart of Dracula’s lair.

Yet somehow, there is enough to see. An eerie, violet light shines in place of mortar between the stones, as though the whole structure were held together by occult force rather than by the arts of man. A lesser hunter might quake with doubt, but I am resolved to see this through.

“Careful, Boltman. Set too hasty a pace and we might fall to ambush before achieving our goal.”

The voice of wisdom to my left comes from Alucard—among my most valuable allies, one without whom we could never have penetrated so far into the enemy’s domain.

With long, tied-back hair the color of sacred silver, bearing a frame and voice that balances on the razor’s edge between masculine and feminine, I had on first meeting dismissed the fop as weak and useless, some delicate, effete molly masquerading at mastery of the martial arts. I have since learned better, having witnessed firsthand how well the other hunter weaponizes the presuppositions of men against them.

It would be a similar mistake to underestimate the young woman behind me, the array of amulets around her neck rattling as she jogs to catch up. Hernández may look frail, but the witch from Spain invokes powers beyond my ken, far exceeding the limits of my meager theurgy. With pockets full of strange trinkets, talismans sewn into her clothes, and arcane symbols etched across her skin, she wields her mystic knowledge to prepare our party for every obstacle.

Neither of them would be with me now if I weren’t willing to trust them with my life.

I grit my teeth and slow my steps to match the pace of the others. We cannot afford to take unnecessary risks, and right now it is my impatience that puts our party in needless jeopardy.

“Good timing.” The witch pitches her voice low, for our ears alone, speaking in hurried, clipped statements. “The snake tail quivers. Threats approach. Not men. Not beasts. Unholy. Undead.”

I draw my silver blade and whisper a prayer. With a nod toward the others, I affirm my readiness as we round the corner together and spring the enemy’s trap.

To get here, we have had to cut through vampires, yes, but also living vines, wolf-men, puppets of stone and spiderweb, and toxic fiends beyond description. Still I am unprepared to witness what faces us in the next room.

Our assailants are more than just undead. Looking like the bones of men picked clean by vultures and bleached white on some ancient battlefield, bones that rise again, lacking muscle or sinew yet standing upright all the same and gripping the weapons they clutched in death, these skeletons charge at us as if still fighting their ancient, forgotten war.

Where to stab? Where to slice? Professor Van Helsing’s unimpeachable research on the undead has proven tragically lacking on tips against this particular variety. Even the garlic I insisted the three of us wear seems hardly to slow them down at all—perhaps because they lack the necessary olfactory organs?

I narrowly avoid the thrust of a spear, catching it and lashing out with a kick that snaps the thing’s femur in two, but broken bones seem to hurt the skeletons no more than the fact that those same bones are missing ligaments to join them together.

“Well done, friend!” Alucard’s heavy glaive shatters the skull of another, though it rises once again to stand, pieces of its skull drifting back into alignment again. “Break as many bones as you can!” The glaive caves in the same skeleton’s chest. “The puissance animating each one is limited. The more pieces it must hold together, the thinner it stretches, the weaker it becomes, until—“

Another strike, cleaving the pelvis just as the skeleton starts drifting upright again, and the monster collapses, bereft of sufficient strength to reassemble itself.

How fortunate to have the company of two fine experts on the dark arts!

The spear makes for a useful quarterstaff with which to bludgeon and crack bones at range, but we are quite outnumbered, and destroying even a single skeleton is exhausting work. Alucard, with that massive glaive, clears enough space for Hernández to do her work, plunging her staff into the ribcage of a skeleton and rending its animating force to shreds in a flash of light, but even our witch is limited to the slow work of dismantling them one at a time.

They’re closing in, surrounding and forcing us slowly backward, toward the entrance to the hallway that led here. That is a real danger. The bottleneck would serve our enemies and their spears better than us; we need the space more than they do.

I cast my eyes around the room, searching for an approach. A heavy oak table sits near a wall, further along which is an alcove bearing an oversized stone statue of a woman I do not recognize. The arched opening leading from the hallway provides a small lip, and above us looms a grand, albeit tarnished, chandelier.

“Keep them off me!” Taking a step back, I sheathe my sword and drop the spear.

Alucard steps forward, not hesitating to fill the double-duty of clearing space for both Hernández and me. The glaive spins in a furious, two-handed whirl. Someday I’ll have to ask where such a fighting style comes from, but for now I simply whisper a prayer of gratitude that my allies are as formidable as they are.

Hup! I leap to catch the lip of the archway above me with one hand, the vantage high enough to offer an unobstructed view of the far side of the room. With a practiced motion, I pop the clasp at my belt and uncoil my long whip. As a part of the hunter’s arsenal—despite my storied ancestor’s efforts to prove otherwise—it makes for a poor general-purpose weapon no matter how much theurgy one invests in its construction, but as a tool it has its utility.

I find my grip on the stone—firm enough—while my other hand lashes forward, casting the whip in an unerring line across the room to wrap around the neck of the statue. I heave with all my strength and pull the thing off its plinth, sending it crashing down atop a line of skeletons.

“Ha!” Alucard barks a triumphant laugh, taking advantage of the sudden chaos to finish two skeletons in rapid succession.

That’s a few more down. Enough to momentarily clear a path through the crowd.

“Coming through!” Tossing the whip to the ground for the moment, I release my grip on the stone and bound ahead, across the fallen statue. I sprint, vault onto the friendly table, transfer my momentum vertically with a leap that kicks off the wall and sends me soaring overhead to catch the chandelier.

I heave myself atop the ancient fixture, even bigger up close than it looked from below. Perfect. With two hands on the chain, I flex my arms and lever my legs to start the chandelier slowly swinging. Need to build momentum first. I’ll only get one shot at this.

My hand grips the sword again. I whisper an invocation to awaken its true power, conjuring forth a brilliant glow of theurgy, the power that makes this heirloom more than mere metal. Gripping the chain, gauging the timing, I slash downward. More-than-silver cleaves through tarnished bronze, severing the chandelier from its support, sending it tumbling into the crowd of skeletons below.

My aim is true. Most of the fiends are crushed with one fell blow. Letting go of the chain, I land on the table below with an artful flip. Made of heavy oak, these wooden legs make for adequate clubs after I chop them off.

With their advantage in numbers greatly diminished and their remaining strength divided between my allies and my dual-club assault on their rear, the tides turn decisively in our favor. We work as a team to crush and dismantle the skeletons until, panting with exhaustion, we emerge victorious.

“Clever work, Boltman.” Alucard claps me on the shoulder. “And not a scratch on you. Each day I’m given new reason to marvel at how well-earned your reputation is.”

Hernández runs a hand through her dark hair, clearing wild strands from her face. “A wonder, truly. I have never before seen anyone—ah, anyone human, that is—move like that. You fly through the air, a hawk among the bats that haunt this castle.”

“I am human,” I respond with more defensiveness than is warranted. “My clan possesses great lore to enhance our human potential, and God Himself blesses my family name, but I am human still, nothing like the devils we hunt.”

“Of course not.” Alucard offers a placating smile. “After all, the garlic you’ve forced us to wear should offer adequate proof of that point!”

Hernández scoffs. “That doctor you so respect plagiarizes local superstitions and calls it science. Smelly plants ward away my distrust no more than they ward away vampires. Morris, my friend, your actions speak with deeper truth; none who fight the undead with such awesome ferocity could count among their number. Let my words never cast doubt on that understanding.”

Her contempt for Professor Van Helsing no longer raises my hackles. To disagree on how one should hunt the minions of night concerns me less than the truth of her own ability to fight them. At least she humors me by wearing the garlic despite her disbelief.

I nod in acknowledgment, then turn my attention to my other companion. “Alucard, what on Earth were those things? I have not seen undead of their like before. Not vampires at all, but something frightfully new.”

“Beyond ‘skeletons?’” A shrug, as if this were a trivial point of academic curiosity. “The Count was a powerful sorcerer long before he became archvampire. We must prepare ourselves for many powers and defenses that exceed the capabilities of ordinary vampire-kind.”

“But how?” I shake my head in frustration. “Are there others capable of similar feats? Could he train apprentices to become a threat on a similar scale?” I gesture at the bones littering the ground. “If all vampires were capable of commanding an army like this, our job would become far more difficult.”

“They say,” Hernández speaks slowly, picking her words with care, “that he was tutored in his youth by a witch who sold her soul to the devil, groomed from childhood to become the ultimate manifestation of evil on Earth, the product of a dreadful ritual that can never be repeated.”

“All the more reason to end him now, while he is yet vulnerable.” Alucard nods decisively. “With that said,” the hunter casts a scrutinizing look toward our party’s witch, “I wonder where you learned such secrets about our enemy. To describe that as ‘rare lore’ would be a fantastic understatement.”

“Perhaps when our job is done, I will lay bare what secrets I still keep. To do so now, well, the walls in Dracula’s lair have ears.”

“Nevertheless—“

“We all have our secrets,” I interrupt, putting a hand on Alucard’s shoulder. “You not least among us, friend. Let us not distract ourselves with talk of the past. It satisfies me to know that we’ll not suffer from an epidemic of Draculas after we finish our job here. Have we not just spoken of our mutual trust? Hold fast to our faith in one another, and we cannot fail.”

The two of them nod in agreement, duly reminded of the bonds between us. They have both become dear friends to me, and I trust them with my life.

But… Why is it that the light casts such strange shadows across their faces? I can hardly make out their features. Their smiles, simultaneously familiar and strange to me, suddenly lose their reassuring quality.

Do I know these people? I rub my eyes as though I can wipe my vision clean, clear this confusion, this nagging feeling that I am not myself.

Names and faces flit through my mind, superimposing themselves on my companions. Elizabeth and Victoria, dignified and dear, catch me as I slump to the floor.

“Boltman, are you well?”

Now it’s Ylio and Carmen, the hands on my body a silent threat, concern painted on masks hiding their true agenda.

“Dracula’s resurrection is at hand.”

When did we decide to assault a castle? Where is this castle?

“I am not yet through with you, Hanna. You must play your role in this story.”

Now it’s Daniel and Carlo, towering above me, swinging whips of blood. In unison, each man’s whip coils around a wrist. They haul me upright, a weightless marionette puppeted by my relatives. Daniel hands me a stake of pure white oak which my fingers mindlessly close around.

“Did you think you could give up on your duty? There are none left to take up the mantle. You saw to that when you made yourself the last of our bloodline.”

My head is weak, flopping to the side, but I do my best to shake it in denial. My voice fails me, but I mouth one word: lies.

“Did you think there were still others? Did you think the Boltmans haven’t been hunted? Did you believe an archvampire drew close to you on accident? By your own hand, you have made yourself the last Boltman, and in so doing you have doomed yourself to become the vessel of prophecy’s fulfillment.”

I refuse. You’re dead and buried and gone! You have no right to rule my life! Go to hell!

“The Cult of Dracula is your responsibility. The death of Dracula is your responsibility. Ending the reign of the vampire is your responsibility. You have no choice.”

No!

---

I bolt upright. A scream dies in my throat before it escapes to the waking world. My sweat soaks the bed, sheets a tangled mess kicked to the floor.

What was that dream? Not the usual one at all, showing me the moment of Morris Boltman’s death. This one was something altogether new. Is it real, another vision of the past, or merely a nightmare reflecting my fears?

Also, I can’t help but notice, I’m alive. Why am I alive?

Carmen is sound asleep at my side, meaning that I, for once, woke up before her. It must be midday still. In sleep, her back to me, there remains in her no trace of the violence with which she assaulted me last night. I still ache from it, but by now I’m sure the injuries have closed up already.

My eyes fall to admiring the curves of her body, tracing the ornate lines of her tattoos down until I notice a familiar symbol on her lower back.

Huh. I hadn’t caught it before because her version of the design is almost medieval in style, rather than the more modern interpretation I’ve seen, but that is unmistakably the same winged ouroboros worn by Ylio and their allies.

What does that mean? It feels like I’ve been handed the pieces to an important puzzle, but there’s something critical I’m missing. I shake my head to clear my thoughts. Whatever it is, my skull is pounding, and I still ache all over. I’m not exactly in the right shape to play detective about this mystery.

More immediate a concern is the way Carmen revealed some of her true self to me last night. I doubt I’ll ever feel quite as safe around her as I once did, but… she didn’t kill me. She even tucked me into bed afterward and fell asleep beside me just like always.

I could leave now, before she wakes, with the protection of the midday sun, making my way back to my sisters’ place. That would be the smart thing to do, wouldn’t it? The safe decision?

Let me admit the truth to myself, though. I don’t want safety. I’ve never honestly known what it is to be truly safe, and I’m not sure I even trust the concept. All I want, all I ever wanted, is love at any cost.

Wrapping an arm around Carmen, I lie back down, pressing my body into hers. I prefer the familiar caress of a beautiful knife at my throat over the stranger that is “safety.”

[lassieposting]

God though, reluctant single dad Vesemir. Vesemir who openly dislikes children, Vesemir who leaves a kid in the woods with the remains of his dead family even though he knows there's something else out there, Vesemir who refers to baby witchers as "abandoned little tragedies", Vesemir whose response to being told he's to teach them to fence is "Am I being punished?"

And suddenly he's the last wolf left. His whole pack is dead and he's got a litter of already-mutated pups to look after that won't get taken in anywhere else. He's completely responsible for the next generation, and children need so many things. He has to learn on the fly that it's not just feeding them and clothing them and teaching them to fight. It's getting up every night for Geralt's night terrors about the Trial and the Sacking, because he's five and he doesn't know how to self-soothe and nobody else is going to do it. It's watching Lambert hurt himself and the other boys in his rages, because he's so mad at the hand life dealt him and he doesn't know how to handle it, and having to figure out how to teach him to channel his anger some other way because that kind of blind fury will get him killed. It's answering a thousand and one "But why?" questions without putting a sword through Eskel because he wants to be good and that is a quality that needs nurturing even if it's annoying as fuck.

None of this is natural to him. He's not a kid person. He's grieving, too, for everyone he ever cared for and the trust he gave his father figure who betrayed him. He's sarcastic and impatient and he fucks up badly, so many times, with these lonely, traumatised little boys. He has to learn to apologise, and forgive, and love them even though he never wanted them to be his responsibility, even though they've basically taken his life from him - the adventuring, the monster-slaying, the coin and the women and the fame - because raising brats is a 24/7/365 job that keeps him tied to Kaer Morhen. He has to learn not to resent them for a life they didn't choose. He has to learn to make them feel like part of a family, because he can't afford to have them abandon Witchering at the first opportunity.

And somehow, it works. His pups grow up, and become Witchers themselves, and he sends them out into the world and breathes a sigh of relief every time one comes back safe. Grieves as best he can whenever one doesn't. Geralt makes him a grandfather, which is not something he ever thought he'd want even with a Witcher's long lifespan, but he loves the bones of that girl. He sees Geralt trying so hard to do better by Ciri than was ever done by him - he's not sure where the hell Geralt got that from, that soft streak that training never quite beat out of him - and the other boys rally round to help him raise his lion cub as a wolf so much faster than he thought they would, and he knows he did something right. And more than that, he's somehow managed to do away with some of the stigma the generations of Witchers before him passed down. Geralt isn't afraid to be gentle with Ciri. He's kind and understanding and supportive towards her, he has to be reminded not to prioritise her wellbeing over finding Leshen!Eskel, he's calm and patient and comforting when her trauma is playing up. It's such a far cry from the completely detached, "numbers game" attitude of the generations before Vesemir, and even from Vesemir's own attitude towards recruits as a young man. He's done exactly what his mentor asked him to do. He raised better, more scrupulous Witchers. He raised better men.

idk man I just have a lot of feelings about Vesemir after NOTW okay

[galos-writing]

REQUEST - Crazy Abbé x Director!Reader (pt. 2)

Summary: You're the new Director in the renowed asylum of Charenton, and one particular patient fills your thoughts. You never expected your life to take such a twist...

Word count: 1431 

TWs: Mention of death, gory description, mention of mental illness (sry im bad at adding tws)

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

Your role as Director in the asylum of Charenton had caught you pretty quickly, you had to admit: the chambermaids were exquisite, most of the patients were so well-behaved and friendly – even those who couldn’t properly speak – and the nuns were so helpful and caring towards you and the patients.

Yes, Doctor Royer-Collard was a real pain...most of the time, and your reputation was stained forever now that you worked there. You stopped receiving letters from your former friends and your family was deadly worried for you and your social life…

However, you surprisingly didn’t care much about all of this. You had a new life to think about; a new, true friend awaiting you every day. And your heart hadn’t been happier than now.

You were tired of those lame and sickeningly lavish gatherings with your former girlfriends, all of them – including you – from high nobleness, doing nothing but giggling and gossiping about everyone and everything; and you were tired of workplaces where men kept treating you so poorly, with no dignity, almost as if you had no intelligence in your brain.

Finally, you had someone who treated you like a decent person to have intense and lively discussions with, about everything your nous was willing to deepen: François de Coulmier, the former Director of Charenton.

When you first met him, you had almost forgotten who he used to be, his reputation of a dreamer young man, but whose mind was filled with knowledge and his heart swelling with kindness and compassion for every child of God. And you were surprised by discovering his qualities were still buried, engraved in his spirit, despite being severely damaged by the anguish events. But his manners had captured your attention, and being in his company filled your soul with such a pleasant warmth, especially your cheeks and belly.

“Monsieur Coulmier?”, you kindly called the former priest, your voice showing a hint of impatience as you held a warm bread roll in your hands. You saw him peeking through the peephole, severely malnourished; those full, sweet and round cheeks were now pretty thin, his cheekbones were becoming more visible, and purple eye bags were starting to form under his beautiful eyes. That sight broke your heart, but in that moment you couldn’t help but swallow that sour bite down and endure that psychological torture.

His gloomy face lightened up when he saw you and a weak smile formed on his thin and scarred lips, which soothed your aching soul within the second. You warmly smiled back at him and waved.

“Hello...was I interrupting something? You weren’t sleeping, were you?”, you asked, afraid you could have bothered him somehow; your hands showed him the bread roll, which immediately caught François’s interest.

“Oh… no… not at all, you’re always so welcome in my humble… empty cell… I am just concerned I am not able to give you… the welcome an angel like you deserves…”, he let out a tired breath, really struggling to keep his strengths. Your kind smile turned into a face of compassion, and then you quickly pulled the key out of your pocket to open his cell door.

“Don’t worry about it, you’ll find yourself out of here, sooner or later. And I’m sure you will succeed in building yourself a new fresh life. You’ll see, you will have a big and luminous house with a scented garden full of plants and flowers, and…”, you started saying happily as you got inside, but your words got interrupted by an exhausted wheeze and a creepy laugh from him.

“Ah~, you read too many books! You… you truly have a fervid imagination, my darling…!”, he exclaimed with a giggly voice. His mocking slightly offended you, making you frown and look away.

“I don’t find it funny.”, you grumpily muttered. However, an odd detail caught your attention blurring his protests and apologies: one of the walls that surrounded François’s cell presented a vast and dark stain; was it mold? You didn’t doubt that the Doctor’s management skills didn’t include building renovations when needed; you were sure the Abbé would have, though.

This thought, added to a sudden putrid smell that reached your nostrils, made you realize it wasn’t just plain mold…

“Y/N.”.

 You heard your name being called by the former priest, not in a happy tone, nor the usual trembling, unsure and unstable tone he always had with the Doctor. His tone was dark, low, and threatening, it sent shivers down your spine; yet, you weren’t sure if they were shivers of fear or excitement, you only knew that tone wasn’t normal. So you turned around to look at him, flinching at what you saw.

“What are you doing, Y/N?”, François asked again with a creepily calm tone now, deeply looking into your eyes, his own wide eyes and his trembling pupils were giving you chills down your spine. He was so close that you could feel his breath on your skin, his presence was menacing you, making you instinctively step back, your back soon bumped against a wall.

You took a deep breath, trying to collect some guts to face him, despite he was scaring the living hell out of you. Your hands were shaking and sweating, yet they managed to reach his shoulders to push him back. 

“François… you can tell me if something’s wrong…”, you told him with a tender gaze, trying to bring him back to that little spark of sanity left in his mind, and your hands moved from his shoulders to his cheeks, suddenly removing the barrier you created to keep him away, instead gently leading him closer. Your faces got closer and closer, and your fear faded, replaced by butterflies in your stomach. 

“I…”, he started speaking with a thin voice, his eyes filled with tears as he pulled away from you,  making your heart sink. “I did something terrible… I deserve to stay here.”, he murmured, staring at the floor while his face flushed a deep red, red in shame. You tilted your head, deeply puzzled, what was he talking about?

You noticed his gaze moved to the molded wall, and approached it. Your eyes widened when the patient’s fingers sunk into the wall as if it was made of some soft, gooey substance. François was peering straight into your eyes as he started pulling off fistfuls of that dark and smelly mystery material from the rest of the wall, soon revealing a potato sack falling out of it. 

“No, you didn’t…”, you let out without even noticing, your mind was struggling, not wanting to believe in the most obvious of scenarios. You didn’t even let him answer you and threw yourself over the sack to open it, fighting against the urge to throw up due to the unbearable smell. 

A grey and purplish man had been trapped in there, dark brown stains were all over his face, clotted blood… He was dressed in a black cassock, with a black cape that was covering his – once – golden hair. You immediately knew who that man was, and you immediately realized who had murdered him. 

You raised your gaze on François, who started sobbing in the meanwhile, his crying was loud and messy like a kid’s one. 

“You’ll go call Royer-Collard now…right…? I deserve a lobotomy…!”, he whimpered, his chipped nails leaving bloody scratches on his arms due to the strong stress. He startled you when he started shouting: “I’m a failure! I was meant to guide my patients, my asylum to light! Look at us all! That man didn’t deserve to live in this pit with us all! He wasn’t fit to handle Hell!”. 

His crying and shouting caused a drop in his blood pressure, making him collapse on the floor within seconds; he curled himself into a ball and started whispering, reciting verses from the Holy Bible. That scene made your heart ache even more, that poor man deserved better. 

You approached the corpse and closed it back into the sack, paying attention to not leaving maggots around, they could have raised suspects. 

“Ask Madame LeClerc to prepare you a little bag with your belongings inside, I’ll come and make you get out. We’re leaving at midnight, going to live in a big and luminous house with a scented garden full of plants and flowers.”, you smiled at him before leaving the cell to get rid of the corpse. The former priest was flabbergasted by your words, his face turning red, and his heart swelled with hopes for a brighter future.

Tags: @darknessisafriend @werewolf-and-go-wild @thatdummy-girl @indieblair @ajokeformur-ray @fly-like-a-phoenix @hebimoonlightwrites @jokerflecker @callmejokerr @pursuit-of-comedy @five-miles-over

[ambitionsource]

AMBITION “Reassessment” [ 4.09 ]♮PART 2, half 1

INT. TURNER ACADEMY - ROSARIO’S OFFICE - DAY

The quiet in Professor Gao’s office is a sharp contrast, though not without its own tension. There’s a hush over the room, Gao in her chair behind the oak desk and Vanessa seated in the chair opposite her. She’s there for her check-in, watching impatiently as Gao reviews her gradebook and files.

Finally, Gao lifts her head and meets her eyes. As usual, her expression betrays nothing.

Rosario: So. How do you feel you’re doing thus far, Miss Johnson? Vanessa: … aren’t you supposed to tell me that? Rosario: This is a check-in, not a test. A reassessment rather than assessment. I’m more interested in your perception than my own, though it will be telling to see how our insights line up.

Somehow, that just makes Vanessa feel more intimidated. But they try to aim for confidence -- that arrogance always seems to get Zay wherever he wants to go, and she knows she’s earned it at least a little. She knows she’s one of the best in the class, even if her self-doubt makes her think otherwise.

Vanessa: I think I’m one of the best you’ve got in that class. I can keep up. I haven’t slipped yet. Rosario: Sans the occasional tumble on the floor with your peer, Mister Babineaux -- Vanessa: [ ignoring that ] I believe I’m strong enough to transfer. That hasn’t changed. If you look at your gradebook again, I think the numbers will speak for themselves. And when my audition time comes, I intend to prove it.

Rosario takes that in, nodding slowly… with just the slightest twinkle in her eye to hint at amusement. But it fades rather fast, so maybe it was just a trick of the light. She moves on without missing a beat.

Rosario: How so? Vanessa: … ma’am? Rosario: How do you intend to prove it? I agree, you’re not short of ability. You’ve consistently ranked top of the class both semesters. You’ve never missed a class period or neglected an opportunity for additional exercises. I have little doubt that you care about dance; that you care about getting into this program. Vanessa: Shouldn’t that speak for itself? Rosario: But what I don’t yet know is whether you’re the right fit. Vanessa: Didn’t we just agree I have the talent? I’m almost always top dancer -- Rosario: I’m not critiquing your capabilities, Miss Johnson. I’m focused on the other aspect of your audition. The theme. The application. I believe you can string steps together and execute them beyond proficiently. But what is your routine going to tell me about you?

Vanessa hesitates, not sure how to respond. Her mouth parts to offer one, and nothing comes out.

Rosario: Like any elite collegiate program, the Turner course is about more than choreography. It’s about the people behind it. We aim for a balanced cohort, full of unique and well-rounded individuals. Those who have their own story to tell, but are ready and eager to learn from the ones of their peers too. Vanessa: I am. And I am -- Rosario: But I haven’t figured out yet where you fit in that balance yet. If you do at all. I’m not looking for another chorus line type to stand in the back and fill in space, no matter how well you can carry the steps. I’m creating a community. And thus far this year, I have yet to see from you what you, Vanessa Johnson, will contribute to that cohort. How do you define yourself? What story are you trying to tell? Are you confident enough to bring it to life on the stage -- or are you holding back while you wait for someone else to write it for you?

Gao’s words aren’t cold nor cutting, far from it, but they strike deep into Vanessa’s core all the same. Because they’re the exact questions she doesn’t have the answers to -- the ones she’s just recently started to realize she’s been set up to avoid. She stares at her, dumbstruck.

Rosario: I look forward to hearing your answer during your final audition in the coming days. [ after a beat ] If there’s no more questions, you’re free to go.

Vanessa nods blankly, accepting the dismissal and getting to her feet.

INT. TURNER ACADEMY - FACULTY HALL - DAY

Vanessa steps out into the corridor, still dazed from the harsh read. GIA VALDEZ is waiting outside for her meeting, offering Vanessa a sugary sweet smile that she doesn’t return. The door shuts behind her, leaving Vanessa alone with her lack of identity.

Then, all at once, it hits her. Anger. Molten, unbridled rage.

She scowls.

INT. NYU - THEATER - DAY

It’s not too far a shade off from the hostile expression on Isa’s face in the photographs plastered all over the media today from their little run-in with the paps. One of those beauty shots is on Riley’s phone screen as she quickly scans one of the articles during her brief time off-stage during a dress rehearsal.

She’s obviously concerned about Isa, but she doesn’t have the time to take care of it. Literally, as the orchestra cueing up signals she’s due back onstage in about ten seconds.

Frustrated, she shoots off a quick text to her group chat with Lucas, Dylan, and Asher, asking them to check in on Isa and report back. She’ll loop back when she’s free from rehearsal. Then she wipes the worry off her face and heads back out into the stage lights.

INT. GLOBAL BEAT - JUSTIN’S OFFICE - NIGHT

Justin is hanging back late to review some demos, so he notices when Josh passes by his office to head out for the evening. He calls him back, waiting for him to reappear in the doorway.

Justin: Melissa told me what y’all chatted about the other day. With the “LolliPop” credit. Josh: Oh… yeah. Justin: I’m sorry, man. Shit’s fucked for real. I just want you to know I was advocating for you. Big time. The song is a banger, people should know it’s got your prints all over it. [ with a shrug ] But the higher ups gonna higher up. Josh: Ha… right.

At this point, Josh would rather just forget about it. Every time it gets brought up, it’s like the wound reopens. Justin’s apology is well-meant, though, regardless of how truthful it is or isn’t.

Justin: I just noticed you’ve been down low the last couple days, so I wanted to make sure I said something. Figured better to do it when most folks have left rather than having a big ol’ emotional pow-wow during the day. Josh: Um, yeah. Thanks. But actually, I haven’t really been thinking about that.

Something else weighing him down, then? Justin gestures for Josh to come in -- his door is open if he wants to talk through it. Considering he hasn’t managed to come up with any bright ideas himself, Josh takes the chance, coming to sit in the comfy chair opposite Justin’s desk.

He gives him the short version of his dilemma with Floyd, and why he’s of two minds about the situation. Justin nods in understanding, seemingly familiar with the dilemma.

Justin: Tale as old as time. Nature versus nurture. Mind over matter.

Whatever the hell all that means. Josh frowns slightly, confused, but Justin gets to the point eventually.

Justin: It’s the producer’s Sophie’s choice, dude. Do you kill your darlings, or no? The nurturer in you wants to lift the babies up, give them everything they want and then some. But the nature in you -- the strategist -- you see that’s no good. Giving them everything is gonna be what kills them in the end. Clients need that guidance to keep them from fucking it all up. That’s what you’re there for. Josh: Right. Yeah, I guess that’s it. Justin: I completely get it. I go through this about once a day. I mean, take Maya for instance. You know we love her. She’s talented, hot, everything in one package. Like, we know she’s gonna be big. Josh: For sure. Justin: But she’s getting a little ahead of herself. She’s had two great swings so far, and that’s rad, but that doesn’t mean you can just go run the bases already. She wants to do a whole range of stuff for her EP, with all these original tracks, and it’s cute. But we aren’t there yet. The label isn’t gonna go for that. Josh: Really? Have you listened to the songs yet? Justin: No. But that’s because I don’t wanna get her hopes up. I don’t want to humor it all too much when we’re trying to hit this path the right way. She’s on such a good trajectory, don’t want her enthusiasm to screw it up. That’s the nature over nurture. Josh: … right… Justin: But I don’t want to burst her bubble either. We want her to keep that enthusiasm, to keep churning out hits, even if she’s not getting exactly whatever is on her wishlist. Kind of the same as your Flynn friend. Josh: Floyd. Justin: Right, Floyd. He wants this cover, but it’s not time. You know that. But you don’t want to dash all of his hopes. Josh: Yes. So what am I supposed to do? Justin: It’s easy, Joshie. You give them a carrot.

Basically, you string them along. Oldest trick in the book. Give them a little nudge here and there, a hint of what they think they want, and keep leading them through the necessary hoops in the meantime. The glimmer of hope will keep them motivated, and in the end, they’ll be convinced the path to what they wanted was entirely their idea. Meanwhile, you puppet string the whole journey, knowing which strategic paths to take. But you keep that carrot in front of them, always a promise of “soon,” so they keep walking the walk.

Justin: Hasn’t failed us yet. And Maya’s doing great. We promised her we’ll talk about her EP ideas once we get this track from the label squared away, and man, she is burning through it like wildfire. Gonna be the easiest hit we ever make. Josh, uncomfortable: So… you just… manipulate them?

Justin pats his chest, theatrically offended.

Justin: Ouch. I reject that characterization. It’s not manipulation. Everyone wins in the end. It’s just… compromise. Strategy. Playing the games the industry’s way. Josh: I guess. Justin: It results in the least amount of hurt feelings -- and egos -- so it should be music to your ears. [ off his discomfort ] Look, man, I get it. It’s not the most fun position to be in. But it’s part of the game.

And if he does say so himself, he’s gotten damn good at it. But he understands Josh’s hesitation. He was like him once, bright-eyed and eager and fresh off the farms of the midwest.

Josh: I’m actually from Philly. Justin: Lucky you. I was from farmland, and it was just a stroke of luck that got me here. But I learn fast. This is how this business works. I didn’t build it, I just learned how to pull the strings.

And orchestrate them he does, masterfully. In fact, you could even call him… a Wizard of producing…

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Wonderful” as performed by Wicked Original Broadway Cast || Performed by Justin Miller (feat. Josh Matthews)

In a bizarrely apt biographical tune, Justin bonds Josh’s sentimentality to a bit of his own. He leans into the charming number by recounting his own whirlwind journey into the industry, trying his luck off his farmboy graces (“this cornfed hick!”) and managing to get in good early on with spunk and determination. Basically, the rags-to-riches origin story every single person in Hollywood likes to claim.

Unfortunately, he is charming. He delivers the endearing and suave stylings of Oz’s fabled leader effortlessly, playing off his industry scheming and machinations as part of the appeal. And the rush that they get from it all -- producing, the accolades, the way clients look up to them as guides and gatekeepers to the music world -- it’s addictive. It’s why they’re both here, doing this thing, isn’t it?

Even so, something about it all still itches at Josh.

Justin: I guess I just want to give my clients… everything. Whatever they want to hear. Josh: … so you lie to them? Justin: Joshie! Where I’m from, we believe all sorts of things that aren’t true. [ a beat ] We call it history.

Thus Justin continues the spin-train, glossing over the moral ambiguities and making it sound easy. Isn’t it all wonderful?

And with his help, Josh could be the same. He pulls him up and braces his shoulders as he points him towards the bright future he could have -- the talented producing career he knows Josh can achieve. They both look ahead of them to an imaginary future, Justin’s persuasive charm at full power.

At long, long last receive your due, long overdue Joshua…

It’s all right there for him to take -- if he plays the game right. If he follows in Justin’s footsteps. Take his advice, and he’ll be climbing to the top in no time.

A celebration throughout Oz that’s all to do with you…

Okay, that vision does sound pretty sweet. And Justin says everything so confidently, how could he steer him wrong? Josh grins, still dazzled by that theoretical future of acclaim.

So he joins in with Justin on the final verse, discarding his reservations and buying into his view. It feels nice to be in on the game, to be part of the club.

Justin: Wonderful! They’ll call you wonderful -- Josh: That does sound wonderful. Justin: Trust me, it’s fun!

The two of them bro around the office and finish off the number with a flourish, dancing small riffs and jumping onto the chairs and desk. Justin breaks into laughter and applause as Josh does a goofy bow, waving to his theoretical future fans.

Then they land back in their chairs as the number ends, cheeks flushed and smiles bright. Josh at least seems less glum than before. Justin comes around and leans against the front of his desk, patting Josh’s shoulder.

Justin: You got this, Joshie. Stick to your guns, and stick with me -- we’ll get you where you’re meant to go. Take it from me.

With all his wonderful charm, it’s hard to imagine how it won’t work out with Justin in his corner. Josh smiles, thanking him for the pep talk.

INT. JOHNSON HOME - DAY

Vanessa returns to her place in a huff, slamming the door. This time, she’s not moving with any sense of precaution.

Vanessa: Dad? Dad! [ shouting down the hall ] Dad, I need to talk to you!

The commotion causes ALEXIS JOHNSON to emerge from the kitchen, staring wide-eyed at her daughter and asking what could possibly be worth all the yelling. She never raises her voice like that.

Alexis: We raised you better than that. Vanessa: Oh, you raised me, all right. Exactly how you wanted it. And wouldn’t you know, I came out just right. Just -- fucking perfect!

With excellent timing, RAY JOHNSON chooses then to come inside from the back door. He hears Vanessa cuss and immediately goes on the defensive, storming into the living room where they’ve gathered.

Ray: Now, I know I didn’t just hear you speak to your mother like that -- Vanessa: Oh, good! You are here. Then I won’t have to repeat myself. Alexis: Why are you so upset? Did something happen? Ray: Is this about your boyfriend? Alexis: Is this about Turner? Ray: I swear, if he broke it off and you’re taking it out on us -- Alexis: Surely, whatever it is, you can make it right with your audition. And if Zay isn’t --

Vanessa snarls, pressing her hands to her face. She halts pacing and lets loose, spitting out all the frustration that has been building inside her for years.

Vanessa: This isn’t about Zay! Or my dating life, or dance, or what stupid fucking job I’m going to have in the future. This is about me. Okay? For once, I am at the center of my own life. Only that’s exactly it. That’s the problem. Alexis: What, honey? Vanessa: Me! I’m the problem! I’m almost twenty years old, I’ve spent two decades on this God forsaken Earth, and you know what? I’m nothing. I have no idea who I am. Or who I’m supposed to be. My professor asked me today to show her who I am, and I had no fucking idea. Do you have any idea how humiliating that is? To realize you’ve been alive for twenty years and can’t say one definitive thing about yourself? Ray: So this is about school -- Vanessa: No. No, dad, it isn’t. This is about me; this is about us. Alexis, hurt: I don’t know what you mean, Nessie. You’re a wonderful young woman. You… love dance --

At that, Vanessa chokes out a bitter laugh.

Vanessa: Dance isn’t an identity, mom. But doesn’t that say it all? You two are my parents, the people who should know me better than anybody, and that’s all you can come up with. That’s the only thing that comes to mind. And I can’t blame you for that, because it’s on me, too. Dance was the only thing I knew I liked, that felt like it could be mine, so I held onto it like a damn life raft. I held on so tight, after a while, it became… I don’t know. My second skin. Ray: So why are you taking this attitude out on us? I’ve been telling you for years that dance wasn’t going to sustain you -- Vanessa, hysterical: Because of that! Because of exactly that, dad! You’ve been telling me. You’ve been telling me for as long as I can remember what to do. How I was supposed to act, how to behave, what to want. You built this perfect version of me in your head, this daughter to be proud of, and I’ve spent my entire life trying to match it. To not shatter the illusion. Only in stretching every other direction to do it, I’ve spread myself so thin that there’s nothing left. [ shaky ] I’ve spent my whole life straining for an ideal and lost any concept of what was there to begin with. Of me.

Long story short, they fucked her up. They wanted to raise the perfect daughter, the crown jewel to their family tree, and instead they frankensteined a monster. A grown woman who can’t grow; a love-starved overachiever who can’t seem to do either.

Vanessa: So I just wanted you to know. I wanted you to know that you failed. I’m a disaster, and I’m a joke, and now I’m the one who’s going to have to suffer the consequences of that. I have to clean up my own cosmic mess. But I just had to say it once -- had to look you in the eyes, and make sure you knew -- that you didn’t get what you wanted. I’m a failure, but I was your failure first. And I don’t ever want to hear one more word about my career, or my prospects, because I don’t think any of us have the high ground to judge what a successful life is.

With that, she takes in their stunned expressions and offers a sarcastic bow. Thanks for their time and attention. She’s put on the performance of a lifetime for twenty years, and now, the show is over.

Vanessa: Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go rehearse.

She spins on her heel and grabs her duffle bag off the floor, storming back out of the house.

Ray starts to go after her on instinct, eyes blazing, but Alexis grabs his arm and holds him back. This time, she intervenes, simply shaking her head.

She knows, deep down, that they have no leg to stand on here.

INT. NYU - HALLWAY - NIGHT

Dress rehearsal is stretching well into the late evening, the cast and crew currently on dinner break. Evan and Riley have elected to spend theirs together, both of them a bit punchy from exhaustion and giggly as they chat about nothing in particular.

Eventually, the conversation drifts around to Lucas, Riley tying him into whatever anecdote they were just recounting. Evan takes the opportunity to probe a bit, noting that it was nice of him to come by and bring her lunch today (even if not technically allowed). Riley smiles.

Riley: Yeah. He’s always doing stuff like that too. One time, when we were friends earlier in high school, he asked me about my favorite type of bread, so I told him about that bakery I like. Evan: The one you still have to convert me to. Riley: Yes, that one. And rest assured, it’s happening. But so I told him about it, like just filling conversation but not thinking too much about it. And then later that week, he brings me one of those pastries. Totally out of the blue. Evan: Wow. I see how he won you over. Riley: It’s true, pastries are the way to a girl’s heart. [ with a shrug ] But yeah, he tried to play it off like it was casual too, like he was in the neighborhood. He’s always saying that, but his neighborhood is literally all the way on the other half of the island. He’s not fooling anybody. That’s just the kind of guy he is, though.

Always has been -- even if he’s not the best conversationalist and she had to fill silences with bread facts. He grows on you. Evan admits he noticed that too… and that he didn’t seem too keen on the whole theater thing.

Riley: Oh, yeah, no. He’s definitely not a theater guy. Evan: Even though he went to Adams? Like, the arts school of Manhattan? Riley: It’s… it’s complicated. And he is a fantastic technician, make no mistake. But the whole arts thing is not his thing. It’s nice that he puts up with it all, considering like most of his social circle is now filled with theater kids. Evan: … and that doesn’t bother you? That he isn’t interested? Since it’s something you care so much about…

Riley shrugs, unbothered.

Riley: It’s not like I’d expect us to have all of the same interests. I don’t know any couple that’s like that. He shows up when he needs to -- I know he already puts up with a lot, humoring all the art stuff, so him just being there is enough for me. If he can sit through a two-hour show he couldn’t care less about because of me, that’s love, isn’t it?

Suppose so… though Evan doesn’t seem entirely convinced. He doesn’t doubt Riley’s perception of it, but based on how awkward and stiff Lucas came off today, it’s hard for Evan to picture his enthusiasm. If he had a partner like Riley, he thinks he’d always make sure she knew how invested he was in her stuff.

But it’s not his relationship, so it’s not his business. He opts to hold his tongue, going back to eating his dinner without further comment.

INT. CHARLIE’S CHURCH - DAY

Eleanor and Charlie arrive at the church bright and early that morning to set up for a weekly coffee greet the ladies host -- office hours with God, if you will. Charlie does the favor of carrying the supplies while Eleanor leads the way into the sanctuary, directing him where everything is supposed to go.

It’s not long before the fellow church organizers join them, TRINA, MAITLAND, and DANIELLE. They’re all thrilled to see Charlie, who still holds his badge of honor as Prince Charming in spite of -- and partially because of -- his recent absence to venture abroad.

Charlie: It’s good to see you all too. Trina: On a weekday as well! What a treat. Maitland: It was lovely seeing you this weekend, too. Service isn’t quite the same without the whole Gardner clan in attendance. Felt right. Danielle: Well, except for the fact that Rosamund still wasn’t there either -- Trina: Charlie, I swear, we need to put you on a poster. When I told my sister you were back, well, all the sudden my nieces want to come back to service. It’s like catnip! Maitland: And yet here you are, volunteering to help your mom without a second thought. Lord knows I can’t get my boys to do that. I don’t know how you did it, Eleanor.

Yes, yes, she did just raise him perfectly right. The belle of the Bible ball. Eleanor glows at the praise, having an easier time accepting it from her circle than the less fortunate at the food bank. These are the people she has to impress, after all. Their respect means something.

Though glimpses of how things have changed insist on peeking through regardless. As the ladies are chatting and setting up, the subject of the resignations at the school board come up -- and so does the unsavory rumor about how Charlie may have been involved with the whole scandal.

Certainly not something Eleanor instructed or planned for. She grows quiet as the ladies turn their questions on Charlie, dying to know if it’s true. Does he know who was the one who ratted out the school board members? Did he actually help them?

Trina: It’s such a shame how it all went down. I really liked Connelly. Danielle: Forget that. I can’t believe it brought down Jefferson Graham! He was the biggest advocate for school choice this district has seen in decades. There goes half a generation of Catholic students because folks don’t want to pay private tuition! If we had vouchers -- Maitland: I’m sure it’s just rumors, Charlie, don’t worry. It’ll blow over. No one would believe you’d get involved in something like this.

In the past, Charlie probably would’ve taken that shelter and run with it. But this time, he doesn’t. He doesn’t flinch.

Charlie: Actually, I did. I did help expose Graham and Yancy’s corruption.

Oh. Hello? The room goes quiet, all of the women stunned by this admission. Eleanor isn’t as shocked, but she makes up for it with embarrassment. All the time she spent teaching Charlie to keep his head down, and this is when he decides to speak up…

But he’s not finished.

Danielle: Charlie. You didn’t! Charlie, calmly: I did. And the truth is, I think any of you would’ve done the same.

Um, huh? Danielle stares at him, eyes practically bugging out. Eleanor is staring at him too, apprehensive.

Trina: You do? Charlie: Yes. This wasn’t a matter of politics, in my opinion -- regardless of what those may be for everyone involved. To me, corruption is corruption, and it’s not okay. That’s what I learned here, and from my family. It was the right thing to do to bring it to light, to allow proper recourse and let the people decide for themselves. Just like you ladies did. I know fairness and honesty are values all of us hold. Supporting them was a no-brainer.

Well, when you put it like that… none of them feel compelled to argue. They may not like Jack, but Charlie found the perfect way to spin it so they all come out looking better for how things turned out.

Maitland: You’re absolutely right, hon. I know when I decided not to go vote, it certainly made my shoulders feel a bit lighter.

Trina nods along, in total agreement. Danielle doesn’t comment, grouchy, but she doesn’t openly disagree either. Charlie beams, expertly changing the subject back to figuring out where he’s supposed to set up on the cream and sugars for the coffee.

Credibility crisis masterfully averted. Eleanor exhales a quiet sigh of relief, eyeing her son with less trepidation than before.

INT. MACNAMARA HOME - KITCHEN - DAY

Sydney has joined the family for breakfast, already working to fight off the next wave of media shitstorm after Isa’s little run-in with the tabloids. Understandably, she’s pissed, as it has given her an entirely new workload to deal with. She and Zachary’s publicist are basically working double-time to try and contain the insanity over it.

Sydney: Didn’t they grow up with a celebrity mother? Shouldn’t they be prepared for this sort of attention -- at least enough not to go apeshit? Zachary: I’m sure they were just overwhelmed. But maybe it would be worthwhile for you to have a touch base with Isa, get on the same page about expectations while we weather this out.

Sydney doesn’t seem especially enthused by that idea, but if it’ll lighten the burden… Isa enters at just the right time, sensing from the way the room grows quiet that they were talking about them. When they ask for an update, Zachary floats the idea of the media refresher discussion with Sydney. Just to ideally avoid another situation like this.

Eager to make things better whatever way they can, Isa doesn’t argue it. They agree to the idea, offering Sydney a weak smile that she doesn’t return. Instead, Sydney points out that at the same time, Zachary needs to make an effort to keep a low profile right now. No more public presence than necessary, and less opportunities for paps to pounce on them again. Lay low, and hopefully, they can endure this until it eventually blows over.

Unfortunately, that means he most certainly cannot go with Louis to the museum for his field trip. Louis is absolutely livid at this.

Louis: I told him about it ages ago! It’s not my fault everything’s gone to shit! Ruby: Louis. I know you didn’t use that word at my breakfast table.

Louis huffs but pulls back, appropriately rebuffed. Isa looks to him apologetically, wishing there was a way they could ease this on everyone. It’s exactly the reason they hated being around Val sometimes, and now they’re apparently carrying it forward from beyond the grave.

Isa: I am sorry about all this, seriously. Zachary: Don’t be. It’s not your fault. Isa: If there’s anything I can do, please, let me know. I’m willing to do whatever I can.

Louis looks like he has an idea or two, but he wisely keeps the snark to himself. Ruby lights up with a bright idea of her own.

Ruby: How about you take Louis on his museum trip, Isa? Isa: What? Louis: What?

It’s a great compromise! He’ll still get to complete the assignment, and Isa will have the chance to spend some time with him and be out there in the world without all the attention. It’ll take some pressure off Zachary and Ruby as well, which will be a nice favor.

Sydney: As long as you manage not to assault another reporter, I suppose we can find a way to make that work.

Louis is far from pleased with this plan, but he can hardly argue. There’s no better option. Zachary claims Louis will appreciate having Isa there anyway, as they’re a much smarter consumer of films than he is. Isa smiles, bashful, while Louis rolls his eyes.

This will surely go just swimmingly.

INT. NYU - THEATER CLASSROOM - DAY

As Farkle is heading out of class, he’s engaged in conversation with NATALIA and BUZZ. Speaking of movies, they’re planning on going to this triple feature at the Chinese Theatre. Does Farkle want to tag along?

Buzz: We know you’re a very busy man, mister freshman superstar, but it’s gonna be a blast. Natalia: Yeah, it’ll be more fun if you’re there. Buzz: You can even invite your New York director friend, so we can finally get a taste of their spitfire hot takes or whatever.

Honestly, Farkle does want to tag along. It sounds like fun, and another perfect opportunity to hang with his peers without being carded for being underage -- not that that’s a problem anymore, finally -- but then he hears the date. They’re going the same night as Jordan’s film festival event.

So no, he can’t go. Even if he really, really wants to. Bless their hearts, his peers try to convince him.

Natalia: Can’t you ask your boyfriend if you can go instead? Or maybe split it half and half? Buzz: Yeah, does he really need you there at this thing? Farkle: I mean… I’m sure he doesn’t need me, but…

But he invited him, and that feels like solid gold these days. It feels like being wanted. Farkle can’t fathom risking that luck. Not to mention, he knows Jordan will be furious if he tries to bail after he already agreed to be his plus one. He doesn’t like a change of plans.

Unless he’s the one making it, of course… but no. Farkle isn’t going to screw this up any more than he already has. So he reluctantly declines their invitation, promising he’ll catch them next time. Natalia and Buzz let it go, but they aren’t happy about it.

INT. CHARLIE’S CHURCH - DAY

The coffee event is in full swing, more than a dozen or so visitors currently meandering in the church. Some are regulars, chatting with the church ladies on their way to their next thing or just to catch up on the gossip; others are looking to maybe join the congregation, or looking for resources, which Trina and Eleanor happily provide. For some, it’s just a free coffee, which hey, can’t go wrong with that!

Charlie is mainly observing, as there aren’t many young people for him to chat up at this time of day. But he does notice a NEW GUY just a few years older than him, having got his coffee but mainly sticking to the outskirts and acting as a wallflower like him.

Figuring he may need someone else to be the brave one and initiate, Charlie makes a point of going over and introducing himself. The visitor offers a shy smile, and lets him engage him in conversation, but he’s clearly a bit on edge about being there.

Charlie: Do you go to this church? I don’t think we’ve met before, but I’ve been out of town. New Guy: Oh, no, um… I’m new around here. Just moved from Staten Island in the winter. You’ve… been here a while? Charlie: Basically my whole life. Born, baptized, and raised it feels like.

As they continue to chat, Charlie slowly gets a clearer picture of what exactly the stranger is doing there. He admits that he’s never exactly been a religious person, but the move and transition here has been tough, and he’s been looking for some… guidance. Faith, suppose. He feels a bit over his head, but at this point, he’ll try anything.

Charlie: I’m sorry things have been hard lately. I know the feeling. New Guy: So I guess I’m just looking for… I don’t know, a community. Somewhere to… feel like a part of something while I’m figuring out everything else. Something to believe in.

Charlie won’t act like being in a church, or any religion, has all the answers, but he can truthfully state that faith -- in all its forms -- has gotten him through more than one tough time of his own. Even if it doesn’t end up being the perfect fit, he suspects it’ll help him figure out where he needs to go next. The visitor seems hopeful about that.

New Guy: I was just kind of nervous to… go looking, because I know that -- sometimes it can get messy. This whole thing. Charlie: How do you mean? New Guy: Well, I -- [ more nervous ] Part of the reason I’ve been out on my own, lately, the move and everything… I recently have been dealing with some stuff about myself. Coming to terms with… parts of me that I wasn’t ready to before. And I know that, um -- [ quieter ] Some churches can be a bit hard about it. You know. Different… identities.

He doesn’t have to say anything else. He doesn’t have to clarify or define it. Charlie knows what he’s talking about -- instinctively, viscerally. He recognizes the nerves in his voice; senses the familiar trepidation in his struggle to articulate it. The refusal to actually say it, to put it into words, especially under the high ceilings of the church sanctuary.

Charlie understands, and it changes his approach entirely. He wants to help this guy, to encourage him to find his faith, but he can’t in good conscience encourage him to do it here. These coffee mixers are a way to recruit, but Charlie wouldn’t willingly put another queer person in the bird cage he’s been locked inside since baptism. Not all faith is so fickle, and not all churches are so couched in antiquated prejudice.

But this church is. He knows that, even if he finds abstract ways to reconcile it on his own all the time.

So before he can think too much about it, he grabs a napkin and pen from the coffee table and starts to jot down some information.

Charlie: I’m giving you the address of a congregation my friend attends. New Guy: Oh. Okay -- I sort of thought -- Charlie: I can’t promise that faith is going to fix everything for you, but you deserve a fair shot at it. At seeing community for what it could be, especially the kind of one you need right now. They’ll help you, I can guarantee that. That mess you’re talking about, they don’t have that there. It’s welcoming. They’ll take you in. I promise.

He can’t make the same guarantee here. He hands the napkin to the new guy, with the contact information for Yindra’s church scribbled on it.

New Guy: Okay. Um, thanks… Charlie: Charlie. New Guy: Charlie. I’m Eli. [ shaking his hand ] Well, I guess I’ll see you around, then. Maybe. Charlie: Maybe. Good luck. I hope you find what you’re looking for.

Eli nods gratefully, taking his coffee and inconspicuously making his exit. As Charlie heads back over to the resources table, Eleanor elbows him and notes that she saw him chatting it up. A potential new congregant? Charlie shrugs.

Charlie: Just looking for a chat, and some resources. Eleanor: Well, I hope you pointed him in the right direction. Charlie: [ after a beat ] Yeah, I think so. I think I gave him what he needed.

Eleanor smiles, Charlie returning it after a moment.

Yindra, pre-lap: I don’t know how I feel about it. The whole thing.

INT. L.A. COFFEE SHOP - DAY

Yindra, Jade, and Maya are having another gal pal coffee meet up, discussing the work developments of the week. Yindra is telling them all about the hustle of the girl group auditions, how insane it was to do a speed run of the process basically while going up against dozens of other girls at exactly the same time. Somehow, it was maybe worse than the usual audition process, even though the chances of getting a slot are technically more likely.

Jade: Well, you survived it. That’s one silver lining, right? Yindra: Yeah, I guess. [ a beat ] It just felt kind of weird, you know? The intensive inspection of the whole thing. Putting a girl group together is more particular and nitpicky than I thought. And the competition feels more in-your-face. Jade: Not to mention you have no idea what these other girls will even be like, and you might be stuck with them for years. [ realizing how bleak that sounds ] But, you know, I’m sure it’ll be fine. Maya: You’re braver than me, Amino. I know I could never be in a group like that. My star -- and my ego -- are far too big for a shared stage. Yindra, flatly: No kidding. Maya: But I’m sure you slayed. They’d have to be fools not to realize you’re by far the creme de la creme. Hopefully they have the sense to see that. So you get the gig, survive two or three years of mediocre pop drivel singing killer harmonies, then break out and have your Camila moment.

Got it all figured out, don’t you, Maya? Even so, she continues to emphasize how she’s so sure she could never do that. No, she’s very fortunate to have gotten so lucky to have awesome producers who see her potential. Couldn’t be more epic, everything according to plan.

You might even believe her contentment if she wasn’t selling it so hard. Jade and Yindra exchange a side-eye, but don’t comment, sipping their coffee. The more time they spend with her, the faster they’re realizing sometimes you just need to let Maya be Maya.

Yindra: Anyway. Did y’all see the stuff about Isa on Twitter? That clash with the paparazzi is all over the place. Jade: Ugh, I know. I feel so bad. Maya: Don’t pity them. Isa is a badass, they’ll power through all this noise. Jade: I know you’re right. Yindra: Even so, I guess I should be grateful. The girl group struggle is one thing, but at least I’m not under a microscope before I even get the chance to make a name for myself.

INT. MACNAMARA HOME - STUDY - DAY

Indeed, it’s not fun. That’s why Isa is more than willing to take guidance, dutifully coming to join Sydney for their media etiquette touch base. The assistant has set up a temporary crisis center in the office that rarely gets used anyway, with about three laptops open and a cell phone that cannot seem to stop ringing.

She’s just abruptly hanging up on one publicity vulture when Isa steps inside, catching a full glimpse of how draining managing this PR disaster must be. Unsurprisingly, Sydney’s patience is below zero at the moment.

Isa: Sounds like you’ve got things under control. I wouldn’t call again if I were on the other side of that reception. Sydney: Glad you think so. I wasn’t trained in PR, but thankfully, being a bitch is a natural skill.

It might sound more humorous if there wasn’t so much exhaustion in her tone. Isa awkwardly comes and sits in the armchair opposite the desk, trying their best to put their best foot forward. Whatever Sydney thinks they should do, they’ll do their best to make it happen.

Isa: I know I messed up with the thing with the paparazzi. I was… overwhelmed, and I didn’t handle it right. I made things worse, and I don’t want to do that. All I want to do is make this as easy for the MacNamaras as possible.

Sydney nods, getting to her feet. She comes to lean against the front of her desk, crossing her arms. Lucky for Isa, she has a simple solution to all their problems.

Sydney: Leave.

Isa blinks, not sure they heard her correctly. Is she serious?

Isa: What? Sydney: You wanted the easy remedy to this circus? That’s it. Leave.

None of this was a problem before Isa showed up. The MacNamaras did a great job of balancing their celebrity and privacy, and no one was compelled to try and dig deeper. That’s how Zachary prefers it; he’s a very private person.

Sydney: I’ve been his assistant for years, and he’s never had a scandal like this. He’s always been forthright when necessary, careful with his words, well-intentioned in his actions. He’s maintained public goodwill for decades, rightfully so, because he is a good man who loves to act. We’ve worked hard to create a balance that works for him. We’re very protective of it. [ eyeing them ] Then you show up, and lo and behold, the castle comes crumbling down.

Isa’s blood runs cold. They can’t say they disagree with that assessment, but they weren’t prepared to have it thrown in their face so bluntly.

Isa: I know Zachary cares about his privacy. That’s part of the reason he split with my mom. I never wanted to change that. When I came, I didn’t plan to -- Sydney: You know, that’s the part I can’t figure out. That’s what doesn’t make sense to me. Why did you come? He goes nineteen years without a word, no clue you even exist, and then all of a sudden, you appear out of the blue. You claim your blood line, and then suddenly you’re here to soak it all in. Why now? Isa: I… I didn’t know about him until last year. Val never told me -- Sydney: But even then, when you found out, it’s not like you jumped on a plane. You kept your distance. Wrote letters and stuff. Isa: I’m not great at socializing. Sydney: Trust me, that part I figured out. I’m sure the paparazzi you attacked would agree. Isa: I didn’t want to -- I didn’t want to rush things. I waited years to know my dad, I didn’t want to fuck it up. Then once it felt like we knew each other, like… like it wouldn’t be completely awkward -- Sydney: I just can’t help but think it’s strange how once you decide to show up, get a little more face time in with Zachary, that’s when this news suddenly breaks. It could’ve broken any time in the last nineteen years, yet here we are, when you’re conveniently here to keep popping up in the tabloids. Isa: [ with a blank stare ] I’m sorry -- do you think I planned this?

Sydney certainly isn’t not saying that… as protective of Zachary as she is, it’s crossed her mind more than once. Isa fell out of the public eye significantly once Valerie died -- now that’s certainly picking up again, isn’t it? Isa scoffs.

Isa: Believe me, this attention is the last thing I want. I hated it with Val, and I hate it even more now. Sydney: And yet you’re more than happy to scrap with a paparazzi. For a laugh, I guess? Isa: Like I said, I didn’t mean to do that. I just -- lost control, I got overwhelmed --

Kind of like they feel right now. This isn't how they expected this conversation to go. They weren’t expecting to be bombarded with all their insecurities point blank, to be accused of orchestrating the exact nightmare they’re so desperate not to let swallow their new delicate balance whole.

Welcome to Hollywood, I guess. But Sydney doesn’t buy their innocent act. She’s been in Hollywood long enough to know people have ulterior motives -- she’s seen all the tricks.

Sydney: You think you’re the first one to claim Zachary knocked their mom up, or that he had a fling with them and paid them off, or any other batshit story to mar his rep and make a quick buck? You’re not. You’re just lucky enough to be the first person where it has a sliver of truth.

That’s all Isa is apparently -- the conclusion of a sad, toxic scandal that needs to be reburied.

Sydney: I don’t know what you want from Zachary, but I can tell you he doesn’t need this drama in his life. He doesn’t play these games. So if you really don’t want to take advantage of him, if your intent is as pure as you say it is, then I’ve told you the only thing you can really do to help. Leave, and get out of the circus while you still can. While there’s still reputations to salvage. [ looking them over ] Otherwise, I need to go back to cleaning up your mess.

With that, Isa is effectively dismissed. They’re so stunned, they don’t even have the mind to be angry. They get up and exit the study in a daze, Sydney releasing a resigned sigh as she goes back to battling the media maelstrom on behalf of her boss.

INT. CHARLIE’S CHURCH - DAY

The event has wrapped up for the afternoon, only Charlie and Eleanor left to clean up the remainder of the supplies. Eleanor seems quite pleased with the turnout that day, and thanks Charlie for being willing to hang around so long.

Eleanor: I know you probably have better things you could’ve done… Charlie: Mom, it’s fine. Like I said, I’m happy to help.

It was fun, getting to chat with people. The whole week has been nice, seeing how his mom gives back to the community and engaging more with it. He really liked the experience at the food bank especially -- he may go back on his own sometime soon.

Charlie: Think I’d probably prefer to help the food line or something, since I’m able, but either way it was nice to be helpful. After all that time abroad doing whatever, it feels good to refocus.

Like everything else in his life, he’s going to find a balance. Where he can care for himself, but give back and care for everyone else too. Eleanor is impressed with his outlook.

Eleanor: Not many boys your age would share that goal. Not that I’m all that surprised -- you’ve always been wise beyond your years.

And when he was younger, it made her a bit nervous for him, but now it’s clearly paying off. Just look at how he’s grown… Eleanor pauses before elaborating, confessing that she was especially surprised he was so willing to jump back into their church since he got back. Coming to service with them regularly, volunteering, doing the winter showcase again. She just wasn’t sure… when he went abroad, she didn’t know if his commitment to God would last the vacation.

On the contrary, Charlie couldn’t disagree more.

Charlie: I definitely didn’t see it like that. If anything, I think I’m more into my faith now than I was before. Eleanor: Really? Charlie: Yeah. I got a lot of time to think about it, and stuff, really figure out what my relationship with God is supposed to be. Understand my faith, and how I want to carry it with me in the everyday. I feel like… I’ve always liked it, exploring religion, but I think before I just more inherited the version you and dad passed onto me. Now, it feels stronger, because it’s my own.

Honestly, Eleanor couldn’t be more relieved to hear it. One of her greatest fears was that he’d go off and become someone unrecognizable, some heathen totally devoid of the values they spent so long imparting on him. But that thankfully doesn’t seem to be the case.

Regardless of how they may define their faith, they still share it. For now, that feels like a victory.

INT. NYU - DANCE STUDIO - DAY

Nigel shows up to rehearsal, surprised to find Vanessa already in the studio. Apparently, she’s been there for a while. Her old choreography sheets for her routine are scattered across the floor, some scratched out and others torn up. Looks like she’s felt compelled to start over…

But she does not want to talk about it. She dodges any questions Nigel might have when he arrives, claiming she just wants to get to work on his assignment. Not in the mood to chat. Nigel raises his hands in surrender, offering no complaints.

Vanessa, grateful for his acquiescence, dives right into tutoring without missing a beat.

INT. NYU APARTMENT - DAY

Zay doesn’t have nearly as much luck, disappointed when Lucas opens the door to Isa and Riley’s apartment. He asks if Riley is around, stepping past Lucas without waiting for an invitation.

Zay: I have my check-in with my professor tomorrow, and I was hoping to get just one more bit of advice from her on it. Mainly that I am sure she’s gonna piss me off, and need some Riley-brand tranquilizers to keep me from popping off. Lucas: Sorry, she’s not here. Though I promise you she’d rather be. Otherwise, I’m not gonna be much help.

No kidding. Zay sighs, flopping onto the couch and draping his arm over his eyes. Lucas seems hesitant that he isn’t… like… leaving, but he’s not going to push. They have enough friction with one another, he doesn’t need to create more.

Lucas: I would guess if Riley were here, she’d say something like… take deep breaths, keep your cool, don’t say anything you’ll regret. Talk to them how you’d want to be spoken to yourself, or whatever. Zay: Sounds kind of weak coming from you, but not too bad a guess. Lucas: [ with a shrug ] I get Riley-brand advice quite a bit, so. Not that I’m any good at using it.

Zay snorts. He drops his arms to his sides, then crosses them and tosses Lucas a look.

Zay: How are things going with you? Still shit? Lucas: Uh, well, they’ve actually been shittier. I got fired, but apparently that’s not a bad thing in this specific circumstance? Zay: Wow. Good for you. Lucas: I know, I defy cosmic destruction every day it seems.

For once, he may actually be in better shape stress wise than Zay, which is saying something. Not a badge Zay is necessarily happy to be wearing. All he can hope is that once these auditions are done, he’ll climb back to a stable position and stop having to overthink everything.

Lucas: Have you like… talked to your girlfriend about it? Since you guys are going through the same stuff. Zay: … no. Lucas: I just asked because -- I mean, Riley doesn’t deal with half the shit I do, thank fuck, but even so I would go to her. If I needed help. So I just figured -- Zay: No, we’re not talking about it. Lucas: O… kay then. [ a beat ] Why?

Lucas, this is really not the topic to push buttons on… Zay grows defensive, sitting upright.

Zay: ‘Cause we’re just not. It’s not exactly any of your business. Lucas: [ raising his hands in surrender ] All right. Sorry I asked. Zay: I didn’t ask for your advice. I wanted Riley. Just my luck she’s not here and I got stuck with you instead.

I mean, tell him something he doesn’t know, Zay. He’s not trying to act like he is anywhere near Riley’s level of emotional expertise. He just thought he’d offer his two cents, rather than just awkwardly sit there in silence since Zay just waltzed in without invitation.

Lucas: And I’m just saying, it’s kind of weird that you’re like, not talking to Vanessa about this. Or… anything.

Of all the times Lucas chooses to speak -- even if he’s objectively right. Bad move, bad move! Zay has had just about enough of people commenting on his approach to his relationships. Naturally, the straw to break the camel’s back would be Lucas James Friar. He scoffs a laugh.

Zay: I cannot believe you of all people are saying this shit to me right now. Let alone trying to tell me how to communicate in a relationship. Lucas: I’m -- that’s not what I’m  -- Zay: I’m sick of everyone getting in my business. It’s my relationship! I’d think I’d know how to handle it! I know what I want. Lucas: Okay. Zay: But no, everyone is always throwing their opinion at me. Everyone always has a damn opinion. I am working my ass off to make this thing work, and yet no one is fucking satisfied with it. Everyone keeps talking at me like I’m deflecting, or acting out of my ass, or making some big mistake. Well, I’m not. That’s exactly what I’m not doing. I’m doing the sensible thing. Lucas: Okay… Zay: I want a relationship, so I got one. I’m not fucking it up. I’m not waiting around. I’m making it work with someone who is cool, who is real, and who wants to be with me too. What’s so fucking wrong with that? Why is that not enough?

Somehow, this doesn’t seem to be about communication anymore… Lucas clearly hit a nerve, and boy did he hit it hard. He tries to backtrack.

Lucas: I seriously wasn’t saying all that. I don’t know you like that to be commenting on your shit. Zay: Exactly, man. You don’t know shit. [ with a huff ] It’s just blowing my mind that you of all people have the audacity to talk to me about relationships, as if you’re not always one step away from fumbling the best thing that’s ever happened to you. Lucas: You think I don’t know that? Zay: Like, as if Riley’s not always taking two steps back to make sure you can keep up? Like she doesn’t do all the emotional labor in your relationship? Lucas: … did she say that? Zay, exasperated: Man, you don’t even tell her you love her! She has to decode all your bullshit just to convince herself that everything is under control. But no, I’m the one who needs to improve my talk game. Give me a fucking break.

It’s clear a lot of this has been building in Zay’s chest for a while, and Lucas just happened to step on the landmine to make it explode. He triggered it, and just by pure luck, Lucas is an easy target for Zay to take his anger out on. It’s barely even personal.

But whether or not Zay meant to be so cutting, the shrapnel stings all the same.

This is exactly why they don’t interact without buffers. Although his anger is still bubbling, even Zay can feel he stepped a bridge too far. He’s slightly sheepish as he decides it’s best for both of them if he dips. No sense waiting for Riley if they might kill one another in the meantime.

Zay: Oh, but you know what? Thanks anyway. Because now that I’ve gotten all riled up by you, hopefully I won’t have any left when I sit down for the most grating check-in of my life. [ sardonic ] You really do have a gift, Friar.

He leaves the apartment in a huff, leaving Lucas alone and uncertain in the aftermath of their chemical reaction.

Jennifer, pre-lap: You have to be careful, measure precisely. If you mess with this recipe, it can go seriously wrong.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - DAY

Farkle is on the phone with JENNIFER MINKUS, the recipient of her smotherly guidance as he painstakingly puts together a meal for the dinner he planned with Jordan. He’s got flour smudged on his forehead, and has clearly put a lot of time and effort into the endeavor. Once he slides part of the dish into the oven, he thanks his mom for the help.

She’s more than happy to assist, and it’s nice to talk to him anyway. It feels as though he’s been so busy, so caught up in everything, that he rarely calls home these days.

Farkle: Like you said, I’m just busy. Jennifer: I know. And we’re proud of you. [ a beat ] I just hope Jordan is going to appreciate that dinner. That recipe is one of my favorites -- passed down from your bubbe to me. It’s not an easy feat to pull it off. Farkle: I know. But it’s damn good, that’s why I picked it. Jennifer: And you have impeccable taste. You get that from my side of the family.

Farkle rolls his eyes, but a fond smile graces his lips. With an unexpected nudge, Jennifer keeps on this topic, insisting that Jordan should know just how lucky he is. Farkle is clearly putting a lot of effort in here.

Jennifer: I hope he realizes that. And appreciates you. Farkle: He does. He will. [ a beat ] Why are you being so weird about it? Jennifer: I’m not. I’m simply saying. [ with a pause ] I’ve just been… your father and I have been curious as to how things are going. With you two. Farkle, too quick: Fine. We’re doing great. Jennifer: You never did tell us how your birthday went. Did he surprise you? Farkle: Yes, he did. We went to an exclusive restaurant he’d been waiting months to show me. Brand new meal that night and everything. It was very thoughtful. Jennifer: Wow. That does sound incredible. [ a beat ] Did he get you anything? I hope you saw the frame Maya picked out -- Farkle: Yes, mom, I got it. And why does it matter if Jordan got me anything? As if relationships are all about things? Jennifer: No. No, Farkle, that’s not what I’m saying at all. I’m only wondering -- Farkle: Maybe that’s how things are to you, since you and dad are all about money, but maybe I’m different. Maybe I care about more than materialism.

Whoa. Okay then. It’s really not a good day for hitting nerves. But maybe they’re so sensitive for a reason -- maybe the bombs that keep going off are just covering for the foundations crumbling beneath the wreckage anyway.

The more the stories you tell yourself start to lose their power, the harder you have to fight to keep them afloat.

Jennifer is not pleased with what he just said, or the tone he used, but she doesn’t push him. She doesn’t reprimand. Instead, she grows softer -- once again trying to comfort a son that she isn’t sure can hear her anymore.

Jennifer: That wasn’t what I meant. Farkle: I know. I… I’m sorry. Jennifer: It’s okay. I only wanted to know because… all I want is for you to be happy. And I am so excited that you’re getting to experience a relationship, that you’re having such a good time. I just… hope you’re okay. I hope you’re happy.

And in full disclosure, the way he just snapped at her signals crazed rather than content. It should be so easy to rebuke, to say otherwise. To assure his mother he’s as happy as he’s ever been.

But the words don’t come out; his mouth goes dry. All he can manage is a weak reassurance, believable only with the shield of telephonic distortion.

Farkle: I’m fine. I promise.

As long as he insists, there’s nothing more to say. As a gentle, melancholic guitar line floats in…

INT. AUDITION STAGE - DAY

Song Cue ♫ ♪ “Fire And Rain” as performed by James Taylor || Performed by Charlie Gardner

It seems Charlie has landed on his song for his auditions, keeping it simple with his guitar and a James Taylor classic. It’s just him on a darkened stage, spotlight on him as he sits on a stool with his six-string. Unlike Zay and Vanessa, he has no trouble understanding the assignment he was never given; the choice reflects plenty about him and his story without outright saying anything at all.

And it captures the strengths Charlie brings to performing best -- subtle nuances, cracks of emotion in a gentle delivery, a simple but effective display of his vocal range.

Won’t you look down upon me Jesus You gotta help me make a stand You just got to see me through another day

At the same time, the number is intercut with another half to his performance -- dance. On that same stage, stool gone, he runs through lyrical choreography paired with the track. It’s unclear whether or not this is actually part of his audition process or not, but that hardly matters. In his soul, dance is always part of the creative expression.

I’ve seen sunny days that I thought would never end I’ve seen lonely times when I could not find a friend

The performance is understated in contrast to the high-intensity tracks peppering the rest of the episode, but that makes it all the more refreshing. While everyone else is reevaluating, deflecting, crunched for time, Charlie isn’t hiding. He already did his marathon.

But I always thought that I’d see you again…

Here, in this performance, he simply lets himself breathe.

INT. NYU - DANCE STUDIO - NIGHT

As Charlie’s improv fades away, we return to the studio, where Vanessa and Nigel are doing cool down stretches. It’s their last rehearsal before Nigel has to face the music tomorrow, so he asks what her diagnosis of his prospects are.

Vanessa: Hm… you want the honest truth? No bullshit. Nigel: Please. No bullshit. Vanessa: Well… [ with a smile ] You’ll be fine. You put in the effort, and that’ll do you enough favors. And I think you’re right, you really aren’t too shabby. Nigel: You have no idea how much of a relief that is. God bless you.

Vanessa chuckles, shaking her head. Nigel thanks her sincerely, emphasizing that she really was a big help.

Vanessa: Thanks. I don’t know that I ever thought of myself as a teacher. Nigel: You were great. Seriously, 10/10. And way better than Zay, though like I said, that’s not hard. Vanessa: He’s seriously that bad? I mean, I believe it, but… Nigel: Yeah. I say that with nothing but love. Man is my best friend, and a talent beyond measure, but his patience is like under the floor. A teacher he is not. To be honest, the only one in my class who was really good at teaching others was Charlie. If I was ever having choreo issues, he was first choice for advice. That kind of annoyed Zay, actually, but also he got it. It’s not like he could argue on my reasoning. Vanessa: Right… he does have a thing about competition. Nigel: Nah, it wasn’t like that. I think it was more just that he’s my best friend, and yet I was going to someone else for dance tips when that’s his thing. It would be like him going to Farkle for Shakespeare insight -- which, yes, would bug me. [ a beat ] But Charlie was the better tutor. Everyone knew that. Zay wasn’t going to try and act like that wasn’t true, and honestly, I think he preferred it that way. Saved him annoyances, obviously, but also… it just worked. Zay and Charlie were the capital D dancers of our class, no question, but they didn’t really compete. Vanessa: Based on Turner so far, I find that hard to imagine. Nigel: I mean, part of it is Charlie. He’s like, super non-confrontational and hates competition. That definitely helps keep the egos from clashing -- not that there’s any shortage of that in our class. [ with a shrug ] That was just how Zay and Charlie were. They respected each other’s talent, but more than that, they were good friends. Real friends. Like, they balanced each other out. 

Rather than inflaming one another. Vanessa can’t help but make the comparison in her head. Nigel has no idea of the history between Zay and Charlie, completely oblivious to the layers that go beyond friendship, yet his statements make their point without even trying.

With her and Zay, she isn’t sure there’s any balance at all. She likes him, but they’re twin fire signs. Can feeding that endless inferno ever be sustainable -- or are they battling a blaze that is meant to burn itself out?

She can’t think about this right now. She has the biggest audition of her life so far around the corner -- which is exactly why she and Zay aren’t engaging at the moment.

So she changes the subject. She claims that Nigel will probably be fine with his classes, especially if he’s just trying to slip through this course with a passing grade. His standing at NYU shouldn’t be terribly threatened. Nigel appreciates that… but between the two of them, that’s kind of the last thing on his mind.

Nigel: I haven’t really told anyone else this yet, but… I don’t know. About NYU. Vanessa: Really? Nigel: Yeah. I’ve been looking at some schools in the UK -- I’ve always liked the West End culture, and based on what my former classmate tells me, the vibes are pretty different. Plus, I mean, being only miles away from Shakespeare country? Sounds like a fever dream.

Vanessa smiles, slightly amused. The spark is there in Nigel’s eyes as he talks about it… but then he shrugs, stretching his legs.

Nigel: I don’t know, though. It’s kind of a pipe dream. Something I’ve been humoring to get through this hell year. I wouldn’t even be able to transfer until next spring, like auditioning in the fall and stuff, so… and my parents would never go for it. So whatever. [ with a self-conscious laugh ] I don’t even know why I’m like, dumping all this on you.

Sometimes, the things we really want to say just find a way of slipping out. Sometimes we just want someone else to hear us out. Vanessa contemplates for a long moment, then decides to speak again.

Vanessa: I think you should go for it. If that’s what you really want. Nigel: … yeah? Vanessa: Yeah. I know I don’t know your whole backstory, but… I mean, obviously I get wanting to transfer. Even though it’s scary. [ a beat ] And with your parents, you should at least tell them. Maybe they’ll resist, but maybe they won’t. But… take it from me, trying to do things the way everyone else wants you to is a recipe for disaster. Especially with parents. Way I see it, the only way you’ll confirm that they’ll never support it is if you never ask.

True enough… Nigel considers that. He still has a lot of thinking to do, but he thanks Vanessa again for all her guidance this week.

INT. TOPANGA’S HOME - KITCHEN - NIGHT

The reason for Riley’s earlier absence becomes clear as we find her cleaning dishes at Topanga’s. She’s just had a lovely, overly polite dinner with Topanga’s new boyfriend, who TOPANGA LAWRENCE has just said goodbye to as she comes to join Riley in the kitchen.

Topanga: So. What did you think?

Riley offers a smile, continuing to scrub as an excuse not to look too long at her. She claims he seems nice, and quite professional.

Topanga: Ugh, isn’t he just? He was too humble to discuss it much, but he’s one of the best CFOs in the area. You should see his LinkedIn page.

Far cry from Cory. Didn’t quite have his corny charm, but Riley tries not to dig too deep. She gave up trying to understand her parents long ago -- all she can do now is keep the peace.

Riley: He seems like a good fit for you. I’m glad you like him.

Topanga beams, patting her shoulder.

Topanga: Has your dad started dating again yet? I hope he’s not holding himself back too much on my account. Riley: I don’t know. We haven’t talked about it. Topanga: I do think he’ll be much happier once he finds the right person. Someone more… in his league. Like me and Chase. We have so much in common. Cory needs to find a woman like that. Someone his speed. They say the relationships that are happiest are those where the two halves are equally matched.

Whatever that means. We get it, Topanga, you think Cory is beneath you. You’re still the one who married him. Riley lets her prattle on, knowing it’s not worth getting into it… until Topanga makes the unwise move of surmising the same about her.

Topanga: It’s advice I’d give you, too. You know, to keep those things in mind. When you’re considering your options. Riley: Keep what in mind? Topanga: Your worth. Finding your match. Doing what will make you happiest.

Sweet sentiment, but the implication is loud and clear. Riley stops cleaning, giving Topanga a cautious look.

Riley: I am happy. I feel entirely confident in my worth. Topanga: That’s good. That’s great. Riley: Lucas makes me feel that way. I don’t have any reservations about whether or not we’re adequately matched.

Sweet sentiment… but something Topanga does not seem to agree with. It’s all in her expression -- the slight purse of her lips, the ever so narrowed eyes. She chooses her words carefully, but it doesn’t matter, because anything she says next is bound to cause sparks.

Topanga: Riley, I’m only saying these things because I care about you. Because I want what’s best for you. Riley: Oh, do you? Topanga: Yes. And I’m speaking from personal experience when I say marrying beneath your worth is a guarantee for misery. Riley: [ in disbelief ] Oh my fucking God.

Topanga frowns. She doesn’t need to speak that way. Only yes, Riley really does, because she is absolutely fed up with this.

Topanga: With what? My looking out for your best interest? Riley: Don’t be silly, mom. This is not about me. This is about you. Topanga: Me? Riley: You couldn’t care less about Lucas unless it directly impacts you. When I first brought him around, you were delighted, because Cory doesn’t like him and you wanted to have a leg up on him by “approving” when he didn’t. Topanga: That is not -- Riley: But now, you’re backtracking, because suddenly it doesn’t make you look good. What are all your new fancy friends and boyfriend going to think, when they learn your oh so gifted daughter is dating a diner worker? Topanga: That’s not what I think at all. You’re completely misrepresenting my intentions. And I’m less concerned about the diner, and more about how I heard he got fired from his job at the board? In less than a couple months? Riley: Oh, so that you hear about. Topanga: That is not a strong track record, Riley! Let alone from someone who skipped out on college. Riley: He deferred! For a totally understandable reason, which you’d know if you listened to literally a word I say -- Topanga: I only want you to have the best. You deserve the best. Riley: Lucas is the best. Topanga: He lacks drive. He has a record. Not to mention he’s not very affectionate, at least that I’ve seen --

Okay, maybe around you, Topanga. Now we’re just saying everything on our minds apparently. Riley literally can’t believe what she’s hearing -- she nearly covers her ears, shaking her head in utter shock.

Riley: This is insane. Topanga: I mean, sincerely, does he ever tell you he loves you? I can’t recall ever hearing it -- Riley: Maybe because it’s not for you! And I’m sorry, mom, but I’m really not interested in hearing a lecture on how to show love from you of all people. Topanga: What the hell is that supposed to mean? Riley: You should know. You know what I grew up with? You and dad were the most grossly affectionate couple ever. You told each other you loved each other constantly. Multiple times a day. I would reckon I learned to say I love you so fast because it was basically on repeat -- I’m just grateful I didn’t inherit your shallow outlook on it too. When I say I love someone, I damn well mean it.

And look at them now. The point is, words are just words -- and you don’t know a relationship just by seeing it from a glance. Topanga has no idea what Lucas is like, or how he is with her.

Riley: You know what I do know, though? I know that Lucas never gives me backhanded compliments. I know that when he is speaking to me, it’s always genuine, because he doesn’t waste the words otherwise. I know that he lets me hog the blankets because I sleep cold but never, ever complains, and that he lets me pull him into every dance even though he has two left feet. He lost his job because he was fighting for something, made a personal sacrifice for the greater good, and he did it without hesitation because that is exactly the kind of man he is. I know that even though he can’t stand musicals and is a certified martian about just about every piece of media, when I look out into the audience I will always find him there. Because he will always show up for me. Every time.

Unlike some people who can’t be bothered to disrupt their oh so busy lives to see their daughter perform. That includes opening night of Ghost, where she’s sure she’ll see Lucas…

Riley: But I won’t be seeing you. You can consider your invitation revoked. Topanga, affronted: I’m sorry? Riley: I’d rather only have people there who are excited to support me, whoever that may be. Not the idealized version they’ve been painting in their heads to impress everyone else. [ off her shock ] Oh, mom. Don’t look so hurt. Let’s not pretend you were actually planning on coming anyway.

Regardless, they’re done here. Riley isn’t taking this judgment, not anymore. She thanks Topanga for the dinner and drops the remaining dishes in the sink, going to grab her jacket and head for the door.

INT. L.A. APARTMENT - NIGHT

The streak of less-than-stellar dinners continues on opposite coasts, Jordan having arrived at Farkle’s for their pre-festival dinner celebration. It doesn’t feel very celebratory, though. Despite all the effort Farkle clearly put into it, from the food to his outfit to setting up the table with their best dishes, Jordan doesn’t seem impressed. It’s not even that he’s unimpressed -- he would have to care even a little for that.

Instead, he’s just kind of there, phoning in the date while Farkle practically hums with impatience across the table from him. Waiting for a signal that he’s having a good time, that he noticed the effort… anything to assure him he hasn’t totally lost him. That he hasn’t lost his allure and become utterly, purely disposable.

Farkle: … do you like it? Jordan: Hm? Farkle: The food? It’s a family recipe. It took me a few hours to -- Jordan: Oh, yeah, it’s good. Bit salty, but that’s okay. I could use the extra pep with all the time I’ve been spending in the edit bay.

Which is clearly where his head is, since that’s all they’ve managed to talk about so far. What he’s working on. What he’ll do next. The topic of Farkle’s effort comes and goes like the wind, and he can’t think of a way to get it back without seeming desperate.

Farkle: I just really wanted to show you how excited I am for you. With the festival slot. I know you worked hard for it. [ a beat ] That’s why I hope you like everything. Jordan: Aw, Minkus. You flatter me. And yes, I do. It’s all very cute.

Okay… thanks… Jordan doesn’t have anything else to offer on the matter. In fact, he admits with faux reluctance that as much as he’s enjoying it, he thinks he has to duck out early -- final prep for the film festival mix is waiting. Farkle gets that, right?

Farkle: … yeah. Yeah, of course. I know how important it is to you.

Jordan smiles, leaning over and giving him a kiss. He pats his cheek.

Jordan: You’re one of a kind, babe.

Farkle beams. Finally, that’s what he’s been waiting for… but it ends just as quickly, Jordan getting distracted when he sees his phone light up with a call. He gets to his feet.

Jordan: Oop, gotta take this. Been waiting for this call. I’ll see you this weekend, okay? And keep an eye out -- I’ll text dress code deets. I’ll want us to coordinate appropriately.

Farkle nods, but Jordan doesn’t even see it. He’s answering the phone and already on his way out, pulling open the apartment door. Even with all that, it’s not until Farkle overhears the start of his conversation with his friend that something finally gives.

Jordan: Hey. Yeah, well duh. [ with a laugh ] Come on, of course I’d remember your birthday.

It’s like Farkle’s been slapped. Eyes wide and blood draining from his face as the cold seeps in. It’s words not even meant for him, not intended for his ears, and yet they say everything. It illuminates everything in bright, glaring neon, all of the tarnished, gilded cover Farkle had been throwing over their relationship in his mind.

Just like that, the veil drops. Farkle’s stunned for a minute, at a complete loss…

Then he frowns, a sharp edge reigniting in his blue eyes.

Break 2.

[ ← Last (Part 1, half 2) ] [ 409 Hub ] [ Next (Part 2, half 2) → ]

[dreamwritesimagines]

the way i SQUEAKED when i saw the 3 Years Later and then followed by Chaos AND THEN EDMUND AAAHH!!! but “You were beginning to understand your mother.” THIS MADE ME LAUGH SO MUCH ALSKALSK Cassie is up there cackling saying ‘what goes around comes around’ LMAO

“Oh we lost him!” // “We didn’t lose him darling, he’s somewhere in the house. We just don’t know where yet.” this is like, the whole summary of their dynamic honestly lksalksalks Cherie has the dramatics, Anthony has the logic, but both of them aren’t technically wrong LMAO

AAAH SHE’S PREGNANT !!!!! ....for a week roughly. Anthony’s reaction had me thinking she’s like, 7 months in with a big round belly jfc lksalsklakslkas “Anthony was already acting as if you were about to give birth at any time.” YEAH EXACTLY LOL we love a protective mans. 

“small hurricane” that’s so adorable and so frickin accurate i mean “surrounded by the knocked over inkpot and multiple papers” dear lord this child ksksksksks

“somehow throwing both English and French words together and Anthony pressed his lips to his hair, rocking him in his arms.” MY HEART IS BURSTING AH THIS IS SO CUTE

“Y/N, are you sure you should be carrying—” at this rate, Anthony is about hire a tiny pony and a carriage for Cherie to ride as she goes around inside the house laksalks

“It’ll take them a while to draw a bath.” i mean, i honestly didn’t know why i was expecting him to calm down a lil after being a father but clearly not alskalsk if anything, he got even worse LMAO bc they have to be find time for it now that Edmund is around and they can’t do it as much anymore so i’m sure Anthony Impatient™️ Bridgerton is going to make those times count as much as he can alksalsla

OLLIE AND ADA. omg there’s so many kids alsalkslakslklks. Edmund the little devil. honestly not surprised i mean have u met his parents? LMAO but seriously, all this kid talk is so funny and so cute. but gosh THEY SEEM SO GROWN UP LIKE ELIAS CECE EVERYONE. idk why i’m acting like they’re graying already it’s only been 3 years BUT STILL

“Especially with the cultural difference, the baby will be British and Edmund is French.” this had me so frickin confused for sec like what is she on about??? laksalsla “We made him in France, in Paris! And we made this one in London. There’s got to be some cultural difference Anthony, that’s just how it works.” nope. not how it works. LMAO. for all u know, Edmund got made on the journey there, whether the inn or the carriage soooooooo nationality unclear LKASLAKS

“I love you, Viscountess Bridgerton.”

“And I love you, Viscount Bridgerton,”

gosh, this was such a sweet epilogue. the Cherie *wink wink* on top of the cake should i say alakslaks. but like i said, absolutely so so happy to have gotten on this journey with u dee! this is so bittersweet bc i’m going to miss it but hey, it was a wild but very enjoyable ride one that i will forever cherish and remember so that counts as something <3 it makes me so happy that my long ass essays made your day alksalks. you’re amazing and you should be proud of yourself for this!!! i know i am!! and honestly, thank you for sharing this with us! wishing u the best for your other projects and sending you love always! i’m prolly going to pop by and read all the HCs but until next time! see ya <3

– TM Anon™️

Omg omg TM ANON DARLING HIIII! ❤🥰😍

Lollll oh yeah, Edmund is even more chaotic than Cherie, and that’s saying something 😂 Cassie would be laughing so hard at this😂

this is like, the whole summary of their dynamic honestly lksalksalks Cherie has the dramatics, Anthony has the logic, but both of them aren’t technically wrong LMAO YES! Exactly! 😂 They both have their point, Cherie just has to be dramatic about it 😂

Oh Anthony will be like that throughout the pregnancy, and I think he was like that when she was pregnant with Edmund as well! 😂 The moment he found out he kept acting like she was due at any time meanwhile Cherie wasn’t even showing yetl 😂

Small hurricaneeeee!

Dad!Anthony is so soft with Edmundddd! ❤

at this rate, Anthony is about hire a tiny pony and a carriage for Cherie to ride as she goes around inside the house laksalks I AM DYING AT THIS😂 Can you imagine if he came up with a suggestion like this?! 😂 He’d even go like “Edmund would love a pony too!”

i mean, i honestly didn’t know why i was expecting him to calm down a lil after being a father but clearly not alskalsk if anything, he got even worse LMAO bc they have to be find time for it now that Edmund is around and they can’t do it as much anymore This is so trueeee! Like, I think Cherie was at first a bit worried whether it would change everything, because she really really enjoys ehm…as she would say, ”marital bliss” with him😂 But like, it just means they sneak around more, that’s the only thing that changed 😂

Lolll this is hilarious 😂😂 I think at least Elias is a bit calmer, especially after twins, he had to 😂 But their lives changed in those three years awww❤

for all u know, Edmund got made on the journey there, whether the inn or the carriage soooooooo nationality unclear LKASLAKS LOLLLL this is such a good point there 😂 I think Cherie will totally insist Edmund is French because she is totally convinced they made him there but I doubt they were just standing still in the carriage or the inn tbh 😈 So who knows? 😂

the Cherie *wink wink* on top of the cake I AM GIGGLING AT THIS!😂

Darling omg I really can’t thank you enough for being a part of this journey and giving me your wonderful support and analyses and comments, I always got so excited after every chapter to read your thoughts and analysis! ❤ And until the next week I always re-read them and they made me incredibly happy and I hope you know just how amazing you are and how your feedback is such an important encouragement and inspiration for the whole story and also how much you and your wonderful support mean to me❤❤

Omg I’m getting emotional so I will just finish it with this; I love you so much! ❤❤THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOUUU❤

[thenewnio]

Fantasy OC: Bibi

The magical Renlei Fountain transforms any living creature it touches into a human, regardless of species. The Dragon demonstrates the fountain's power by capturing a honeybee that got separated from its swarm and pouring Renlei water on it, turning it into a human girl and leaving the poor thing utterly confused and mortified. Initially uncomfortable in her newly human body, Bibi joins the good guys in hopes of returning to both her bee form and her hive, only to end up learning that being human is not that bad.

Character Tropes

Adorkable: As both a bee and a human.

Badass Adorable: Slowly but surely Takes a Level in Badass.

Bag of Kidnapping: The Kamen Brothers use this method to kidnap her, planning to take her to Dolph. However it doesn't go as well as planned when the others intervine.

Bemoaning the New Body: After being transformed, Bibi, horrified by her altered appearance, starts freaking out until Keith steps in.

Berserk Button: Destroying flowers or harming bees will cause her to lose her temper.

Damsel in Distress: Sometimes gets herself into dangerous situations.

Emergent Human: Thanks in most part to Keith, Bibi learns almost everything she needs to know about humanity.

Fatal Flaw: Impatience. Her tirelessly waiting around for one of her older sisters is what drove her to leave her swarm cluster, ultimately leading to her abduction and transfiguration into a human. She also often makes rash decisions in an attempt to speed things up that — more often than not — lead to trouble.

Freakiness Shame: Bibi is distraught upon becoming human, but Keith not only doesn't care, he knows she's actually cute in her new form.

Hot in Human Form: Is just as adorable as a human than she is as a bee.

Humanity Ensues: Bibi is transformed by Thiago into a human girl against her will via Renlei Fountain water. The other heroes promise to have her restored somehow.

I Am Not Pretty: Bibi initially thinks of her human self as ugly, due to believing that all humans are hideous, inscrutable entities, but Keith knows otherwise, and make sure she becomes aware of that.

It's All About Me: Tends to be somewhat self-centered sometimes.

Leeroy Jenkins: She's extremely stubborn and impatient, and as a result often runs headlong into a situation without really considering the consequences. This is toned down as she undergoes Character Development.

Morphic Resonance: When she turns into a girl, she keeps the golden tawny hair and large eyes that she had as a honeybee. Due to Magic Pants, the transformation also gives her clothes which match the colors of her bee form.

Mukokuseki: Bibi has very wide and round Moe eyes as a human, which invoke the similar shape of her eyes in her bee form.

Nice Girl: She's a kind individual and a loyal friend overall, though she can be a little cocky and self-absorbed at times.

Not Quite Back to Normal: She at first isn't able to speak the human language, but after being turned into a human and then being transformed back she retains the ability to speak to humans.

Over-the-Shoulder Carry: Once Bibi's been turned into a human, Brooks has to pull a Crisis Catch-and-Carry with this method after one of Mato's fireworks is accidentally set off. Bibi, understandably, isn't too happy about this.

Really Was Born Yesterday: She looks 13 in her human form, but she's really 21 days old at the time of her transformation, having just completed metamorphosis from a larva into a bee. Once transformed she struggles with walking on two legs as much as a toddler, and has to be carried to safety by Brooks.

Ridiculously Cute Critter: Even in her realistically-portrayed honeybee form, she still holds this element of adorableness.

Virtuous Bees: Bibi is an absolutely adorable honeybee who gets transformed into an equally adorable human girl.

Stumbling in the New Form: It takes some time for her to figure out how to walk in a human body. Before learning how to do so, she has to be carried.

Sweet Polly Oliver: After her rescue from the Kamen Brothers, the group has Bibi disguise herself as a regular human boy named Gabriel, or "Gabby". It fools everyone but Lola.

Uniqueness Value: After returning to her honeybee form she becomes unique because she's the only worker bee who can both talk to humans and know about love.

What Is This Thing You Call "Love"?: Experiences romantic love for the first time with Keith as a human, since only queen and drone bees have this knowledge. By the end she's the only worker bee to know what love is.

[returntosaturn271995]

Monday, July 31st: Sweep your floor

Today I experienced a problem that is also a gift...but still a problem. 

But in a gifty kind of way. 

Before I had my interview this morning with Power Digital (I got to the second round!) and got around to answering emails (got to the second round for MSL marketing as well), I decided today I was going to continue wanting to use the Nike Running app. After all, it got me to run 55 minutes last week. For those of you reading this (literally just me), that’s about an hour more than I usually run.

The interview ended. The coffee had me buzzing, I drank my collagen and applied my sunscreen and deodorant and my key lime sports bra and my giant headphones. I tied my Asics and put on Greta Van Fleet. 

And did one of the apps bonus easy runs: 7 minutes. A mile if you are decent at miles. I’m not yet decent but not indecent anymore. 

Low key? I felt bad, like I wasn’t adding to my progress. Which is crazy because a short run is still a run. It still completely counts, especially because it’s part of my daily walk to the beach and back so it’s not like I didn’t cover ground after that. I went faster than usual, bringing up my embarrassing average speed. I even got tired toward the end, so flexed my mental muscles there as well. 

The 35 minute run that’s on deck for this week just freaks me out a bit. What if I can’t do it? My furthest unbroken run is 22 minutes.

And the thing is, running for most of my daily walk has been a goal of mine for a while now. Somehow when I wasn’t looking it became easy for me to do. Too easy. Like did I even really do anything?

Same with Daily Yoga, I felt exhausted an hour ago and decided to just do 10 minutes of hip stretches. Even though my goal absolutely used to be just ten minutes a day, and when I was tired skipping over a practice wasn’t a big deal. But now 10 minutes makes me wonder if I’m getting more flexible, if I even can get more flexible without a longer session. 

Meditation, again, I haven’t skipped a day of mindfulness in 55 days. Earlier this year it was a big deal to get to 9 consecutive days. But I felt myself judging my “presence”. Wanting to hit that next step on the path to enlightenment. FYI, you don’t have to laugh with the universe to know that being goal oriented isn’t exactly the best way to kill your ego. The whole idea is to exist in the moment without judging yourself. Wondering if your spine can be straighter or your mind could be emptier is just a girl with OCD gnawing on her own chakras.  

I wanted to feel achievement and instead felt like my wheels were spinning. Ugh, I totally get this from Dad. He never heard good news that didn’t stress him out. 

I’m being consistent. I am improving. FAST. So why is it that when I take it easy, (a chapter of a book instead of the whole damn thing), it feels like I’m not doing enough? 

I used to think that if I could be the type of person who regularly did all these things that I’d be happy. My ceiling is now my floor and I’m impatient for the next ceiling. 

Stop. Feel the pride, goddamnit. Or one day you’ll be able to go 10 miles, and feel shitty about yourself because it wasn’t 11 miles. And then one day you’ll be dead and no one will give a fuck that you ran in the first place.  

When you’re establishing a new habit, it’s all about baby steps. Maybe it’s a good sign that I’m ready to take kid sized steps. But the initial efforts are what got me here. 

I swept my literal bedroom floors, then swiffered them, wiped down the dresser and bedside table, cleaned the mirror so as to not check myself out through a film of dust. I dragged the plant Katie left in to the corner of my room and read two chapters of 4000 weeks by Oliver Burkeman. The theme is there will never be a time in the future in which you will allow yourself to be calm, because you will just find new things to fret and plan for until you’re dead. 

You’re always going to have more emails. Today is enough. 

In “The Cost of Utopia”, the character Alexander Herzen is mourning the untimely death of his young son in a shipwreck. In this loss he comes to the realization that a child’s life is no less valuable even though he never was able to reach adult accomplishments: “Because children grow up, we think a child’s purpose is to grow up, but a child’s purpose is to be a child. Nature doesn’t disdain what only lives for a day. It pours the whole of itself into each moment...Life’s bounty is in its flow. Later is too late.” 

Just because I’m getting better doesn’t mean my purpose is out there in a land of dreamt potential. My purpose is in the here and now. Page by page, mile by mile, healthy choice after healthy choice. Maybe I’ll get there (I will) or maybe this is where I plateau, but I’m not going to stop cleaning my corner of the universe and sweeping this floor until it shines. I worked hard to get here and I’m going to honor the foundation I get to walk on, and yes, even take a little for granted. Later is not when I deserve to be happy.

Not when I actually got a lot of shit done today. 

[wolken-himmel]

In which Esme breaks into NRC, just so he can see (Y/n) again.

He may be sneaky, but the students there definitely won't tolerate any RSA student on their terrain.

Request by @kimmy-banana.

"Maybe I should have left my blazer at home... white doesn't seem to be that popular of a colour here."

Esme wiped beadlets of sweat off his forehead after having managed to evade a group of beastmen nearby. It had been a close call with their heightened senses, and they definitely would have been able to catch onto his scent if he had walked any closer. Luckily, he hadn't, thus managing to retain his undercover status. However, another obstacle seemed to draw close again — this time, two students that were about to meet him in the corridor.

Quick and light on his feet, Esme dove behind a large flower pot — just in time. A few seconds after he had taken shelter, the two peculiar students marched past him. To his relief, they seemed too busy to notice his presence — even if one of the two seemed to be only half-human, from what he deduced.

The brunet's blood ran cold when the buttons on his blazer bumped against the hardened clay of the flower pot. He held his breath, especially when one of the two students turned around to inspect the strange noise.

"Did you hear that, Sebek?"

His green-haired friend merely scoffed, seemingly impatient to continue on his merry way. "Hear what? That was just the wind," he muttered under his breath, a sense of urgency to his voice. "Besides, we should get back to searching for the young master."

"Perhaps he is with (Y/n)."

Esme perked up at the mentioning of that particular name.

"Never. You always get the strangest ideas, Silver," the half-fae replied before he whipped around and continued his way. His companion seemed taken aback at first, but simply followed him with a resigned sigh. Together, they rounded the corner, and exited the corridor to enter some inconspicuous room.

Esme's green eyes roamed the area with great care, and only when he was sure that he was all alone did he jump out from behind his hiding place. A grin decorated his face as he trudged onwards. "(Y/n), oh— just the one I am looking for!" he muttered to himself in satisfaction. His expression oozed of excitement as he quickened his pace. "Now, what did Che'nya say again about where I should go... run-down building with a huge front-porch full of dead trees..."

°°°

"So Che'nya didn't exaggerate when he said that my dear lives in a ruin, huh?"

As he approached the run-down mansion, he increasingly noticed the holes in the rooftop, as well as the missing floor panels in the front patio. The pitiful sight caused him to exhale in disappointment before he even properly set foot inside. "No but seriously... (Y/n) deserves better," he muttered to himself while brushing the loose ends of his headband to the side, afraid they would somehow catch onto some cobwebs.

Esme gazed upon the Ramshackle mansion in frustration, the sight from afar already having made him shiver in discomfort. The grey walls and barred windows didn't exactly provide a welcoming atmosphere either. However, he wouldn't let himself be scared off by some sort of wanna-be festival haunted house.

The floor creaked rather loudly, much to his dismay, when he stepped into the entrance corridor. Miraculously, he managed to hold back the coughing fit that the dusty air almost caused. A scowl appeared on his face, and the excitement that had driven him earlier suddenly seemed gone. Yet, it quickly returned when his ears managed to pick up on the sound of soft singing.

"Someday, my prince will come~"

Esme recognised that voice — it was yours. A grin appeared on his face as he continued on, his lungs slowly getting used to the dusty air and the creaky floorboards. His keen ears followed the source of your voice, which eventually led him right to the end of the corridor.

The door was slightly ajar, allowing him to hear your voice more clearly now. From the small gap between door and frame, he watched you prepare tea and cookies. His hand rested on the door knob hesitantly; he simply couldn't bring it over himself to interrupt you in the middle of your song. So, he waited patiently, all the while listening to you singing with an eager smile on his face.

"Someday—" you sang from the bottom of your heart. "Someday we'll meet again!" A smile remained on your face after having belted out the very last word of your song. The silence afterwards was serene and peaceful, but not for long.

"And that day is today!" Esme chimed as he jumped into the room.

You would have screamed out loud if it weren't for the fact that you managed to clasp your hand over your mouth just in time. All of your limbs fozen, your eyes were ripped wide open in horror. "What—" Your jaw fell down upon recognising the intruder's vibrant green eyes. "Esme—?" you breathed out in awe.

"The one and only!"

"How—" you stammered out. "How did you get in here?"

Esme merely shot you a wink. "You should know that I'm pretty good with lockpicks, but in your case, you simply left the front door open." A sheepish chuckle escaped his lips as he rubbed the back of his neck.

His words made you want to slap yourself for your own stupidity. "I'm... speechless..." you whispered to yourself. The brunet never replied, simply shooting you a goofy smile. There was something about his relaxed expression that bothered you — immensely. So, pursing your lips, you began glaring at him in anger. "How did you even manage to sneak past all the NRC students and staff? They would lynch you if they found you!"

Sadly for you, he saw right through your anger. "I had a friend to help me out but— oh, you're worried, aren't you?" he cooed and patted your head playfully. "How adorable."

"You're insufferable..." You swatted his hand away, a huff escaping your lips.

Esme took your moment of distraction to wrap an arm around your shoulder. "But you're still glad to see me, aren't you?" he asked as he teasingly pulled you into his side.

The corners of your lips quirked upwards into a small smile. "...maybe I am," you retorted while trying to push him away half-heartedly.

Esme rolled his eyes teasingly. "I don't think 'maybe' fits well. How about 'definitely'?" When he caught onto the glare you sent him, he let out a little chortle. "I'm just kidding," he exclaimed in a more genuine voice. "I really wanted to see you again after the VDC. I never got to say goodbye, you know? Everything ended in chaos."

His words drew laughter from your lips. But before you could reply properly, the sound of heavy footsteps approaching caused you to freeze in panic. "Child of Man, what is taking you so long?" it came from the other side of the door, the footsteps having now come to a halt.

Paralysed in fear, you almost choked on your own spit. "Oh— Oh—" you stammered out. "I-I'm coming, Malleus! I simply forgot to turn on the stove..."

"Do you require any help?" Malleus asked, his hand twisting the door knob to the side.

The motion immediately caused you to whirl around and grab your mysterious visitor by his shoulders. A woeful look crossed your face as you pushed him towards the open window. "You should leave, Esme," you muttered with a heavy heart as your hand lingered on his arm for a second longer than it should have. "If any of my friends saw you here—"

A frown appeared on the brunet's face. "Aw, but I just arrived!"

"We'll see each other again, soon," you assured as you watched him jump out of the window and land on his feet skilfully. Without wasting another second, you grabbed a pen and slip of paper you had lying around, and began to scribble down your phone number. The RSA student watched you curiously as you hurriedly handed him the note. "Here, call me sometime." Without another word, you pushed him away and pulled the window shut.

As Esme walked away, he smiled to himself in satisfaction.

"Good job, Esme," a voice from the shrubbery spoke. "Got (Y/n)'s phone number, eh?" Soon, a floating head appeared out of nowhere.

After having safely stowed away the slip of paper, Esme began laughing in happiness. "Couldn't have done it without you, Che'nya!" he exclaimed and shook his friend's hand vigorously.

Che'nya let out a few snickers. "You have my full support. (Y/n) and you are purrfect for one another~"

[sinner-as-saint]

Where I Belong

Hades!Steve x Persephone!Reader 

Run-through: The weather is starting to get cold in the mortal realm, and as much as you’d miss your mother’s home, you know it’s now time for you to return to your true home. To him. To the God of the Underworld. After being apart for half a year, it is time for you to return home to your Hades. 

Themes: hades!steve, persephone!reader, smut, possessive!steve, slight angst, fluff

a/n: i know it must be spring for some (or most) of you right now, but it’s just starting to get cold where i am and i’m in my hadesxpersephone feels, let me live!

Over the past many, many years you had discovered some of the most secretive entrances and exits of the Underworld. 

Sure, being Hades’ wife had something to do with that. Given that your husband made sure you knew your way around the Underworld just as well as he did. 

Over the years, you have used all of them. And yet, no matter which entrance you used, each time you stepped into your husband’s realm, it brought tears to your eyes. The mortal realm was your home too; the sun, the wind, the feeling of cool, summer rain on your skin, the velvety touch of freshly bloomed spring flowers. 

But this, the dark kingdom ruled by your husband, was more home to you than anywhere else. The giant castle, made of black stone and metal. The dimmed natural light which, courtesy to Hades’ magic, almost made it look like a peaceful twilight sky at all times. The blessed silence, save for the sound of the nearby rivers. Cerberus guarding the gates. The dense, misty and dark woods surrounding the castle. The garden which, thanks to your magic, flourished right in front of the castle. The fog. The cold, but somehow just the right temperature. 

And the quiet, gentle souls who also called the Underworld their home. 

This realm was truly home. And you couldn’t wait to meet its ruler. 

You took the shortest route into the castle. As much as you wanted to reunite with Cerbie, and others, you needed to see your husband more than anyone. You’d been away from him for half a year. Six months. Too many days. Too many hours. 

You smiled all the way into the castle, eager to see him. To touch him. To kiss him. You held on tightly to the little basket you always brought him whenever you returned from above. An assortment of flowers and fruits (which despite the magic unfortunately did not grow here), and your recent addition - a flower crown made of daisies and dandelions. You knew your grumpy husband would pretend to hate it. You giggled to yourself as you practically skipped and jogged to him. 

He must be waiting just as impatiently. You thought. 

Then you rounded a corner to step into the black and gold corridor which led to your private chambers. You had always loved this corridor. Ancient and dark pictures in gilded frames. The soft, golden lights, always dimmed but always bright enough to allow anyone to navigate around perfectly. Accents of black obsidian stone all over the walls, the sconces, the extravagant candelabras on each side of the hallway. The scent in the air; citrusy, something like amber, a wine-y aroma and somehow all very him. Each breath you took reminded you of where you stood, in his castle. In his realm. 

You heard him way before you laid eyes on him. 

“...I thought I said this place was to be spotlessly clean before my wife gets here,” You heard his deep, authoritative voice order around his poor workers as they did their best. 

Normally he was never mean or demanding regarding his workers, but he was rather impatient on days when he expected you back home. 

He had his back to you as he stood right outside your bedroom doors, so he didn’t see you as you approached. “She’ll be back anytime now and I need this entire castle to look-,” 

“Oh stop being such royal pain.” You cut him off with a smile on your face. 

He froze. Even the workers lifted up their heads to look at you. They all smiled and sighed in relief. Your husband finally turned around to face you with so much love and pain, and relief on his face that it made your eyes water. 

All of the workers took that as their cue to leave. And once there were only the two of you in the corridor, your husband finally moved towards you. “My love…” He whispered, coming to a stop in front of you, mere inches away from you. His hands itched as he forced his eyes to take you in first.  

You reach out to cup his face with one hand. “I’ve missed you.” You said quietly. 

He reached for you and wrapped his arms around you, bringing you closer to his warm body and pressing his lips to your forehead. You wrapped an arm around him too, pressing your face into him and breathing in his scent you’d missed so much. 

“Every time you leave, I tell myself that maybe this time would be easier. That maybe this time I wouldn’t miss you so much to a point where I would rather die a thousand deaths than be without you for one more day.” He sighed, tightening his arms around you. “And yet each time I’m proven wrong. And each time you leave me, it hurts more than all the previous times.” He whispered against your skin. 

His warmth, his body heat, his embrace - all of him felt like home, finally. You sniffled, letting the tears fall as you pulled away enough to look up at him. “It kills me to be away from you too.” You blinked and two hot tears streamed down your face. He reached out to wipe them away. “But I’m here now,” You whispered, “I’m home, with you.” You said and leaned in to kiss him. 

Your hand rested on the back of his neck as he pulled you closer, kissing you deeper as he pressed your bodies closer together. He let out a moan the moment you ran your fingers from the back of his neck to his hair.

He held you like he never wanted to let go ever again. The only thing that kept him sane was the fact that you weren’t going anywhere for the next six months. 

Six months. All his for the next six months, and like always, he’d be so selfish when it came to sharing you with anyone at all during that time. 

Lost in his kiss, you didn’t quite realise when or how the two of you managed to make it into your bedroom. The next thing you knew, he took the basket from your hands and placed it down before leaning in to kiss you again. Harder, deeper this time. 

His wandering hands made you sigh and moan into the kiss, his eager and impatient hands felt so maddeningly good against the soft fabric of the blush coloured gown you wore. His touch was making you feel all hot and bothered, and you must have mumbled something regarding it because he chuckled before pulling away from the kiss. 

He pulled away just enough to let his eyes roam your body from head to toe. From your hair, to the gown you wore, to the skirt of the gown as it pooled around your feet. 

You caught that look in his eyes which you knew all too well. “You don’t like this colour on me, do you?” You asked with a slight smirk as you looked up into his ocean blue eyes. 

He groaned under his breath. “My love, you look divine in anything, any colour you wear.” He answered. 

“But…?” You urged him to keep going, knowing he had something else to say. 

He sighed, “But I have to say, I prefer you in darker colours.” Then he pulled you closer by the waist, stared deep into your eyes and growled, “My colours.” 

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t like this side of him. The territorial, commanding god. It excited you and made the flames of desire burn hotter and brighter deep within you. “Well then,” You said in a teasing tone, stepping away from him, “You should tear it off of me if you hate it so much.” 

Hades smirked. 

“If that’s what you want, my love…” He grabbed the neckline of your lovely gown in both his fists and tore it with ease. Like the gown was giving in too, knowing it was nothing compared to his strength. 

Less than a few seconds later, your dress was ruined at your feet. And you looked up at your husband with a coy smile. “Much better.” You whispered. 

He shook his head slightly, “Come here,” He grabbed you and pulled you close again. His lips found yours yet again as he urged you to lay down on the surface of the bed right next to you. 

You sighed in delight, feeling the cool, dark satin sheets under your naked body as he pushed you onto your back and hovered on top of you immediately. His kiss deepened, seeming much more passionate and hungry now.

His rough hands ran up and down your sides lazily, until one of his hands discretely slipped under you, pinching your butt playfully. You hissed then giggled as he did.

“I’ve missed you so much.” He whispered, his hands caressing your thighs and making you squirm under him. “I’ve missed this. Missed having you here with me, in our bed. Under me. I’ve missed your warmth, and the sounds you make when I touch you.” He said, kissing along your jaw, up and down your neck. 

You moaned under his soft, warm touch and caress. It’d been so long, you could barely wait. 

“Talk to me sweetheart, did you miss me?” he asked in a soft whisper, looking into your eyes. “Hmm? Did you miss this as much as I did?” 

You nodded as you looked up at him, his face hovering inches above yours. He was so painfully beautiful it made your heart hurt. His dark hair, his sinfully pink lips, his blue eyes. 

“I did.” You whispered, reaching out to trace his mouth gently. “I missed you so much, missed this.” You couldn’t do the whole slow, soft and sensual thing tonight. Not now. “Please…” You begged quietly, “I need you.” 

He smiled down at you as his hand immediately made its way up to your inner thighs. And his lips found yours again as his knuckles lazily caressed your folds.

“Is this what you want? Hmm? You just can’t wait, can you?” He smirked against your lips. “You desperately need me, don’t you, my darling?” 

You shuddered under him, nodding quickly as your heart raced in anticipation. You wrapped your arms around his still clothed body, caressing the nape of his neck lazily. 

Satisfied, he kissed down your neck while he pushed his fingers past your folds gently. You were already embarrassingly wet but you didn’t care. Not right now. His fingers curled and stroked your walls so perfectly, it made you spread your legs even wider and made your back arch off the bed instinctively as you let out a gasp, followed by a low moan. 

“Yeah?” He smirked. “That feels so good, doesn’t it?” He asked.

You whimpered, then nodded as you felt tingles erupting all over your body the moment he gently rubbed your clit. And another moan left your lips as you felt him kiss his way down your body; kissing down your cleavage, toying with your breasts and kissing his way down until he reached your core.

He pulled his fingers out of you, and then not even a second later, you felt his mouth on you. His tongue made its way past your folds instantly, and he looked up to find you whimpering under his touch.

“I’ve missed your taste.” He said, before teasing you with his tongue again. 

His arms wrapped around each one of your thighs and he pulled you closer and kept you open for him, pushing his mouth further into your dripping core. His tongue lazily circled your clit and you let out a loud moan. 

“Oh…” You whined. “I’ve missed your mouth so fucking much.” You said, moaning and whining as he took his time tasting you. 

He just smirked at the whines and moans which left your lips. He gently bit and teased the skin around your dripping cunt, just to mess with you. He loved how you tugged onto his hair each time the pleasure got too much. 

His tongue teased you until you were a whimpering mess beneath him. He held on to your thighs, keeping you in place as he feasted. But it wasn’t enough just yet, he wanted you to be delirious with pleasure so he slipped two of his fingers past your entrance while sucking on your clit. 

“Hmm,” His voice sent vibrations reverberating deep within you. “This is where you belong, wife.” He growled, mouth pressed against your throbbing clit as he slowly pumped his fingers in and out of you. “Here, with me.” He said while his tongue flicked your throbbing clit. 

You cried out in pleasure. “With you…” You sighed, feeling a familiar pressure forming in between your hips, and you moaned louder as warmth washed over you and took over your senses. You involuntarily bucked your hips against his mouth, chasing your orgasm. 

But he didn’t give it to you yet. “I’ve missed making you come every day,” He spoke, lifting his mouth off you for a brief moment - which made you whine in frustration. “Look at me.” He ordered. 

And you did, you lifted your body up on your elbows and met his stare, gasping for breath and craving your release. 

“You’re mine.” He whispered, his warm breath fanning your wet skin, making you squirm. “And you’re gonna come for me.” 

You nodded. And once you did, he smirked, leaned down and latched his mouth to your wet folds again, holding your stare as he teased you, ate you out until you could no longer hold back. So you came undone, all over his tongue. You came with a loud moan, moving your hips faster against his tongue. 

The god smiled and kissed your inner thighs, kissing his way up your body again. He briefly kissed your lips again before moving his mouth over to your ear. He kissed the shell of your ear before whispering in your ear. 

“You’re gonna spread your legs and open for me. You’re gonna take me deep inside you. You’ve been waiting for this, for me, haven’t you?” He asked, pulling away to stare into your eyes with his deep blue ones. 

You nodded again. He smiled and leaned down to kiss your lips again.

Your hands reached up to slip under his dark shirt. You smiled as you felt his smooth skin underneath the shirt. You sighed in delight as you caressed his hard body. You’d missed him so much. 

He pulled away from your lips briefly, unbuttoned and took his shirt off, throwing it somewhere around the room before leaning back down to kiss you. You moaned again as he nibbled on your bottom lip before pushing his tongue into your mouth, stroking the top of your mouth.

Meanwhile he lowered his dark pants and pulled out his erected cock. He wasted no time in aligning it to your still dripping entrance once you spread your legs wide open for him. 

The tip of his cock barely brushed against your wet folds, and just that made you moan out loud. “My wife,” He whispered fondly, guiding the tip of his cock up and down your wet slit, teasing you and it made you lose your mind, “My Persephone,” He said, kissing along your neck. “Mine,” He growled, finally pushing his cock deep inside you like he promised. 

Without moving his hips yet, he hoisted one of your legs up to his waist and settled better between your thighs. His cock stretched you out deliciously, and he watched how your face twisted in pleasure. 

You were panting and whimpering under him by the time he was fully in you. He pushed his face into your neck, letting out a satisfied chuckle against your skin at how good and warm you felt, now finally in his arms, in his bed. 

“Damn you for being so good,” He whispered, kissing your skin while ignoring the way you urged him to move. He smirked at the way you moved your hips up, trying to get him to fuck you already. “Impatient, are we?” He taunted. 

“Please…” You groaned. “Move, please.” 

He almost growled at how perfectly you begged. And he couldn’t wait to make you come undone around his cock either. But he needed this moment, just to reassure himself that you’re here. With him. 

You cried out again, unable to take the teasing anymore. “Please…” You begged with tears in your eyes. 

“I know, my love,” He placed his mouth on top of yours as he gently started moving against your hips, his cock slipping in and out of you gently. “I know, I’ve got you now.” He took his time, despite how eager he was, he gave you the time to feel all of him. And you did.

You felt his thick cock stretching you out, his warm breath tickling your skin, his heart beats racing like yours were. He thrust into you slowly at first, then he picked up his pace as he went. You moaned as he moved faster against you, whimpering and holding on to his broad shoulders as your entire body moved along with each thrust of his.

He leaned down to kiss you again as he groaned at how good you felt around his cock.

“You’re mine,” he said as he placed his forehead on top of yours. Your hand reached up to cup his face, and you nodded.

“All yours.” 

He gave you a quick kiss before quickening his pace once more. You wrapped your legs around his waist as he somehow pushed deeper into you, turning your mind into a foggy mess. His thrust got more and more relentless the moment you both felt your walls clenching around him. He pounded into you incessantly, making you cry out and moan because there was nothing else you could do.

“Oh you’re not leaving this bed anytime soon.” He whispered, “Gonna fuck you until you can’t take it anymore.” 

You felt the pressure forming again, and the warmth washed over you once more. He interlaced your fingers together and pinned both your hands above your head as his thrust got harder, animalistic, possessive. 

“Mine,” He growled. “Come for me, sweetheart.” 

You clenched around him violently and with a few more strokes of his cock against your walls, you came with a loud moan.

He slowed down, for a moment. He kissed you again as you came down from your high. But then before you could recover properly, he flipped you around. Got you on your knees, your face down against the cool sheets, ass up in the air. 

He grabbed you on either side of your hips and pushed his still hard cock deep inside you again, from behind this time. 

“Not done with you yet.” He whispered. “Gonna make you come again and again on this cock.” He bent over and fucked into you as he whispered dirty little secrets in your ear. “I’m gonna fill you up with my cum. Gonna pump you so full of it you’ll feel it drip out of you with each step you take.” He pressed down on your lower abdomen as he fucked you harder, faster. “Maybe I’ll make you bounce on my cock after, and I’ll watch my cum drip out of you, huh?” He chuckled as you squeezed around him, moaning wantonly. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, wife?” 

Tears escaped your eyes as the pleasure became too much to handle; and you felt the pressure forming at your base again. He pounded into you mercilessly, fucking you like an animal. You whimpered as both his hands gripped your waist, pulling you into him harshly each time, speeding up until he came inside of you. 

You came right after him, feeling him fill you up just like he said. He groaned softly against your cheek before dipping his head back into the crook of your neck, kissing your damp skin incessantly. 

“I love you,” He said. “I love you so much,” He whispered, kissing your body as he flipped you back around. 

You smiled up at him. “And I love you. So much.” You pulled him in, and giggled as he rested his whole body on top of yours, holding onto you like he’d never let go. 

–

He had some food brought in for you after a while. You sat up, leaning against the headboard, excited to finally eat. But then you remembered, “I got you something.” You said, reaching for the basket you’d brought. 

You pulled out the flower crown and placed it on top of his head, smiling so big at him that his heart melted and he almost didn’t frown at his own reflection when he walked over to look in the mirror. 

“It’s ridiculous.” He said monotonously, turning around and watching you as you reached out for your plate of food. 

You shoved a piece of bread into your mouth and rolled your eyes, “Oh shut up, you big grump.” 

Of course, he would never tell you that he secretly didn’t hate it. 

He walked back to bed, and rested his head on your lap, flower crown and all, and looked up to watch you as you devoured your food. Then he scoffed and shook his head. 

You looked down at him with a mouthful, frowning. You swallowed then asked, “What is it?” 

“Just thinking.” He murmured, stealing a piece of fruit from your plate and placing it in his mouth. 

You watched him as he chewed. “Thinking about what?” You asked again. 

Your husband sighed dramatically and said, “About how I should have fed you the whole damn pomegranate that one time.” 

[latent-thoughts]

F!Loki toying with reader's nipples and praising her for being a good girl and M!Loki sucking her while reader is tied down and blindfolded, please? I'm loving these little drabbles you're a genius

"Loki?"

No reply...

You pulled at the silken ropes that bound you, looking up at the way they just hung in the air. Of course, Loki didn't need any hooks or suspension aids; his magic was enough.

What scared you was that you were on your tip toes, with your arms stretched above your head; you had never done anything like this before. Yes, he had bound you a few times when he had taken you, but it hadn't been a suspension. Somehow, it made you feel even more exposed than usual, causing goosebumps to form all over your naked flesh.

Being intimate with the 'god of mischief' was something of a discovery and something of a shock sometimes, depending on his mood.

"Loki?" you whined as he kept circling you, his arms crossed and his lips pursed in mock concentration. "What am I supposed to do like this? I can't even move."

"That was the whole purpose of binding you like this."

"But--"

"No more words, not until I allow you to speak. Remember the rules."

Oh yeah, the rules. This was play time, and you were his submissive. You couldn't do anything without his permission during play time; not even complaining was allowed. Unless you used your safe word, that is.

You trusted him, of course, but you were growing impatient...

"My arms hurt."

"Really?" He chuckled and did nothing.

Of course, you'd use your safe word if you were actually in pain. He knew that.

You simply pouted in silence.

A minute or so passed, and then he came up to you with a blindfold.

"I think this will do just fine," he said with a smirk, going behind you to tie it around your eyes.

"Wait--"

He smacked your ass, cutting you off mid sentence.

"Ow!"

"Have you forgotten the rules, kitten?"

You shook your head, not speaking up this time. You didn't want to receive a whole round of spanking.

Soon, the blindfold was in place, snug and fitted perfectly over your eyes to give you just the right amount of sensory deprivation.

"Good girl..."

That voice... it had suddenly changed. Instead of Loki's velvety baritone, it was a soft, feminine alto, though equally enchanting and sexy.

What?

"Surprised?"

You opened your mouth to reply, but then closed it quickly, remembering those pesky play time rules. Your only option was to nod, and so you exercised it.

"Remembered your rules this time, hmm? You're learning."

You stood there mutely, even though there were so many questions you wanted to ask.

"You must be wondering why and how. Well, I'm still myself, just a woman now. Does that bother you, kitten?"

You shook your head without hesitance. As surprising as this new development was, it didn't change the fact that you were into Loki. Man, woman, or anything else, for that matter, Loki was all you wanted...

"So you'll let me play with you?"

You nodded, once more, without any hesitance. And Loki's hands were on you in an instant, caressing, grabbing, pinching... generally manhandling you. Well, womanhandling you.

You gasped and moaned in response, trying not to be too vocal, lest it earned you a punishment.

But Loki was bent on testing you, it seemed. You heard him--no, her--step in front of you, her hands sliding to your front to continue their erotic exploration. Long, elegant fingers--that did not change, at least--reached between your legs to toy with your clit, making you whimper.

It was enough to tease you, but not enough to take it further. You couldn't help but hump those fingers, wanting more.

"You desperate little slut," she murmured, sliding two fingers deep inside you. "So eager to come, like a bitch in heat."

You let out a loud moan, her words teasing you as much as her actions.

You always loved the filthy, degrading words Loki used on you; no one else had the right to, no else had dared to. And the effect they had on you didn't change with the change in his voice or form.

"Want to take a ride?" she asked, pushing her hand up to simply lift you off the floor.

"Fuck!" you cried out, squirming against her fingers, your whole weight resting on the heel of her hand. "Oh god, Loki!"

She clicked her tongue in obvious disappointment. You had broken the rules by speaking.

Oh no...

The fingers left your channel immediately.

"I'm sorry!"

"You know the rules."

"Please..."

"The more you talk, the worse it gets. I have to punish you, whether you like it or not."

You began to whine, so she shoved her fingers--which had been inside you--into your mouth to shut you up.

"Shh... don't make me mad, kitten."

Since you were desperate to get some relief, you decided to appease her by sucking on her fingers.

That made her chuckle. The sound was different, and yet, still very Loki.

"So you're trying to suck your way back into my good graces, hmm?

You nodded, sucking harder still.

"Maybe there's a way for you to gain pleasure out of this."

That gave you some hope that you'd not be teased endlessly.

Suddenly, you felt a whoosh behind you, like the air got sucked into a void and got released.

Then you felt someone else's hands around your waist, which jolted you enough to bite the fingers in your mouth.

It made Loki laugh... a twin laugh, that is, both the baritone and the alto. One came from your front, the other from your back.

You knew what that meant...

"So, how about you let both of me play with you?" his masculine form asked, nuzzling your neck from behind. "I'm sure you can handle it."

"Only one way to find out," said the feminine form, pulling her fingers out of your mouth to give you a little peck. "Let's test her limits, see just how many times we can both make her cum."

"I'm game."

That started a mad frenzy... wherein they both attacked you as a team.

You rode his tongue and fingers to your first orgasm, legs flailing, desperately trying to get purchase on his shoulders. She didn't help... busy as she was playing with your breasts. Your nipples were throbbing by the time the last wave of your peak ebbed.

But you weren't allowed to come down to the afterglow.

They began their twin attacks anew as soon as you stopped writhing.

Once again, it was a masterclass in teasing. While she soothed your throbbing nipples with her mouth and tongue, he sucked your clit till you began to beg them to give you relief.

They didn't listen... of course, they didn't. Because you had spoken up, breaking the rules. Again.

You were teased and sucked till you were trembling from head to toe. Till you were sure that you'd fuck just about anything to cum again.

That's when you began to babble incoherently.

"Please! Fuck me already. Fuck... fuck? Gimme something, you cruel fucks..."

So your punishment escalated.

Very gently but firmly, a ball gag was placed in your mouth. And while you tried to get used to it, something cold and smooth was pressed against your rear opening.

A butt plug... oh damn.

"Shh... you know what your safe word signs are, don't you," both of them said in unison. "Do you want to stop?"

You took deep breaths while the plug kept pressing into your ass.

Your hands remained in fists. You didn't sign to stop.

The butt plug went in... settling snugly into your rear.

You groaned and bit into your ball gag, shivering in the almost forbidden sensation of pleasure in your ass.

“Good girl,” she said, patting your head affectionately. "Let's tease her some more.”

"I agree."

You hadn't even begun to make sense of it when you were hauled up in his grip and taken from behind, doubly stuffed on his cock and the plug in your butt.

You gasped in response, but it was muffled by the gag in your mouth.

"That looks perfect," she stated, touching you where you were joined with him.

"It's a tight fit, but she's taking it well." He was holding you up by your hips like you weighed nothing, keeping you firmly where he wanted, with his cock deep inside you. “Good girl.”

"She has to."

She began to play with your clit again; you began to writhe again...

That, combined with the feel of the plug and his hard flesh inside you, made you orgasm so quickly, it took you completely by surprise.

It was wild...

"Oh, our little slut couldn't help herself, hmm?" he growled in your ear as you kept humping his cock and her fingers.

"Well, if she wants to keep cumming so badly, then maybe we ought to make her. Let's try different methods on her."

That's when she began to deliver little slaps on your clit, and he began to bounce you on his cock.

You screamed into the gag... but didn't sign the safe word. (Safe word, what safe word?)

Because it was a delicious combination of pain and pleasure, and your primed body simply didn't want it to stop.

The orgasm that hit you next was the most intense in the session, and yet, they didn't stop their dual torture.

For the next...you didn't know how many hours, you were a goner. Just a plaything for them, made for cumming and only cumming.

They changed the positions and the suspension, but you always remained between them.

Sometimes you served her with your mouth, sometimes him... while the other one made sure that you didn't break your chain of orgasms.

It wrung you out completely. You had no idea just how many times you came.

It was exhausting... it was exhilarating. You loved every bit of it.

------

(Also posted on AO3. Please share and leave comments if you liked it.)

[stinkypenguinn]

Love Made Me Crazy

Steve Harrington x Reader (female pronouns used)

Warnings: cussing, blood and injures, mentions of S4 (spoilers) and events in the Upside Down, minors 🔞 please read with caution.

It’s been so long since I’ve written something so it’s okay if it’s bad, I’m so obsessed with Steve I couldn’t help myself but find some motivation to get writing. Also Don’t Blame Me by Taylor Swift heavily influenced this so listen to that. Don’t mind any misspellings or grammar issues, I don’t care that much lol. But please enjoy the read!

<3 SP

~~~~~~~

No one could have possibly prepared Hawkins for the storm that came when the gate to the Upside Down was opened. Nothing could have prepared y/n for the mess that she found herself in when she got wrapped in it all.

Steve Harrington was one hell of a man, a man that y/n had come to love after so many years. Quite frankly she would die for him, she was just that in love some would say.

So I guess she wasn’t too surprised with herself when she was laying in Steve’s lap, covered in blood and half unconscious.

“Y/n! Y/n come on! Come on! Stay with me!” Steve was shaking her; Nancy standing over his shoulder as Robin and Eddie watched the sky for more bats.

It all happened so quickly. The second Steve jumped out of the boat, y/n was right behind him. Robin almost getting the chance to grab her before she just jumped in. It wasn’t much longer after until Robin, Nancy, and Eddie had followed into the Upside Down where Steve was being strangled by one of the bat tails.

Grabbing paddles Nancy had tossed at her and Robin, the group attempted everything to save Steve who was now being attacked at his side.

Steve’s eyes were rolling back as y/n desperately kept looking at him, growing impatient and scared.

Somehow or someway, Nancy and Robin were able to get Steve out of the grasp as the group tried to look for safety. But it wasn’t too much longer until more bats started to fly in. The group even more desperate than before, knowing too well they couldn’t take another round.

“Nance!” Y/n shouted as Eddie and Robin held onto each side of Steve to keep him stable. “Get out of here! I’ll hold them off!”

“Are you crazy? We can’t leave you here.” Nancy ran up to y/n who was already gripping onto the broken paddle, ready to run back that second to buy some more time.

“Don’t you see Steve right now? He’s going to die! You have to get him somewhere safe, we’re not gonna be able to stay in front of them if I don’t buy us some time.” Y/n paused for a second “…please keep him safe Nancy. Please. I’ll be back.”

Nancy stared at her as y/n started backing up some more. Steve was so out of it, he couldn’t comprehend the conversation taking place right in front of him. Robin and Eddie were terrified but didn’t say anything.

Before y/n could back up any farther, still staring at her friends. Staring at Steve.

Her mind filled with warm summer days, early mornings, late hot nights, and every moment in between with Steve. Legs tangled in bed, sun coming in from the curtains. Cute dates filled with endless kisses and food. Time spent in the lake splashing water in each other faces only to end up wrapped up into each other in a giggly mess. All the parties Steve took her to, where he never got too drunk and always kept an arm around y/n’s shoulder…just in case. Countless days spent with the kids driving them around and making sure everyone was there and safe. Talks over the phone about marriage and what they would do after everything, after Hawkins. Steve wanted six kids, and for that man, y/n would do anything.

Y/n relished in every second spent with Steve, she was so crazy for him and hoped she would be able to see him again after this. But she knew he needed time to get out and healed. She would do anything to let him keep going.

Who knew love made you so crazy?

Y/n was snapped out of thought to see Nancy still staring at her. “What am I going to tell him if you don’t come back…?” Nancy egged her on, begging her not to leave.

Y/n thought for a minute and smiled.

“Tell him I love him.” And with that y/n ran off back into the swamp of bats flying down. But at this time not at the group but just at Y/n. Robin, Eddie, Nancy, and Steve trudged on until the reach a boulder big enough to hide under. Nancy’s shoulders felt heavy and she kept thinking about Y/n.

Moments later Steve was more alert as rips from a shirt was wrapped around his mid section, Eddie’s jacket now covering majority of his upon half for some modesty. Once he was rested and wrapped Steve quickly came to the realization that not everyone was here.

Y/n wasn’t there.

“Where is she?” Steve said fast and panicked standing too quickly to be held back by Robin. “Where is she!?” He said louder.

“Steve…-“

“Nancy! Why is she not with us? She was just here!”

“She loves you Steve! She wanted you to have more time! She went back to fight them off.” Nancy said defeated, there were a million better ways to break the news to him. But none of them came out in that moment.

“By herself? You let her go by herself? Are you fucking insane? She’s can’t do it alone!” Steve was getting mad. For all the girls he thought he loved before, he never cared for them the way he did for y/n. Not even Nancy, who he was convinced for the longest time would be his life long partner. But that all changed when he met Y/n. His whole heart changed when they finally opened up to each other. There was not a world he would want to be in without her.

Nancy shook as Robin and Eddie continued to keep Steve stable. “We can’t-I don’t know if she’ll still be alive. She wanted you to get out of here, she wanted us to escape alive.

Steve cut her off again, “we have to go back for her. I’m not leaving without her.” He finished with a coldness in his voice, he was scared.

“If we’re going, we have to go now.” Eddie said. “After we find her we can go back to my trailer and get out of this shit hole.”

Robin nodded and Nancy agreed. Shortly after the group was now nearing where they originally came from. But there were no bats insight, and especially no Y/n to be seen.

“Come on…she has to be here somewhere.” Robin said, just wanting to find her friend just as much as Steve wanted to find her, alive.

“Y/N!” Steve, Robin, Eddie, and Nancy all took turns screaming for the girl losing hope each time her name passed their lips.

Steve was starting to shake just as he heard whimpering coming from behind a small enclosure of a boulder. He sprinted despite the pain and blood soaking through the wrap around him.

And just like that, the girl he planned to marry and love forever laid across the ground. Half dead and covering in blood, he couldn’t even tell where the cuts or bites were on her body.

So that’s where y/n is now. Laying in Steve’s lap, covered in blood and half unconscious.

“Y/n! Y/n come on! Come on! Stay with me!” Steve was shaking her; Nancy standing over his shoulder as Robin and Eddie watched the sky for more bats.

His hands were gripping everything they could, to stop the blood, to bring her back to him. He was desperate. So so desperate to see her eyes open.

“Please. Oh God, please y/n” Steve said.

As if it was a calling from the heavens, y/n’s eyes opened slowly staring at Steve and smiled. Too tired to speak.

“Baby, sweetheart. Keep your eyes open we’re gonna get out of here okay? Can you move any?” Steve questioned breathing picking up more. Y/n could do no more than to nod her head and shift more into Steve’s arms to where he could get her up on her feet. Where Nancy and Robin were there to catch her. Steve quickly got up and was held by Eddie, who also kept him stable.

In no time the crew made it to Eddie’s trailer and somehow one by one climbed through the sheet rope to smack on his bed. Steve struggled to drag himself out but he also had y/n wrapped around his back. Knowing she wouldn’t be able to climb on her own. But they were out of the Upside Down, they were both alive even if barely. Wounds too deep to care for in Eddie’s home. The group made quick work to get y/n to the nearest hospital. Willing to deal with any questions from staring eyes later on.

After what felt like hours to Steve, he was finally allowed into the room where y/n still laid. But now instead of being covered in blood she was wrapped neatly in bandages.

As if all time stopped, he felt like he was finally able to breathe. He slowly walked up to her bed and sat on the edge to slowly trace his fingers against her own.

She looked shyly up at him and smiled and as if nothing happened not long ago she spoke, “How much did you argue with the nurses to rewrap your bandages?” She asked and chuckled to herself. Steve’s eyes widened at her lighthearted behavior. But he couldn’t help by smile either.

“Only just a little. I had some other things on my mind.” He said just as playful, now laying beside of her, nose pressed to her shoulder as their hands wrapped around each other.

“Oh yeah? And what was that?” She asked, truly trying to avoid the conversation that would come about what happened. About how she ran off to fight bats and almost die while Steve had no clue.

Steve shifted to look her in the eyes and avoided her question and asked one of his own. “Why did you do it? What happened to us doing this together? Staying together?” Steve said now in a serious tone. He didn’t believe y/n understood the severity of her actions. Or just how much Steve wouldn’t be able to live if she didn’t make it out like he did.

But all she did was shrug her shoulders and kissed his temple. “I guess I’m just that crazy in love with you.”

Steve couldn’t deny the way her eyes looked at him as his fingers tighten around her fingers. Maybe they could talk more about this later, when they’re both out of the hospital and safe in bed. Maybe with a movie playing in the background, wrapped into each other just like any other time spent together.

Steve sighed and kissed her softly on the lips, both of them basking in the comfort of being near each other.

“Well I’m crazy in love with you, but if you’re planning to do anything like that again don’t do it without me, okay?” Steve said.

Y/n smiled and kissed him again.

“Deal.”

~~~~~

Even in times of uncertainty and horror, you can’t deny the love shared between two tightly bonded people, and the risks willing to be taken in order to protect the other.

~~~~~