#he may even get adults who don’t want to tear him apart in his life

[tanglepelt]

Dc x dp idea 55

When Dani leaves amity after being stabilized she starts running into hero’s.

She doesn’t think it’s odd. After all Danny is a hero. So she starts bugging them never staying around too long. She did want to be a hero on her own.

One day a battle happens. One that keeps taking out hero after hero. None of there attacks are hitting it. Just phasing through.

Obviously for plot convenience no member of the JLD are here.

Dani of course forces her way into the fray. Unlike the others her stuff actually hits it. Now they don’t do much but does stall the threat. Managing to freeze bits and pieces for short periods of time.

Dani has a moment of realization. The being has to be from the infinite realm. Mid-fight she calls Danny. The trio made her take a phone when she left.

Danny shows up in a portal. He just soups the ghost up. No issues no sweat. Danny then starts questioning her on how she is. What’s she’s been up to. Why she didn’t bother to take any ghost hunting equipment with her.

When he notices the other people. The hero’s who he didn’t know existed. Danny begins to realize that the world was nothing like Amity.

[dariaslookalike]

Building Houses and Burning Bridges Pt 7: Fever Dreams and Baths

Summary:

It seems, oddly enough, that Gregory House lives to annoy you. He takes 'arseholish boss' to the next level. Wake up in the morning, ready to have breakfast, and drive to the hospital where you both work? Nope, you're getting a text that says you're late to his impromptu 4:30 AM meeting where he's had the 'breakthrough of the century' on the team's latest case. Get your hair cut and walk into work, for once feeling confident? Nope, he's saying that he would have done a better job blinded, hands tied and going through Vicodin withdrawals. Finally, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, prove him wrong and attempt to wipe the cockiness off his face? Nope, you're simply slow because you didn't get to your diagnosis quicker and weak-willed because you didn't fight him for it in the beginning. Everything House does infuriates you, and it seems everything you do infuriates him. No wonder you end up pinned to the wall of your apartment and groping him like your life depends on. And knowing House, it very may well.

Warnings: Adult language, mature themes, eventual smut, female protagonist, no reference of y/n

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Current Status: Ongoing

Masterlist: Building Houses and Burning Bridges

Next Chapter: Pt 8

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

You walk home. You don’t know how, hell you don’t really remember it, but you stand at the stoop of your apartment and slot your keys into your door.

You lock it behind yourself and step out of your dress gently. You want to tear it off, rip it to shreds, and gnash it up with your teeth like a rabid animal. But you force your hands to work meticulously, patiently. They’re shaking and red, and you tug at clasps and hooks even when you can’t feel them. The dress makes you want to sob and scream. It clings to you wetly from melted snow and almost suffocates you by the time it drops to the floor.

You kick your heels off, and let yourself sit down beside them. You pick them up and your feet throb. Really, your feet should be killing you. But the snow and ice dulls the pain. You vaguely register that blood is dribbling from somewhere on your sole, yet you make no move to bandage them.

The heels are black. Glittery. Perfectly sized. They had sat aside your shoe rack since Chase had given them to you, and each time you saw them you became so excited to be able to wear them. Chase. Chase gave them to you. Chase who knew. Chase who kept quiet with the rest of them until it was too late. Chase who told you while Cameron stared at you like a wounded animal and Foreman couldn’t even at you. You throw the shoe as hard as you can, and it thuds against your coffee tables. You pelt the other and don’t see where it lands.

You should probably take a shower. Wipe the makeup off your face. Warm up. Why aren’t you warming up?

Instead, you scratch your nails down your face, not hard enough to draw blood. You can’t feel the contact through your fingers or your cheeks and you do it again and again and again and again until stinging sensations begin to break through the numbness.

You don’t know how long you sit there, in the middle of your entryway, next to your crumpled dress. You stare into nothing. The floorboards warp and merge with each other and eventually you don’t see them.

Hours feel as if they’ve passed but in all actuality it could only be a few minutes. You don’t know. You don’t care. You walk on heavy feet towards your bedroom, leaving behind a fleckered trail of blood and water, still dripping from you.

You collapse onto your bed, surrounded by complete darkness. Even your neighbours are silent; you hate them nonetheless. You should reach around in the darkness, grab a blanket and warm up. You just lay there, your skin rippling with goose bumps and your lungs drawing in shallow breaths.

You expect the tears to come. You expect them to burst from your eyeballs and flood your room and drown you in a terrible end. They don’t. Not even one.

It’s worse this way. You would have been spared if you cried. You were an ugly crier, and by that you meant that you heaved and sniffed and sobbed and wobbled and dribbled; you were loud and messy and distracting. Now, in the silence of your room and the dryness of your eyes, you were left alone with your thoughts.

You slapped him. Your lips almost tilt up at that, at the incredulous look on his face and the stinging in your hand. You don’t smile though when you remember that you quit. You had to though. You either slap your boss and quit or slap your boss, get fired and arrested.

You should have done it harder. You should’ve taken that silver key and jammed it up his nostril; twisted it too. Or maybe kicked his cane out from under him and dragged him down the hallway by the handle. All that shit he said.

Is that what he thought? Is that what he saw? Were you really the same girl that you had left behind in the town you grew up in? Were you the same girl who sobbed into her pillow at night and screamed at her father and hated him and still wished he had been different? Were you the same girl who in spite of her nervous stutter and shaky hands would lap up any attention given to her by a coach, a teacher, a stranger?

You run your blue fingers down your face and shake your head. The movement makes you keenly aware of your soaked hair resting against your neck. No. You weren’t that girl anymore. You wouldn’t let yourself entertain the idea of it. House wasn’t right about jack shit. You knew the experience of liking men when you were still that girl; the giddy smiles, the breath caught in your throat, the butterflies caged in your stomach. Liking House, if that was truly what you did before he threw it in your face, was nothing like that; it was shameful and annoying and pathetic. Because that’s what House was. That’s what House wanted everyone to see him as.

He got what he wanted. The rose tinted glasses were now off and the harsh reality was seeping in. If House didn’t want to be loved, he never could be.

It doesn’t matter, you tell yourself. He doesn’t matter. Yes, you were vulnerable and exposed for once. You didn’t know what it was; lust, attraction, boredom? You would have to wrestle through feelings and dumpster dive through emotions just to grab that little, fading kernel of attraction and label it, and that wasn’t worth it. Once again, you had proven to yourself that it, lust, attraction, boredom or something else, was pointless. You were better off alone.

You don’t register when the dark ceiling becomes the dark of your eyelids, and you fall asleep naked atop your bed sheets.

———————

Hours pass by feverishly, and you wrestle atop your thin cotton bed sheets. You soak through them with sweat but shiver the whole night. Everything aches. The bleeding blisters on your feet now feel like stab wounds that are being pinched and your joints grind and grate against each other with each movement. You don’t lay long on one side because your muscles begin to scream out and you’re awoken in fits of pain before you restlessly slip back to sleep.

You don’t remember getting out of bed but suddenly you’re lurched over the toilet bowl and retching. You vomit until you reach bile and even then, your body is wracked with shivers and your stomach curdles until you vomit again.

You fall asleep against the toilet bowl until you’re awoken again and tip your head forward as acid burns your throat. You don’t know how you make it back to your bed, but the next time you awake from thrashing and kicking out at your wall, you’re atop your mattress again. You must have grabbed at clothes in your freezing mind because you have a stained, inside out pyjama shirt on now. You soak through that too, and the wet material makes you colder.

Hallucinations visit you vividly in the night. Some are fleeting and you can only grasp at vague recollections of them in your mind. Others are as real as day. You see your grandmother’s cat lying at the foot of your bed, but no matter how much you beg her to come and sleep by your side while you shiver uncontrollably, she doesn’t move. Later you see your childhood best friend; you had stopped speaking over something so trivial, so pointless, but it feels as if you’re back to being sisters again. She smiles at you and shakes her head. Her voice sounds melodic when she speaks, “What are you doing, goof? I thought we agreed that only Prince Charming and Daniel-from-school’s older brother are the only ones we’ll be with.” You want to tell her that Daniel’s older brother wasn’t actually that hot, he just knew guitar, but she’s gone by the time you creak open your dry mouth.

You’re slick with sweat and yet somehow in your fever you knew House would show up, and he does. He says nothing for a while. He just stands, leaning against his cane. You try to focus on his face but it warps and becomes twisted the harder you try. Your lips are cracked and you rasp out unintelligible words. He just rolls his eyes. “You shouldn’t be upset. It was more Cuddy’s fault then mine.” You garble angrily at him and he huffs. “Fine, it was kind of mine. But you slapped me. We’re even.”

You don’t know if you are. You want to tell him all the reasons you hate him and all the reasons you like him, and how you might need to slap him a few more times to be even, but instead you mumble out, “Prick.”

The night feels endless and torturous. You’re met with more pain and visions and only when you manage to crawl to the kitchen and dry swallow medicine and panadol do you pass out fully on your lounge room rug.

———————

You’re going to throw up. Again.

You thought you had made it past the worst of this sickness, albeit aided with medicine and drugs. But instead your head is pounding, pounding, pounding, like a harsh knock at a door, and with each knock, butcher’s knives split your brain. You can practically see the knives, feel their sharp tips and dull handles slamming against your skull. You groan and lay there, clutching at your head until you realise it is a knocking at your door.

You stagger in near delirium across your house, and whip open your front door. “Will you be quiet!?”

Your head is reeling. Hallucinations are back, you decide promptly, because Gregory House is standing at your door. You groan.

“Huh.” He says, looking downwards.

Your head is a dumbbell against your neck but to the best of your ability, you tilt it up and squint at the hallucination. He’s got the same silver stubble, the same long face, the same blue eyes. It makes you dizzy but you repeat his words to him. “Huh?”

He suddenly bends at the waist, leaning his weight onto his cane. Near theatrically, he whips his head up to look at you. “You have painted toenails. I thought that was only for 16 year old girls and the fitness bloggers who spend more time on pedicures than teaching their kids the difference between left and right.”

Its weak, and scratchy, but you still bite back. “Aw, someone sounds upset that Mummy likes her nail polish collection more than her neurotic son.” Your words lose their weight when you drawl and garble out a few of them.

Hallucination-House understands you perfectly. “'Sounds like you're projecting, Mummy.”

The snarkiness. The rudeness. The downright cockiness. You reach out a hand and swing at him for pure shits and giggles. It kills your muscles to move, but you image the contact of a professional boxer and force your body to follow through with the movement. Instead, you make a pathetic fist against his shoulder and he stares down at your hand like a bug.

“Oh, you’re real?”

He raises back to his full height and splays his hands out in front of himself. “Last time I checked, yes. But if you like, I’ll let you do a full body search and you can come to your own conclusion.”

Its the fever. Definitely the fever. You flush more than you like at his words, and the sensible voice in your head is quick to remind you that this is House. You hate him right now. But, after spending hours or days- what day was?- in agony, the charity event seems an eternity away. The fever however, doesn’t seem to care about that.

House pauses, awaiting your reply. He cocks an eyebrow and you can almost see the exact words lined up, ready to spill, so you rush to speak. “I’m. Sick.” The words make your head pound. “I couldn’t call out of work.”

His eyes narrow. “You’ve haven’t shown up to work for three days. Like an idiot, I'm sure you got sick from walking home in fucking snow.”

Ah. Shit. Three days had past in your delirium?

Not that it mattered. You quit, right? He’s looking at you like you’ve just grown a second head but you continue to ramble on. “If you’re here to rip me a new one about hospital policy and ‘letting my team down’,” You do mocking air quotes with your shaking fingers, “Then I’m sorry to disappoint but I’ll probably end up throwing up on your sneakers more than anything else.”

He looks almost bewildered, which is an odd expression to see on House. “What?”

You blink back at him as he continues speaking, almost incredulously. “For one thing, I know I’m a cripple but god,” He pops out the last syllable, “I’m still able to dodge vomit as well as the next doctor. And in what world do I show up to your house just to berate you?”

“This world. You would show up to my house just to berate me, in this world.”

He chews his cheek for a second, seeming to debate the best line of insult and mockery he can reply. But in the gap he leaves, you deflate. His sudden appearance was rejuvenating, momentarily, but now you feel just as weak and tired as you did before, if not more. You sigh, “Why are you here, House? Fire me if you’re going to fire me.”

Now it's his turn to tilt his head, and he huffs out your last name “You're sick. You might not register that under all the cough medicine you’ve been huffing during your fever, but you are. And you’re alone.”

You shift to lean on the doorway. “Yes. Don’t tell me you’ve come to warn me of the dangers of living a miserable, lonely, ‘stick in the mud’ life.” His jaw clenches when you throw his words back at him from the other night, and you wheeze out a laugh. “You should go. You hate me, right?”

There’s a beat of silence and he looks angry, his jaw still clenched and a vein bouncing on his temple.

And then he says something you wish that you had CIA recording technology prepared for.

“I’m sorry.”

There was no bells and whistles or shiny strings attached to House’s apology. No explanation. No reasoning. Simply sorry.

You lurch to the side and vomit; House stays true to his gloating and steps back immediately. You lean back up and wipe at your mouth with a shaking hand. There’s a moment of silence between the two of you, the same moment of peak tension before a bubble pops or the crest of a roller coaster where you’re not sure that you’re still moving.

But then he leaps past the puddle you created and through your door. You turn and see him surveying your entryway. “Bedroom?”, he calls out.

You could kick him out. Throw his sorry arse back into your vomit. But, you close your front door and in your feverish state, it almost feels as if that was an action of forgiveness. As if you accepted his apology. Not that you would tell him that.

“Take me out to dinner first, Doc, jeez. Oh but we did that already, right?” You point both of your thumbs down and make a raspberry sound.

At that, his eyebrows cinch together. He reaches forward, and you try to raise a heavy hand to bat his away, but you’re too slow. He touches your forehead and swears. “You’re burning up, jesus. How did you even get out of bed?”

“Well,” You pause, breathing deeply and trying to ignore that his hand was now cupping your cheek. “Someone was pounding on my door and wouldn’t leave til I answered it.”

You turn from him, and he hastily drops his hand from your face, as if he didn’t realise what he was doing. Without saying anything, you shuffle down the hallway.

Your ratty, old and oversized band tee was slick with sweat, you smelled like vomit, and you had deep bags under your eyes. But as you walked away from him, you could feel his eyes trailing up your calves, your thighs, your little bed shorts. Still the same, perverted House.

You’re sure that another time, when you’re feeling better and not looking like you want to murder him as you do now, he’ll tease you about this. Your wrestled-with bed, your stuffed animals in the corner (a large bear, a fat duck and a round cat, all peering at him intensely), your faded, dusty pink walls, your cluttered desk and overflowing drawers, your artworks haphazardly strewn in a corner.

At those, he pauses. “You paint?”

You sigh, crawling onto your bed. You don’t get under the covers, and you can see by the slight squint of his eyes that he notices. “I thought you knew everything about me. Don’t talk so loudly, it hurts.”

House reaches out, and begins to flip through the canvases and painted boards. There’s a pair of calloused, ageing hands. Blue and bloodshot eyes. The back of a silvery, short cropped head.

It appears that he’s not so idiotic that he can’t recognise himself across all your artworks. He turns to you, but you’re not looking at him, instead lethargically fanning yourself and panting.

“House,” A deep, shuddering breath. “It’s so hot.”

You don’t register him striding towards you, but you feel his hand against your forehead again. “Come on, Newbie, where’s your bathroom? Do you have a bath?”

You pale, and before he can even stop you, you lurch out of bed. He goes to steady you, but you run on shaky legs towards an adjoining door to your room. He follows you, just in time to see you lurched over the toilet bowl and heaving up bile again.

You feel him draw closer, and tears sting at your eyes with the acidity in your throat. You thought he would stay in your room or simply watch you from afar but he reaches forward to grab at your hair and hold it at your neck. He doesn’t rub your spine or smooth down your hair, but that gesture alone was tender for House.

There’s moments where you stop, but your body is quick to hunch back to the toilet and continue vomiting. Finally, after what feels like forever, you are able to breathe and lean against the rim. It’s gross, and unhygienic, but the porcelain is cool against your burning cheeks and you couldn’t care less.

You feel House retreat, and you wonder if that pushed him too far. The vomit down your chin, the sweat on your back, the shivers through your body. But then you hear running water and you turn to see him twisting the taps for your bathtub.

He hobbles back to you and his face swarms your vision. You don’t reply when he states “Up,” but you let him reach under your armpits and pull you up to stand on wobbly knees.

He frowns when you don’t fight him or make a snarky comment or try to slap at his hands. “Can you undress yourself?”

You blink at him, and you try not to gag again. Instead your shaky hands reach for your top, and you pull it over your head. You can’t find it in yourself to care. He had seen far better and far worse bodies, you were sure of it. And what you were even more certain of, was that he would have no reason to care. His apology didn’t change the fact that he was insistent that there was nothing between you, that he didn’t like you or even remotely think of you that way. Maybe he would make a joke about you acting like a hooker. Whatever.

When your shorts and underwear pool at your feet, you don’t hesitate to reach forward and lean against House. His hand rests against the small of your back, and if you were more cognitive at the moment you would have been almost shocked it didn’t dip further down. But he’s respectful and leads you to the bathtub, which is now full with cool water.

He winces when you put more weight on him, and raise yourself over the lip of the tub. But then you detach yourself from him, and you ease yourself down, laying in the water and placing your head at the end as your eyes droop. Behind you, there is a variety of soapy formulas, conditioners, shampoos, body washes, all tucked into the corner.

He clears his throat and tsks. “Don’t fall asleep. I won’t be able to carry you back to bed, and wouldn’t that be a mediocre death? Drowning in your own bathtub? You deserve something better. Serial killer patient on the loose or Foreman’s pisspoor attempt at cooking.”

You rattle out a tired laugh but find you don’t have anything to reply. For a moment, you sit in silence. Almost comfortable.

But then there’s the clink of his belt hitting the floor and despite your easing fever and tired self, your eyes snap open. “Wow House. Despite all the comments and stares, I never took you as a predator.”

He snorts and you see he’s already kicked off his shoes and peeled off his socks. His hands are still at his jeans and you track his movement. His eyes flick up to yours. You feel like prey being observed and you still yourself. Whatever he finds there is confirmation enough, and he peels his pants down. Your eyes trail down and you keep yourself still as you take in the silvery and mangled scar tissue of his thigh. When it’s apparent he’s not reaching to take off his boxers, you gently close your eyes and it seems to break the silence by spurring House to speak again. “I don’t stare at you.”.

“Mmhm. Do you hate me so much that you don’t realise it? Everytime I speak in the conference room or hell, even when I’m not speaking, you look at me with so much…Contempt.”

You feel him now, sliding against the tub and coming to sit behind you. His feet sit beside you, the water going up to his lean calves. You decide you want to see his reply and what he’s doing, so you stare up at him, resting your face against his thigh.

He peers down at you, and the line in his brow, that appears when people are being stupid, appears. You’ve seen it when parents deny a certain medicine, or when patients omit part of their history in embarrassment, but oddly enough, you haven’t seen it directed at you. Until now.

“It’s not contempt.”

“Then what is it?” Your eyes bore into him.

He doesn’t speak for a moment, and you can feel your heartbeat against your ribs. You’re not sure what you’re anticipating. You had wanted this at the charity event, wanted him to tell you the truth. And he did. So why were you wanting him to tell you a different truth?

But the moment slips away and he simply says, “You have vomit in your hair. Lean forward.”

A deep, almost shameful blush settles against your cheeks, and you’re happy to oblige in order to hide it. You hear him uncap one of the bottles to your side, and pour the solution into his hands. He gathers your long hair into his hands and lathers the shampoo across your scalp. It’s almost clinical, his actions. As if you were another patient.

You go to speak, but as if he senses that, he places a hand on your bare shoulder and leans forward. He cups at the water by his feet, and pours it onto your head. He repeats the process at least another three times, and you decide to just settle against his thigh again. Your skin doesn’t feel so clammy anymore, but you feel you must still be delirious because you get the insane urge to turn, and bite him. Bite a bruise into his skin and kiss it better.

He stills behind you, and his deep voice fills the room. “I’m going to wash you. Or I can hose you down, but seem too clingy for that.”

You’re too tired to think about it as he moves your hair over your shoulder. There’s a damp cloth over your back, scrubbing gently in circles. Your breath hitches as House leans forward, and the cloth is wiped across your front. For such a sexually inappropriate man, he attempts to avoid your breasts, and is quick to retreat.

“Thank you,” You mumble against his leg, closing your eyes.

“Don’t worry. You can make it up to me. How does taking my clinic hours for a week sound?”

Prick. At that, you really do turn and bite his thigh. He sucks air through his teeth and tenses, but doesn’t push you off as you place a soft, almost mocking, kiss where you nipped at.

“That’s a no, then?” he clears his throat before you can reply or bite him again. “Well, you can make it up to me by not quitting then. I’ll be back.”

He leaves you swiftly, dripping water across your bathroom and quickly dragging his jeans back up his lean legs. The door clicks shut behind him. You’re left in silence, only interrupted by the dripping of a faucet and your own groans of embarrassment.

He was asking you not to quit? After you had slapped him and now bit him? Really?

God you could see it now. Strolling into work in a few days, and the second you’re in the conference room, House proudly produces a rabies shot and tells everyone how vicious you were.

You drag your wet hands down your face and you’re almost tempted to do exactly as you spoke of earlier and drown yourself in your own bathtub. Instead you settle for leaning your face into the water and screaming out bubbles.

You’re only stopped when a hand pulls your shoulder back. House peers down at you. “Clearly, you need to go back to sleep. C’mon.”

It’s almost in a haze that you step out the tub. Both you stand on your fluffy white bath mat, but while he’s dressed now, you’re strikingly naked.

The fever, which has now receeded to a manageable level, has instead left embarrassment in its wake. First biting him and now flashing him again? What will be next?

You gratefully take the towel he offers you, and wrap yourself in it quickly. You see his staring at the growing patch of mold on your roof and you groan. “Don’t judge me. I couldn’t reach it to clean it.”

House rolls his eyes. “We’ll talk about that when you’re more lucid.”

He grabs his cane from where it is propped up by your sink, and together you walk back to your bedroom. You stop however, and turn to him. “You…changed my sheets?”

Was that why he had left earlier? He’s no nonsense and blunt in his response. “They were filthy.”

“How do you even know where my linen is kept? Or my washing machine?”

He dipped his hand into his pocket and produced a thin box of panadol and a vial of cough syrup. “Next you’re going to be asking me how I know where your medicine cupboard is.”

You stare at him, and debate asking him that very thing. But you’re tired and sore, and instead grasp at the medicine, dry swallowing two pills again and using the syrup’s cap to take a shot of it. He stares at you, almost admirably in a sense. For once, you didn’t argue about the treatment.

You settle against your bed and watch as raps his cane against your drawers. “Pajamas are where?” He draws out the last syllables almost in a whine, looking at you quizzically.

“Top drawer.”

He opens it, and whistles, holding up the sheer piece of lingerie that had never seen the light of day.

Shit.

It’s almost comforting when House’s improved bedside manner slips away and he turns to you with his signature smirk in place. If he’s being rude and unbearable, it’s not so embarrassing or difficult to fight back. “Doctor, what are the odds you can give me some treatment wearing this? You see, I’ve got this horrible swelling down below, and I think this would be the perfect remedy.”

You roll your eyes. “God, you act like a thirteen year old boy who has never seen boobs before, let alone had someone else to take care of his boner.”

House theatrically slaps a hand against his chest. “Excuse you, as of today, I’ve seen one pair of boobs. Try not to generalise us thirteen year old boys.”

You flush, and decide to not bite back at him, afraid he might remark more on your chest. It’s not bad, really, but you don’t like how your core clenches at the thought of House seeing you naked.

He stares at you for a moment, but then he’s digging in your drawers and pulls out a pair of cotton bottoms and a t shirt (in considerably better condition than your last one). He hands them to you, and he turns away, beginning to thumb through your paintings again as you weakly get changed.

You climb into bed, ready to turn to him and admit defeat by thanking him. Annoying as he is, you’re grateful for his help. Holding your hair. Washing you. Changing your sheets. Bringing you medicine. If you thought about it hard enough, you would almost think that for once, he did care about his patient.

But under the duvet covers, warm and recovering, your eyelids are heavy and you quickly slip off to sleep; the last thing you can see is House sitting down at your desk, like a guard ready to begin his shift. You stare at him for a moment. He’s wrinkled and his hair is greying, and it seems like he hasn’t shaved in the past few days, but he’s oddly…Beautiful.

And then you’re soundly asleep for the first time in days.

[andydrysdalerogers]

Undercover ~ Chapter Twelve ~ Her Royal Highness

Pairings: Jake Jensen and OFC Samantha Matthews

The Losers have made it back to their families and are out. Well, almost. A threat against the British crown needs to be handled and the CIA has tapped the Losers for one final mission. And they are sending in Jensen.

Jake Jensen hasn't been a civilian in years but now he's undercover to find out why his target is where he is and who he's after.

Enter Sam, someone who Jake doesn't expect and well, he didn't know he was looking for.

Can Jake handle his mission and falling in love? Especially when the truth leads to a bigger mission than expected?

*~* A Jake Jensen Story *~*

Author's note: this story continues after the events of the Losers. I may weave other characters into it but they are all minor. THE TAGLIST IS OPEN.

The playlist is available on Spotify.

cover photo by me! Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Warnings: angst, death, smut, and a bunch of stuff a can’t say because it gives away the plot!

Previous: Chapter Eleven ~ Separation Anxiety

Story Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Sam doesn’t usually wallow. Her life had been pretty good up until right now. Her parents loved her, she had good friends, a man who loved her, a steady job and a home all of her own.  The last two weeks had proven that complacency was dangerous.  As her father’s car pulled up to Kensington, Sam sighed, wiping a tear away at the thoughts of Jake not being with her.  When she stopped, her father exited and offered his hand to her. She accepted, as any princess would, and he led her into their family home.  

“Samantha, I’ve set up your room. It's Apartment 10, your own space as you are an adult now. We need to go over the plan for you and introduce you to your security. I’ve also taken the liberty of gathering some CVs for a secretary for you. And we need to go over the presentation to Parliament.”  

“Great,” Sam deadpanned.  

Her father sighed. “You could be more grateful.”  

“Grateful for what papa? For you taking me away from my home, away from the only place I really knew.  From the man I love?” Sam kept her composure.  “I was safe with Jake.”  

“You were shot at with him!” 

“And he took that bullet for me! Does that not make him worthy of me Father?” 

At the use of the formal title, Harold stiffened. Sam was rarely upset with him, even with how absent he was with her. His focus had been getting his son to take the throne and with that, his daughter had to be on her own. “Samantha...” 

“I’m Sam. That’s how I want to be addressed.  I will only be here long enough for the heir to the throne be born before I am no longer necessary.”  

“Samantha...Sam please, don’t be like this.  You know your brother had no choice.”  

“My brother hates me.  He blames me for his mother dying.  I wasn’t even in the picture and yet its all my fault. I am here because YOU want me here, not Tony. I will do my duty to you and then I am gone.  I have no desire to be a part of his court nor his family.”  Sam turned around and stomped away, aware of her petulance.  Once a steward took her to her apartment, she opened the door and took a look around.  Like everything else in Kensington, the designs were dated and royal. Too much gold inlay for her liking. Her bag had been brought up and she moved to unpack it.  

On top were three photos, one of her mother, one of Bowie and one of Jake and herself during Christmas.  She clutched the photo and laid in bed, sobbing for her lost love.  

Jake watched from the two way mirror. John Fitzgerald. He looked beat down and ragged from his run-in with the Embassy guards. He sat there with a smug look however, and it made Jake crazy.  This bastard started a turn of events that caused the love of his life to be taken from him.  He needed to get answers so he could fight for her.  Clay entered the room.  

“Fitz, long time.”  

“Not long enough,” Fitzgerald replied. “Would have though you would have retired after Colombia.”  

“Which Colombia, the first, second or third time?”  Clay took a seat across from the man.  “Either way, I still got out and you are still captured.”  

John snarled at him. “I would have taken what I needed if it hadn’t been for your boy.”  

“Right, Samantha.” Clay opened the file he had brought in with him.  “Otherwise known as Her Royal Highness, the Dutchess of Manchester.  Funny, you would think that they wouldn’t have titled her if she was a secret, but the best kept secrets are the ones right in front of you.”  

John swallowed. “I knew she was special,” he replied, without the cockiness he had prior.  

“You knew she was special,” Clay repeated. He studied John for a moment.  “You knew she was special, but you did not know she was titled, did you?” 

“Of course, I did.”  

“No, I don’t think so.  See, you searched for the Duchy of Manchester on a tip from someone who knew that she was it but didn’t tell you why. My bet is on the fact that the money led you there.  The Duchy was paying someone but the transactions when to an unnamed account and that’s where you got lost.”  

John fidgeted in his seat. “No.”  

“Liar. You don’t have to answer but I have a feeling you’ll give yourself away Fitzy.  Someone in the royal family or in the opposition is bankrolling you.” No answer. “And it’s someone who either wants the crown or wants the line to die and start a revolution.”  

“You’ll never know Clay.  Maybe I just wanted that sweet piece of ass to be mine. Maybe I just wanted to bend her over my desk and fuck the shit out of her because she looks just that good...”  

The door flew open and Jake came in the room and hit John in the jaw, toppling him from his seat. “Don’t say another word about her like that, you fucker.”  

The guards helped John back into his seat, his bloody smile looking back at Jake and Clay. “Nice shot. Doesn’t help your cause though. I mean the princess is just one piece of the puzzle. My homeland has always needed better leadership and they gave birth to it 50 years ago. We’re just strong enough to take it now.”  

“What did you just say?” Jake looked at him. “Birthed new leadership?” Jake ran through all of his research. “Son of a bitch. I know who his backer is.”  He turned to Clay, “do we have his computer?”  

“Yeah, everything from his house and … where are you going?” He chased Jake out of the room with Fitzgerald spitting and swearing at his idiocy.  

A few days later, Sam was being fitted with her gown for her presentation.  She stood still as the royal seamstresses flited around her, pinning the royal blue material in place.  As she sighed for the hundredth time, her father and brother walked in. “Can I help you?” 

“Sam, enough,” her father said.  “Ladies, will you help her Royal Highness out of the gown?  We need to speak to her in private.”  All of the ladies bowed and took Sam behind a screen and out of the dress. She popped back in her jeans and the Petunias shirt she had stolen from Jake.  

“Could you look any more American?” her brother scoffed.  

“Could you be any more of a pompous prick?” Sam countered, sitting on the armchair farthest from him.  

“Alright, that is enough,” her father said, stopping the insults before they became worse.  “Princess, we need to talk about the future. Your role within the Monarchy, your security and future plans.”  

Sam looked alarmed. “Plans? Like what?” 

“Like getting you to meet people,” Anthony said. “With the right company escorting you, of course.”  

“Right company?” 

Her father looked uncomfortable for the first time in her life.  “I’ve arranged for you to be escorted by the Earl of Stratham.”  

“Earl of Stratham? Peter Cambridge?” Sam had remembered the boy from her visits when she was younger. Ten years her senior, she was surprise to hear that he was still single. And then it dawned on her. “No.”  

“Samantha...” 

“No, I refuse. I am a woman in love. I will find my way back to him Father.”  

“Samantha be realistic,” Anthony said with an eye roll.  “You are the Princess of England not some American tartlet having an affair with a GI Joe. He is not of your station.”  

“So what? He is a good man who took care of me.  Who loves me. I would rather be locked up in a tower than give him up.”  

Anthony stands. “I am ordering you to present yourself to Parliament when it is time.  The Earl of Stratham will be by your side. We will announce your engagement to him in a few months after you have acclimated back to being a good Englishwoman and Princess of this royal house.”  

Sam’s face shatters as she runs from the room. Harold turned to his son. “Did you really feel that is necessary? She hasn’t been brought to be royal. And once you and Marie have children...” 

“I can’t wait to have a successor in place. You know Edward would jump on the chance to become King or have one of his children take over. We can’t allow that to happen.”  

Harold looked to where he could hear his daughter’s cries. “I know. But to take away her first love like this is cruel.”  

“He’s American, Papa.  She needs to get over it. She almost died with him and his team.  This is the best solution. Jacob Jensen is not good enough for our Princess.”  Anthony started to walk out the door. “She is our best hope to preserve our line until I produce my own heir.”  

“I hope you realize that by doing this, you are essentially cutting off any chance of getting to know and love your sister. It is not her fault that your mother left.”  

“She may not be the reason, but she had the chance at the normal life that I was never given. I’m sorry she is hurting but as head of this house, my decision is final.” He walked out without a backwards glance.  

Harold headed in to see his daughter. He found her in bed, chest heaving as she cried. “Oh, princess.”  

“I hate you,” she replied.  “I hate both of you.” Sam looked at her father squared. “I will not marry that man. I will not give up Jake. I’d rather abdicate and be a poor woman in love than a rich woman without. Get out of my room.”  

“Samantha...” 

“I said get out! You know no love for your daughter when you allow your son to do this to me.”  Sam moved into her bathroom and locked the door.  She sank to the floor and cried.  “Jake, please, come get me.”  

Jake had been working on the computers for the better part of a week.  The encryption was something to be admired and, in another lifetime, Jake would have appreciated it.  But now, it was nothing more than the bain of his existence.  He needed the information on it. Proof of his theory of who was after his Princess.  

“How’s it going Jake?” Aisha asked gently, setting a cup of coffee next to him.  

“Thanks,” he took a sip. “I’m almost there. I’d be impressed by this if it wasn’t pissing me off.”  

“Have you taken a break?” She looked at him with concern when he shook his head no. “Jake, you are going to burn yourself out and be no good to Sam when she needs you.”  

“I need to find this. I need her to feel free and not trapped.”  

“Jake! Man, have you seen this?” Pooch ran in, holding a tablet.  

“I haven’t looked at anything but this and my photo of Sam. What is it?” He took the table from his hand.  

PARLIAMENT CALLED INTO SESSION EARLY ~ANNOUCEMENT TO BE MADE BY HIS MAJESTY 

“Shit.” Jake reads the article. “The session is being called tomorrow.”  

“They are going to present her, aren’t they?” Aisha asks.  

“Yeah, I think they are. Fuck, I need to crack this shit.” Jake sat back down at the computer as Pooch kept reading.  

“Says here that the Earl of Strat... Strut... Stat... shit what is this word?” He showed Aisha.  

“Statham.” She took the tablet. “Says that he has begun courting and that its serious, but they don’t name the woman. Just that she is close to the crown...” she trails off.  

Jake stops typing, holding still.  He slowly looks at Aisha and Pooch. “You don’t think...” 

“It could be anyone Jake.”  

“She wouldn’t do this to me, would she?” 

“No, of course no. Jake,” Pooch grabs his shoulders, “Jake, look at me. She loves you. She was devastated at having to be pulled from you. This has to be her family not her.”  

“She’s mine,” he whispers.  “I have to fix this.”  He taps on the keyboard again before grabbing his mug of coffee and launching it at the wall. “Fuck! I just want to talk to her. To let her know I’m still here.”  He dropped his head into his hands.  

“You can,” Pooch says.  

“What?” Jake looked at him. “She lost her phone. I don’t...” 

“I slipped one into her bag.” Pooch shrugged. “To track her just in case.” Jake jumped up and hugged Pooch hard. “Get off me man.  

“Can’t do that Poochy. Gimme.”  

Pooch laughed and handed him the phone.  “Its encrypted and hopefully still charged.”  

Jake selected the contact and let it ring.  

Sam heard the ringing, but she couldn’t figure out where it came from. Her phone had been lost in the race to safety and she didn’t want to use the in house phone in case anyone was listening.  She went to the closet and the ringing got louder.  She searched the bag she had brought from home and found a phone.  She answered the unknown number. “Hello?” 

“Princess.” 

“Jake? JJ? Is that you?” 

“Sam, oh god its you.”  

“Jakey,” she cried. “I miss you so much”.  

“I miss you too Princess.  How are you?” 

“Tired and scared. Frustrated with my family. Jake, when are you coming?” 

“As soon as I can, love. We almost have it.”  Jake swallowed. “I heard you’re being presented tomorrow.”  

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I hate it. The dress is itchy and my crown is heavy. Would rather stay in your Petunias shirt.”  

“Hey, you have my shirt,” Jake said, making Sam giggle.  “That’s my favorite sound baby. We got a couple of articles about life in England.”  

“I bet.”  

“Are they making you date someone else?” Jake listened as Sam sniffled on the phone.  “Oh.”  

“I don’t want to Jake, I promise. I told them I am in love with you, and I would rather be locked up than let you go.  I promise JJ, I only want you.”  

“I thought that’s what you would say Sam. Fuck, I miss you in my arms.”  

“I want to be there with you.”  

“I’ll find a way Sam I promise. Your knight.”  

“I love you Jakey.”  

“I love you Sammy. I’ll call again tomorrow, ok?” 

“Ok. Bye.” 

Jake hung up, feeling better about the situation.  As he took a moment, the computer binged.  He looked down.  “Son of a bitch, I knew it.”  He took the computer to Clay. “We need to get to Fowler and Hart.”  

Clay read over the details.  “Hot damm Jensen, good work.  Let’s go rescue your girl.” 

Sam was primed and primped to within an inch of her life.  Her royal blue gown was heavy and uncomfortable.  The pins holding her hair were stabbing her skull.  But she waited in the receiving room until her brother called her forward.  She sat, wishing she was in Jake’s lap, cuddling with him.  

“Well, I see our prodigal princess has returned.”  Sam looked up to see her Uncle Edward.  

“Uncle, how nice to see you.”  

“You look well my dear.” Edward appraised her. “For being raised as an American.”  

“It is always a pleasure to see you Uncle. Excuse me.” Sam walked away with a shudder.  She really hated that man.  As she walked, she bumped into another body. “I’m so sorry.”  

“The error is mine, Your Royal Highness.” Sam looked up to see a handsome man with dark brown hair and blue eyes.  

“No, I wasn’t looking where I was going.  Sorry. I’m Sam.”  

The man chuckled.  “Yes, I know. Peter. Peter Cambridge.” He offered his hand and Sam took it. He raised her hand to place a kiss on the knuckles. “It's nice to see you again.” 

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Sam blushed. Her secretary interrupted.  

“Your Royal Highness, Your Grace, it is time for the presentation.”  

“Shall we?” Peter offered his arm and Sam placed her hand. There was nothing she could do to stop this now, so she conformed until the time was right.  

Peter escorted her down the aisle to the front of Parliament. Her father and brother stood on either side. Once they reached the end, Anthony took her hand and walked her to the center.  

“Ladies and Gentlemen, please allow me to present my sister, Samantha Marie Elizabeth Matthews – Davenport, the Duchess of Manchester and heir to the throne of England.”  

There was silence in the room before the clapping started.  As cameras flashes in their face, Sam noticed an odd look in her uncle’s face.  She went to point it out when the room when black, screams heard, and chaos ensued. Once the light returned and the smoke from the flash bangs dissipated, Harold checked on his children.  “Anthony are you ok?” 

“I’m ok,” he said coughing.  

“Sam?” Nothing but silence. “Samantha?” 

Her Royal Highness was gone. 

NEXT

Taglist:

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@tinkerbelle67

@before-we-get-started

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[pillow-anime-talk]

toxic.

request: heyyy, may i request something like reader being in unhappy/toxic relationship with some guy but can’t break up with him because she actually still loves him and akashi seijurou trying to get reader out of this relationship and show reader how much love he has to give... it’s messy but I hope you got the idea!!

# tags: scenario; toxic relationship with oc!male & friendship with akashi; adult!characters; work!au; angst; drama; a bit of romance; soft!akashi; but also angry!akashi; soft kiss; mental & physical abuse; bruises and tears; sfw?

includes: female reader ft. seijuurou akashi {knb}

author’s note: writing this headcanon was really enjoyable, thank you, anonnie. remember, however, that any violence (both mental and physical) is wrong, and a relationship with such a person is never a good thing. please seek help from relatives and emergency services or call the telephone numbers for victims of violence. it’s important to take care of your comfort; you only have one life.

Akashi smiled at you as soon as you started to approach his person standing next to the coffee machine (you always drank your favorite coffee and ate cookies or sandwiches together before starting your shift in the office). However, once you were close enough, his smile disappeared, replaced by a large grimace and obvious anger in his eyes. And also great uncertainty, fear and the desire to hug your tiny person to his own body.

“... You fell down the stairs, hit the sink in the bathroom or stumbled again on the straight road?” He asked in a nervous voice, and you just lowered your head, looking at your shoes and the gray floor. You felt indescribable shame. “Do you remember what I said? If that loser does anything to you again, I’ll personally kill him. I guess this is the moment...” He set the mug of still-warm, black coffee without milk on the counter, then clenched both fists, examining the bruise on your face more closely.

“No, S-Seijuurou, it’s not him. I really hit the c-cupboard. I was working in the garden a-and...”

“The fuck? It’s winter. What were you doing in the garden? Don’t make me laugh and stop lying to me.” His voice was serious and cool. You didn’t like this side of Akashi, even though you knew his behavior was normal and right in this situation. Everyone around you knew that your boyfriend, with whom you lived for half a year, tortured you, cheated on you, he was dependent on you and didn’t respect your hard work, good soul and love at all. “After work, we’ll go to your place together, you’ll pack up and stay with me for a few days.” It wasn’t a request, but rather a command.

However, you hoped that after the end of the shift, the man would forget about everything and would not insist on taking you to your apartment.

{ ･ﾟ✧ }

Moments after 4 pm you finished your work and you put on a warm jacket and a hat. You sighed a bit as you left the huge office. You stayed a quarter of an hour longer on purpose so that your friend would go alone, but he was still waiting for you and scrolling through something on his phone.

“Get in. It’s cold, and I don’t want you to get sick.”

“Sei-kun, you don’t have to...”

“I don’t want to drive you home next time, but from the hospital or the police station. It’s not normal that the person who supposedly loves you tortures you every day because you didn’t make what he wanted for dinner. This idiot gets too much from you anyway, plus you clean up after him, pathetic. Get in, Y/N, and let’s stop arguing. You don’t have to do that with me.” He said in a tired voice and you listened to him. The road to your apartment was full of silence and awkwardness, and your red eye was throbbing with nervousness.

After reaching the tenement house where you lived, you hesitantly left Akashi’s white car and together headed towards the staircase, and then the floor where you rented a small, 35-meter apartment. You unlocked the door with your key and took off your shoes inside. Your guest did the same, and when you both looked up, your tall partner was already waiting for you.

“... What is he doing here?” He asked in low voice, not even looking at you but at the other man to show his own dominance. “Why did you come?”

“Can’t I come over and have a cup of tea with my bestfriend and talk about a project we’re working on together?”

“... Nobody invited you here.”

“Nobody had to. It’s not your apartment and you don’t decide who Y/N can and can’t invite and host.” He smiled bitterly, then took off his long brown coat as well. You immediately noticed your boyfriend’s fists clench, making your body tense. Definitely the last thing you wanted was a fight. “What are you so stressed about, kid? Do you think your attitude scares me in any way?”

“Listen...”

“No, you listen. Y/N won’t do it and say it out loud, but you’re not welcome here. You’re a fucking jerk who doesn’t respect women and their commitment to you, you’re just a parasite and a slacker who can’t do anything. All you can do is scare others, cheat on them and use violence. Don’t interfere with my relation with Y/N, because unlike me, you’re nothing; you don’t know her at all, you’re not interested in her, and you don’t truly love her. Plus, I can easily fuck you out of here, and if you give me one more weird glance or remark, or raise your voice at your girlfriend, you’ll fly out the window.”

You were impressed and your cheeks flushed slightly. You knew perfectly well that Seijuurou hated your boyfriend, but you didn’t think that he would defend you in this way and make Hitoshi stay silent for the next few moments. It was a blissful and pleasant silence.

However, unfortunately, after a few more seconds, the blonde spoke up.

“...Y/N, make ne dinner. I haven’t eaten anything since morning.” He grumbled like a two-year-old boy. You sighed and started to go to the kitchen, but your friend grabbed your wrist.

“I don’t remember that Y/N coming here to look after the little baby. She came here straight from work to rest. Didn’t your mother teach you how to boil water and put pasta in it?" The red-haired man laughed and you tugged at his black sweater sleeve with your free hand.

“Listen to me, dude. Y/N is my girlfriend and don’t piss me off. She’ll make me dinner when I ask for it, and you...”

“And me what?” He chuckled. “You are tragic and insolent. I feel sorry for every woman who has had any contact with you.”

“You’re... defending her because you two probably fucking in the office, right? You don’t love me anymore, Y/N?"

“I...” You started calmly but your friend interrupted you.

“You’re fucked up, man, that you suspect her of cheating, and you’ve been doing it since you two started a relationship.” Seijuurou walked over to him, then grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him towards the door. He threw both your boyfriend out the door as well as his jacket and shoes without much trouble. “I think you’ve used Y/N enough over the last few months. Now you can take care of yourself, and if I see you harassing or touching her, I’ll kill you, moron.”

The slam of the door made you jump slightly, then a small tear ran down your left cheek. Seijuurou locked the wood and then walked over to you and hugged your trembling body tightly to his. A light kiss on your forehead calmed you down slowly, and you sighed.

“... T-Thank you.”

“Y/N you are the most important person to me, understand that I couldn’t do otherwise.” He said, rocking the two of you in the middle of the living room and you nodded. “ Did I overdo a bit? ”

“No, it’s okay, Sei. Thank you, r-really.”

You both knew that the young man truly loved you, yet you both wanted to wait. Instead of rushing and acting hastily, the ruby-haired boy ordered your favorite food and offered to watch a movie. You finally felt what it means to have an evening full of rest and joy.

[insightfulcorner]

A Letter to someone I love, except they’ll never read it:

Dear Anonymous,

I know it’s been a while since we’ve had a heart to heart. Sometimes, I wonder if we ever did have a heart to heart that didn’t end in something bitter. It was always hard to talk to you and tell you how I felt. Every word I said came off as a criticism, and every tear I shed made you angrier. My pain was your whip, and although I was the small child in the situation, I would always be accused as the abuser; the abandoner.

I knew you were falling apart long before I grew up and left. You had a history of self sabotage, and even as a child I understood that the things I went through as a result of you, weren’t because you meant to hurt me; it was meant to hurt you. You hate your life, you hate it’s outcome, and you hate what you’ve been through. I understand that. You’ve been through a lot, just like me. But unlike me, you remain a victim. When you grew up, you no longer had an abuser to bring that familiar feeling of hateful love, so you turned to lovers who provided that. When you couldn’t find a lover to do so, you hated yourself. You built a reality where the world hated your very breathe, and to this day I see you hate a reality that you built.

You’ve pushed us away, and it hurt. You’ve chosen you’re hate over us, and it stung. Nonetheless, we healed and we kept hope. You would come home. You would one day keep your promises. One day, you would get better. I still hope this for you, but I can’t tell you that I expect it. In order to get help, you have to admit that something is wrong, and you never will. That’s okay though. We still love you, but won’t be a victim to your life anymore.

We’ve grown up. A is great it’s computers, and he’s a genius in school. He hates sports, but as a high schooler he has built complex video games and 3D models so much so that we want him to be an apprentice to help with college when he goes next year. C is doing great too! He’s such a well rounded kid, and he started his freshman year. He is so big, the football coaches love him and put him on varsity. He is stronger than me, and he is so sweet. I see him as a gentle giant. He doesn’t have the same pain as A and I do when we think of our childhood. He was so young, he does not remember most of it. What he remembers, he remains resilient as a result, and he doesn’t let it ruin him. He’s so pure of heart, and he is the apple of my eye. I may not be his parent, but it feels as if I have raised him. In all reality, I have.

We are really close. We listened to your advice to stay close, because all we have in the end is each other. You and R built a reality around us where that was usually the case, and as a result we are a trio. Even with me far away, they remain in contact and they tell me everything, especially C. We’ve grown into our own humans Anonymous. I know you still talk to us like we’re little, because not even 6 visitations ago, we were little. However, we’ve grown up, and I can tell you that we are becoming some fine adults. I don’t know if you worry about us, but if you do, please know we are doing great.

A part of me still hurts and is bitter, but it’s getting smaller everyday. Im beginning to understand more and more, and I have accepted that no matter what I will always love you, Anonymous. We are all imperfect, and you never had bad intentions. It is hard to give others the love they need when you don’t know how to love yourself, and I understand that. I just hope for the day you see the light again, and that you can learn to love yourself. I hope for the day I can see you, and you are truly happy. Until then, the lights are on in the bedrooms of my heart, and I will always be there for you when you decide to get help.

Sincerely,

You’re daughter.

[treesah]

It’s funny how becoming a mother literally installed empathy into my brain, but only for one person. I thought I felt empathy before, but now I’m realizing that what I thought were emotions may have just been me thinking about what it would be like to feel things in a particular moment. When my son is having a bad time or feeling bad, I feel literal physical pain. I want to fix everything for him. I want to cry with him. I want to grab the other three-year-old who pushed him off the swings and tear that kid apart. We hug it out instead and I say some bland platitudes about ignoring people who are mean.

When people who aren’t my son tell me about how they’re having a bad time or feeling bad, mainly what’s happening for me internally is a superficial “That’s rough, buddy,” or maybe a vaguely concerned “You should definitely repeat this to your therapist, or get a therapist if you don’t have one.” And that’s for people I know and like!

Some people, like my husband, appreciate my unfiltered response. He told me some stuff and I told him that if I ever felt the same way, it either meant that I needed to go touch grass or that I was going through a major depressive episode and needed to go back on real meds instead of taking megadoses of Vitamin D and Omega-3s. He initially seemed taken aback, but then he told me appreciated being dunked on instead of coddled—even though I wasn’t trying to dunk on him, I was genuinely trying to give him a helpful assessment of his undesirable negative feelings and I just didn’t put as much effort into wording it for him as I would for anyone else. (Upon reflection, this is probably why my husband thinks I am unreasonably indulgent towards our son, and sometimes admits to feeling jealous of the way I treat him. But also—our son is a three-year-old child and my husband is an adult. Surely it makes sense that the level of tenderness I exhibit to each one of them is different.)

For everyone else, I’m very good at saying the right things and providing the needed mode of interaction (advice/active assistance or commiseration). Having close bonds with other people is really nice! Being helpful and included gives dopamine!

For things I come across online, I feel mainly amusement, if anything at all. It’s probably fake, and it’s definitely a cry for attention. r/AITA is full of laughs when you don’t feel like watching anything on TV and you’re not in the mood to engage in any meatier reading. It’s always with a sense of prurient interest when I learn that something in a reality TV show or a juicy online post is real. Look at how the other half lives!!! People really are this messy in real life!!! Amazing.

Becoming emotionally activated from experiencing someone else’s unsolicited trauma dumping is very foreign to me. Especially via reading text online. Like, cool story bro, if it’s real talk to a therapist, if it’s not, post your own fic about it. I think I watched what you’re talking about in one of the Saw movies or maybe a hentai, but yours had fewer orcs and tentacle monsters.

Maybe I’m too desensitized from all the violent and gory TV and movies I’ve watched and all the violent and gory video games I’ve played and all the charities I’ve donated to that turned out to be scams (apparently the Red Cross uses your money for more Red Cross advertising and NOT earthquake relief!) and the constant never-ending grind of people dying in horrific ways en masse on the 24-hour news cycle (funny story, my first memory of the United States is eating a bagel with cream cheese upon arrival at JFK International, and my first memory of watching TV in the United States is seeing a pile of dead bodies from the Rwandan genocide on the nine o’clock news).

Sure, human suffering sucks, but it’s not useful to feel anything about it. If it’s some rando online, it’s probably a scam and I hear doxxing them to verify real life details is unethical, so who cares if it’s not a scam (report it to the proper authorities if you’re straight up being sent something illegal like CSAM, or don’t if you hate the cops too much even for that, I guess). If it’s something happening to someone you know or happening out there in the world, do something about it or don’t. Anyone who needs to feel something about human suffering to do something about it is either fake or easily manipulated or both. A nurse providing care and comfort to a wounded soldier doesn’t also have to blow her own leg off with a grenade to understand that having your leg blown off Feels Bad and requires intensive treatment.

[give-soup-please]

Narrator acting as a father figure to Reader? 🥺 your stuff is like super awesome

Narrator Acting as Father Figure to Reader

He figures the best way to look after you is to spend time together frequently. The two of you go out to the park, for ice cream, whatever you’d like.

He strikes me as the sort of person who’s fairly protective under these circumstances. Yes, you can go to a club or bar with friends, but he’s coming with you and keeping a sharp eye out. He doesn’t want you to stop living your life just because he’s around, but he’s fairly suspicious about the real world.

The narrator doesn’t like being apart from you, but if you keep insisting, he’ll give you a break. He recognizes it’s important for your development, he just genuinely likes being around you. 

I imagine him being a little salty if you push him away, but not bitter.

“You don’t want to spend time with me? Fine. I’ll just sit right here, and wait for you to get back. No, no, reader, go ahead.” (He cares so much, the absolute dork. And he will actually wait for you to come back, this isn’t an attempt at emotional manipulation. He doesn’t really know what to do when you’re not around.)

Even if you’re a little older, would you at least let him indulge in reading to you? He’s an excellent storyteller. Getting to sleep with him reading is so easy. The narrator is smug about this.

“Cheeky kid, thinking they don’t need their eight hours. Heh, knocked them right out.” 

Yeah, he’s probably going to call you some variation of kid, kiddo, or sport unless you’re really close to him in age. I suggest you accept it, that’s not very likely to change. 

You’re going through a lot, whether you’re still a child or an adult. The narrator is always there to listen to your problems. His advice is a little… odd, but he means well.

Imagine if you had a bullying situation at school or your coworkers were being mean to you.

“They say the best thing to do to make friends, reader, is to be yourself. But these people? Here’s what we’re going to do. You and I are going to scare them by…”

He makes a plan to terrify the people being mean to you by scaring the crap out of them by using his most spooky and evil voice. It’s a very fun day.

He does his best to encourage you, but this might not be his forte either. Or it may be, depending on what works for you.

“Reader, the odds are against you on this one. Overwhelming, exhausting odds. But you’re going to get through it because I believe in you. And I’m never wrong with who I believe in.”  

The first time you call him ‘dad’, by accident or not, he nearly bursts into tears. 

He’s so proud of you. You didn’t even have to do anything to earn it. For some reason, it’s become a reflex for him. He’s proud of you in the way that the sky is blue, an undeniable fact. 

(small rant in tags)

[subpar-ghoulfriend]

Let’s have a baby

yandere!EraserMicx PREGNANT!Reader 

A terrible mix up leading to an accidental pregnancy? Or something more intentional? Either way now you were pregnant with (none other than the beloved power couple heroes) Eraserhead and Present Mic’s child. Time to discuss how co parenting is going to work. 

TW: pregnancy, artificial insemination, yandere elements, mentions of stalking, alludes to potential custody battle

You had been avoiding the two men for the past week, which was challenging seeing as they managed to find your phone number, address, and place of work. Any time you blocked their calls they got a new number. Two Pro Heroes versus a twenty something civilian, it was only a matter of time until you were cornered.

Now the couple stood between you and your apartment. You had a long shift at your job as a pet groomer and just wanted to get some rest.

Present Mic was the first to speak. "Hey lil momma, we heard you had work today so we brought you some dinner. We thought we could talk over a nice meal."

You had no response. You were tired, both physically and emotionally. You had been put through the ringer ever since meeting them at your doctors office. It was a total Jane the Virgin situation. You went in for an assessment about some supposed ovarian cysts and unknowing left artificially inseminated. There was a supposed mix up, a digital glitch that somehow merged your chart with the surrogates - apparently your names were super similar. Two weeks later you were called back into the doctor's office and informed of what took place. And now you were in this living nightmare.

And the two heroes had nothing to do with the error. There was totally a surrogate. They hadn't paid off your provider. And why would they? You had never met them - although given their patrols they may have seen you once or twice...

They were tearful when they were informed of the mix up, they had been waiting patiently through the whole process and now everything was thrown in chaos. They offered to compensate you for your service which sent you into a blind rage. They just assumed you would carry a child, a child with half of your DNA, and then give YOUR baby away. Rationally you understood that they had planned to be be the only parents to the child, but that was with a professional surrogate who understood the process, who didn't want the child in their life, just happy to help out a loving couple. But that wasn't you, you grew up wanting to be a mom, and now they would take that from you.

What if they tried to legally take sole custody of the baby? Surely they had some pull in the judicial system. Besides, they were a solid couple with money, while you were alone with no family and working two jobs. The thought made you sick to your stomach.

You were shaking as you tried to push past them. Maybe they would just disappear if you ignored them, a girl could dream. But instead they tagged along inside. Albeit you weren’t fighting them on it, you knew this had to happen eventually.

Aizawa easily found the cluttered dining table in your small apartment. You flinched when the loud one tried to help you shrug off your backpack. Taking a seat on the couch you waited for them to start berating you.

"Come sit at the table, dinner is getting cold," Eraser spoke for the first time.

"I'll eat later, I'm not hungry."

"You may not be, but the baby needs to eat."

You glared, how dare they insinuate you didn't know what your child needed. If your body was hungry, you ate. If you were full the baby was full too.

But, you complied, not wanting to argue, "Fine, but I ate a snack not too long ago."

As you ate, Mic kept you company, picking at some left overs, they clearly ate before their visit. Aizawa was rummaging through your place but you managed to hold your tongue until he began throwing things out of your fridge.

"What are you doing?" You hissed, getting up out of your seat.

"Mic and I will bring you groceries tomorrow. The food you have is barely safe for an adult, let alone a fetus."

"Are you kidding me? It's not like I'm chugging alcohol and living off Twinkies. Hey! I just bought those turkey slices. How is turkey bad?" You whined.

To make sure you wouldn't dig the food out trash he dumped it out of his container.

"Zashi, don't let me forget to empty the trash on our way out. Do you know how much salt is in deli meat? And there's no way you can drink any of this while you're pregnant." He gestures to the cans of soda.

As the frustration built you had to fight back tears. They couldn't come in to your home and start throwing out your things.

"Some of us don't make ridiculous money, I'm buying what I can afford and the doctor never had any problem with my health." You hissed.

Hizashi felt the tension thickening, "Hey hey hey, it's okay. Sho and I will go get you some good stuff. We just gotta watch out for you and baby."

And that was the end of your resolve, you stomped past the Hero and locked yourself in your bedroom. Finally tears began to drip down your cheeks.

Back in your kitchen Mic was chiding his boyfriend for being so tough on you.

"So I should just back down while she stuffs herself with junk food?"

Mic gave him a shrug, showing him a bottle on your counter, "At lest she's taking her prenatal vitamins?"

Grabbing the keys to your apartment Aizawa instructed Mic to wait with you while he got you better groceries. He would make copies of your keys on his was back.

You prayed they would leave soon. You were laying in your bed having cried yourself out. Barely into your second month of pregnancy. You still had to endure this for at least seven more months, but most likely much longer.

Next thing you knew you were opening your eyes and the clock read seven AM. By now your uninvited guests must be gone. Nervously you sat up, praying that you'd skip the morning sickness just once this week. You had always had a weak stomach and even the doctor was surprised you were already experiencing the symptom. Unfortunately the minute your feet touched the floor you knew what was coming. You sprinted to the restroom, not even checking to see if the duo had left.

God this was terrible, you didn't just hate throwing up, you were terrified of it. What if you started and never stopped? But it did come to an end. You wiped the water from your eyes and took a moment before standing from the floor. You screamed when a hand slid under your arm, helping you up. Another set of feet rushed to the bathroom.

" What's wrong?" Hizashi huffed as he skid to a stop.

You pulled arm free from Aizawa's grasp. "What are you two still doing here?"

You turned in the faucet to rinse your mouth. Trying to calm your stress, the nausea was trying to return.

Undeterred the scruff pulled your hair into a bun before rubbing your back. You debated returning to bed but that wouldn't get them out of your apartment. You told them you need to sit down, both of them nodding, still wearing their concerned expressions. They got you a glass of water before joining you on the couch. Stubborn men, you sat at the end of the couch so they couldn't both sit, but Mic decided to perch himself on the armrest.

He started petting your hair, "You feelin better little listener?" You nodded in response.

"I got you more food, let us know if your hungry."

You sighed in defeat, "I'm barely two months pregnant, I can fend for myself. What did you all want to talk about?"

You anxiously placed a hand on your stomach. Both men felt their hearts flutter recognizing your maternal instincts kicking in.

Aizawa let Mic begin, he was the more gentle of the two.

"Well, we figured we got off to a rough start. You got put in a tough situation. We shouldn't have assumed you didn't want a child so we're not mad at how you stormed out. But either way we expect to be in our baby's life. The two of us talked it over and we don't want to fight you if you want to be in their life too. So if you wanna be the mommy we're cool with it."

You could blame your reaction on your hormones for your response but you didn't, "Geez thank you so much for allowing me to be in MY child's life."

Aizawa placed a hand on the back of your neck, giving you a gentle massage. "Okay then, the three of us are gonna have a baby. That means you have to stop ignoring us. We can raise the baby together, without involving anyone else. But if we have to, we can always go the legal route for the baby's best interest." 

He knew it was a low blow, but the couple needed you to stop fighting them. Your eyes snapped to his and you shook your head in protest.

"Okay then we're all the same page," Aizawa reassured you.

Mic cheered, "Now we can focus on the fun stuff."

"Hun," Eraserhead caught his attention. "There's still a few more important things to figure out. We don't want you going back to that doctor. They're incompetent. We scheduled you an appointment with another's clinic for next week. Okay?"

You couldn't find your voice after how easily he threatened to take your baby. So you just nodded. Half listening.

"Good. We also went ahead and programmed our numbers into your phone. We need to be able to check in with you."

"Okay, but I can't use my phone at one of my jobs."

"About that lil momma," Mic started. "You work a lot, which is totally bad ass, but we don't think you leave enough time to rest and take care of yourself."

You tried to protest but Aizawa cut you off, "You also shouldn't be working around so many animals. Even though we love animals, they can be unpredictable and one dog can trigger all the rest into a frenzy."

You were dumbfounded, "I've never heard of anything like that happening. One of my coworkers was pregnant last year, she worked until her maternity leave. Plus I need to be able to pay my bills. And don't offer to compensate me again."

"Why do you have to view it as compensation? We just want to take care of the mother of our child. Just think about it. Mic and I have to go take care of some business but we'll be back later this week."

---

Back at their home Hizashi was dramatically splayed on their bed.

"Babe why are you pouting?" Aizawa asked.

"Why can't we just bring her home already?"

Aizawa sympathized with his better half, but they needed to be methodical. He reminded Hizashi that they didn't need to cause her even more stress, especially so early into the pregnancy. If they played their cards right they would have their happy little family soon enough.

If they could ease you in to the relationship everything would be easier in the long run. They had been managing just fine until now, they could wait a few more months.

He joined Hizashi on the couch. Mic was comforting himself the way he usually did when he felt like this. He was scrolling through the countless photos they had collected since their chance encounter with you over a year ago. 

[aokuro-san]

The Tokyo Revengers ending! Some thoughts now that I've read it.

this is so messy... I’m sorry.

A love letter to the fans

And, don't you think that's what it is? The last chapter constantly thanks us and Takemichi for having read, enjoyed and followed the work to this day.

Does everyone remember?

The supernatural element hasn't disappeared (and that's a good thing because it's the coherence of the plot)!

Naoto, who was a policeman (and became a policeman to save his sister in the future), is now an occult journalist, since he no longer needs to save his sister from death and may have vague memories of what happened with Takemichi. , just like Chifuyu.

And speaking of Chifuyu...

Chifuyu

At first, he was not convinced that the narrator of the last chapter was precisely Chifuyu. I loved he, but it wasn't his story, nor was it the end of his journey. However, when I reread it (I won't get tired of saying that TokRev is to reread forever) i convinced me more. On one hand, I think Wakui wanted to express his feelings about the end of TokRev (in addition to thanking the fans for their support). And, on the other, to narrate again what it means to be a hero. As Takemichi is no longer our crybaby hero, but just our hero. The hero who sacrificed so much to save them all. And true heroes don't tell their own story. Chifuyu, who represents fidelity personified -at least, to a certain extent- is perfect for doing so.

And speaking of Takemichi...

Takemichi

I've seen some people complain that they wanted to see the Takemichi of the past, with his eyes "lit up" (which he has, by the way!) And, above all, crying his eyes out at the wedding. But I think this would be a mistake, even if the ending was different! Takemichi has given all the tears he could to his companions, out of love for them. But now he doesn't need to cry anymore BECAUSE HE HAS DONE IT! He has achieved his goal. No one has died and everyone goes their own ways despite everything. He no longer needs to drop another tear, just smile, just as he does: with satisfaction and peace.

On the other hand, is it complete happiness?

Yes and no. Happiness, in this case, means having the opportunity to follow your own path, despite everything (as Chifuyu explains in a paragraph). Which is to say that many of the things we saw didn't change overnight (obviously for me!) and just happened:

Draken was abandoned by his mother and lived for years in a brothel, but the love of his life did not die tragically at the age of fifteen, they have managed to be together and it seems that they are going to start a family.

The history of the Shiba family and that of the ToMan against the Black Dragons did happen more or less as such.

South survived the violence of his childhood (I think with him I have the least doubt that this guy fought his own gang against the ToMan, before he joined her) and is now a professional wrestler.

And he chases the one who was his killer in another life! LOL. It might be a bit weird, but in this ending you have to use your imagination (which isn't a bad thing, the writing is half imagination, half description), so I imagine South, after his battle with the ToMan, was equally defeated by Mikey (as in the past, with the difference that he did not kill him) and now admires him for being the person who managed to defeat him. The truth would not be strange to me...

Sanzu and Senju STILL HAVE A SHITTING BROTHER.

Takeomi is still the same as always and takes advantage of his brothers, as Chifuyu tells us. But these, although they seem quite apart from Takeomi, who calls himself his manager, they also don't seem to have many problems giving him money. As Chifuyu explains, this is THEIR decision and, although it seems bad to us (I include myself at this point), Senju and Sanzu are adults to make their decisions... I guess.

Izana had the life she did (look at her eyes!), but she met the Sanos and the ToMan and now she travels the world helping kids like him along with Kakucho (who also had a bad life) and the rest of Tenjiku.

And now I want to make a little emphasis on the latter...

Wakui's true goal (or so I think, haha)

Wakui has explained many times that in his youth (and as most of his manga shows, haha) he was part of a bosozoku gang. Initially, these types of gangs were born to fight against war and other injustices, before - as Wakui explained in his day - the gangs became small mafias that terrorize the neighborhoods of Japan. And that is the goal of Tokyo Revengers (according to the author)!, to revive those ideals. That's why we have the protagonist that we have (who learns from them along the way), that's why several of the characters have managed to survive their injustices (like Izana, Sur, etc.), that's why, in the end, some of the characters ( such as the group of Tenjiku or Kisaki and Koko) work and/or help in charitable associations. Because that's the meaning Wakui knew (and wanted to convey) of gangs! Mutual support, lasting friendship (despite following different paths) and the fight against injustice.

So did I like the ending?

Yes, and also, now I think that it is the ending that Wakui wanted to give it (see what a clever little person posted on Twitter) and that makes me twice as happy.

Tokyo Revengers has become one of my favorite manga. I can't wait to have the complete collection! (I think it's been years since I wanted to make a collection like this one). There's something special about this work, and it certainly won't stop being special to me overnight (probably never). And I hope I can keep talking about her here on Tumblr! Because what Wakui has achieved with that ending is that TokRev never ends.

one of my favorite panel

[doppopoppo]

Bundle of Feelings

|| Uramichi Daily Headcanon ||

|| Warnings: married, minor cussing, angst, argument ||

|| Uramichi • F!Reader || 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*💙

Silence.

Everything was silent. 

The only thing that could be heard were the trees rustling outside. The curtains swaying softly and hitting the glass door. The fridge is running in the background. And the heavy breathing of two adults. Hearts pounding in their chests. Both afraid the other may hear their heart wanting to explode into a volcanic mess. 

Otherwise, silence. 

Y/N hasn’t seen her husband this mad since she last saw him interact with his father. Uramichi was red in the face, a scowl permanently settled atop his facial features. The way he was holding her hand, squeezing it tightly for mental support. She doesn’t even remember what they were even arguing about, as her father-in-law bickered about the most minuscule of things. 

Today, however, Uramichi’s anger was directed at her. She had thrown out all of his beer and cigarettes. His wife was tired of having to deal with a drunk husband more nights than she wanted. Only sleeping when he was wasted and slurring out cuss words. The heavy smell of tobacco following his trail, making her scrunch up her nose in disgust. Coughing whenever she walks by as he puffs out smoke. None of these were healthy coping mechanisms. She genuinely wanted to help her husband figure out and find better alternatives. Healthier options. One that wouldn’t harm his health. 

As a gymnast, shouldn’t he know better? 

Little did she know, her actions would cause Uramichi to have an outburst. The most the two fought over what to eat for dinner, junk food or protein filled. He began the argument by yelling at her. Then proceeded to belittle her, what can she know? How stupid can she be? 

She cried and tried to calm him down, but he wouldn’t listen. “It's for your own good!” Y/N sniffled, “why can’t you see that?” She was hugging her own body. Unsure if it was for comfort or out of fear; maybe both? 

Uramichi sighed and rubbed his forehead, “I’m a grown man. I can make my own fucking choices for fucks sake, Y/N!” He’s never used such vulgar vocabularies with her before, this was a first. 

She didn’t want to change Uramichi, instead help diminish the fire inside of him. The one his father lit and kept throwing gasoline at it. 

“You won’t grow like this, dear. If you want a brighter future and to help your depression, we need to start fixing your bad habits.” She emphasized ‘we’. Because they were in this together. 

Uramichi had yet another strenuous day at work, all he wanted was to drink beer until he passed out. His wife’s cuddles no longer lulled him to sleep. Her sweet whispers felt meaningless. Only cigarettes could help him calm his mind down. Yet, she still tried to reason with him. Saying bullshit about seeing a therapist, hanging out with friends more often, or going outside that’s not the gym. 

“I know your fathers did horrible things to you. Such as forcing you into something you didn’t want to do. But you have to stop living in the past. Stop blaming your father for your future, which is your present now.” His wife tried to get close to him to bring him into a hug. 

Enraged at her words, “Oh my god, I could just hit you right now!” Uramichi threw the nearest dumbbell to him across the room. She heard a vase shatter, the one that was a hand me down from her mother. 

“What the hell do you know!? You’ve lived a nice and spoiled life, no inch of worries. No wonder you’re such a stubborn brat half the time.” His words were like a sharp knife cutting through her heart. 

She bent down over the broken pieces of vase. Shattered just like her heart. Uramichi’s eyes and mind were clouded in red rage. He hasn’t realized he broke an important item. One that was personally given to them by his mother-in-law. The woman who entrusted her daughters happiness to him. 

“Stop.” Y/N whispered. “Stop this right now!” She shouted at him. New, hot tears fell from Y/N’s eyes as she held into the broken vase pieces. She was in shock that her husband was willing to get physical over beers and cigarettes. This wasn’t what he promised to her on the day of their wedding vows. 

“You’re no different from your father, Uramichi.” She stood up. “An abuser raised another abuser. I can’t have this cycle continue.” Y/N went to put on her coat. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Uramichi was irritated that she had the audacity to leave in the middle of an argument. 

“Our child doesn’t need to witness what you witnessed your father do to you.” His wife glared at him. 

Those words flipped a switch inside Uramichi. Child? But they didn’t have any children. Then it clicked, his wife was pregnant. Was that the real reason she wanted him to stop? Why didn’t she say so in a better way then? It was too late to ask her these though, because she already left the apartment. 

The small apartment that used to be lovely thanks to his wife, now felt cold and lonely. The way it was before she came into his life. He took a look around the room and saw the mess he made. It might’ve been minor, but it left a big impact. Uramichi noticed the important vase he broke and ran out the door to catch up to his wife. Though she was nowhere to be seen. He sighed and went back inside and laid down on the couch. He screwed up big time. 

When morning came, it was raining but the smell of food tickled his senses and woke him up. He slowly got up from the couch and went towards the kitchen. He found his wife in her favorite apron cooking breakfast. 

“Morning.” She chirped. “I’m making American style sausage with scrambled eggs! Go sit at the table in the living room, I’ll be there in a minute.” 

Questions ran through his head as he sat at the table on the floor. The broken vase pieces are gone, but so is the vase. Y/N’s eyes looked empty, betraying the big smile she displayed. He saw his wife bring the food to the table. He quickly got up and helped her. Likewise, he went to grab some additional items to set up the table for breakfast. Was last night a dream? No it couldn’t be. 

The question was itching in Uramichi’s throat, he had to ask. “Why?” 

Y/N looked up from her place, “why what?” 

“Why'd you come back? I even broke your mother’s case.” He thought she walked out for good. He threatened to hit her. He vowed to never be like his father, and that’s exactly who he became last night. His nightmare coming to reality. 

Y/N put her fork down, “Listen, we are married, way passed the dating phase. On our wedding day we vowed to love each other until death do’s us apart. It is both of our responsibilities to make sure the other is doing okay. Physically and mentally. You’re always there for me, dear. I want to be here for you this time, in what I think will help you. I’m sorry I threw out your beer and cigarettes without discussing it with you. I just want  to see you make healthier choices for yourself.” she put her hand over his. “I found out about the baby after I made the decision a while back. It’s another reason now why I would like for you to stop, but the main reason here is you. This is about you and us helping you.” she stared at his eyes. “I don’t wish to change you, but help you. As for the vase, you can buy me another one.” She winked and giggled. “As long as we’re fine, it’s all that matters.”

It was a big change she was asking him to make. But he can take small steps. That’s what the couple decided on. To limit his alcoholic intake to certain days of the week. Same with his smoking. He didn’t have to quit, but he was trying not to be dependent on it. He has the strongest support laying next to him at night. Holding him tightly. Uramichi was truly excited to know he’ll become a father! He’s nervous, but he knew he’s not alone. He thinks about what he can do to be a better father than his was.

Author’s Note:

He needs a hug. And a raise.

Remember, who your parents are don’t define you. If something happened in the past, don’t let it define you and who you are today. It might hold you back from growing. Just remember to take care of your mental health! 💜

Enjoy!

[cloudninetonine]

This is kind of based on what an anon said and this ask may take a minute to get to the Player’s Aid portion.

It is apparent that the more comfortable and cozier our life styles get, the easier it is to be traumatized.

Let me explain: Records of the first man with signs of PTSD date back to a time before guns existed I believe, so a long time ago. He was a soldier who basically had a breakdown on the field as he watched his brothers in arms- along with the enemies- die around him.

This was the first recorded incident (I think, my info may be a little off), and as our lifestyles grew easier and more and more dangerous weapons were made, the more attention began to turn to this phenomenon as more and more people were starting to act weird after witnessing some stuff.

It definitely doesn’t help that people are very disconnected in this day in age. You go fight on the behalf of your country, your people, watch millions die, and then go back to find the people you fought for walking up and down the street without even a glance in your direction. There is simply too much distance between strangers now.

Your partner and or kids may comfort you, but they cannot give you what you’re looking for as there was no immediate threat to them in their eyes, nothing was coming to kill or attack them, they were perfectly safe, sitting around and worrying over you.

This comfort mixed with the distance can tear soldiers in particular apart and is why so many veterans have PTSD. The distance in general is also an issue without going to war or anything as PTSD comes from many different places.

But here’s an example where something normally bad was actually good for a community: sometime- not too terribly long ago I believe- there was a bad volcanic eruption in France. For a whole TWO YEARS there was not a SINGLE genocide (it was either in the area or the whole country, I don’t remember), that is a long time for such a big place! It’s because everyone there shared the trauma, everyone understood each others pain on a personal level. Neighbors linked hands with other neighbors they’ve never spoken with before, grown adults cried on strangers shoulders. This is in complete contrast to the soldier thing, where nothing changed when they got home, there was no acknowledgement, and even if there was it wouldn’t have satisfied them.

Now let’s take the Player’s situation- they come from the our world where everything is comfortable and sweet, yet where everyone is distant and unconcerned. Now they’re in a world where everyone is close and caring of strangers, yet they are fighting for there lives, dying of sickness, and dealing with the shitty medieval living conditions.

Now the player doesn’t really know the boys, but they do care about them, know of there pasts, and do feel strong emotions of sympathy and understanding for them.

They then have to watch as, man and child a like, throw themselves into heated, agonizingly long, hand to hand combat.

I wonder how that’ll affect player, if the different time periods are taken into darker consideration, idk, I just need to say something to finish the ask.

Btw not all of my information may be correct, I watched a video on this stuff a long time ago and the memories of it are kinda fuzzy, so forgive me if I got anything wrong or oversimplified it too much.

Oh, wow, okay ow-

But it does make total sense. Being in an era where it's less likely to have to grow accustomed to harder environments (well, more being in a certain area) it would make sense people would become softer to the blow that is trauma.

All I know is, Player is gonna face some difficulties in this story, which includes having to deal with stuff like this- after all I want the reactions to be realistic as possible while still bordering around interesting to read territory.

[alluringjae]

au cours de l’été - jjh

⤑ translation: over the summer

⤑ summary: this is a story of an exhausted painter who needed a breather from the hectic city life. so aside from moving to the countryside, the needed air in your lungs also came in the form of a person. this summer meant for pure relaxation, perhaps your heart may dive into him too.

⤑ pairing: jaehyun x female reader

⤑ word count: 15.2k (so much for saying that i’ll be writing shorter stories)

⤑ genre: fluff, romance, smut | author!jaehyun, painter!reader, strangers to lovers!au, 50s-60s!au, summer love in france!au

⤑ warnings: me inserting some french phrases because I want to practice (feel free to correct me if I made mistakes, i’ll appreciate them), fictional interpretations of real-life people, explicit language, jaehyun being such a romantic pls im in tears, mentions and scenes of burnout (the worst)

⤑ playlist: everybody loves somebody by dean martin | c’est si bon by eartha kitt | it’s always you by chet baker | les yeux ouverts by emilie-claire barlow | a sunday kind of love by etta james | the most beautiful thing by bruno major | try again by jaehyun and d.ear (duh) | free love (dream edit) by honne | petite fleur by jill barber | plus je t’embrasse by blossom dearie | so this is love by ilene woods and mike douglas

⤑ author’s note: this was an idea that just came to me after pinterest kept recommending me poetic beauty/try again jaehyun, so here we are! i intended to write less than 5k words but sometimes plans don’t go as planned once you really invest in the story yet i’m really happy how this turned out!

the romantic exhilaration in my bones are off the charts because this is jaehyun we’re talking about lol enjoy!

⤑ masterlist

⤑ leave me some feedback, constructive criticism, or hellos!

3 juin 1957

The city life overstimulated your entire system, losing your brainpower and inspiration. Another exhibition that’ll feature your works with other influential painters was happening at the end of the year, and you had nothing prepared so far. You’ve crashed to the deep end of creative fatigue.

So you needed to get away again; somewhere quieter and surrounded by nature.

That’s why you ended up in the countryside down south, somewhere within Provence. It’s purely just for the summer, but extensions were okay as long you get back at least a month before the show. Filing that leave of absence at the studio you worked at was worth it.

You rented an apartment overlooking the marketplace, where the heart of the village was. After arranging things from your boxes and luggage the entire day, you found out that you lacked in the food department.  

So the succeeding day, the entire morning was spent on grocery shopping downstairs then stocking them inside your refrigerator, freezer, and pantry. Right after changing out of your pajamas into a flowy floral dress and sandals, you decided to bike to the bakery that locals suggested. A must-go place for newcomers, they all raved.

“Café des Étoiles Perdues.” (Café of Lost Stars.)

The clear chimes of the bell resounded through the small, cottage-like lobby as you entered inside. An old woman, whom you assumed was the owner, welcomed you openly.

“Oh la la, vous êtes belle! Vous vous appelez (Y/N), la nouvelle venue, n'est-ce pas?” (Oh la la, you’re beautiful. Your name is (Y/N), the newcomer, right?)

She complimented, making you shyly mutter your answer. Wiping off the flour from her apron, she introduced herself kindly.

“Je m’appelle Camille. Mes spécialités sont les macarons pisctaches et des croissants avec des amandes. Autre chose que tu aimes?” (I’m Camille. My specialties are the pistachio macarons and croissants with almonds. Is there anything else you like?)

“J'aime tout ce que vous suggères, Madame.” (I’d like anything that you suggest, Madame.)

A younger man, who went by Jaemin, was a part-timer barista who asked for your coffee order. As he directed you to the best seat of the café, which was outside overlooking the garden of blooming sunflowers, you pulled out your sketch pad so you could capture this dreamy view. It was nothing like you’ve ever seen in your life.

You’ve decided on a theme already for your exhibit thanks to your conversations with locals yesterday, which was related to freedom. After being chained to cities for so-called better living and financial standards, it’s actually how your inspiration to create squeezed the life out of you like a lemon. Although it was fun at first to see those tourist spots, it eventually got tiring.

Another matchstick to graze intensity through your bones was what you prayed for.

While you’re engaged in a rough sketch of the scenery, the dandy presence of a young man entered the café with his books. White shirt, red trousers with a matching beret, he sported freckles on his pale face. Despite visiting his favorite café numerously, Camille was overjoyed to see him and his serene smiles.

“Jaehyun! What brings you here?”

“Bonjour, Madame! I’m starving for your croissants because I ran out back home.”

“Not to worry! I’ll pack up some so you’re on your way.” She lightened him up like one of her kids, taking one of the bigger paper bags.

“No rush though, Madame. I’ll be reading and working here for a bit here.” Jaehyun affirmed, bringing it out his wallet and called out for Jaemin.

“Un café crème, s’il vous plait.” (One cup of cappuccino, please.)

Jaehyun’s usual chair was by the large window, overseeing the wide garden planted by the citizens of the village way before he was born. It was places like this he missed after moving to the city for his education and work’s sake. 

That’s the thing when you’re coming from a rich family; you don’t have much of say with what your parents order you to do. However, his recent request to stay in his childhood home (or mansion) again was fulfilled because he couldn’t search for what he needed in the cities anymore.

Jaehyun was a sucker for romance; an old romantic others would say. A lot of women mistook his kindness as flirting on many occasions, but ironically he just wasn’t looking for anyone yet. 

Starting as a novelist in the said genre based on real-life stories of people he met in Paris, Barcelona, London, and more, his stories were popular hits especially to young adults who aspire to find love one day.

However, traveling to the known places no longer felt fun as he got older. The stories he gathered were very similar, just in different languages. It took an enthusiastic dinner with his family, specifically his only older sister Krystal retelling fond stories from their younger years to get the idea of moving back for a bit. So consumed with the city life, he wanted to see things from another perspective.

What was the difference between a love story formed in the countryside than in the city?

It’s been a month since he arrived, but he didn’t hurry himself to do his research. He’s been reading books in his family library, revisiting monumental places, exploring around the village, and reconnecting with old friends as if he never left. 

Readjusting to his former life would make writing easier when he’s motivated enough to do it again. Besides, his books were profiting well enough to his taste; good enough for the next 10 years according to his personal accountant, Kim Jungwoo.

Jaehyun resumed reading this book his mother recommended him before he left. Entitled “Réessaye”, which was about a young man who reunites with his childhood sweetheart after his arranged marriage failed. After what she put her through, he’s hesitant whether to try again or let her go.

Jaehyun enjoyed reading books with realistic outlooks on love because he found them more meaningful, enlightening how exactly it makes you feel and do. Even if he enjoyed reading sappy, fairytale-like stories from time to time, he always returned to the real ones as they only displayed the truth.

That love isn’t always rainbows and sunshine, but something that can also break you especially if you go after the wrong person. This kind of mindset was how he toiled on his stories, which gained him a status outside of his unavoidable labels such as “the only striking son of the Jeong family” or “Valentine Boy”.

He diligently browsed through the climax, where the main male character confessed all his constrained emotions to his sweetheart. But it was until Jaemin pressed the bag of croissants in front of his face after placing down his childhood friend’s drink to disturb his peace.

“Reading again?” He taunted, snatching his book away and throwing the bag on Jaehyun’s lap. “When are you writing that book already? Everyone is practically dying for you to release something new again!”

Jaehyun flatly shook his head, drinking his coffee quietly. It’s not the first time anyone asked (or pressured) him about his next release, and it’s the last thing he wanted to think about. “Not in the mood right now, Jaemin. Now off to work before Madame Camille scolds you again.”

“You’re just stalling because you have nothing to write, don’t you?” Jaemin cunningly expressed, raising a brow. He’s known to catch onto the people’s bs easily; the last person you’d want to say your secrets too and Jaehyun realized too late. Though lucky for him, Jaemin shut the topic down right away so he wouldn’t pop a vein.

“Sais-tu de la nouvelle venue dans le village, d'ailleurs?” (Do you know about the newcomer in the village, by the way?)

“Une nouvelle venue?” (A newcomer?)

Being stuck at his mansion recently, news about village affairs were now late to him. Jaemin’s finger discreetly pointed outside the window, pertaining to a young woman sat outside painting her view in front of her.

That would be you, shading all the flowers in bright colors.

Seeing a new face amazed Jaehyun, especially when she was almost someone right out of a book. In a neat bun with white daisies printed in her dress, she crossed her legs whilst continuing her movements. She bit her lower lip, frustrated over an accidental smudge she made and trying to fix it by blending it with another color. When she accomplished it, she swapped brushes. A thinner one, to outline the shapes of the flower. Her lips curved to a smile after finishing another one perfectly with the rest.

“Jaehyun?”

Jaemin snapped his fingers to his distracted friend, zoning out the window. Still something he hasn’t stop doing, he pondered. With a final snap, Jaehyun broke away from falling hard from his abstract. Jaemin calculated the problem so quickly, analyzing his friend breezily like his medical school requirements.

“Elle est splendide, n'est-ce pas?” (She’s gorgeous, right?)

“Elle ressemble à une personne décente.” (She looks like a decent person.)

Jaehyun pushed it aside, flipping back to the page where he stopped reading. Before Jaemin responded, the door chimed open again to alarm him that a new customer came in. He excused himself to his friend, warning him that this wasn’t the last time he’ll talk about the newcomer too.

Jaehyun nodded along, not taking his friend’s cheeky words so seriously. However, the final result you attempted to create tickled his curiosity, so he slyly peeked from his book to the window.

You’ve freed your hair down, victorious to have started your collection this early in your break. A fantastic start, you let the paint dry first and munch on the croissant that served as your reward. However, you ‘re quick to notice a manly figure glancing through the window. From the side, his brown eyes appeared lively even if his entire face was hidden by the book.

Réessaye by Mark Lee; he must be a romantic. Every person in your studio read it, excluding yourself. Painfully beautiful, they’d summarize it.

Daring to meet more people, you locked eye contact with him. He didn’t expect it, almost flipping from his chair. Bashfully, you waved him a hello to somewhat break the ice. However, it broke his composure, and suddenly, he scurried off with his things from the café.

Now, you got quite worried. You checked your tiny mirror if he saw anything unpleasant with you, but you’d say you look relatively fine. Oh, maybe you could redeem yourself the next time you saw him. After bidding goodbye to Camille and Jaemin, the latter chased after you when you prepared yourself on your bike.

“By any chance, did you say hi to a guy with brown eyes and a red beret?”

“Well, more like I waved at him, then he zoomed out. Did I do something wrong?” You questioned with concern, putting your hands on the handles.

“That’s my friend, who’s quite reserved with strangers. I’m sorry on his behalf.”

“Nah, it’s fine.” You brushed it off politely. “See you again soon, Jaemin!”

Peddling away, letting the cool breeze fan you, your mind reverted its thoughts to that strange man. Maybe you’ll give it some time; you had a lot of it.

“Shucks, he was pretty cute.”

12 juin 1957

The world must really be on your side with these good decisions because you crossed paths with the strange man again in the café a week later. But instead of running away, he asked nicely if he could sit across your free chair in front of your table outside. It was a Saturday, and the place was packed.

“Joignez-moi, s’il vous plait.” (Join me, please.)

You insisted, giving yourself time to subtly observe his physique a lot more. Freckles dotted under his eyes like a constellation, bushy eyebrows, pink cheeks to match his pale complexion, and wearing a fuzzy knit sweater that meshed well with his green beret. He had some sort of necklace too; there was a heart pendant.

“Vous êtes une artiste.” (You’re an artist.) The small wooden palette of paint beside your small sketch pad was exposed, finding it as a great icebreaker.

“Une peintre, spécifiquement. Franchement, les visuels ici sont trés captivants qu'à Paris.” (A painter, to be specific. Frankly, the visuals here are more captivating than in Paris.)

“Je suis d’accord,” (I agree,) Jaehyun leaned against his chair, taking a better look at you with the remaining light from the descending sun.

“Oh, vous êtes comme moi. J’habite à Paris aussi.” (Oh, you’re like me. I live in Paris too.)

“Bon, je suis née à Londres. Puis, j’ai déménagé où je voulais en Europe depuis j'avais 18 ans. Mais oui, j’habite définitivement à Paris maintenant.” (Well, I was born in London then moved wherever I wanted in Europe for inspiration since I was 18. But yes, I live permanently in Paris now.)

You clarified, beginning to enjoy his comforting company. Initiating conversations with people you’re not acquainted with wasn’t in your range of skills, though he didn’t have an intimidating vibe. He looked too youthful to act like that.

“Je m’appelle (Y/N), d'ailleurs.” (I’m (Y/N), by the way.) You stuck out your hand as a sign of respect, which he enthusiastically obliged.

“Salut, (Y/N). Je m’appelle Jaehyun.” [Hi, (Y/N). I’m Jaehyun.]

He kissed it in a gentleman fashion, applying the manners he’s been taught since he was a child. Should you have been flustered, but no.  It’s been a long time since anyone greeted you like that, specifically back home.

Throughout your talk, you learned more about who he was, his job, and what his life in the countryside is like. He was an author of romance novels, yet you’ve never heard about him prior. Heavily prioritizing your work, you don’t keep up with the new releases or trends at all. Though after mentioning his last name, it piqued your interest.

“Jeong? As in the business, Jeong Tea Inc.?”

“Correct.”

His family was one of the most affluent families in Parisian society. Old money immigrants from South Korea, they brought their tea business to France and it boomed successfully. You’re quite sure you’ve seen his parents in past exhibits, but never did you approach them because you were a rookie then. But he reassured you that it was fine, and to just treat him like you’d treat your friends. Plus, it came to your knowledge that he was the same age as you too.

He opened up how this village was where he lived his childhood, so he asked his parents if he could hand over their mansion for a while for rest. It then shocked both of you at how identical your reasons were for staying in the countryside.

“I’m burnt out from the city, so I’m trying to regain my spirit here hopefully. Besides, I needed a change of scenery after living there for 3 years. My longest stay yet outside of London!”

“I need new ideas for my books. The cities don’t charm me anymore, so I returned here for peace and quiet. Maybe let these ideas come to me rather than me going after them.”

From a bigger lens, people would conclude your interaction as a sight of two artists who passionately talk about their art. But to you, you’d interpret it as two relaxed, young adults in their twenties who simply wanted to run away from the pressures of their art and enjoy the summer as every young adult should.

Not cooped up in the studio or office, but innocently waltzing around with your youth while it’s still there.

début de juillet 1957

“Dépêche-toi, (Y/N)!” [Hurry up, (Y/N)!]

Jaehyun yelled at your open balcony from downstairs, parking his mini car beside your bike. He planned on taking you somewhere a little farther this time; to absolutely feel like one of the locals.

The countryside urged you to wear more dresses and flat shoes, so you took out a turquoise dress with a white scarf to wrap on top of your head. Like your relaxed fit, your mindset too was calm. Upon meeting him, he wore his round spectacles with a red knit sweater over a white turtleneck long-sleeved top. His fingers were adorned with silver rings, then around his neck was a thin black ribbon. He curled some of his hair again, a style you really liked of his.

You can’t lie, but this man could pull any trend or style and still look extra pretty.

Out of all the locals you’ve befriended in your stay, Jaehyun was always your companion. He took you to varying places that those locals don’t visit nor tourists acknowledge in their reviews for the past few weeks. For someone who hasn’t been in the village for a long time, his memory didn’t disappoint. His childhood was only filled with cheerful moments.

Today, he was taking you to a peaceful district of shops in the farther part of the village. It’s where he’d buy sweets, journals, and accessories with his mother, Krystal, and one of his housemaids every other weekend.

All the stores there were currently bombarded with blooming flowers along their alley, bringing more enticement to those who were roaming around. There was so much life here; the head waiter of one restaurant smiling at every passing customer, one florist handing a free flower to anyone who asks, and a young lady showcasing her jewelry collection to a bunch of women who looked like tourists.

“Cette librairie vendent des livres enveloppés dans du papier. Ma mère m'a offerte l'un d'eux pour mon anniversaire tous les ans comme une surprise.” (This bookstore sells books wrapped in paper. My mother gifted me one of them on my birthday every year as a surprise.)

He trained his attention at a rustic shop with open wooden windows giving a glimpse of their shelves.

“Avez-vous fini les lisant?” (Have you finished reading them?)

“Du début à la fin.” (From cover to cover.)

He took you to this rooftop restaurant overlooking the entire plaza. Since he didn’t arrange a reservation yet didn’t get rejected, he must know the owner. Especially how a lot of the staff gave casual hellos and high fives.

Speaking of the owner, he walked out of his kitchen to introduce himself to you. He went by the name Moon Taeil, another one of Jaehyun’s childhood friends whom he used to play at his house whenever his parents came along.

Gobbling up in the appetizing food Taeil prepared beforehand, Jaehyun brought up your painting exhibition again. He loved hearing artists talk about their works, wanting to know more about their driven mindset and what their imagination is like. After all, it does vary for everyone.

“So far,” You poked your fork through the chicken, taking a bite of it. “I’ve produced 3 paintings. The garden of flowers outside Café des Étoiles Perdues, the kids playing hopscotch in the alley, and the peach tree outside your house.”

“Woah, you’re on a roll.” Jaehyun clapped across you, pouring you another glass of water. He recalled the nights you ranted not having any clue what to do for the exhibit. Then after taking you to more places, he’s rewarded to see you be creatively active again. “How many artworks do you left to make?”

“Around 3-4 left. I have ideas already, but I’m still brainstorming.” You internally rejoiced, loving how much progress you’ve made. “How about you, Jaehyun? How’s your progress?”

Unlike you, Jaehyun still felt stuck. Although he did find couples around the village, none of them intrigued him as much as his past stories. But he won’t give up easily; that’s not in his work ethic.

“Still searching, but I’ll get there.”

Recently, you got ahold of some of Jaehyun’s books from him personally since they weren’t sold in the village. You wanted to understand how he became so well known outside the labels people put him under. Reading his first novel entitled “Des Papillons” (Butterflies), it was about a couple separated during World War II without contact or knowledge about their well-being. Yet whenever they saw butterflies on the day they parted, they took it as a sign that the other was alive wherever they were.

You’re always hanging on the cliff when the scenes revert back and forth to the main male lead getting stuck in intense war scenarios, rooting for him to get out alive each time. In the end, it took 7 years before they were reunited and wed.

Jaehyun had a wonderful way with his words and descriptions, managing to enwrap you in as if you’re also a character in the book. Like how you rooted for that male lead, you’re rooting for him to find his spark again.

Following this uplifting conversation, Jaehyun finally took to your greatly anticipated spot. It was the main viewpoint of Gordes, one of the most beautiful hilltop villages in the country. The sunset was about to hit, and the lights from the city across you slowly turned on like a bunch of dominos.

As you marveled at its aesthetics, Jaehyun leaned against the hood of his car. He sensed how in awe you were, more than you ever were in the city he assumed. So used to the city that being surrounded with nature became foreign to you.

He took out his polaroid camera from his trunk and captured a photo of you from behind. The shutter sounds were obvious, turning your back at the commotion. Jaehyun fanned the freshly printed photo to dry, giving a mischievous smile.

“What can I say? While you’re fawning over the view, mine was more enamoring.”

Although Jaehyun felt overwhelmed the first time he locked eyes with you, he can’t resist the power of his developing feelings for you. The more time he took you around, the more his heart found different details about you to admire. After listening to all those love stories in the past, the people he spoke to shared how there will be some distinct moment where your heart decides who they’re longing for.

That exact view of you by the cliff, he already knew.

He’s infatuated by you.

“Tu es très ringard, Jaehyun.” (You’re so cheesy, Jaehyun.) You scoffed sassily, with a hand on your waist.

“Un gentleman ne ment jamais, (Y/N). Allez, il fait nuit maintenant.” [A gentleman never lies, (Y/N). Come on, it’s night already.]

He cleverly responded, grabbing his car keys from his pocket. The trip back to the village was energizing, putting down the roof of his car to relish the chill breeze of the night weather. You even raised your arms in the air, losing your scarf even from the speed Jaehyun went at!

The two of you belted along to the songs on the radio when the fields were the only ones surrounding you, no neighbors to shout at your rambunctiousness.

The late-night hours drew by so quickly almost like dinner with more of Jaehyun’s friends didn’t happen. Arriving at the front doors of your apartment complex, Jaehyun raced over to your side to open your door. Always maintained proper observation of manners, you appreciated that side of him. Rarely anyone in Paris that you’ve encountered treated you that way because you were a foreigner.

“Bonsoir, (Y/N).” [Goodnight, (Y/N).]

“Bonsoir, Jaehyun. Quand est-ce que je te revois?” (Goodnight, Jaehyun. When can I see you again?)

“Demain et après-demain. Appelle-moi quand tu es libre.” (Tomorrow, and the day after that. Just give me a call when you’re free.)

With a short wave, you entered your building and marched up to the stairs. A good day only meant being tired to the core, ready to crash and fall in your soft bed. Opening your wide windows to let more of the cool breeze in, your eyes easily caught Jaehyun’s classy car still there. As for the owner, he didn’t move an inch from his leaning position.

“Rentre à la maison, Jaehyun! C’est tard!” (Go home, Jaehyun! It’s late!) You shrieked, peeking side to side to make sure none of the neighbors scold you.

Jaehyun laughed wholeheartedly, not budging at all. “La nuit ne fait que commencer, ma chérie.” (The night has just begun, my darling.)

“Comment tu m'as appelé?” (What did you call me?)

Either your ears were fooling you or he addressed you by a divine pet name. The gasp you swallowed, as your entire body tingled with exhilaration. Your mind would simply disregard it like his former teasing words, but your heart begged to differ.

Rather than responding with words, Jaehyun’s voice serenaded you with a wondrous song, C’est Si Bon by Eartha Kitt, that played on the radio earlier. Out of the blue, a random guitar accompaniment followed his baritone vocals.

“En voyant notre mine ravie,”

Against the railing of your wired balcony, your body shifted forward to watch him better.

“Les passants dans la rue, nous envient,”

Your hand perched on your cheek, admiring his talent.

“C'est si bon de guetter dans ses yeux,”

It was like a lullaby, and here you were drowning in its peacefulness. Sensing the passion he gives off in his singing, your heart couldn’t refrain the strings inside from being swayed and tugged.

This was your moment of realization: that you too were smitten.

“Un espoir merveilleux, qui donne le frisson…”

À la mi-juillet de 1957

“Hello, nature!” You greeted brightly as your legs raced the huge garden in his manor. It was the first time he invited you over, too lazy to go out of the city. His social battery needed a recharge for the weekend, so a picnic within his home would do the trick. Additionally, it was an excuse to bring you over after the numerous times you’ve begged him to.

Jaehyun merely shook his head, enjoying the rush of childlike fun in your veins while you squealed and grazed your hands through the flowers.

He carried a wooden basket full of treats his family maids cooked, taking his time to venture through the rows of flowers. They were growing healthily and phenomenally these days, sometimes riding his bike to personally water them since he became busy with writing again. Lately, he found inspiration again, and so he wrote day and night to set them free.

“Voila!” You yanked out a sunflower, sniffing it a little. “Come on, Jaehyun! Pick up a few for our lunch!”

He followed your order, picking out some he found ideal. But just for fun, he put down the basket and carried you from behind out of the blue. You tried kicking him away, but his muscular arms can’t compete with your soft ones.

“What are you doing?”

“You said to pick up a flower, so I did. The prettiest of them all.”

His flirtatious words were never serious, yet you took it as a compliment. That’s how high your confidence is. Only we define our own worth, not others. The two of you chatted more about your lives until the first rain of the season poured down, chilling down from the raging heat. None of you had an umbrella; the weather was too unpredictable.

Deciding to just run for it, he gave you the wooden basket to protect yourself whilst he used the blanket you’ve sat on. Running with laughter to return to his mansion in the muddy dirt, the cool drops shivered your figure yet felt fantastic.

If you were in the city, you’d panic because it’d mess your appearance and your boss would be infuriated by your unprofessionalism. But in the countryside, it didn’t matter at all. The condition of the rain wasn’t budging to improve, getting stronger by the minute. His entire house even lost power, his housemaids having to bring candles to his bedroom and your assigned one once night dawned.

It was hopeless to return home for you, plus it’s dangerous to drive in in the dark, narrow streets too. Jaehyun handed you some of his fresh clothes so you’d be free from flinching from cold dress sticking to your body.

“Get dressed and some sleep, (Y/N).”

Nodding, you excused yourself to find the bathroom. You’d assume it’d be easy, but this was your first time in his house; a mansion even. Doors from left to right, long corridors that seemed never-ending, no maids were within the vicinity whom you can ask for guidance.

Resorting to return to Jaehyun’s chamber for help, you were taken aback by what your eyes laid on. In front of his full mirror, he discarded his now-dried shirt. Even with the dim lighting, you could make out that he was fit by the transparent view of his abdomen. Peeping like this was wrong, yet you couldn’t turn away just yet. The heat in your cheeks was inevitable, finding composure in such an unholy sight.

Though a gear in you suddenly twisted; a gear that straightened your nerves. You’re taking a bold move on the chessboard of your feelings. Wholly opening his bedroom door again, you leisurely sauntered inside without warning.

“Oh, (Y/N)! Ne peux pas trouver la salle de bain?” (Oh, (Y/N)! Can’t find the bathroom?)

Unbothered as he stood shirtless, you on the other hand silently dropped his clothes on the floor. Holding intense eye contact, your fingers graciously unzipped the side of your dress. Inch by inch, the tension built up like the strong tiny flames lit on the candles around you two. Joining the pile of clothes, all that remained were your white lace undergarments. Unplanned for the get-go, it’s the ideal set for your earlier outfit at the picnic.

“Je me suis perdue, mais je pense avoir trouvé quelque chose de mieux.” (I got lost, but I think I found something better.)

Your fingers grazed your arm up to your collarbones, faking your naivety. From your lust-filled stare, the glint in Jaehyun’s eyes darkened. He gulped at the revealing sight of you, brushing his hair back to restrain himself.

None of you could utter a single word, only the vivacious rain being the only sounds ringing around you. Thus, you allowed your actions to pursue precisely what you desired to do.

Taking baby steps towards him to test the waters, he met you right in the center and closed the leftover space. His hands cradled your face, whilst yours clung to his chest. His lips tasted like red wine, watching him pour in a glass for himself earlier. He did offer, yet you declined.

Your tongue darted his lower lip, gaining access after. Sensing the edge of his bed, you plopped yourself down the cushion. His knee urged your legs to widen, letting his body slide in. From your face, his fingers lowered to the back of your bra, snapping the clasps open.

“It takes skill to accomplish that in one try, Jaehyun.”

“I lived in Paris too, ma chérie. You out of all people would understand and have the experience.”

His palms massaged your freed breasts, throwing your head back even more to his pillows as his lips ravaged down from your stomach until the fabric of your not-so pure panties.

“Call me that again, please.”

“Ma chérie, seras-tu mienne?” (My darling, will you be mine?) He kissed and licked the tiny ribbon in front repeatedly, where your now-swollen clit laid. It electrified your bones, pulling on to his ruffled hair.

“Tu peux m'avoir.” (You can have me.)

Sex in the form of one-night stands were all you’ve invested; upcoming artists like you weren’t capable to maintain long-term relationships. Les plans à trois even if you’re extra freaky or drunk from the afterparties of your events. All that these occurrences had in common were not seeing those men ever again after sneaking out of their apartments in the morning.

This time, it’s different.

When they said that doing the deed with someone you’re romantically entangled with was more special, they didn’t bluff. You could plan bits of your life, but it can sometimes change aspects of it when you least expect it. Sometimes for the best or the worst, but right now, it went beyond your expectations.

It’s rewarding that the man you’ve slowly fallen for within your stay returned your affections.

Around late 3 am that night, your brain jolted with artistic ideas that awoken your sonorous rest. There are no hopes of sleeping them off because they tend to bother you for hours until you do something about it. But you’re already so cozy having Jaehyun’s arms around you, skin to skin under the duvet. His lips daunted right above your forehead, recalling his endless kisses there that helped you fall asleep.

Well, these ideas don’t work themselves unless you do. Untangling him tactfully, you stepped out of the blanket and wore one of his long white shirts he gave you earlier before pulling out your sketchpad and palette of oil paints.

Luckily, there was still one available candle to use as the rest have melted indefinitely. You slid the matchstick again to the sand surface, boring a flame from the friction which you placed on top of the wick.

All your ideas that night leaned towards one thing, or person rather: Jaehyun.

You spent a few minutes retracing how he vividly looked at the picnic, leaning back from the chair of his work desk. His outfit of a turquoise turtleneck underneath a white button-top with trousers matching the said turtleneck looked good together, how his ears tingled red after you complimented his newfound inspiration for his book, and the prominent veins in his arms when he rolled his sleeves due to the heat.

The thin brush you held defined the shape of his face, then paying attention to the messy strands of his hair. Stroking in a circular way to outline his eyelids, a hoarse grunt disturbed the peaceful silence.

“Get back in bed, ma chérie.” His eyes drowsily opened, lying on his side. The moment he no longer felt your warmth, he worried something happened. Instead, you’re working late at night after quite a rough yet romantic night.

“Shush,” You shunned him down with your index finger. “Give me a few more minutes.”

“Perhaps, are you painting me?” He hunched from the covers. “Your eyes looking back and forth would never lie to me, would they?”

“Maybe…” You teased, batting your eyes at him without any risky intentions. Or not?

He deeply chuckled, sluggishly removing himself under the covers. In his pure nudity, he advanced himself towards you. You shrieked, covering yourself with your free hand.

“Jaehyun, stay back! I told you I’ll be there soon!”

Not listening, he carried your bridal style, making you drop your precious palette to the fur rug. Laying you carefully, he popped each button open. By the sight of his cock hardening again, you knew you were in for another round with him.

“Wet again, ma chérie? Oh, this will be fun.”

Fin de juillet 1957

So this kind of summer romance concept that everyone fantasized about… it became your present.

Together you’d stroll in the smaller streets and immerse yourselves in the unique culture of the village. Whenever anyone saw you together, holding hands, biking, or what-not, they’d praise in the name of love for bringing you both together. A romance like yours in the countryside was a lively sight.

Remember how extensions were a possibility if your search for inspiration wasn’t found? Well, it’s not a question that you’d make one, except inspiration found you instead. And he had one arm around you as he slow danced with you in the open grounds of the village, listening to the live band covering song classics.

In particular, Chet Baker. He was Jaehyun’s favorite artist at the moment.

There was an ongoing week-long festival dedicated to summer, giving more plants their bloom and spreading gratitude to the hardworking people. Especially the students, off on their break.

The faint radiance from the post lights as Jaehyun swayed you around, making you laugh as he tried to mumble the lyrics of the song. All those glasses of wine he tried earlier with you from the bartender offering it for free had its effects, and you weren’t off the hook from them either.

Blisters started to form from your ankles, adjusting to the new pair of heels Jaehyun gave (or insisted to buy) you a while ago after staring at them like lasers. You’ve always provided things for yourself that being spoiled by someone else felt weird to you.

“If there’s anything you want me to buy for you, just tell me.”

“How can I buy you if you’re already mine?”

His smooth talk often made you punch his shoulder, but it’s just a mechanism to hide the exhilaration.

Under each other’s spells in your dance, you laid your head on Jaehyun’s chest. Feeling the strong beat of his heart, you were reminded of how much life he’s filled with. And you became a part of it, in the same way he crossed yours.

Jaehyun’s lips sank to the top of your head, pecking it affectionately. The first-ever summer where he wasn’t stuck at his desk working or drinking his life away with his rich friends in their Parisian homes, it couldn’t get better than this.

“Oiii! Flirtez ailleurs!” (Oiii! Flirt somewhere else!) The distinct voice of Jaemin, handing out pastries to passersby, shouted at the both of you, making you flip your middle finger at him.

“Trouve une copine d’abord, d’accord?!” (Find a girlfriend first, alright?!) You shouted back jokingly, almost falling due to the ache of your feet. Your immodest behavior was censored by Jaehyun’s large palms, not wanting the kids around to see it. Whispering closely to your ear,

“Tu es ivre. Laisse-moi te ramener chez toi.” (You’re drunk. Let me take you home.)

You changed back into your sandals as Jaehyun led you through the different alleys. Your vision was too hazy to navigate, so he had one arm wrapped around your shoulders. The weather grew cold too, shivering your bones so he draped you in his blazer.

“Wait,” You stopped, making him do the same. But before he could ask for your reason, your hands yanked him by his suspenders and your legs walked backward to reach the brick wall. Standing in his 5’11 glory, you were overpowered.

Yet your lips captured his effortlessly, raising to your toes to press yourself closer to him. He moved fast, one arm hugging your waist while the other hoisted your leg up. Tangling around his waist, the urge to move your hips against his crotch couldn’t be contained any longer.

Everyone was probably still out at this time or sleeping. The sloppy sounds you’ve produced were beyond suitable for any audience. Not to mention, the nasty words Jaehyun’s pretty mouth spoke in your ears desired you to fall to your knees.

“Not afraid of getting caught, ma chérie? You want me to ruin you right here, right now?”

“God, Jaehyun,” Your hands tugged his belt forward, the friction it gave to your core twitched the naughty side out of you. “Do it, please.”

The idea of public sex thrilled your mind into overdrive, yet you’ve never done it. In Paris, a city where several people started to know your name, you didn’t need a scandal to be plastered in your resume yet.

Jaehyun himself included, and still opted not to give it to you.

“Another time, ma chérie. Your apartment, now.”

The moment you unlocked your apartment door, Jaehyun was far from gentle like in the mansion. Ripping you out of your frilly dress didn’t take long, so was unbuttoning his trousers down to the floor.

On your knees, his hand gave you a makeshift ponytail as your tongue flicked the slit of his cock. Then slowly taking him inch by inch on your mouth, you’d let out a loud pop when you needed to breathe. Your hands fondling his balls, he groaned from the edge of your bed and tightened his hold on you. Tears formulated in your eyes as you got to swallow him whole, uncontrollably bobbing your head.

He felt like putty when he released, your throat taking the salty base. You hastily unhooked your bra in front of him when suddenly, his hand flicked on the fabric of your panties, cueing you to stop your motion.

“Keep them on when you ride me.”

Straddling on his lap, his head laid against the headboard of his bed. His arms roaming around your back to stabilize you, your fingers pushed your panties to the side as you pushed yourself down his protected length. Your moans became shaky. Up and down, you bounced while bracing on his shoulders.

Against his ear, your moans were harmonious. His hips moved against your beat, hitting your g-spot like the sexual ace he is. His thumb rubbing your clit, you shuttered your eyes at the impending high approaching you like a bus.

“I’m close.” You choked out, the overstimulation overwhelming your nerves.

“Fuck, me too.” He grunted, slapping your butt that made you shriek.

Soon enough, everything hit you both all at once. The knot snapped, and so did your body falling on his chest after a single scream. Panting, Jaehyun pecked on your temple as his cock softened up. Once you returned to your senses, you lifted yourself from his length, laying bare beside him.

His eyes started to fall, but before they did, he muttered huskily. “Je t’aime, (Y/N).”

It was the first time he’s said those words in the way they meant, and he’s more than certain that it’s what he felt with you. Sure, it started as mutual infatuation, but now, it can’t leave. Not on his watch.

Love was a concept unfamiliar to you, but Jaehyun slowly taught you what it was and how it felt like. Books and films may give sneak peeks, but to personally give and receive it back was made possible by him.

From this moment on, you could conclude that yes, you reciprocated it.

“Je t’aime aussi, Jaehyun.”

16 octobre 1957

Autumn made its way to the countryside.

The leaves switched into red-brown shades, the weather in the south was warmer, and the wine harvest was highly anticipated. Jaehyun’s camera was a common item in your outings, taking as many photos as he could so the two of you had something to look back on.

Planned and candid, his range was wide. These were moments that proved that your youth was as happy as you wished it to be. You wouldn’t trade it for anything else.

Painting in his mansion was a regular thing, having new canvases prepared at his patio. There were so many items that amused you there like you could base your entire collection on his home. It’s not like Jaehyun could argue; it meant more time with you whenever you came over.

“Jaehyun, if you smudge paint on me, so help me Go-” He refused to listen to your “threats”, smearing black paint on your cheek.

“You were saying?” He cockily pestered, showcasing his paint-filled fingers. You dipped one of your brushes into the new paint and chased after him without hesitation. The entire evening became a paint war, a laugh fit even after seeing your reflections in the mirror. But before you could clean yourself, Jaehyun’s camera was by your face and he pressed the button.

“Still breathtaking.”

But the middle of the season arrived, that’s where your planned extension you’ve reached its end. The exhibit was next month, getting calls from your boss regarding your return and the paintings you’ll present. You informed her that you already had them mailed to your studio way back, so there’s nothing much to worry about.

All your bags were packed in the private car Jaehyun rented. Here, you’re bidding your goodbyes to every friend you’ve made outside the doors of your apartment complex, saving your last words with Jaehyun.

The night before, he stayed over and helped you pack your last items in luggage bags. He even brought extra clothes for you so you wouldn’t work extra. You’ve talked it out the whole evening through what happens next to ease your worries. In your bed, he opened the wide windows and pulled you under the sheets.

“Write to me.”

“Call me when you’re free, or whenever you feel like it.”

Leaning against the railing of the stairs, watched the sorrow in your face over this parting. He sensed how bittersweet everything was, but he wouldn’t change anything about it. He’s positive that your story won’t end here, not right now.

Sauntering to him, you sighed whilst taking your bag he held the whole time from him. His touch was tighter as the two of you hugged tenderly, nuzzling his head on your shoulder. The scent of his citrus cologne that implanted in your brain felt comforting, despite the uncertainty of everything between you.

You hinted a minty taste from the menthol candies from his home as his lips brushed yours, colliding it timely. He waited when everyone left, relishing these last seconds.

Stepping inside the vehicle, you waved your summer love farewell one more time before the driver hit the pedal. Your eyes couldn’t stray away from looking back, the distance between him and your former apartment widening. Only when he was no longer in the frame, you shifted your focus back in front.

Your fingers fiddled with the charm bracelet he gifted you from the market. It was custom-made by a jeweler who was great friends with his mother in his younger years. There were two pendants chained on it: a paintbrush and the sun.

“A paintbrush to remind you of your passion, and the sun to remind you of the summer we first met.”

The man was like one of his romance books, in human form. He knew how to catch your breath effortlessly.

Your stay, for now, may have concluded, but there was always next summer. And the ones after that. The village felt like a second home, one you can’t neglect like the other places you’ve lived. Then having Jaehyun here, the more reasons to return.

Undoubtedly the best vacation you’ve ever been in your adult years, one that didn’t sacrifice for your art so you could compete with other artists. The weight on your chest poofed into thin air, and you felt ready for what the next steps as a painter were.

Appreciating the greenery you passed by, you peeked over the side mirror of the car only to find Jaehyun quickly biking in your direction.

Now, what was he up to?

You instantly requested the driver to slow down his pace, rolling down the window of the car. Not caring about the strong winds, “You fool, what are you doing?!”

Although he trusted your last words, he had the greed to see your face again. It would be a long time until he’ll see you in person again. So he pedaled as fast he could to still reach you. Oh, the things you do when you’re in love.

“Mon cœur bat la chamade pour toi, (Y/N)!” [My heart beats loudly for you, (Y/N)!]

You giggled at his silliness, throwing out flying kisses.

“Je reviendrai bientôt, Jaehyun!” (I’ll come back soon, Jaehyun!)

21 octobre 1957

Only your friends at the studio gave you a warm welcome back, receiving comments like “get back to work” from your first encounter with your boss. Popping a champagne glass open after work hours on the rooftop of your studio, they interrogated you with all the questions they could think of.

“So this village in Provence…. was it beautiful as the tourists said?” Ten, who moved from his home in Thailand to Paris at a young age, expressed his curiosity whilst leaning against the railing overlooking the Eiffel Tower.

“Beautiful is an understatement, Ten. I miss it dearly!” You heaved a sigh, twirling your glass.

“So this inspiration you were looking for…” Amélie, your dear friend since your university days, created some tension as she prolonged her last word. Playfulness twinkled in her eyes, crossing her legs. “Was a person involved by any chance?”

For a moment, your throat almost gagged on the sizzling alcohol going down.

“What do you mean?” You acted clueless, pouring your now empty glass with more booze. But the moment Ten gave you the troublesome look coordinating with Amélie, you already knew you wouldn’t hear the end of it. These two were such gossips in and out of the studio.

Ten took the seat across you on the table and leaked all his pent-up information.

“So you know Seo Youngho, the only son of the Seo family. Rich, socialite, a total hotshot… yeah, all that jazz.” He dived in, seeing you nod over knowing that man. Someone in the past you’ve slept with, but that’s another story. “Well, Amelie and I attended one of his parties at his large penthouse. He had his usual crowd there; Kim Doyoung, Lee Taeyong, Nakamoto Yuta, and Lee Minhyung. But fun fact: there’s another member in that friend group who doesn’t go to these kinds of events.”

“Here’s where it gets interesting,” Amélie excitedly took off like the pipelette (chatterbox) she is. “Youngho, who was talking to us for a bit, asked where you’ve run off. Poor him, he must’ve missed you in his bed but anyway! We told him that you went down south somewhere in Provence for a break. Oddly enough, he mentioned how the mentioned member moved back there for the same reason.”

Ten and Amélie gave each other another frisky look, merely to piss you off. So predictable of them.

“Get to the point please!” You screeched.

“Jeong Jaehyun, ever heard of him?” Amélie imitated your tone of voice. “I mean, you should since you made a whole painting of him.”

“H-How,” Speechless, that’s what you were. Ten went on a fit of giggles, signaling the build-up of his intoxication.

“Youngho visited the studio to find a specific painting for his home, and we helped him in choosing. Then when your deliveries of paintings arrived that day and were unwrapped, the look on his face when he saw Jaehyun’s painting was priceless. Things started to add up, especially when he told us that he called up Jaehyun prior, he said that Jaehyun was seeing a girl during his stay there.”

“A young, burnt-out painter from Paris, to be specific.”

They’ve put you on the edge of the cliff, and it was too close to call it a coincidence. Of all things to be revealed, this had to be the first.

“Well, I was waiting for another time to tell you guys about him though.”

Their gasps of joy could give you guys a noise complaint by the neighbors, telling all about your escapades of him and you. During it, the more you missed seeing him daily either on his bike or his car. It was stuck in your routine, but now it’s reverted to your old one.

Could the next summer come any faster?

14 février 1958

Perhaps your newest collection at the Louvre was your most successful one yet.

Entitled “Inspirez, Expirez” (Breathe In, Breathe Out), your sceneries during your stay in the village varied. An old couple slow dancing under the night sky, and the quiet district of shops Jaehyun took you, those were some of your last additions.

A multitude of positive reviews on the newspapers and art magazines came in, commending on taking on a fresher, brighter outlook for a change whilst finding your spark again. As fulfilling it was, what you longed the most was the one responsible for it.

Lately, it’s been tough to contact him. His maids always answered the calls, informing you that he was busy with work or family matters. It’s so rare for him to act like this. Whatever it was, it wasn’t grand or serious hopefully.

Back to your collection, tonight was the last night of it. Just in time for Valentine’s day, where numerous socialite lovers embarked on this event, but you’re more fixated that it was also Jaehyun’s birthday. A boy full of love born on the day dedicated for it, things made more sense. In case, you’ve sent your birthday wishes to him through letter and passing the message to one of his maids. Even on his special day, he hasn’t reached out to you.

But to momentarily forget about that, there was a closing ceremony held for this exhibit with the other artists involved, and it was your turn to give your final remarks. More esteemed socialites and journalists were present, which didn’t halt your nerves the slightest. You were a professional after all, holding pride in your craft as you stood in front of the microphone wearing your new favorite custom-made gown.

There are perks when you have close friends in the fashion industry, specifically Kim “Key” Kibum from the House of Key. After defending him from a disrespectful client when you were picking up a dress for your boss during your internship years, not only did you earn his respect, but an invite to his shows and first claiming of new items from his collections. Dining in expensive restaurants in the metro was a plus, catching up on your lives. Sometimes calling each other out for your sexcapades too.

Speaking of him, he was in the crowd that night, ordering every photographer to take photos of your gorgeous self in one of his dresses. Or in your opinion, bribing some by how he stuffed a few thick stacks of Euro bills down their pockets.

Only one of it ever made. A dark green satin v-neck off-the-shoulder gown, where diamonds adorned your neck and ears and white stilettos kept your perfect balance. Also courtesy of Key.

Because it’s the winter season, he gifted you a limited edition white fur coat every socialite tried getting their hands on. Your hair was styled in a bun, emphasizing your dark tinted lips from this new lipstick Amelie insisted you buy.

Most people would get the first impression that you were one of the socialites, a child from one of the affluent families even. But you were a lot more remarkable than that, having inborn talent in the arts that you specialized over your youth and rising to the top without any parental help.

“Thank you to everyone for their endless support towards the magnificent collections of each artist present. As for mine, I am grateful to rechannel my creative side by taking a break. Rather than romanticizing overworking our bones to the core, there’s nothing wrong with taking a step back from the pressure. Being alive is a blessing, realizing further how our youth won’t stay with us forever. Being away from the boisterous cities, I found relaxation in the countryside of Provence.”

Your lips quirked into a grin as every single memory during that time reeled in your head like a movie. “The beauty of Provence cannot be simply put in words. The muses I’ve encountered were more than lovely, especially the man behind the Poetic Rose. With that, I sincerely thank everyone from my bottom of my heart and I hope to continue to support me in the years to come.”

The applause roared once you stepped down the platform, shaking hands with every esteemed guest with more gratitude as they praised you. These days, socializing with them was a lot easier. You’ve even taken more initiative to greet people first before they do, conversing with them easily about anything.

Key definitely noticed that as you toured him around your section, holding his nth glass of wine for the night.

“You, Madame (Y/N), transformed into a social butterfly.” He nudged your shoulder, smirking once he got a better view of his favorite painting from you. “I guess that’s the thing when you’re in love.”

“I beg your pardon?”

With this free hand, he motioned it up and down at the painting in front of you. “The Poetic Rose is none other than the youngest son of the Jeong family, whom I’ve met through his older sister, Krystal.”

“Am I really the only one who doesn’t know him?!” You stressed, jokingly. Key was elated to capture you in his trap, the changes of your personality too evident in his eyes. Figuring it out that it was love took a while, but being acquainted with Krystal, she’s the one who told him that her younger brother was in love with a painter in Provence. Do the math.

“I’ve met him through his older sister, one of my highly favored clients. He’s not much of a socialite like her, so I don’t really blame you for that.”

Searching for a waiter to refill your wine glasses, a surprise emerged the both of you.

“Madame Krystal, you’re absolutely stunning.”  Key complimented her, giving the engaged heiress of Jeong Tea Inc. kisses on the cheek as respect. Her recent engagement to Kim Donghyun, her childhood sweetheart and also the heir of Kim Couture, was the talk of the town.

They arrived at the event together, drawing the attention of everyone in the room earlier. Now, he was speaking to a few influential socialites he made a deal with this week about the art collections present.

“Key, you never fail to look fantastic,” She remarked positively, poking his necktie before placing her undivided attention on you. “So you must be (Y/N) (Y/L/N). You’re beyond bewildering in that gown.”

“Flattered to hear that, Madame Krystal. Such a pleasure to meet you.”

The three of you chatted as if you were the only people there. From art, passion, and love, pride filled in your chest when you toured your collection. It was like walking down memory lane for her, adding out how she used to climb the peach tree with her younger brother during their childhood. Once her eyes laid on Poetic Rose, she took her time admiring it.

“My younger brother grew up well. That’s all I could ever hope for as his only older sister.” She paused, noticing how silent you became when you stared at the painting along with her. She observed the passion lit in your eyes, yet there was longing behind it by the way your lips pouted briefly. “You must really love him, do you?”

“I do, truly. After meeting him, not only was I boosted with so much ideas, but my heart embraced him for what and who he is in this universe.” You professed confidently, earning an approving smile from Krystal.

“If that’s how you feel, why not tell him that yourself?”

Her fingers gestured you to turn around. Stood in a grey suit with his brown hair slicked back, it was like seeing a completely new person. A handsome one though. His fashion in the countryside heavily differed from his fashion in the cities. So sophisticated and refined, he looked like a prince straight out of a fairytale.

Your fairytale.

“Jaehyun.”

It’s like everything stopped once he sprinted towards you, pulling you off your feet for a snug hug. Your arms threw themselves on his neck by instinct, not wasting a single second in his grasp. Your nose inhaled the woody scent of his cologne, something more formal than his usual fruity scent.

The smell of aftershave in his jaw couldn’t go ignored either, assuming that he must have had plans to go out tonight. Nonetheless, you squealed as if you were back in Provence, giggling at his boldness. Once he put you down, neither of you could get your hands off each other.

“What are you doing here? You didn’t tell me you’d be in Paris!” Clutching your waist, you gazed at him with doe-like eyes, instilling confusion.

“J’ai voulu te surprendre, my chérie.” (I wanted to surprise you, my darling.)

He chuckled, pushing some straying strands of your hair behind your ear. His eyes evoked so much endearment towards this elegant look you prepared, making his heart race as if he were in the gardens of his manor again.

Hearing his petname for you again attacked your heart every time no matter how much time passed, he lifted your chin high. Jaehyun urged himself to kiss you senseless right there, leaning lower. And yes, you anticipated it by how your eyes instantly closed.

Only if it weren’t for Krystal to clear her throat, obviously ruining the mood. Flinching away from your sensual lover, you rubbed the nape of your neck. Towards an heiress like her, it must’ve been unprofessional.

“Couldn’t you at least wait until I left, younger brother?” Her fingers flicked Jaehyun’s forehead, a teasing trick they used to do as kids. Even if she was a lot shorter now, it didn’t mean the impact was weak. He cursed under his breath, covering his forehead.

Stifling your laughter was a failure, crinkling your eyes to unleash your emotions. So this is what their sibling dynamic was like?

“Now excuse me, older sister. You didn’t tell me you were visiting the exhibit after my birthday dinner with our parents?” He crossed his arms, exchanging a judgmental look. For his sake, he wanted to maintain his pride. “All you said after dinner was that you were going straight home with your fiancé after all the alcohol mother gave you because it made you lightheaded.”

“Well, you know Key and his persuasiveness. He insisted I attend this event last minute because all the collections were amazing.” She explained, shedding a subtle glance at you. “Plus, it’s an excuse to finally meet this lovely girl you raved so much through your letters.”

Jaehyun kept his family life private, so this piece of information was new to you. The unpredicted way the fluttering feeling drew in your stomach, all you could do was smile from the flattery.

“He spoke about me to you?”

“More than speak, my dear. He practically professed his love for you, asking me advice on how to court a girl, make them smile, etcetera. You’re the first girl he’s been this affectionate with, and I completely understand now.” She patted your shoulder, hopeful. She had such a strong older sister vibe, reminding you of your older siblings back home. “You’re a clever, talented woman. I look forward to seeing you more often.”

As you nodded in approval, she turned towards her brother with her recurring teasing look. “Yah, Jaehyun. You better take care of her. If she ever sheds a tear because of you, I’m hunting you down in the gardens.”

“Harsh of you, Krystal.” He planted his hand on his chest, feigning pain. “But no worries. Having you and mother around me kept me well-mannered towards women growing up.”

Playfulness aside, Krystal felt honored towards her younger brother. Men these days maintained their sexist beliefs and rudeness, especially those who doubted her high position in the family business once her father stepped down. Nowadays, it’s men like Jaehyun who could really challenge the patriarchy and make women pursue a lot more than being limited as a housewife.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Now please excuse me, I’ll be on my way.”

Krystal waltzed her way out without tripping from her slight intoxication, which Jaehyun worried about earlier. But anyway, that left him alone with you. Filled with so many questions, you didn’t know where to start.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming to Paris? Why didn’t you acknowledge my birthday wishes to you? Why aren’t you answering my calls and letters?” You blurted without wasting a breath, weren’t trying to come off as needy, but it became peculiar when he was contacting you like usual.

You pushed off thinking of the worst scenarios, not wanting it to ruin your drive and your emotions either. Yet you trusted Jaehyun enough to know he wasn’t the type of person either.

“Okay slow down, ma chérie.” His hands maneuvered for you to stop for a bit. “Ask me one by one and I’ll give you a solid answer for each while we roam around.”

He arrived in Paris last week, which was initially for work. Then his birthday clashing was a coincidence. It would be too lonely to go home and celebrate his special day alone, so he extended. But again, it’s his work that caused his abrupt contact.

When you were too busy delving into the success of recovering your inspiration, he also found his spur to write again too. Day and night, his mind kept him tedious with an endless trail of thoughts and words. Overall, he finalized it then brought the end product to the same publishing house where his books in the past went through.

In fact, he decided to publish them specifically today on his birthday. The only day in his itinerary he planned, where after publishing, he’d hang out with his friends, have dinner with his family then run off to reunite with you.

“I didn’t intend to make you feel like a second choice, so please forgive me for that, ma chérie.”

“All is forgiven, Jaehyun.” You held both his hands, kissing them tenderly out of habit. “I’m overjoyed that you rekindled your creative side again.”

You were so understanding and empathetic, and Jaehyun aimed to act that way too. He learned so much from you as his friend before being his lover. Quickly enough, you’re both back to his portrait in the center. Like a critic, he narrowed his eyes and scrunched his nose. Tapping his chin with his finger,

“This man in Poetic Rose, he’s quite dashing.” He commented with conceit, walking closer to it to view it better. “His freckles are on point, his dimples and dazzling eyes too. Why exactly is he described as a Poetic Rose?”

“Well sir,” You stood beside him, imitating his actions. “This man here always spoke so eloquently, like he had a very poetic approach on life. He reminded me also of a rose by his rosy tinted cheeks and his beauty. He was alluring inside and out.”

“Is he your favorite muse?”

“I never quoted him as a muse because he’s more than that. Muses can be replaced once they no longer serve purpose towards the artist. Though with him, he’s the never-ending flame that I want to keep for the rest of time."

You held on to his hand, interlocking your fingers with his. The apparent reddening of his ears proved that he was flustered, yet you spoke no lies.

“Joyeux anniversaire, ma flamme.” (Happy birthday, my flame.)

“Merci beaucoup, ma chérie.” (Thank you, my darling.)

Something about his new release piqued your attention so you brought it up again.

“So tell me about your new book.”

“Let me show you instead.” Inside the blazer, there was an inner pocket that sealed a small hardbound book. Taking it out, he handed it over to you. “This is your copy.”

The cover of the book had an illustration of two young adults running down the fields under the bright sun, with the title written in cursive and placed in the center.

“L’Été de 1957.” (The Summer of 1957.)

Like a child who received a new gift in the mail, you flipped the book open. Seeing the table of contents and credits to other important people involved in the process, there was a detailed dedication right before the starting chapter. It’s an unexpected page, noticing that he never put anything like this in his last works.

“Pour ma chérie, qui a peint les couleurs manquantes de ma vie.” (For my darling, who painted the missing colors of my life.)

Although Jaehyun planned to write about the couples he met in the countryside, he chose to change his perspective. Instead, he based this new book on your summer romance, installing more original characters who made your romance blossom more.

“I was once so engaged in listening to people’s love stories, hung up on what they felt.” He expounded, pacing around the floor whilst you skimmed through the pages. There were black and white photos from your adventures too to wrap the reader further in the story.

“While I was struggling to find the next story, I realized late that my story with you was a perfect choice. When I fell in love with you, it’s like I didn’t have to fret anymore about anything. Everything slowly yet surely aligned into place for me. Like how we found inspiration in each other.”

A poetic speaker meant having a poetic, wise mind. You kept an open mind whenever Jaehyun shared his thoughts on life with you, an intimate time that didn’t require using your bodies. Whether you were stargazing or drinking wine by his patio, his soulful personality never changed.

“So I recapped every single memory we had and compiled them,” He resumed, taking a closer step towards yours. His warm hands grasped your waist again, catching a glimpse of your astonished face. Mostly, towards your lips that he missed feeling against his.

“This book expressed my own take on love this time, the one I want to grow in.”

You’d care less if you dropped the book and your coat right there, your major desire to kiss him again was driving your senses to the edge of a cliff. Nothing could’ve braced yourself the second you fervently collided your lips with his. It didn’t feel like you were in this exhibit, but somewhere back in his mansion engulfed in each other’s presence.

Your legs almost melted by your daring move, if it weren’t for Jaehyun’s arm moving upwards to your back to stabilize you more. Your body tingled with goosebumps due to his relaxing fingers all over your body. His tongue caved in your lips, and you couldn’t ban its access.

Such an explicit sight, it felt forbidden as you were inches away from the public crowd. Yet it was the least of your worries if they made a big fuss over it. Jaehyun was here again with you, and that was more valuable to you. He savored every trace of your touches, taking his delicate time with you. No past birthday could defeat this, especially when it’s the first one to celebrate with you. The first of many.

As much you wanted to keep this up for hours, your lungs started feeling constricted of air so your lips timidly let go. Though your hands couldn’t, your overwhelmed eyes couldn’t shift away from the heart-stopping view of your lover. Wherein even after such a fearless session, his eyes fused with love and need with his plumper lips.

“Everything about Provence, especially you, that’s the life I want.” You confessed this concealed secret that’s revolved your head for a while now. Yet its certainty was true.

“Are you sure, ma chérie? What about work?” As an artist, he believed you should stay where everything is accessible. Yet as his woman, he wanted you to follow your heart. Jaehyun didn’t want you to choose or struggle.

“I’ve grown out from the idea that the city life was the only life meant of an artist like me.” You replied, confident enough to discuss it after deep thought. “Cities like Paris hold exciting, vigorous flames that will have you clinging on to them. But then, they’ll eventually die the longer you stay. You get burned in the process too. However, I stand by what I said earlier. I found an endless flame when I met and began loving you, Jaehyun. It doesn’t sting at all; it illuminates strongly every living day.”

Urging him to lower his stance with your fingers, you stated one last phrase. “Wherever you are, that’s where I want to be.”

“If that’s the case,” Jaehyun acknowledged, sticking his arm out for you. “Let’s get out of here.”

Astounded expressions crowded the socialites in the event as they watched the both of you exit together. If the news of Krystal and Donghyun weren’t crazy enough, some journalists figured the mysterious man behind The Poetic Rose and spread it like wildfire.

How was the youngest son of the Jeong family turned renowned romance novel author connected to the impressive, up-and-coming painter from London?

What really went down in Provence?

“How can you miss out on the signs? Did you not see them share a kiss earlier?” Key protested to those who weren’t approving whatever relationship you guys had. He loved his tea but hated those who simply were money hungry. Wanting a chance to be a part of the rich family, only to fish them out of their riches sooner or later.

Meanwhile, the winter season didn’t stop any of you from roaming the streets of Paris. Moments like these were a preview of the future you’ve envisioned with Jaehyun. Youthful, free, and fiery, a love between two artists created more magic not just in their crafts but to those around them.

Promenading a street overlooking the Seine River, Jaehyun took out a smaller instant camera from his pocket and took a candid shot of you. Stunned, you slapped his chest with your bag.

“Hey! Just how many more things are hidden in your blazer?”

“Just my wallet and a few condoms. Why’d you ask?” He raised a suggestive brow, feigning good intentions.

You hummed, faking your deep thought mindset. “At this rate, I don’t think we’ll make it back to my apartment alive.”

Jaehyun tugged you by your coat, his lips hovering your ear to whisper. “If we call a cab right now, I can finger you in the backseat.”

You chuckled at his vulgar idea, but it seemed ideal. You loved the thrill of getting caught or having someone overhearing you two, just like him. Besides, his fingers don’t match up to yours when you touch yourself alone in your apartment. You bat your eyelashes, giving in.

“Deal.”

6 ans plus tard (1964)

Summer returned, the sun strongly smiling down to the plentiful flowers at your family garden. By the patio of your home, your canvas was already laid by the easel stand. Shades of yellow were applied first to symbolize the brightness of the day, following the outline of your desired scenery for this piece.

Dipping the brush in water to change colors, you took another glance at the breezy sky. Light blue with clouds resembling soft pillows, you inhaled gently as your brush faintly stroked the canvas again.

Your hair was tied in a bun, meaning that you’re in for a busy session. But a more soothing one as the jazz music flowed from the vinyl player inside. Stress was the last thing you needed right now.

“What’s madame artiste up to right now?” Your husband piped in from behind, placing down a tray of tea and crackers. With some top buttons of his white top left unattended, you glimpsed on his toned chest when he leaned down. But you mustn’t pry whilst working, even when temptation was calling your name repeatedly.

“The summer sunshine healed me of my discomfort, so I think it’s about time I painted again.” You chewed on the snack, looking back and forth to the view. As enchanting as all the flowers you and him planted over the years grew, you’re more amused by a little boy strolling around it with his magnifying glass and tiny wooden basket with his furry puppy by his side.

His tiny legs often troubled the two of you because he enjoyed spending time with nature. Only God knows what he found in the garden this time.

“Adrien est explorer encore. Devrais-je lui dire qu’il change de place, ma chérie?” (Adrien is exploring again. Should I tell him to change places, my darling?) Jaehyun cautiously asked, not wanting his 3 year old son to impair your perspective.

“Non,” (No,) You held on to his hand, kissing it sweetly. Although you peeved any unnecessary details found in your scenery in the past, Adrien was an exception. As his mother, it’s hard to say no to him unless necessary.

“Il est un garçon curieux, alors il devrait explorer et flâner où il veut.” (He’s a curious boy, so he should explore and wander wherever he wants.)

Life ever since you returned to the countryside shifted into something more precious than you imagined. From moving places constantly, you found a home to settle in for good. A home with overflowing love and inspiration. A home within Jeong Jaehyun.

Recently, you halted your work-related activities in Paris and came home because you were heavily homesick. It even affected your health as a whole. So you made adjustments with your schedules, postponing appearances to events to next year.

On the plus side, you could be more active as a mother to Adrien. It felt like you burdened Jaehyun to take care of Adrien most of the time because he mainly worked from home, wherein important people who wanted to meet him would have to fly out to the countryside.

Back and forth to Paris, your presence towards Adrien often lacked. Here came your biggest fear, which was Adrien forgetting you. But Jaehyun told you over and over again that it wasn’t the case. As he listened to every wrenching thought you had, but he’d combat it with heartfelt words of reassurance so you wouldn’t overanalyze things.

He vowed to love and take care of you when times get hard, and he will continue doing so.

Remember when you said how his mansion felt too big?

It no longer did after getting married.

It gave more room to grow and breathe more life into it. When Adrien was born, he was the prime reflection of your and Jaehyun’s love. He mirrored his father’s physical traits but with a daring personality like yours. A perfect mixture, the world worked amazingly to bring a boy like him into your life.

“Maman! Papa!” Adrien bolted to where you and Jaehyun stood. From the clothes he wore, it’s very much clear that his father was in charge of it whilst you slept in the entire morning. Suspenders, capri shorts, a white shirt, and a red beret, he deserved his title as Jaehyun’s mini-me.

Jaehyun swelled with pride and love for his only son, peeking over what he brought to show and tell you both. “Oh Adrien, what do you have for us today?”

In his basket, there were 3 sunflowers stuck out from the edge. It’s been a while since you’ve seen some in full bloom, lowering your stance to get a more vivid view. He took them out to hand them to you and your husband.

One flower for Jaehyun and two for you. You let out a gasp, scrunching your brows to the center. He always gave one of each item to you and Jaehyun, never more or less.

“Ooh, deux fleurs pour Maman. Pourquoi, Rien?” (Ooh, two flowers for Mama. Why, Rien?) Jaehyun let his nickname out for his lips while you grasped his small hand.

“Well, I heard from Olivier next door that on his birthday, he gave extra flowers to his mother so he could have another sibling. And it worked!” He spoke so innocently, yet it hitched a choke from Jaehyun’s chest. Your eyes widened from disbelief. The information he collected due to his curiosity, no boundaries truly.

“Le mois prochain, c’est mon anniversaire. Je me demandais si je peux avoir un frère ou sœur comme Olivier? Tu es toujours occupée, comme Papa. Je ne veux plus être seul, alors je veux une amie aussi.” (It’s my birthday next month, and I was wondering if I can have a sibling like Olivier? You are always busy, like Papa. I don’t want to be alone anymore, so I want a friend too.)

You exchanged looks with Jaehyun, not knowing how exactly to respond. Although you and Jaehyun did agree that you wanted more than one child when you were younger, neither of you brought it up again since your careers were always loaded with plans.

Adrien was a surprise child actually, conceived on the night where you and Jaehyun celebrated after L’Été de 1957 was announced to be the best-selling romance novel of the decade in the country.

In Paris at his family home, where his parents brought out all their prized liquor, the two of you drank the entire night away to the point Krystal and Donghyun had to push you away from each other from your public affections because their children were present.

But it didn’t stop you two once you reached his bedroom, far away from everything and everyone. And you’ll never change it.

“Oh, Rien,” You eased in, consoling him. “Je suis désolé. Mais c’est franchement une grande demande, n'est-ce pas?” (I am sorry. But that’s quite a big request, right?)

“Mom and I will think about it first, okay? Another kid is a big responsibility, and you’ll be their older brother. That’s another important job, can you do it well?”

“Yes, I can, Papa!” He beamed with glee, his covered head patted by his father after. As you placed the sunflowers beside your palette, Adrien then proceeded to ask you if he could paint with you like old times.

Never you refuse especially with his sparkling round eyes and chubby face that makes you want to squish every time.

As you lifted his light body to sit on your lap, you placed your brush between his stubby fingers and carefully aimed in whatever angle seemed fit so the painting process would run smoothly and perfectly. He let out sounds of amazement when the strokes get bigger, jumping slightly too because the picture became more vivid. You’d smile and coo at him, commending whenever he followed instructions well. As his mother, you only encouraged your child in whatever they want to excel in.

Adrien was the child of two artists, so it was only natural that he had an artistic side in his veins.

Too caught up in your fun, hearing the automatic shutter of the camera from your side was delayed. The source was none other than Jaehyun hiding behind his camera. Jaehyun’s heart soared at the heavenly view of the most important people in his life, wanting to treasure the moment as a lovely memory.

“Hey!” You shouted, placing down the messy brush by the palette. “Je suis très laid!” (I am very ugly!)

“Shh! Tu est rayonnant, ma chérie. Papa est juste, Rien?” (Shh! You are glowing, my darling. Papa is right, Rien?)

Jaehyun politely quizzed the peppy boy, nodding excitedly. His dimples deeply showed up, the main trait he claimed from his father.

“Oui, papa! Maman est toujours belle!” (Yes, papa! Mama is always beautiful!)

He exclaimed, pecking your cheek numerously. You squealed, attacking him with tickles and kisses back. His shouts of delight, then he was suddenly carried by your tall husband in the air like he was flying in the sky. Adrien enjoyed that motion highly, ending up on Jaehyun’s shoulders shortly after to play by the garden again.

“Go paint. I’ll take care of him now.” Jaehyun persuaded, roaming through the long rows of flowers in full bloom. Though seconds after adding some strokes to your piece, you let down your hair, put a hat and sandals on, and ran to the cute duo to join them.

And that’s how your family spent the entire afternoon. By the garden, running around and taking photos and short videos from Jaehyun’s camera. Freezing these valuable memories, this was truly the life you loved so much.

After your break, you could convince the company you worked at that you’d prefer fewer trips to Paris and stay in the countryside longer. How badly you’ve wanted to hold your exhibits here instead. Plus like Jaehyun, let influential people visit you. You’ve already made a big name for yourself now, so that should be valid enough.

Dinner time passed by quickly too, eventually putting Adrien to a smooth slumber as you massaged the roots of his soft hair while Jaehyun sang him a lullaby. This was your joint parenting technique with him since he was a newborn, and it worked quickly as lightning.

You redressed into your silk nightgown after bringing your canvas to the master bedroom, opening the balcony doors to invite the cool breeze in. You tweaked some bits of your painting, including a silhouette of your small family. Regarding where to place it, probably by the living room as it matched the theme.

“What a spectacular day, don’t you think, ma chérie?” Jaehyun conversed, admiring the calm movements of your brush. He noticed a quirky smile grace your lips.

“It’s been a long time since we had quality time like that with Rien. He’s a feisty ball of energy these days.” You replied with a nostalgic daze. “It’s so crazy how one day, he was still crawling to us. Now, he could outrun the both of us.”

“Comme le temps passe vite, hmm?” (How time flies fast, hmm?) Nodding, nothing braced for what your husband had in mind. You almost dropped your brush mid-way. Jaehyun’s lips impatiently devoured your neck, his huge hands fondling your breasts. Violently throwing your head back against his chest, a needy moan parted your lips.

“Jae-” His touches reaching south to where you desired him highly, dampening hastily as your legs naturally spread apart. Rushed exhales, “À quoi tu penses maintenant?” (What are you thinking about right now?)

“Rien se sent seul,” (Rien feels alone,) His hot breath whispered against your ear, his fingers dangerously trailing your thin panties up and down. With your hands tightly clutching on his bicep,

“Alors, donnons-lui une amie.” (We should give him a friend.)

Ever since Adrien mentioned such a daring topic, it hasn’t left Jaehyun’s mind the whole day. After seeing you in utter bliss with your son earlier, he found you so majestic and radiant. It’s a different kind of happiness, especially for parents.

Now you went on hiatus, he thought that it was the right time to have another. He enjoyed his younger years with Krystal, and he wanted Adrien to experience it too. 3 years was quite a wait, and it seemed ideal to try again.

From his nude chest, you flipped around to intensely clash his lips with yours. Draping your arms behind his neck, Jaehyun lifted your entire figure from the chair. His hands gripping on your butt, he delicately lowered you down your bed.

Drowning into his sensual kisses with his hands all over you, this could prolong for hours. Reddening love marks started to resurface whilst your fingers tugged on the drawstring of his pajama pants. Jaehyun’s fingers dove under the fabric of your panties, his index finger rubbing figure 8s the sensitive bundle of nerves.

You struggled to swallow your moans, not wanting Rien to hear it. You wouldn’t want to repeat history, covering it as Jaehyun massaging you after a hard day.

“I know you want one too, ma chérie.” His fingers began to drape down the straps of your gown, presenting your breasts in its full, perky view. But before his lips could suck on your erect nipples, you parted momentarily from him and got up on your feet. Pulling up your straps again, Jaehyun simply laid down but he wasn’t pleased from how you left him hanging.

“Où vas-tu, ma chérie?” (Where are you going, sweetheart?)

He was growing impatient. You were never to interrupt such a sexy atmosphere ever.

From one of your drawers in your vanity table, an important, half-opened envelope was hidden. You were supposed to give it tomorrow but now seemed like a perfect time. Reading it as soon one of the maids handed it to you gave you the jitters, but in a positive way. Sitting back down on the edge of your bed, you exhilaratingly passed it to your husband.

“Qu’est-ce que c’est?��� (What is this?)

“Ouvre-le.” (Open it.)

Jaehyun slowly opened the edges and once he took out the contents. Reading it thoroughly, he couldn’t believe it as his jaw dropped, pacing from the letter and you back and forth.

“Vraiment, ma chérie?” (Really, my darling?)

It was from a doctor you visited in Paris a few days before you left, who confirmed just exactly what caused your health to go feeble suddenly. You already had one certain suspicion, which you addressed in your leave of absence letter. Amelié, who finally got the position as the head, couldn’t believe her ears and insisted you take all the time off you needed.

“On dirait que Adrien a reçu son cadeau d'anniversaire en avance.” (It looks like Adrien received his birthday gift early.)

Overall, it turned out the headaches and repeated vomiting you mistook as motion sickness from traveling was a surprise hello to your second child.

A girl specifically, thanks to the blood test she recommended.

“Je t’aime, (Y/N).”

“Montre moi combien tu m’aimes, Jaehyun.” (Show me how much you love me, Jaehyun.)

The whole night through, the two of you vigorously celebrated with the moonlight from the windows and a few scented candles set in the room. Wet kisses left on your collarbone, words of devotion exchanged, holding his hand as he groaned from heartily thrusting in you, the number of moans from your lips overlapped with the vinyl playing in the room. The intimacy between you two increased, almost as if you made love for the first time again all those years ago.

Excluding being drenched from the rain.

Once the two of you grew tired, Jaehyun lied down beside you. Wrapping one arm around, one hand trailed down your naked skin again. His wedding band flashed your eyes, reminding you of the commitment you promised each other. For better, and for worse.

Jaehyun promised to love you endlessly as a woman and his wife, and it didn’t cease when you became the mother of his children. He respected how strong you are, physically and mentally. He helped you in any way he could as you endured the struggling process.

At the end of the day, his family was his biggest priority. More than ever now, you needed him as you go through the pregnancy phases again. Specifically, his index finger lingered on your stomach. There was no bump or other signs of showing, except for that glow he complimented you earlier on.

“We met and fell in love over the summer, got married in summer, had Adrien mid-summer, and now found out about our daughter at the start of summer.” He smiled, blessed at all the good he’s received during this time.

“The summer gods must adore us.” Your vacant hand with your wedding band topped his. To love and to cherish. “Ils m'ont amené à toi.” (They brought me to you.)

His power on you was simply addicting, as if your early twenties revisited you. You straddled himself once again, your fingers caressing his face sweetly. When it reached his lips, he placed longing kisses there and pulled you closer again for another kiss on your lips. In between, you mumbled in a silvery tone,

“Then they led us to say I do. Pour toujours et à jamais.”

copyright © 2021 by alluringjae.

[angry-geese]

Risotto Nero x Reader

Warnings: nsfw / mdni. shameless smut, shower sex, oral (fem and masc receiving), fingering, handjobs, praise kink, unprotected sex, creampie, biting. lots of fluff. afab reader. fem pronouns, risotto calls the reader a good girl like once

a/n: a soft, self indulgent smut fic with Risotto

Word Count: 2k

The job went well. It's not often you can say such a thing. It's a rare, but welcome day when nothing goes wrong. Risotto suggested going out to dinner to celebrate. Food sounded nice, but you were far too tired to get ready for a nice restaurant. You settled on takeout.

He insisted on heading straight home. Any paperwork you can get done tomorrow. The hideout isn't going to burn down if left alone for one night. Well, not as long as someone responsible is around. Prosciutto is probably there. If not him, then Sorbet and Gelato are.

Over the past few years, the small apartment is what you two have called home. Rent was cheap, not to mention there weren't many neighbors. While Risotto may have been fine with sleeping at the hideout, you weren't.

You can hardly pull Risotto away from work. This was a rare, but welcome occasion.

The hot water feels nice as it pours over your sore muscles, turning varying shades of red as it rolls off your body, staining the bottom of the tub. It's not yours. Most of it anyway. Baths don't get blood out. Not a lot does. Showers are a bit better, but you’ve gotten used to tossing out a lot of clothes because of the stains.

"Hey Ris," you call out, "you comin' in or not?"

Momentarily the curtain pulls aside. Cold air rushes in, goosebumps raise along your exposed skin. He tosses aside the last of his clothes, joining you.

You give him a once-over for any injuries. Some blood is dried to his hands, though he looks mostly uninjured. He's too tall for the both of you to fit in the tub at the same time, so taking a bath together is out of the question. When you buy a home together—someday—you'll get a tub big enough.

"C'mere." You say. "I feel bad making you stand in the cold."

You take his much larger hands in yours, inspecting them for any wounds. He watches as your eyes scan up and down his body. Aside from a few scrapes, he's unharmed.

He practically has to kneel so you can wash his hair. A few, pleased sounding grunts leave him as you work the shampoo into his scalp. It smells like you, he notes. Your nails are getting a bit long, and feel nice against his skin. His shoulders tense as your hands work lower, working the knots out of his shoulders.

"Lean back so I'm not waterboarding you," you say, carding your fingers through his hair.

He has to duck to fit under the shower head. The one at the hideout isn't nearly as short, but there’s no shower curtain, not to mention Illuso who has little regard for personal space, and a penchant for appearing out of mirrors. Maybe the next hit will give you two enough money to look for a house. He could really use a bigger bathroom. And a bigger bed. There’s nothing wrong with the one you have now, but he wants one where he can sprawl out a bit more.

Though his back is to you, he feels your eyes drift down his body. You look at him in a way nobody has before. It both terrifies, and comforts him. Most eyes fill with fear when they gaze upon him. Yours never did. Even as you first showed up to the hideout, wide-eyed and frightened, telling him you had just been assigned to the hitman team, you never saw him as anything but good.

Each passing job, each day that goes by, he finds himself falling more hopelessly in love.

Your touch drifts across his back, working the soap over his skin. You’re shameless in how you admire the planes of muscle, and his well-toned arms. In public you’re rather reserved, it's only behind closed doors that you let your affections show. Risotto values the peace of solace, and most of all privacy. The two of you become entirely different people when no longer confined to a certain appearance. Very few things fluster him the way you do. He stiffens as your hands work particularly low, your fingers ghosting across the sensitive skin of his thighs.

Your intentions seem innocent enough until your hand wraps around his half-hardened cock.

A noise resembling that of surprise leaves him, followed by a weak: "the food-"

"We've got twenty minutes." You say. "It'll be fine."

His pupils shrink down to pinpricks. You have to stand on the tips of your toes to give him a kiss. Just a quick peck. He pulls you back to deepen the kiss, nibbling on your bottom lip until you allow the slick muscle of his tongue to explore your mouth. A strand of saliva connects your lips when you pull away.

He watches you with wide eyes as you give his cock a few pumps, sinking to your knees. The tiles of the shower can't be comfortable, but they don't seem to bother you. You lick a stripe up the underside of his cock from base to tip. The kitten licks you place against the head only serves to make him stiffen, and let out a few pleased grunts. It becomes a game, trying to get him to unravel entirely.

He’s too big to bottom out in your mouth. The man is quite literally huge, it's only fitting his cock would match. The hairs towards the base are the same silver as his head, and neatly trimmed. You hollow out your cheeks, pumping what you can't fit in your mouth with your hands. A mix of saliva and precum drips down your chin.

“Fuck-” He’s cut off mid-sentence by his own moan. “You feel so good. You’re so beautiful.”

Risotto can't tear his eyes away from the way the suds cling to your form, how the water collects and drips off every curve of your body, how your breasts jiggle with each movement of your head. It's rare he’s so shameless with his affections. Even behind closed doors he was rather reserved. Love such as the way you love is foreign to him. You’re never shy in the way you love him. It's not that he doesn't like it—it's quite the opposite—but in a way he’s terrified.

“There- tesoro,” His hands bury in your hair, tugging gently. “Like that. You take me so well.”

You pick up the pace a bit, pumping his cock faster. One of your hands slips between your legs, toying with your already-wet cunt. He pulls you off, an audible pop echoes through the bathroom as your lips release his cock.

Shower sex is a bit hazardous. He's too worried about you slipping. Still, he falls to his knees, his large hands ghosting down your sides. He leaves a trail of wet, open mouth kisses down your stomach, licking a stripe from your bellybutton to your mound. His tongue briefly dips between your folds.

He presses kitten licks to your clit, his touch achingly gentle. You angle your hips to give him better access. He latches onto the bundle of nerves, lapping and sucking desperately, rolling his tongue over the small bud. Your fingers bury in his wet hair, guiding him to where you need him most. The wet, lewd noises of his tongue can barely be heard over the shower and your own moans. Risotto’s name spills past your lips like a prayer. His ring and middle finger press into you. They pump in and out of you slowly at first, hooking and stroking against your g-spot.

His gaze drifts up your body, admiring every dip and curve. He takes you in like a man starved and given his first meal in weeks. You grind down against his face as you near your release. Steam coils off his back in ribbons, floating off and dissipating in the humid bathroom air.

Risotto pulls away, a wet smack echoing through the bathroom. There's a dark, needy look in his eyes, which are already hazy with lust. His cheeks are flushed; either with need, or from the hot air.

“Keep looking at me like that,” he says, running his tongue over his bottom lip, “and you won't be able to walk right for a week, tesoro.”

You let out a squeak as he hauls you into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist. Your arms loop around his shoulders, your fingers lacing together behind his back. He mutters a weak "I've got you" into the crook of your neck.

The head of his cock is slick with precum. It presses into you slowly, filling you inch by inch. The stretch stings a bit, though with the prep it hardly hurts at all. He was always terrified of hurting you when you first got together. Sometimes he still is. You constantly have to remind him that you're tough, and you'll survive a little manhandling.

He groans as he bottoms out, muttering a weak "good girl" into your ear. You feel so impossibly full. His fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs so hard you think they'll bruise. Not that you mind. Risotto gives you a moment to adjust to his size, although it's not needed.

“Please,” you say, your voice weak.

A dark laugh leaves him, coming from low in his chest. “Please what?”

“Fuck me,”

The heat that pools low in your stomach is undeniable. Risotto’s touch leaves you with an aching need you’ve never been able to replicate. Many nights when he was away on a job you would try to recreate his skilled touch. Always to no avail. Your hands never compare to the real thing.

Being so at his mercy is intoxicating. There's an odd, weightless feeling as he fucks into you. His hips meet yours in unrelenting thrusts. The sound of skin slapping on skin echoes through the bathroom, just barely drowned out by your collective moans, and the rushing of the shower. The angle allows him to hit deep, his cock curving in a way that makes your toes curl. His teeth sink into the junction where your neck meets your shoulders, leaving a faint, crescent-shaped indent. Tension builds in your stomach like a coil being wound tight.

You fit around him like a glove, your warm, wet cunt clenching around him in a way that threatens to make him cum on the spot. Nothing feels quite as good as the way you do. Before he never had much of a sex drive. It was something he had gone most of his adult life without. But upon meeting you, finally feeling your touch, he can never seem to get enough.

His own release creeps up on him far sooner than he expected, though you don't look to be far behind him. You're flushed from your forehead to your chest, blush dusting the tips of your nose and ears. Your moans—mixed with various curses and praises—echo through the room. His thrusts grow sloppy as he nears his own orgasm, his hips rocking against you in short, needy thrusts.

What sends him over the edge is the way your nails dig into his back, raking up the hard planes of muscle. Hot ropes of his cum spill into your unprotected womb.

His hand moves down to toy with your clit, working circles around the bundle of nerves. Your skin feels feverishly warm against his. He thrusts until the coil in your stomach snaps and you cry out, your legs tightening around his waist. You ride out your orgasm on his cock, his thrusts slowing.

He pulls out slowly so as to not make too much of a mess. Your arms remain around his shoulders to steady yourself. Shamelessly he leans back to admire his work. The sight of his cum dripping down your thighs is enough to make him want a second round. He likes taking his time with you, but he’ll never pass up on a quickie.

Risotto looks at you with such adoration that it makes your chest swell with affection. The kiss he pulls you into is uncharacteristically soft, but driven by need. His hands move to cup your cheeks, brushing your wet hair out of your face. It's another moment before he’s hauling you into his arms, heading for your shared room.

The moment is only disrupted by a knock on the door.

[hansolmates]

a hero’s journey (m)

summary; jungkook and jisoo are the mightiest power couple. however, one drunken confession and that whole facade fades in an instant. you realize that maybe you need to break from your unvaried life for a bit and be the hero of your own love story pairing; jungkook x editor!reader (f) genre/warnings; best friend’s boyfriend au, slice of life, angst with a happy ending because im weak, pining pINING, everyone’s kind of a mess in their own sweet special way, alcohol use, mentions of ze weed, toxic relationships, mean friends, sex—slight dom!kook, food play, fingering, squirting, heavy use of the petname “pretty girl” bc im weak, strength kink, manhandling (oop!) w.c; 22.2k a/n; woof! my first fic for @goldenclosetnetwork​ 23 | jungkook’s birthday project! this goes out to all the closet romantics *ahem me cough* who doesn’t love pining between a cutie koo? a huge thank u for vivi @eerieedits​ for making this bbbBEAUTIFUL fic banner!  

prompt used: “I should’ve known.”

if you like this fic pls consider giving a like n’share🥺💜🥺💜

It’s so easy to ignore the world. 

Maybe it’s a young-adult thing, but it gets difficult fitting into the 9-to-5 and playing to satisfy bosses that don’t entirely understand your work ethic. Maybe it’s out of complacency, or fear. But you prefer to let the world flow around you and when you’re needed, you’ll act. You’ve reached that point in your life where you enjoy the little things, satisfied by an extra hour of overtime tacked onto your paycheck, a new fabric softener, or finding the perfectly squishy yoga mat. 

You’ve finally started feeling comfortable in your shoes, uncaring as to whether you’re single or drowning in college debt, happy to live a relatively stable life. You’re grateful. There’s nothing more than you need than your happiness, and the love of your friends and family. 

Namely, your best friend from college. Jisoo always joked about how you two “won the lottery” as dorm rooms in freshman year were determined by lottery. Pulling numbers 883 and 884, you and Jisoo snagged a corner spot of the dormitory, leaving you two utterly cramped but utterly close as the years went by. Six years later and it’s still the case, the two of you have grown into talented working ladies. While you may not be able to spend time with each other the same way you did in school, you still care for each other. 

So when Jisoo shows up teary with a rumpled dress shirt and her hair waterfalling out of this morning’s bun, you break out the good alcohol and season three of Jane the Virgin for her. 

After the liquid is warm in your cheeks and you’ve fawned enough over Micheal and Rafael’s love triangle, you let Jisoo ramble. 

Jisoo has downed a whole bottle of soju on her own, while you’ve decided to have a tasteful glass of wine. You’d rather be tired wine drunk than wasted on soju. 

“Jungkook and I had a fight,” she warbles, stuffing a handful of popcorn in her mouth, “it was totally stupid.” 

Your eyes flash, picturing Jisoo and Jungkook in quarrel. They’re the epitome of an Instagram-worthy couple, beautiful and deathly charming to a fault. They show nothing but kindness and sweetness to you whenever you third-wheel, not a lick of anger between them when you’re all together.

So a fight is something surprising. Jisoo and Jungkook, J-squared are a power couple. Saying their names next to each other just emits a sort of energy you can only akin to famous small screen couples like Troy and Gabriella or Cory and Topanga. Jisoo’s Instagram is belly full with sweet selfies of them together, the doe-eyed man always looking completely sweet and gentle to the woman in his arms.

You never piqued Jungkook as the type of guy who would pick a “stupid fight.” And you know Jungkook pretty well. 

Maybe a little too well. 

“He surprised me during my lunch break and he caught me talking to Doyoung and he thought I was flirting,” Jisoo is practically eating her sweater, her head falling between her flannel pyjama sleeves. 

“Doyoung, as in your ex Doyoung?” you raise a brow. 

She groans, glaring at you in earnest. “Not you, too! I told him it was ridiculous to get jealous, and then I told him how jealous I get when he’s around girls and I don’t need to tell him that,” she rolls her eyes, twisting her feet petulantly in her fuzzy socks, “but then you know what he says back?” 

You wince, swirling your wine glass, “That you’re crazy?” 

“That I’m crazy, exactly! How did you—” her bloodshot eyes zero in on you, where you’ve tucked yourself in the corner of the couch. You swirl the ruby liquid in your cup, watching the feet web around the cheap crystal, “you think I’m crazy too, don’t you?” 

You swallow your sigh, taking your time to finish your liquid in languid sips. Uneasy, you wish you could just sink through the couch in order to avoid this conversation. Jisoo’s heart is generally in the right direction, but in terms of emotions she has the kind of sensitivity that you prefer to ignore rather than tread. Jungkook is also equally emotional, but in a different way. He wears his heart on his sleeve, preferring to keep things straight as opposed to bottling it up like Jisoo. 

However the theoretic bottle has reached it’s brim and Jisoo’s tipping, fast. 

“I need to tell you something,” Jisoo is swerving, crawling like an infant on wobbly limbs to reach your corner of the couch. You almost stop her, tell her you can continue this conversation in the morning, it’s what you normally do when she drinks into a stupor. But tears are swimming in her glassy caramel eyes and she’s grappling onto your blanket, resting her head in her lap. 

Her glossy russet strands curtain her head, so you don’t see the expression on her face when she says her next words: 

“Jungkook told me he liked you senior year, and I told him you weren’t interested so I’d have a chance.” 

Wow. So that explains everything.

The memories that you’ve tried so hard to brush away, the feelings you’ve tried so hard and continue to try to suppress, are laid out in front of you on a rusted platter. You could laugh, you could fling the rest of the Pinot Grigio down your throat like fresh water on a hot day and call it a night. 

But instead you choke back your tears, and push her off because you’re hurt.  

Deep down you know you would’ve been less upset if she told you the week after Jisoo and Jungkook called it official. If you knew from the beginning, it would’ve been easier on your heart. But it's been over two years since the past, thinking you’ve been needlessly, stupidly, delusional in thinking that you could’ve possibly had a chance with Jungkook.

Because it could’ve been you. And the reason why Jisoo and Jungkook fought today? Now you know it’s because deep down, they know they’re each other’s second choice. 

You can’t even recall a time where Jungkook and Jisoo were together alone before they suddenly started dating, remembering how it used to be you and Jungkook before Jisoo found him one day in your shared apartment, utterly smitten. And now you know you weren’t delusional, because the feelings and the signals you two were exchanging in senior year was real. 

But it doesn’t stop the fact that over two years have passed. Two years of a serious relationship between Jisoo and Jungkook, and two years of you secretly loving him from an arm’s length. 

“You hate me,” Jisoo removes herself from you, voice trembling. The quick, dark part of your mind wants you to snap back of course I hate you. You’ve trusted Jisoo with your life all these years, she was the reason you got through college so gracefully, why you enjoyed the past seven years of your life. 

But the sentiment is stained, and all you can do is deliver a tired smile and stand up. “I don’t hate you,” you say, “I’m just, really overwhelmed. I can’t lie and say that I’m not hurt,” your fingers clutch the fake crystal in your grasp, and for once you’re thankful you’re not strong enough to break it, “but you two love each other now and there’s no point in dwelling in the ‘what-ifs’.” 

Now that you think about it, when was the last time Jisoo treated you like a best friend? You stare at your wine glass, thinking that the only time comfort is provided in this apartment is when Jisoo is upset, never when you’re upset. 

Jisoo bobs her head senselessly, agreeing to every word. It’s pathetic, seeing her on her knees and her eyes glimmering with the hope that you’d forgive her straightaway. She must feel awful. That’s good.  

You sigh, needing to be the bigger person. “You need to call Jungkook and tell him he has nothing to worry about though, after all, you two have history now. As much, if not more than Doyoung.” 

“Right,” she replies, biting her lip. It suddenly feels like you're talking to a wall, carrying a conversation that's long ended.

“As for us,” you have half a mind to slam your glass on the counter, but instead you give it a heavy hand, letting slowly thump to the coffee table, “I don’t think I want to see you two, for a while.” 

“Understandable.” 

“And I don’t want to help you move out anymore,” I just want you gone.  

“Right,” she whispers. The both of you will be completed with your lease in two months, and Jisoo and Jungkook have decided to move into Jungkook’s apartment. As for you, you haven’t decided as to whether you want to go through the whole process of moving out or looking for a new roommate. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so so fucking sorry. I just was insecure as fuck in college and Jungkook was the first person I met in a long time that helped me feel more… like me.”

You want to say that she's right, she’s selfish. Her excuses aren’t palpable anymore. It’s too late. But if you were in Jisoo’s shoes, you’d think this apology is mere crumbs in comparison to your friendship. Why isn't she trying harder? Maybe because she doesn't know any better. After all, you never told her what you felt for him has morphed into love. 

You don’t even have to ask as to whether she’ll tell Jungkook this or not, you now know honesty is not her style. 

Jisoo doesn’t get a goodnight and a drunken kiss on the forehead like she usually does whenever you two have your late night talks. Instead, she seals herself to her own demise as you slam the door to your bedroom, effectively shutting each other out. 

Work is a bitch the following morning. You’re like molasses, rolling out of bed despite the whole world and its mother telling you to go back to sleep. 

Your feet are killing you as you make your walk to work, deciding to wear a pair of red-backed heels so you can stomp your way through your day. 

Your Wusband (Work-Husband) Kim Namjoon matches you step-for-step, eyes glued to his phone as he catches you on the sidewalk. “Woman on a mission,” he comments absentmindedly, eyes glued to his phone as he follows the click of your shoes to your favorite cafe. 

You spare a glance to your right hand-man, eyeing him appreciatively at his dedication to your morning routine. He’s your favorite co-worker, one who keeps you on time to your meetings and keeps you sane when you want to pull your hair out and dig out a coffin in your little cubicle. Namjoon’s long legs always seem to catch up with you during your workweek, whether it’s to get coffee in the morning or to talk shit about the latest gossip in the breakroom. 

The bell of the glass door tinkles in your ears as you enter the café, relatively busy for the morning rush. While you wait in line, Namjoon ticks off your activity list for today. 

“Meeting with Victoria is cancelled this morning,” you groan in relief, your supervisor Victoria always scares the shit out of you even when she’s not doing anything, “and just the usual proofing and whatever we have to do on the third floor today—can I get a large iced Americano with a pump of caramel? Thanks,” Namjoon moves aside so you can throw your order in as well, “and after work could you stop by Vernon’s? He took a sick day today and he has most of the manuscripts for the next issue.” 

“Done and done,” you swipe your card in the dip, tucking your card away in your zippered pouch. “So like, do Americanos taste any good? Like it’s literally watered down espresso how do you pay to drink watered down tar—” 

Jungkook’s at the pick-up counter. Jungkook’s at the pick-up counter swirling stray sugar crystals with his thumb and putting them in his napkin. What an impeccable display of Virgo energy, absentmindedly cleaning things he has no business doing. You scoff to yourself, recalling this morning that Jisoo got off the phone this morning with a stupid smile on her face. From the mirror image that Jungkook is excluding while he’s smiling on his cellphone like a smitten teenager, it seems like they’ve made up. 

Nevertheless the hurt from last night is still fresh in your bones, and you force yourself to look away despite the fact that your morning pick-me-ups are almost done and are sitting tauntingly next to Jungkook’s elbow. Does he really need to learn against the counter like he owns it? Hair slightly damp from the shower, your heart beats a little faster at the fresh image.His biceps are straining against his charcoal lycra long sleeve, which is slightly damp from his morning run. Snap out of it! You are a mature, working woman who does not swoon in the view of bulgy muscles, especially when the man who owns those muscles is taken. Suddenly there’s a call of your name, and two cups and a paper bag are put in front of Jungkook. 

He blinks, and you immediately pale when you see his eyes flit over your name surrounded by your favorite coral pink beverage. You feel struck as his head perks up at the name and he narrowly makes eye-contact—

“The fuck you’re doing,” Namjoon gripes, shoving your guava iced tea and croissant in your chest, “standing there like a moron as if we don’t got shit to do today.” 

“Sorry,” you mumble, pulling at the brown paper bag to tug a piece of croissant between your teeth. The warmth, buttery pastry melts in your tastebuds. Ah, bread. Nothing like a little bit of carb to make you feel better. 

You’re suddenly thankful for Namjoon’s gargantuan torso from effectively blocking you from Jungkook, hauling you out of the coffee shop like a petulant toddler. He doesn’t even give you a chance to catch another secret look at the object of your affections, making sure you’re back in your work game before you enter the building. Even if he doesn’t know it, Kim Namjoon’s always got your back. 

Or in today’s case, breathing down your back. 

Without your third editor and a hard deadline coming up by the end of the week, you and Namjoon are working in tandem throughout your 9-5 to complete drafts for Big Hit Publishings Arts & Media section. Both of you take turns to bring snacks and feed each other, feeling like reading zombies and slaves to your desk as you remind each other to breathe throughout the whole ordeal. 

In complete honesty you don’t totally mind. Namjoon is a great partner-in-crime, and you both love what you do and do a damn good job at it. You call it “Buzzfeed but with Benefits.” 

And at least for today, you could quell the feelings in your chest from last night and this morning. Sure, you’ve always been okay with the pining you’ve had for Jungkook. The feeling comes and goes whenever it pleases, and since yesterday you’ve been okay with just admiring from afar and being their third wheel. 

However, now the feelings are acutely comparable to a third-degree burn with the help of Jisoo playing with fire. 

With a quiet exhale, you concede in your gaming chair (because it’s just so damn comfy to keep in the office.) You’re an adult and not a petty child, and you will not let this piece of information derail you from your calm, stable lifestyle. 

But honestly? Fuck Jisoo. 

“Let’s go, buckaroo,” Namjoon logs off for you, the cinnamon-y smell of his shampoo effectively waking up your senses, “it’s already 5:30. And you said you’d stop by Vern’s to get his drafts.” 

“Right,” you blurt, mindlessly putting away your papers and snack wrappers in your bag. You can’t believe the whole day’s gone already. 

“Maybe you don’t even have to go to his apartment. Just text him or whatever.” 

“Sounds good, thanks Joonie.” 

“And y/n?” Namjoon gives you a look that causes you to force a terse smile, one you give one too many times to higher-ups at work. It isn’t to insult Namjoon by any means, but you guys are partners, the kind that tell way too much but hide just enough to remain close from afar. “Take it easy, will you?” 

“I will,” you concede, stretching your arms, “I’m def overdue for a massage.” 

“You don’t look sick,” you scoff, taking in the casual look your co-editor boasts as he leans casually against the doorway. 

Hansol Vernon Chwe is the epitome of fluffy, decked out in large electric blue sweats and his russet brown hair curling softly above his porcelain skin. Not only is he your co-editor, but also a friend from college. Not to the extent that you were with Jisoo and Jungkook, but you operated in the same publishing club and managed to get partnering internships that made you the co-workers you are today. You see a little bit of that collegiate youth in Vernon right now, as he looks well-rested and fresh faced despite the fact he probably didn’t apply moisturizer or drink enough water today.

“But you kinda do,” he tilts his head, noting the heels that adorn your feet, “you’re wearing your sexy shoes today, that means something’s going on.” 

“Gee, ever the ladies’ man,” you scoff, getting under his arm to invite yourself inside, “all I want is the completed interviews so we can pick out the best parts and draft them. Then I’ll be on my merry way.” 

“Oh c’mon, we’ve been talking nothing but work this whole damn month. What happened to college when we’d talk hours about House Hunters, the safeness of library sex, that little furry thing in Lincoln Hall’s urinal? That was prime conversation.” 

“Vern, I’m just here for the drafts,” you sit at his tiny kitchen table, glaring at his open laptop.  

“You could’ve just emailed me,” he teases, twisting around his chair so he can rest his arms against the back. “But since you’re here, that means you probably wanna spill some tea but you’re too upset to admit it.” 

“If I talk will you stop talking like that?” 

“Yes. Give me the juicy details. Need some juicy juice.” 

“Nevermind, get out of my apartment.” 

“Uh, this is my apartment.” 

“My point still stands,” you make another face at his outfit, “you look like the blueberry girl from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.”  

Vernon purses his lips, scooting his chair closer to yours. He’s unfazed by your insult, far used to your defenses being higher up than Fort Knox. He looks up at you with his pretty lashes and deceivingly sweet caramel eyes, leaning his head along the backrest. “C’mon, tell me what’s bothering you,” he says in a gentle tone, coaxing you open. 

He always knew how to do it for you, a little bit of sweet talking and that clear open gaze always reduced you to shreds in university. For him, it always took a good meal and some sci-fi movies to get him to talk. That must be why you’ve stayed friends for so long, you two knew how to connect. 

Finally you crack, kicking off your shoes and hoping the sharp end doesn’t land on his cat. You hear Luna meow in protest but she’s got great reflexes. Unbuttoning the first three buttons of your stuffy blazer, you air out your cleavage, not caring about Vernon’s gaze. He’s seen worse. 

“Remember Jeon Jungkook? Majored in graphic design.”

“Ah, yeah. The guy who like, lived at the gym and the dining hall? Haven’t seen him in a minute,” his eyes seem to glaze over the glory days, reminiscing in the simultaneous safetynet and stressor that made up your early twenties, “didn’t you guys hit it off real well? Like I remember you ditched like—three sci-fi nights to study with him. Who even studies at 1AM?” 

“Yeah, we did,” and you can’t help but frown at as you remember the 7-Eleven runs, the utter warmth you felt when he would wipe a stray rice grain off your cheek, and how happy you felt to laugh so much with him it hurt, “but uh. Jisoo got drunk last night, because they had a fight. And she sort of admitted to me that she sabotaged our relationship and told Jungkook I wasn’t interested in him so they could start dating. Two years later and here we are.” 

A pause. And then, “Want a beer?” 

Vernon doesn’t even wait for a response when he gets up, bare feet slapping against the tile as he prepares some drinks and snacks for you. 

“That’s pretty fucked up,” he practically sing-songs among the cacophony of popcorn pop-pop-popping in the microwave. The aroma of buttery kernels is all but a relief, reminding you of movie matinees, “and like, she knew you liked him! It was totally obvious, even if you didn’t spell it out for her.” 

“Yeah,” you practically gushed to Jisoo those past two months, every waking moment with heart-eyes over the talented graphic designer Jeon Jungkook. 

“I can’t believe Jisoo would keep that a secret from you for so long. Like, can you even trust her anymore?” 

“Don’t know, was she even my bestfriend or was I just a good roommate to her?” you ask. Vernon is holding two beers in one hand and a bag of popcorn by the tips of his fingers in the other, careful to not burn himself. Opening the beer for you, you thank him and take a long swig.

“Well, good thing you’re still not in love with him or whatever. That would really suck. Unless—”

The look on your face says it all. You’re practically snotting into your bottle, your face tucked into your chin as you fight hard to stop the tears you’ve been suppressing for the last two years. “Don’t give me your pity,” you garble, turning away from the sad look Vernon gives you as he wraps his arms around you. 

The tears are soft and gentle, flowing freely onto the cotton of Vernon’s arms as you let it out. 

“‘M’not,” he concedes, rubbing his chin into your neck. He really is a lot like Luna, just like his  cat ready to give you affection. “Let’s just, get some take-out and watch Hamilton or something.” 

He lets you wear his matching sweat suit, lime green, as you order Thai food and rap along to Hamilton’s sick beats. Vernon does a better job keeping the flow, but you’re having a good time being his hype man as he parades around the living room like it’s 1776. 

You go home that night around ten o’clock, feeling noticeably lighter and more relaxed. Be that it may you are still wearing the sweatpants and heels ensemble, you feel comforted. 

The apartment is quiet when you walk in, not a single light turned on. You get a slice of the city lights bleeding in from the organza curtains, which allow you to kick off your heels and hobble to where you think the kitchen counter is. 

Today is Jisoo’s day to cook dinner. You can tell she decided to cook today from the faint smell of Japanese curry and a small unwashed plate in the sink. Whenever it was someone’s turn, they usually left an extra bowl or serving in it for the other roommate when they got home. Unsurprisingly, you find no such thing on the counter or in the fridge. 

You’re not upset, but rather decided. If Jisoo is going to let your friendship fade off with no intention of redeeming herself, then you should give her the same amount of energy back. You realize now the apology she gave last night wasn’t for you, but empty words to make her feel better and mend whatever toxicity she’s created in her own relationships. People like Namjoon and Vernon reminded you that you didn’t need to try and earn other people’s friendships. 

It’s disappointing, but the feeling is all but too familiar. 

If you could describe Jisoo as anything, it would be the color pink. Blushing, beautiful, beguiling pink. The way she flushes when Jungkook does an uncalled for grandiose gesture of romance, or when she wears a hot magenta number when she’s hosting a fashion show. Jisoo is the personification of La vie en rose, unbothered and unabashed.  

But now all you see when you think of Jisoo? Nothing but red. 

With that, you go in your room and untack the polaroid of you and Jisoo at the carnival last month, putting it away in your junk drawer to be forgotten. 

“You’re running away.” 

“Am not.” 

“Are too,” that interjection comes from Vernon’s roommate, Jung Hoseok. He’s been watching you two bicker over work for the past hour while he plays GTA5, failing to get a good hard carry because you and Vernon are too busy discussing whatever finishing touches you need on your final draft. 

“No one asked for your opinion, Jung,” you throw over your shoulder. 

“I’m just saying,” Hoseok flicks his wrist and nabs a tank, “you never wanna go home, you eat all our food, and I found your pyjamas in my laundry basket.” 

“You said your basket was the blue one,” you hiss under your breath. 

“The navy blue one,” Vernon chirps unhelpfully, “not the electric blue one.” 

Hoseok hits “save” on his campaign, disconnecting from his PS4 and stretching his lean limbs. “I mean, we could use a third roommate,” Hoseok jokes, getting up from the couch and grabbing a handful of M&Ms from your bowl, “you do make a bomb mac n’cheese.” 

“Appreciated,” you relent when Hoseok presses a kiss to your cheek and tells Vernon he’ll be back late working, leaving you and Vernon alone in their shared apartment. When Hoseok is gone, you stare at the door, tilting your head, “y’know,” you remark, “Hoseok’s a cool guy, why did I never hang out with him in college?” 

“Because he was stoned the majority of senior year and you just didn’t vibe with that crowd.” 

“Oh, yeah.” 

“But, you’re trying to change the subject,” Vernon carefully untacks your hands from your keyboard, knowing that you two have already been done with this month's issue and you’re now just mindlessly re-reading emails. “You’ve been here since Thursday, and now it’s Saturday. And as much as Hoseok and I like having you around so you can wake me up before we go to work, it’d be nice to throw me a bone and let me in on what you’re thinking right now.” 

You frown, noting Vernon’s large hand covering your laptop closed. He isn’t going to remove his hand anytime soon unless you talk. “Jungkook’s helping Jisoo pack up her half of the apartment this weekend and I don’t want to be there,” you say, short and simple. 

“You miss her?” 

“Yeah,” you admit honestly. You hate this version of yourself, unable to even look at Jisoo nowadays despite the fact you’re under the same roof for the remainder of the month. It’s hard to believe that the roommate from six years ago finally got under your skin, cancelling out all the years of friendship because of one silly relationship, “sad she doesn’t want to be my friend anymore.” 

“Did you talk about it?” 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you reply despondently, “if she cared at all she would’ve to apologize again by now.”

Vernon figures, and his neutral expression doesn’t change as he leads you to the couch, brushing away Hoseok’s things so you two can get comfy. You busy yourself with the remote, exiting the PS4 homepage to scroll Netflix. 

“And are you trying to get over him?” 

“I mean, yeah,” you have been, but it’s a little hard when you’ve been contentedly pining. It was easy to keep your feelings bottled up because you originally thought Jisoo and Jungkook were meant to be for each other for the past two years. Now you're still pining but ruefully bitter at Jisoo.

“It’s not fair, y’know. She broke girl code, bros before hoes. Or is it chicks before dicks?” Vernon shakes his head at his lame attempt to get you to smile, which works anyway because Vernon’s silly and his sense of humor always gets you a little loose. “It’s your house too, you shouldn’t feel like you don’t belong there.” 

“Well I was supposed to help her move out this weekend, and I’d prefer it if Jungkook didn’t know what was going on.” 

“What?” your friend furrows his thick brows together, tucking his hands under his knees as he leans into your stubborn expression. “You’re gonna let Jungkook go on with his life not knowing that his relationship is based on a lie. That’s not cool. Even if you’re into him, he’s still your friend.” 

Damn, when did Vernon get so good at giving advice? Truth is Vernon’s always been good at dishing advice, you’ve just been privy to what you wanted to reveal to him. The first year or so being together outside of college was always about work, saving each other’s asses to ensure you two got that promotion and aim higher and higher. Now that goal is out of the way, and what better way to reconnect over some shoddy romance straight out of a Degrassi special? 

“I know,” you hug your knees tight to your chest, “when I’m ready, okay?” 

“Okay,” he agrees, because he’s not a pusher, “do you know the best way to get over someone?” 

“What?” 

“The best way to get over someone, is to get under someone," he emphasizes that point with his hands, sliding one under the other with a wiggle of his thick brows.

You slap him on the shoulder, “Vern, you disgust me.” 

“But it works!” 

“I’m not going on Tinder to find a fuckbuddy.” 

“You don’t have to look on Tinder or Tumble.” 

“Bumble.” 

“Whatever,” and his eyes flicker to his lap, where his pale fingertips turn red as he grips the edge of a throw pillow. "If you really don't wanna find someone, I can help." 

Is Vernon offering himself up? He is offering to fuck your brains out in the hope that you could inevitably fuck out your interest in Jungkook? Your eyes flicker over to Vernon's form on the couch, who's tucked in the couch just as you are. 

It’s true that you find Vernon attractive, and to some extent he definitely finds you attractive as well otherwise he wouldn’t have suggested the idea. It’s just that in college you never viewed him in that kind of light, probably because you were always so caught up in Jungkook. But tonight you can’t seem to ignore the eagerness hidden in Vernon’s carmine gaze, and how shiny and touchable his chocolate locks look under the setting sun. 

“I don’t want our friendship to change,” you reply slowly, furrowing your brows. “I appreciate it, but I don’t know. It sounds like a temporary fix.” 

“Can’t knock it if you don’t try it,” and out of curiosity, you don’t shy away when Vernon leans over to you, squeezing himself between the couch so he can tuck you in his arms. “I want to help you, but only if you want to.” 

Maybe it’s the frustration you feel with Jisoo, Jungkook’s ignorance, or the fact that you haven’t felt physical pleasure in such a long time, but you soften into Vernon’s hold. He’s relaxed, nothing betraying him as he waits patiently for your answer. You’ve always admired how much he kept up his “cool as a cucumber” demeanor. He isn’t the type of guy to let life pass him by, but he’s the kind of person who walks along life, embracing the ups and downs like old friends. He’s the ocean waves that crest along the shore, pushing and pulling along without a care in the world. 

He’s the textbook opposite of Jeon Jungkook, which is why you give Vernon the okay to lean in and press his lips against yours. 

His kisses are soft, and he takes great care in making sure you’re comfortable with this new step in your relationship. It almost feels as if you’re cutting corners, and you can’t help but feel a little guilty that you revel in the way Vernon’s hands trail under your too-large t-shirt. 

The pleasure you’ve ached for is there, bubbling low in the pit of your belly. It’s hard to get you out of your mind however, because this man isn’t the one you love. His kisses hold no power, only brief reprieve. Your heart doesn’t palpitate and your palms don’t sweat, you’re just languid. 

You’re greedy and selfish, but you remind yourself that it’s okay to allow yourself of these freedoms, even for a little bit. As Vernon finds your sweet spot that has you rolling your hips against his, you find that temporary fix isn’t a bad start at all. 

When you trudge back to your apartment that night after much reluctance, your face is still flushed and you think you smell a little too much like Vernon’s cologne. But the fact that still stands is that you're satiated, and you feel a tiny percent closer to moving on. 

The television is glowing with a terrible reality TV show, angry brides upset over cake layers or whatever. Jungkook and Jisoo have fallen asleep on the couch, surrounded by half-empty boxes. Jungkook has his arm lazily over Jisoo, her petite body fitting perfectly between his chest and the crook of his neck. 

You scoff when you spy Jisoo's bedazzled manicure digging into Jungkook's bicep, as if someone's going to take him away if she doesn't hold tight.

With stiff muscles you spare one look at Jungkook, ignoring the pang in your chest as you weave between boxes to turn the TV off. Barely an iota of your feelings have dissipated since your previous tryst with Vernon not an hour ago. Looking at Jungkook brings it all back, unfortunately. You suppose the feelings will pass with time. The soft hum of the television ceases, and you’re bathed in a room that feels dark and empty, despite the apparent life in the room. 

There’s some bleary talk coming from the couch as you walk to your bedroom, and if Jungkook is sleepily mumbling your name in question, you pretend you don’t hear. 

“So, where’s y/n? I thought she was going to help us pack.” 

It’s an innocent enough question, as Jungkook scans the corner of the living room hallway that leads to the bedrooms. You haven’t come out yet. He knows that you love sleeping in on the weekends, but he hopes the smell of fresh food will coax you to the table. His pan is sizzling in protest, telling Jungkook to quit talking and flip the hashbrowns. He's fried up three, in the hopes you’d be up for some crispy potatoes. He knows how much you love potatoes, especially at 2AM when you’re craving fries and a McFlurry combo. 

Instead Jisoo mutters, “You toasted too much bread, you know I don’t eat bread like this,” she’s pulling slice by slice out of the toaster, until there’s a stack of six golden toasts in the middle of the kitchen table. 

A little part of him wishes to quell the precursor to the argument there. It would be so easy for Jungkook to say, “the extras are for me” because he’s trying to gain weight, and that would be that. 

Instead he continues with his unanswered question and replies honestly, “I made extra toast for y/n, babe. She was supposed to help us pack but I haven’t seen her all weekend.” But he’s pretty sure you came home last night, unless that was his imagination. 

Jisoo pulls a carafé of apple juice out of the fridge, pouring the amber liquid into two glass cups. “Ah, she said she had some last minute things to do for work. Y’know, Big Hit always wants a big hit.” 

He chuckles, tilting his head as Jisoo gives him a small smile from the kitchen table. Jisoo is always good at cheesy jokes. “She must love her job, huh.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Her articles are really good, too,” the air smells like butter and Italian seasoning, as he places one hash brown on Jisoo’s plate, and two on his. He knows you edit in the Arts & Media section, and loves how you make it a point to include video games and modern graphics when it’s deemed appropriate. “She did a piece on the evolution of RPG and I thought her commentary was really spot-on.” 

He brings breakfast over to the table, while Jisoo places two slices of toast on his plate, one buttered and one with strawberry preserves. Breakfast is a quiet, but peaceful affair. Jungkook takes note of how Jisoo takes extra long to complete her meal, her fork creating ribbons in her little blob of magenta jam. He allows himself to complete his first hashbrown and a slice of toast before asking the difficult question. 

“Are you and y/n okay?” and he also takes note when Jisoo’s ministrations on her jelly stop, as she looks up at him with her big brown eyes. 

“We’re fine,” she insists, “just normal roommate issues, I promise.” 

“Maybe I should text y/n,” Jungkook says, pulling out his phone. “Lemme help you fix this, wouldn’t want you and her in a bad place when you’re about to move out.” 

“Baby, why are you so concerned about y/n?” Jisoo croons while his thumb hovers over your contact, his screen showing a two-year old selfie you two took during a study session early on in your friendship. He can’t remember the last time you two took a picture together out of spite, one without Jisoo. Jisoo’s hand pulls him away from his phone, rubbing small circles between his palm. 

He wants to ask, why aren’t you? But he sees the terseness in Jisoo’s smile, as her eyes fix between the interlocked fingers. He has a feeling he’s hovering somewhere he isn’t allowed to be in. Maybe it really is roommate stuff and it’s none of his business, but he feels a little insulted being left out because you and Jungkook are just as much best friends as you were in college. 

Or are you? 

This question plagues him throughout the day, and when Jungkook packs enough boxes for the weekend and says he needs to go home, Jisoo for once doesn’t argue. Normally Jisoo would cling to him like a koala, murmur simultaneously adorable and dirty things in his ear and lead him to her bedroom to coop up for hours on end. But Jisoo says she’s tired and needs some alone time, which is also fine. 

He doesn’t feel like going home, and instead heads straight to the gym. A couple pumps wouldn’t hurt, and it would clear his head. It’s nearly five in the evening when his body is thrumming with the afterglow of his post-workout, and he decides to take a little cool down in the mall and treat himself to a smoothie. 

It must be kismet when he sees you coming out of the bookstore, looking a little winded but no less professional in your beige blazer set and rose gold iPad. Whenever he hung around your apartment with Jisoo and you’d come home from work, he’d make it a point to acknowledge your plethora of multicolored skirt-suits. He never needs to be professional in his place of work, and admires how much effort you put in. 

“Hey!” he jogs up to you, and he catches the way your shoulders jump at his voice. “We missed you today.”

Your smile curls into something dry, and you twist your spine like rusty hinges to face him. In turn, his smile dims a little, wondering if he’s doing something wrong. Maybe you’re tired? He catches the line of sweat that glistens your baby hairs, and how your hair is done up but has fallen a few centimeters with some pieces falling out. 

“Jungkook,” you exhale, “lifting boxes wasn’t enough of a workout?” 

“You know me,” he replies stiffly, hiking his backpack higher upon his shoulder. Why does this conversation feel so awkward? “So, finishing up work? Sucks you have to work on a Sunday.” 

“Ah, it wasn’t so bad,” you face relaxes a little as you explain your work, “it was children’s day at the bookstore and they were watching Disney movies. I’m writing a piece on how I believe Ratatouille is Pixar’s magnum opus. Interviewed some kids, I wanted an expert opinion.”  

“Ratatouille is the superior film,” he declares with a firm nod, “after all, anyone can cook.” He revels in the small smile he manages to retrieve from you, immediately understanding the inside joke. If he came out of the gym five minutes earlier, he probably would’ve been able to catch you in the bookstore. What a shame, he would’ve loved to see you play around with the kids. 

At the mention of food, the mall manages to silence itself enough for him to catch the grumbling coming from your stomach. He laughs when your cheeks heat. 

“I was on my way to get some smoothies,” he jabs a thumb in the direction of the food court, “wanna catch up and get a bite?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, I have a lot of work to edit,” disappointment pangs in his chest at your easy rejection, but he ignores it, “I kinda wanna save some money too, still not sure if I’m staying in the apartment after Jisoo moves.” 

He doesn’t know what compels him to take your shoulders and wheel you in the direction of the food court, much to your protest and whines. “C’mon, explain to me why Ratatouille is the magnum opus—I need to defend why The Incredibles is superior. I’ll treat you to dinner.” 

“What? I can pay for my own food—” 

“And I can’t treat my best friend to a nice meal once in a while?” 

That has you stopping in your tracks, and Jungkook nearly barrels his chest into your head if not for the grippy soles of his Adidas Ultraboosts. He can’t see your face, but his hands note how your muscles cord tightly between the cotton of your blazer. 

He doesn’t understand why you’re so tense. Was it because he called you his best friend? Well, you are? At one point he felt that way, early on in college. The position just stuck with you. And when Jisoo told him you weren’t interested, he was perfectly fine with the platonic relationship. It was nice to have someone to talk media and video games to, someone not as chaotic as Jimin and someone not as deterred as Yoongi. 

Although, maybe as of late he hasn’t been so much of a friend. It’s no one’s fault, he’s been caught up with work and Jisoo’s move, he hasn’t said so much as a “hey how are you” when you’re around. He can’t blame you. 

Suddenly his mind blanks, the mall fading away as he focuses on how small you look as your eyes dart between the parking lot and the food court. Jisoo and Jungkook have been so caught up on each other lately, that he fears you’re starting to separate yourself.

“Um, this place is good,” you tug him by the elbow and lead him to a fast food joint. 

When he picks up both your orders and comes over to your saved table, you’re talking animatedly on the phone. You’re laughing, looking at Jungkook as if he’s the one intruding and you’re muttering a hushed “sorry” as you continue the tail end of the conversation. 

“Yes, Joonie. Go with section two, I know my shit. I’m your Work Wife for a reason, Umji in PR could never compare,” you’re giggling like you’re five years younger, and Jungkook feels stuck in a timelapse. 

He watches you go, throwing around names and terms that he’s so lost on but so desperate to understand. He knows nothing about your life other than the one that’s tied with Jisoo, which is a damn shame. Since when did he inevitably downgrade you from “best friend” to “his girlfriend’s roommate?” 

“I’m sorry,” you turn your phone over and push it to the side, giving Jungkook a smile as well, albeit weaker, “let’s dig in!” 

To his relief the dinner goes as good as it should be. You have your tray practically overflowing at the seams, all on Jungkook’s dime. It has his heart swelling with pride, he hasn’t seen you eat in a long time. There’s fries spilling out from the corners, and two sandwiches because you couldn’t decide between a chicken sandwich and a burger. 

Food gets you amicable, and he doesn’t mind when he does most of the talking. You’re engrossed in his talk, lettuce hanging out of your mouth as you’re rapt with attention as he recalls a story that happened at work recently with Mingyu. You ask questions in all the right places and he sucks up all your attention like a happy pill, and it feels nice to be able to lead a conversation for once. 

“Jeez, I’m getting the burger sweats,” you giggle to yourself, and his smile brightens at your positive change in attitude. Food always helps. 

When you remove your thick high-collar blazer, that’s when he sees it. 

“Seeing someone?” he asks, eyes flickering curiously towards the violet bruises that bloom across your neck. 

“What–oh,” you have the audacity to look embarrassed, hands clutching your neck like a shield, “no, just a hookup.” 

A messy hookup, too. Unless you had a thing for showing off marks, which doesn’t seem to be the case. “Didn’t peg you for someone who hooks up,” he says more to himself than you, but you catch him on his impulse jab. 

Your eyes narrow and your defenses go up, “I’m trying to get over someone,” you snip back, busying your hands by crushing up your greasy sandwich wrappers. 

“Am I allowed to state my opinion?” 

“Since you asked so politely, no.” 

He sighs, “I just don’t think that’s the best way to get over someone,” heck, Jungkook doesn’t even know who exactly you’re trying to get over. He just knows that you’re far too smart and independent to let yourself resort to such matters. 

“It isn’t, but it’s really the best option as of now,” you reply curtly. 

And his gaze saddens as he sees you fold your blazer over your arm, indicating that your time is up. Jungkook is aware the comment he made is out of line, and it weakens him knowing that you don’t even want to pick a fight with him. He can’t even find it in himself to apologize properly. 

He doesn’t know if he’s more sad that you’re pining over someone unattainable or upset at himself for not knowing you’ve been harboring feelings for someone. If you really think hooking up is your only option, you must be really hung about whoever you’re into as of late. 

“If it’s worth anything,” Jungkook adds, wanting to leave on a high note, “fuck that guy. He clearly doesn’t deserve you.” 

A small, secret smile plays on your lips, “Yeah, I like to believe that.” 

“I’m anxious,” Namjoon’s mantra makes the whole energy in the room wobbly, paired with the fact the two of you are squished between cardboard boxes as Jungkook aimlessly moves things around like a Tetris screen. 

The only time you feel remotely comfortable basking in your home is when Jisoo is gone. Oh-so conveniently is the Big Hit building undergoing maintenance today, so you and Namjoon have decided to work from home in your apartment. Although you thought by now that Jisoo’s boxes would be long gone and tucked away in Jungkook’s place, instead you’re living in an episode of Ed, Edd and Eddy and the cardboard is practically wall-to-wall. You also thought by now that Jungkook would have no reason to show up unannounced anymore, but apparently that’s not the case. 

“I have, anxiety,” Namjoon adjusts his glasses for the nth time this afternoon, brain not fixed enough to focus on the screen of his chrome MacBook, “anxiety, anxiety. I can’t right now. I need my weighted blanket and a pillow.” 

“Namjoon, I can get both of those for you if we just send in this last spread,” you coo gently, as if placating a baby. You make brief eye contact with Jungkook from the other side of the room, his lips quirking in amusement as he stacks a box of clothes by the kitchen. 

“Do you feel my palms? My palms, they’re like a fucking fountain you need to feel them—” your Wusband approaches you like a zombie, leaning over you and tripping over his criss-crossed legs before he topples over you. 

“Blegh, get off of me you sweat giant!” you cry with a good-natured laugh, although the grip of Namjoon’s palms under your shoulders are damp and slimy, “Joon, I can’t get you your blanket if you’re crushing my boobs.” 

Namjoon finally relents, untacking himself to rest his chin on your glass coffee table. “Fine.” 

“Look over the last column and I’ll bring your blanket, okay?” 

Pushing yourself off the ground, you shuffle your way out of the living room through the maze of boxes and into the hallway. It feels like your apartment is less of an apartment and more of a storage space when you’re trapped in-between two lines of boxes, and Jungkook effectively blocking you from entering your room. He was just in the living room but now he’s come from the linen closet, standing between the entrance of your room. 

“Sorry,” he pops his head out from a smaller box, one filled with designer costume jewelry. 

“It’s fine,” you chirp, barely making eye contact as you shuffle over the boxes. 

Your toe drags over the lid of one of the open boxes in an attempt to move diagonally. You nearly crash your face into the hardwood if not for Jungkook’s arm stretching out to catch you. In seconds he manages to catch all your weight in one hand, pulling you to him with your hip pressed against his. Your breath traps itself in your neck. Your subconscious fears that if you speak now, you’ll babble about how attractive it is that he’s able to catch you as easily as grabbing a light sheet of paper. 

“Careful,” his voice rumbles in his throat as he regards you with a wan smile. 

Your “thanks” is barely uttered as you slip into your room, heaving your weighted blanket and a pillow in your arms to let Namjoon borrow. 

The burgundy quilted fabric is hunched over your shoulder, draped around your body so it’s easier for you to carry on your back. You try to eradicate the memory of Jungkook’s arms, lean and strong as he held you to him moments before.

Ugh, you thought messing around with Vernon would stop your silly pining. It seems that it’ll take more than a couple rounds to satiate your curiosity. For such a kind guy, Jungkook seems like a wolf in sheep’s clothing when it comes to the bedroom. 

You can imagine him being so kind in the beginning, coaxing you to wan and bend to his every wish and command. And then when you keen a little too hard at the attention, you bet a switch would flip and he’d grab you—

The blanket flops around your back, and you’re sorely reminded that you’re thirsting over a taken man, yet again.  

Jungkook makes it extremely difficult for him to be hateable. It’s by nature that he’s just so damn likeable. Heck, he’s pretty much packed seventy percent of the things Jisoo should be packing right now. 

Making sure not to trip again, on your feelings and your blanket, you successfully reach a tired Namjoon. You tuck your koala-shaped pillow under your co-editor’s arms, and drape the heavy blanket over him like a cape. He’s giving you a thumbs up and a toothless smile, the previous meltdown overcome as he focuses on finishing the last of today’s work. He’s slipped on some noise-cancelling earphones, presumably filled with generic coffee-house music or rain playlists. 

Wordlessly you go to your nook to prepare some tea. It’s getting late and a warm cup would distract you from the impending deadline. Despite the fact that you and Namjoon are 99% of the way done, his previous freak-out has you on live-wire and you could use a little caffeine. 

Placing three mugs on the counter you call, “Jungkook, tea?” 

“Yes please,” you stiffen when you feel Jungkook magically appear right behind you, his head peering over your shoulder, ��with milk and honey.” 

Deciding to give Jungkook the beehive-shaped mug because it’s very on-brand for him, you begin to steep the leaves in your kettle while he spoons the honey. 

“So,” his words are slow as the drip of honey, the amber goo taking its time to descend into his mug as it falls from the dipper. “Is that the guy you’re trying to get over?” 

Jungkook lifts his brows towards Namjoon, who is softcore jamming to his white noise playlist. It’s cute as to how curious Jungkook is about Namjoon. While you try to keep your work life separate, there really isn’t much backstory to your personal life to warrant that kind of divide. 

“Namjoon,” you state aloud, watching Namjoon sing badly to himself, “why, are you gonna beat him up for me?” 

“I can take him,” you can practically hear Jungkook’s chest pop out. 

With a roll of your eyes, you reach to kill the heat off the tea kettle, “No need. He isn’t the guy I’m trying to get over.” 

“Oh, he’s your fuck buddy then?” 

“Shit!” being caught off guard, you grab at the handle of your kettle without a pot holder, burning your fingertips. In seconds Jungkook’s larger hand encases your own, pulling you over to the sink to soak your fingers in cool running water.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Jungkook is chanting like a sinner at church, searching for any sign of pain in your visage, “I shouldn’t have asked while you’re working with a hot stove.” 

You suppress a sigh, relaxing your fingers as Jungkook soothes the burn with his gentle hold, “Shouldn’t have asked in the first place,” you mumble. 

“I know,” he replies, “guess I’m just feeling a little left out. We don’t talk like we used to. I guess I’m getting a little too nosy for my own good, aren’t I?” 

You don’t understand what’s going on with his incessant babbling as of late, but you chalk it up to work stress and Jisoo’s move. Having no answers to his honest reply, you gently untack your red palm from his grip, assuring him that you’re fine. 

Namjoon steps into your kitchenette, being surprisingly careful as he takes your potholder to pour himself a cup of tea. If the tea is oversteeped and bitter he doesn’t say anything, only leans against the counter as he regards you two with slow sips. “You alright?” 

“M’fine,” you reply stubbornly, avoiding Jungkook’s worried stare. 

Namjoon holds out his hand, “Hand.” 

“No—”

“Hand.” 

His deep voice coerces you, and you immediately slap the back of your palm onto Namjoon’s. Your partner brushes his golden hands over the tiny blister that’s forming over your fingertips. “Can’t have my Work Wife outta commission.” 

“Your Work Wife is fine,” you gripe back. 

Your co-worker’s eyes flicker over to Jungkook’s for a brief second, Jungkook regarding him in curiosity as he stares at your connected palms. “I have some aloe in my bag for sunburns,” Namjoon offers helpfully, ignoring the weird glances, “I’ll give it to you in a bit. Also, I’ve overcome my sudden bout of stress and I’m ready to email our progress to Victoria. We’re done for the day.” 

“Awesome, thanks Joonie,” you exhale, relaxing against the sink, “wanna go eat somewhere?” 

“There’s a niche place in Itaewon if you wanna check it out?” Namjoon offers.

Jungkook interjects, “Jisoo ordered pizza if you guys wanna share with us?” 

“Pizza also sounds good—” 

“We don’t wanna interrupt your alone time,” you gracefully cut in, stepping in front of Namjoon despite the fact that he’s easily towering over you. 

Jungkook snorts, “I’ll have enough alone time with her when she moves in, don’t worry. Besides, I ordered three pies because I wanted to try three different flavor combos. I need two additional judges.” 

“Thanks Jungkook but,” you stifle a cry when Namjoon jabs you in the back with his thumb. It’s pressing, digging into the small of your back as if he’s trying to telepathically tell you that you’re being rude, “but… I don’t know if I can eat three slices! Namjoon on the other hand, can probably eat enough to fairly judge.” 

“Great,” Jungkook’s smile is blinding, causing your grin to stiffen as he looks for his phone to shoot Jisoo a quick text that they’re having dinner for four. 

Once Jungkook’s out of earshot, Namjoon tugs you by the sleeve, “The hell was that?” he hisses in your ear, “you look like you’re about to shit and piss your pants at the same time.” 

“I just don’t feel comfortable eating with them,” you cross your arms in defiance. You think back to just a week ago where you and Jisoo reluctantly attempted to eat breakfast together one morning. You provided minimal small talk while Jisoo clinged to her phone, replying to you in non-committal clipped tones. 

“Do I want to know?”

“No.” 

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” you retort, “you got me into this mess, you’re gonna stay with me ‘till the end.”

“I don’t know what you want from me, woman,” Namjoon throws his arms out exasperatedly, oolong tea nearly sloshing onto his hand, “just suck it up or I revoke your bragging rights to that snag you got on our spread next Monday.” 

“Not my fault you couldn’t get Kim Taeyeon on the spread,” you smirk. 

“Well I didn’t so happen to stalk the Sephora she frequents for the past two weeks—” 

“I didn’t stalk her I just so happened to need a new Fenty Gloss Bomb every other day—”

“I’m home, Jungkookie!” 

Your face contorts, your playful energy melting to the hardwood as your previous banter with Namjoon evaporates into thin air. Work bags in one hand and three boxes of pizza balancing in the other, Jisoo kicks off her heels somewhere across the door and places the pizza on the dining table. 

Jungkook immediately appears by her side, and you look away and Jisoo plants a heavy kiss on his lips. She cracks open one eye as she notices you and Namjoon hanging by the kitchenette, “Oh,” she mumbles at her audience, “you’re here?” 

Yes, you bimbo. I’m here in my own apartment. 

“I guess you didn’t read my text that they’ll be joining us for dinner,” Jungkook cuts in good-naturedly, “we have way too much pizza anyway. Have a seat, guys.” 

Jungkook navigates the kitchen as easily as your own, and you slump in your chair while Namjoon exchanges pleasantries with Jisoo. She looks impeccable, hair in a tight chignon and a tight navy dress as she converses with your co-editor. 

“I’m starving,” Jungkook announces, making sure to place a slice on Jisoo’s plate. He shuffles through the other boxes, making brief eye contact with you when he decides to put a slice on yours as well, “you like these toppings, right?” 

You regard the greasy, hearty piece of cheese and bread with a curt nod. You feel Jisoo’s eyes laser on your skin, “Yeah, thanks Kook.” 

Namjoon, Jisoo and Jungkook mostly stir up the conversation, you opting to eat as slow as possible to avoid any conversation. It’s easy to blend back and let them take over, as Jisoo loves to talk about her fashion firm and Namjoon is a great listener. 

Jungkook and Namjoon make it a point to direct the conversation to you from time to time, and you let the ball leave your court as soon as it lands. You prefer to keep your responses short and simple, especially when Jisoo is so eager to talk about the new silk drapes she’s installing for Jungkook’s windows.

Your phone buzzes in your lap, and you discreetly look under the table to read the incoming text message. 

vernie bernie: would u like to do the devil’s dance tonight

vernie bernie: or a tickle to my pickle? 

vernie bernie: beatin ya bean? 

You: ohmyGOD 

vernie bernie: or y’know, u could just come ovr and chill. Hobi made some bomb tres leches

You: call. Ill come after dinner

“Are you okay, y/n?” your head bounces up to meet Jungkook’s gaze, “you’ve barely eaten and you haven’t talked much.” 

“Oh you know, she’s just stressed about the upcoming spread,” Namjoon steps in for you, and you send him a discrete, but grateful smile. He’s always impeccable at reading the room, “she’s just nervous about her interview with Kim Taeyeon, but I think you did her interview justice.” 

“No way, the singer Kim Taeyeon?” Jungkook gushes, regarding you with stars in his eyes, “your interviews are always so great, y/n. You ask really good questions. Like that one spread about  Lee Yonghwa’s art gallery? Really cool.” 

You notice the way Jisoo presses her lips together, a thin line as if she’s trying to seal away words that she’ll regret saying. She’s jealous, and you can’t help the blush of pride that fills your veins as you raise a secret brow at her. 

“Right, you got nothing to worry about,” Namjoon squeezes your shoulder encouragingly, as if you’d get his double-meaning. 

“Thanks,” you reply, pushing your plate away and standing up, “I’m actually gonna go head to Vernon’s for a bit, though. He wants to double check his work before we email Victoria.” 

It’s a bald-faced lie, Namjoon sent the files to Victoria right before dinner, but he isn’t going to argue. 

“Okay,” Namjoon thanks Jungkook and Jisoo for the meal, stacking his plate atop yours, “I’ll walk out with you.” 

“It’s only been twenty minutes, though,” you see the slight panic in Jungkook’s gaze as he watches you quickly clean up for you and Namjoon. You can’t quite pin why he’s so concerned, after all he has been acting strange as of late. 

“Yeah, I’m full,” you reply curtly, licking your lips and avoiding his gaze. You already know what he wants to say, that he’s been in your apartment all day and all he’s seen you eat is stale chips and tea, “but we can do this again.” But hopefully not. 

“If you’re coming home late again,” it’s the first time Jisoo has spoken to you directly. You tilt your head to her slowly, watching the plastic smile carefully carved onto her expression. You see the contrived care and concern between her brows, “please try to be quieter next time, the last time you came home late you woke Jungkookie up.” 

Snapping your gaze to Jungkook you plaster on a thick smile, “Sorry Jungkook—” 

“What? No, it’s fine!” he furrows his brows in confusion, finally able to detect the strange tension between the two housemates, “I barely heard you—” 

“Maybe I’ll just stay the night at Vernon’s,” your eyes trail over to the pajama set you immediately switched into when you got home today, “wouldn’t want to disturb you two.” 

“Good,” Jisoo’s tone is saccharine and clipped as she tacks on a, “have fun.” 

It’s laudable, how much Jisoo wants to make a fool out of you but you won’t have it. You revel in the perplexed expression as Jungkook’s gaze darts back and forth between the two of you, wanting to butt in but unsure of how to approach it. Not giving him the time to, you bid the couple a goodnight and make a fast getaway. Heck, you don’t even take your work stuff with you. 

Once you’re out the door, Namjoon wordlessly gives you a hug. You sigh gratefully into his embrace. 

The next time Jungkook sees you, he reads the room before anything. You and Jisoo’s apartment is scarily empty, almost clinical. He’s tried texting you a few times after his failed-not-failed attempt at catching up at the mall and his awkward conversation concerning Namjoon, but you always reply back with vague replies and an unpromised promise of meeting up sometime soon. 

It dulls him to think that you’ve given up on him as a friend. But can you blame him? He needs to keep an appropriate distance for Jisoo, after all, she doesn’t like it when he gets too close to other women unless it’s strictly professional. Usually Jisoo’s jealousy inevitably works itself out and Jungkook doesn’t pose any problems because he has very few girl friends, but for some reason your friendship with him specifically gets Jisoo stiff in the face. Is it because you and Jisoo are so close? Possibly. 

But it doesn’t mean you can’t join the same Valorant server with him at 2AM and accidentally bomb each other, or argue over the magnum opus of each film company. Is that not enough? 

Jisoo’s working overtime, and Jungkook suggested last night that he move the boxes to the front of the door for easy pick-up when the moving truck arrives. Jisoo promises to buy Thai food in return, and with a kiss emoji she leaves him to audit fabric budgets. 

As he glides down to Jisoo’s room he notes that the pictures along the wall have disappeared, and there’s double the amount of boxes in the hallway. It seems that you’re moving out too. To where, he doesn’t know but he hopes it isn’t too far. 

He chides Jisoo remotely when he sees that her room is completely intact, and he makes moves to pack up her things. 

That’s when he finds his letter. Not a love letter to Jisoo, but a love letter to you. Deep in the recesses of Jisoo’s junk drawer, is a faded lavender envelope with a pressed cream colored baby’s breath taped up in plastic. The glue is yellow and old, clearly served its purpose due to the fact that the letter is already opened and the contents rumpled. 

Hey Pretty Girl–

He immediately stuffs the letter back in its holder, stricken at his messy handwriting from two years ago. It feels like he found a time capsule, another version of Jungkook confessing to you. He used to call you Pretty Girl, not enough for you to catch on to his feelings, but enough for you to understand that he did find you attractive. It was early on in your friendship. 

When you first asked him to be study partners for some silly class that had nothing to do with each other’s majors, he gaped like a guppy and pointed to himself. That day he went to class in last night’s clothes and a nest of fluffy strands. “Me?” he felt like absolute trash, and you were probably desperate due to the fact you two were the only seniors in this class, “but you’re a pretty girl… and I’m pretty dumb when it comes to this subject.” 

But instead you scoffed and pulled him from his slumped figure, dragging him to the library, with a wink and a “you’re pretty, too.” Those words have burned in his brain since then, as he wasn’t used to getting such off-handed compliments, especially from intelligent girls that wanted more than one night. 

For whatever reason you continued seeing his dumb self, even after the semester ended and together registered for one more class for spring. 

Whenever you’d go out for ice cream you wouldn’t hesitate to stuff your face and add for extra Oreos and fries, you’d assure Jungkook you’re not normally this much of a slob. 

Jungkook would just smile and offer you a napkin and say, “You’re still a pretty girl.” 

He fell for you gracefully. There was no regret, no walk of shame, no cliché late night party where you or him could’ve instigated it into the physical. It was all by feel. 

However the two of you took your time with your relationship, languidly enjoying the hushed conversations in the library at 2AM, the late night McFlurry runs, the integration of each other’s friends like it was natural. Ergo the lavender love letter. It was a gentle declaration, one he felt pretty confident in. 

So color him stupid when you passed him in class with a happy wave, Jungkook dumbfounded at how well you handled his confession. You weren’t oblivious, you just never read it. 

But now he knows the declaration was for whatever reason, lost in transit. “I should’ve known,” he whispers in the air, the letter crumpling in his grip. Composing himself, he pinches his brows.  

There’s an electronic buzz and a sharp slam of the front door. Judging by the time, you’re home. 

You flop onto your mattress, folding an arm over your head to stop the sun from seeping to your eyes. Vernon’s exhausted you, and you barely got away before he could have any say in it. You need a little space, and some time to think. 

Just as you close the door to your bedroom, it swings open. 

You gape as Jungkook thrusts himself into your bedroom like a deer with horns, looking pale. You follow his gaze, darkened eyes that linger a little too long on your neck again, and you narrow your eyes at him to avert. He looks a little red in the cheeks despite his pallidness, looking like he just got out of bed with messy wavy locks and his signature sweats. Is Jungkook packing for Jisoo again? 

Acutely aware that you smell like sweat and sex, you clutch the blankets closer to your body. “Uh, rude.” 

He looks uncharastically frantic, waving a letter in his hand, “Did you ever read this?” 

“Read what?” you ask, hands reaching out for the envelope. 

“My confession letter,” he blurts, having no shame now that all the gears are running through his head. “I wrote you a letter asking you out, because you said you wanted to collect notes like in Letters to Juliet. But I just found it in Jisoo’s drawer, why would it be there?” 

And all the pent up frustration that never seemed to escape under Vernon’s sheets, the feelings that never seem to subside, all bubble back to the surface. Now that Jungkook knows, there’s no hiding. 

You’re in shock, hands reaching for the letter despite the burn that seeps through your fingertips. Jungkook’s shoulders slump when you do indeed look like it’s your first time seeing this, as if a missing puzzle piece in your timeline has finally been revealed.

“I, I didn’t think you’d write me a letter,” you take the lavender envelope, clutching the letter by your chest like it’s something precious, “that’s so sweet,” you say to yourself.  

It dawns on him, “Wait, you knew about this? I knew something weird was going on.” 

“Only recently,” you frown. 

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” he nearly shouts, causing you to flinch, “no wonder why you were being so weird all this time. How could you let me live the rest of my life knowing this? That my relationship is built on a lie? ” 

“I don’t know,” you suddenly feel very small in your mattress as Jungkook rounds up on you, pulling your desk chair closer to your bed, “because you love Jisoo, of course.” 

“Well obviously that’s not possible,” and while yes a two-year realtionship ending like this is going to hit him hard tonight, he’s focused on you and the fact that you failed to tell him, “somehow I’d find out. Why wait for me to find out on my own?” 

“Because I wanted to protect you!” 

“Protect me,” he scoffs, crossing his arms and sneering at you. It causes you to tense up, feeling the telltale signs of tears bubbling to the surface, “you don’t even want to be friends anymore, y/n. I’ve tried to catch up to you so many times, but you keep leaving me hanging. I know I’ve been a pretty bad friend and I get it if you just feel awkward that I liked you, then that’s a shitty reason.” 

“Have you ever considered that it’s too late to tell you?” you shoot back, sitting up straight, “yes, I admit I should’ve told you earlier and I’m sorry, but it was a lot for me to process to y’know? Jisoo and I haven’t talked properly in weeks!” 

“Oh, so you’ve stopped trying to be friends with Jisoo too, huh? Just like you’re trying to stop being friends with me.” 

“No,” you pinch your brows, “she stopped being friends with me! She doesn’t care about me because she has you,” conflict burns in Jungkook’s gaze, and you only serve to fuel the fire, “she’s tried so hard to not involve me in your relationship.” 

“Just tell me why you’ve really kept this secret instead of saying you want to protect me like a baby—” 

“It’s because I’m in love with you, idiot!” 

You blink and back up against the wall of your bedroom, as if you can’t believe that the words came out of your mouth. 

It’s quiet again. The sour look evaporates from Jungkook’s face as he watches you suppress your sobs on your mattress. The room seems devoid, sucked out of its color as you’ve cleaned up most of your things, the only thing left being some plain grey sheets and a pillow. 

Jungkook’s mind is absolutely reeling, playing back memories from a different point of view. 

“When Jisoo told me she sabotaged our relationship so she could date you, I was so upset and didn’t know what to think,” you manage to place the lavender note on your wooden desk, making sure no tears could mar it. “And I thought I could move on and eventually stay friends with the both of you, but the next day Jisoo put all her attention on you and completely ignored me or any attempt to salvage our friendship. She only told me to forgive herself,” you’re hugging yourself, wrapping the blankets around you like a weak embrace, “so I thought if I cut myself out of the picture and forced myself to move on like I should’ve, everything would’ve been okay.” 

“So, you would’ve rather kept all this pain to yourself?” 

“Yeah,” you give him a teary smile, “because I wanted you to be happy.” 

And with an equally sad smile he murmurs, “But I’m not happy.” 

 Your face falls, and you really look at Jungkook. He’s exhausted as well, slumped in his chair. Has he been trying to grapple along the threads of his relationships, while you’ve been trying to loosen them? 

“What a waste of two years,” he slumps in your chair, letting the pieces click into place, “a relationship built on fake love. I was really trying, y’know. I thought I was going crazy.” 

The three of you have unknowingly been playing a futile game of Cat’s Cradle, a game that no one wins. 

Jungkook looks wistfully out the window, noting the pleasant day that fails to present itself in your tiny room. It feels simultaneously satisfying and bitter when it falls into place, your thoughts finally fitting together for the first time in months. “We could’ve loved each other. For real,” he says, and you silently agree. 

You’re still crying, shaking like a leaf in autumn. Jungkook’s arms hover awkwardly over yours, his warmth palpable despite the fact that he hasn’t touched you yet. With a timid smile you allow consent, and you melt like putty in his arms. 

“Kookie, ‘m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” you murmur into his shoulder, not caring if it hurts when you press your chin into his skin. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way.” 

It’s been so long to have him close like this, the friend you’ve always wanted but never needed. Since college you’ve always imagined a life without him doing just fine, but that doesn’t mean you want to live without him, roommate’s boyfriend or not. 

“I’m sorry too,” he sighs back, “this sucks right now, but we’ll be alright.” 

The two of you sit in your room until it turns dark and the sky muddles into shades of twilight and egg yolk orange. There’s lulls in the conversation, the two of you filling in the gaps and making sense of the mumbo-jumbo that’s been going on in your consciousness up until this point. Your insantities turn sane, and by the time Jisoo’s making her way back inside with the smell of pad thai, Jungkook is ready. With a squeeze to each other and a press of your lips because you don’t know what to say, you tuck yourself in and pretend to fall asleep. 

“Messy, messy, messy,” Vernon sing-songs, knocking his heels against the wall. 

The both of you are sitting upside-down, butts attached to the wall connecting to his mattress and your feet hanging in the air. Your mint floral organza socks pad against his Pink Floyd poster, while his yellow tube socks are heeling against some old Polaroids from college. There’s no prospect of sex today, not when shit just hit the fan. 

Today you and Vernon are just two old friends and very close co-workers. 

“Tell me about it,” you bemoan, frowning at the beige wall, “this whole week’s just been a whole mess. It’s like, warm tuna salad.”

“Gross,” Vernon grimaces at the apt comparison, “so what happens now?” 

You sit up on your elbows, looking down at Vernon’s peaceful expression, “What do you mean?” 

“Like, are you gonna get together with him?”

You snort, flopping back down on his bed. The blankets fluff around you and you inhale the pine scented sheets. “After all that? No.” 

“But you still love him?” 

It must sound dumb to still love him after all this time. You wouldn’t be surprised if Vernon thought you’re silly to still hold a place in your heart for someone who has fifteen million things on their plate now. After all the physicality and the space Vernon gave you in his home, your feelings haven’t wavered. 

Your companion doesn’t bother waiting for your answer, hearing your answer somewhere in the air as he gets up and throws on his denim jacket. Rolling over your stomach you ask, “Where are you going?” 

“Some friends down in printing want to meet up for drinks,” Vernon messes up his hair, making the waves part in that little coiff that makes his jawline look sharp. “I heard Yerin really wanted me to come, so.” 

You can’t help the little middle school coo that comes from your lips, causing Vernon to giggle and throw a pillow at you. “Yerin’s cute!” you declare, remembering the petite girl in overalls who’s all about pops of yellow and violet, “you're into her?” 

“Nah,” Vernon holds up two hats in his hands, gesturing for you to pick one. “Just figured it was a push in the right direction.” 

Crawling out of his bed you stumble in your oversized t-shirt, tucking a finger under your chin as you decide between the emerald bucket hat and the red Ralph Lauren baseball cap. You pull out both hats from his hands and set it down on his vanity, opting to smooth out the flyaways and ringing your fingers through his soft curls. “And what direction would my free-flowing friend be going today?” you ask aloud, “you look better with your hair out,” you declare firmly, “makes you look like a fluffy CEO.” 

He laughs at your silly comparison, and he gently moves your hand away from his hair when you linger a little too close to him. His gaze is solemn as he regards you with a gentle smile, “Keep your distance, I’m tryna get over someone,” he says simply, and your arm falls limp at your sides. 

Your heart thuds in a different direction, your mouth parting but no words coming to the surface. When was the last time you asked about Vernon’s needs, wondered if he was doing alright, making sure you two were on the same page—

“You’re spiraling,” he reads you like a playbook, smoothing down your hair to press a kiss to the crown. Suddenly you feel guilty for not having sparks in your belly, shaming your conscience for not even considering his sacrifices in your self-absorption these past few weeks. “Like I said, I wanted to help you. Stop looking like a kicked puppy, it’s okay to be selfish.” 

With transparent tears the two of you pack up and head to your next destination. Hands ghosting between each other you make your way to the exit of Vernon’s apartment, him to meet up with his friends while you have to unpack your new apartment. With a hug you tell each other you’ll see them on Monday, and as easy as that you go your separate ways.

Hey Pretty Girl—

I kinda wanted to tell you this in person but I know how much you liked Mamma Mia and all those other movies that have grand gestures in writing so I thought hey, might as well shoot my shot on paper. 

Not gonna tell you all the details, because you deserve to hear it in-person. But mayhaps this letter has something to do with how much I like studying with you, watching movies with you, doing absolutely nothing with you and all of that in-between. 

There’s a gift card to our spot attached. Meet me at McDonalds @12 tonight, so I know it’s real 😎

Hopefully yours, Jungkook

P.S. if you haven’t noticed already, I sprayed a little cologne and stole Taehyung’s fancy paper from Muji. That’s how serious I am about you. 

“Joon, we live in a bonsai garden. We’re like giants in a forest.” 

“Can you—can you stop spitting at them? Let them breathe, dammit.” 

“Not my fault they’re so tiny! I literally have to zoom 200% just to get a good look at ‘em.” 

The two of you are huddled in what used to be Namjoon’s balcony, now a sunroom for his succulents and bonsais. Your heart feels pink and swollen with affection as you regard Namjoon with interest, absorbing every bit of information you can as he teaches you how to care for his plants. After all, you’re co-parenting now. 

Having your Wusband co-sign as your roommate for the next year is probably the best decision you have made this year. Everyday is like a breath of fresh air. With Seokjin gone for the year to tour his restaurant franchises, his room is yours for the taking. The two of you are easy going roommates, filling the apartment with color and vigour whether it be in the form of baking sweets or watching Netflix documentaries. 

The only drama you ever have is when you two are having a meltdown over the same work-related issue, as if you two somehow share the same brain cell. It’s significantly less stressful, no need for unnecessary anger when  you have someone as mediating as Namjoon.

After today’s plant lesson, you two go back to the living room to finish up your work for the evening. Another perk of living together is that you can go home at normal work times and continue where you left off with the comfort of your couch and eating a whole pizza pie with no shame. 

Namjoon’s phone pings with a new email from corporate. “We got the new concept for next month’s spread,” he gestures to you with a grandiose wave of his arm, “drumroll please.” 

He pulls up the newsletter from corporate with a flick of his thumb. Your company put out every month’s concept out in an Evite, like every month was a themed party. A stressful, month long work party. In seconds, the page loaded and you’re met with next month’s title bathed in electronic glitter. 

The Most Beautiful Moment in Life: Class of Youth

The two of you say silent, absorbing the concept like a cookie to milk. It’s a personal spread this month, a real treat for the team to show off their normal non-professional life. A spread that reveals the masters behind the ink and text. Last year’s personal spread was about the staff’s vacation destinations, but this year’s is much more intimate. You can imagine all the ideas that will be thrown around on Monday’s meeting: pinning down shared ideas like Throwback Thursdays, late night munchie runs, drunk stories, and all the crazy college nostalgia that you’ve been trying to avoid as of late. 

But now it’s presented to you in a gold chalice, and while you’re sick of the past you think it’s about time to face it. You’re excited to tackle the dark monster you’ve suppressed since Jungkook and Jisoo’s breakup. 

“Did I ever tell you I was president of my university’s Mock Trial?” 

“No, I always thought you’d be president of the Comparative Literature Club or whatever. But Mock Trial is equally as nerdy.” 

“I’ll have you know Mock Trial got me tons of action,” he winked, “made me very convincing.” 

“Gross,” you sneer, “so that’s what your spread will be about? How the co-editor of the Arts & Entertainment section managed to bag with his skills from Mock Trial?” 

“Nah, I went on a penniless journey with Jin during spring break. Six days around Malta.” 

“That does sound so you,” you sigh, fingers slipping between the cracked screen as you mull over the overly happy Evite, “sounds like a cool story.” 

“I know that look,” Namjoon quips, snatching his phone under his nose, “don’t overthink your spread just yet, it’s still the weekend. Now to more important things, what do you want from Taco Bell?”

And because you can’t refuse the combined efforts of nachos and Namjoon’s dimples, you relent for the night and tack the unmade idea to the next workday. 

Unfortunately the next workday is just as disheartening. Today’s work meeting is the antithesis of icing on the cake. While your college life isn’t anything remarkable, you didn’t think it was a painfully dull time. With every passing moment and every excited co-worker throwing memories back and forth like ping pong balls, the more you felt inferior by competing with their amazing memories. 

“Who can even afford Aruba at twenty-one,” you mutter under your breath, stalking back to your cubicle. 

Filling up a whole spread is daunting to you, the thought of Victoria popping her head in your cubicle to ask what you’ve got for the day is practically eating you from the inside out. Maybe your college life was in actuality, super boring? You have no crazy drug trips to tell, any vacations that gave you a life-changing perspective, or an epic love story. 

“What’cha got there, partner?” 

The third musketeer of your editing team’s caramel eyes peer into your cubicle, causing you to jump in your chair. Vernon wheels around, chair and all to push you into your already cramped space. His gold button up gleams in the sunlight, effectively blinding you. 

“If by something you mean nothing, then yeah I got nothing,” you frown, spinning around your chair. “What are you writing about?” 

A fond smile melts onto your friend’s face, and you can’t help returning a smile that mirrors his own. You two have fallen back into a good place, as far as you know. He’s still easy, simple, sweet Vernon. When you dropped some boxes off in coloring, you heard that Vernon and Yerin have recently started seeing each other. 

“Thought of the idea as soon as the Evite came out. It’s more of a photo spread, but I’m gonna write about my study abroad in NYU,” Vernon ticks a pencil on his forehead, “a self-identity piece talking about how I felt like, not-white around my family n’stuff. And then felt not-Asian at the same time, s’complicated but I think I can make it work.” 

“Deep,” you pat his shoulder caringly, knowing that Big Hit is a good outlet for these kinds of subjects, “alright City Slicker, since you’re so full of ideas then tell me what to write about.” 

Vernon sits up straight, regarding you with narrowed eyes, “Aren’t you gonna write about your little love triangle with Jisoo and Jungkook?” and it seems like he’s already storyboarded the idea in his head, gesturing to the air as if he’s writing down a timeline, “I can see the headline now: How to Steal a Heart,” he’s grinning, nodding fervently as you cross your arms in distaste. 

“Vern, are you suggesting that I exploit Jisoo and Jungkook’s personal lives?” while the journalism business didn’t pride itself on sincerity, it did feel wrong to drag in your personal life to that extent. 

“Babe, you don’t understand. You have the perfect slice of life story. Everyone’s writing about expensive vacations and that one time they got cross-faded and ended up in Busan,” he squeezes your hand, “but your story, it’s relatable. It’s romantic. It’s angsty. It has closure. No one’s gonna be able to relate to an impulse spending on daddy’s money to Aruba. But first loves? Unrequited romance and all that ish? Everyone can speak to that. And you’re a beautiful writer, they’ll eat up that story like honey.” 

“I don’t know, it still doesn’t feel right.” 

“Change up the names, twist the story,” he offers easily, knowing you’d put up a fight, “besides, it’s not like you’re planning on talking to Jisoo or Jungkook ever again,” you open your mouth to retort, but Vernon’s phone beeps to the Star Wars theme song and he’s flying out of his chair. “Shoot, gotta go help Joon upstairs. Just think about it, okay? Good luck!” and he’s kicking his chair out with a brown loafer, leaving you with breathing room in your cubicle. 

Five seconds later Vernon is jogging back, pointing a finger at you, “And if you do choose to write it, you have to add that Jisoo copped your McDonalds gift card. Like, who does that shit? Couldn’t she have just given it to you and say it was from her and not Jungkook? Seriously fucked up.” 

For the next ten or so minutes you mull. Out of all the memorable college events you’ve participated in, the largest one by far is your (now defunct and debatable) friendship with Jisoo, and your (un)requited love for Jungkook. Reluctantly, you must admit Vernon has a sharp idea, busting in like a hero and offering you the most writable piece on a silver platter. 

It doesn’t feel morally right just to start writing, because ultimately you can’t feel comfortable until you get the consent of Jungkook. While you don’t want to touch Jisoo with a ten-meter pole, you do want to start talking to Jungkook again now that the waters have calmed.

Your life has moved gracefully up until this point, and you’d like to start being friends with him again. Decision made, you pull out your phone and make an important call.

“Hey Yoongi,” you say nervously. Min Yoongi is Kim Namjoon’s equivalent, Jungkook’s Wusband and former upperclassmen in college. 

Said man hums noncommittally on the other line, “Whaddya want, it’s been awhile.” 

You stifle a giggle at his apathetic attitude, knowing he’s someone who wastes no time in getting straight to the point. “I just wanna make sure Jungkook’s address is still the same? I know it’s been a couple months, but I need to send him something and I wanna make sure it gets to him ASAP because—”

“Because last time something was sent, your crazy roommate intervened and Jungkook ended up in a two-year half-toxic relationship? Yeah, let’s make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

“Yoongi,” you say slowly, “where are you?” 

“Working in the studio,” he tuts, “Jungkook says hi, by the way.” 

Typical, cat’s out of the bag. With a roll of our eyes you reply, “Thanks for outing me, Yoongi. Talk to you later.” 

“And y/n? Jungkook says he’s waiting.” 

With a stupid smile slapped onto your face, you hang up the phone and pull out your stationary kit from under your desk. You pluck out a vermillion red envelope, a color so bold and begging to be seen, you know it can’t possibly get lost in transit. Feeling a little bit like a high schooler as you pull out a glitter jelly pen, you get to writing. 

Hey Pretty Boy...

Jungkook and Jisoo are no longer together, evidently. 

Their social media runs in different directions, with Jisoo sporting absolute elegance in her work at her family-owned boutique. Her posts are full of shiny outfits and soulless gazes, betraying any pinch of emotion she may have felt over these past few months. Her profile is wiped of any personal posts, all traces of you and Jungkook evaporated from her page. You must admit that she looks good, like a real fashion mogul, but only at the surface level. 

Conversely, Jungkook is thriving. It’s evident. Normally he isn’t the type of guy to post so frequently, his habits being often sporadic and limited to sweaty gym stories. But whenever you scroll, it’s pictures of him smiling. Big bunny teeth broken into a genuine, full-bellied laugh. Cute selfies of him and his co-workers. You notice two familiar co-workers in those posts, Irene and Seulgi, two beautiful women Jisoo always felt intimidated by whenever she ranted to you. You conclude positively that Jungkook doesn’t feel tethered and can hang out with all the friends he wants, female and male alike. Jungkook looks free, and you’re happy for him. 

It’s another Instagram-worthy moment tonight at McDonalds, where you and Jungkook proposed to meet each other at 12AM. 

This time, the letter makes it to its desired destination. You make sure of that because this time you hand-deliver it, slipping under his apartment door knowing he lives alone and no one would be able to access it except him. 

You’re parked in an obscure corner, but you can see that Jungkook is currently having a great time with his co-workers for an after work meal. Yoongi is unbothered on his phone, while Jimin and Seulgi are taking turns throwing fries into each other’s mouth. Jungkook is squished between them, scrunching his nose cutely as he tries not to get in the fray of their fry-war. 

Your phone pings, and you laugh at what pops up on the screen.

Yoongi: come inside, u loser. 

You: can’t ur friend group makes me nervous stop being so dang cute

You: dw i’ll wait, it’s only 11:50

Instead of replying, Yoongi puts his phone down and resumes eating. In turn you pick a playlist, deciding that “summer time high mix✨✨✨” is a theme you need to subscribe to for the rest of the weekend. 

Busying yourself by sending some texts to Namjoon and checking some emails, you relax in your seat as you let your brain turn to sludge for the weekend. You’re tired, eyes glazing over as you watch Yoongi elbow Jungkook harshly, forcing him to look out the foggy window. 

Jungkook’s eyes light up like it’s Christmas Eve, but instead of Christmas lights it's your car’s lowlights. The graphic designer  pays no mind to his friends as they wish him goodbye and goodluck, throwing on his jacket with a wave. 

The night air whizzes by, Jungkook’s floppy black strands bouncing with each step as he bounds to your car. He throws your door open, bringing in the cold air as he regards you as easily as an old friend would. 

“Hi,” he chirps, placing his tattooed palms by the air vent, “c’mon, let’s order.” 

“You know, you could’ve ordered inside and brought it in here.” 

“Yeah but then it would take longer to get to you,” the cheeky grin that Jungkook throws at you is unmistakable, “c’mon, get out the car and let’s switch.” 

“Huh?” 

“You look tired, you didn’t come back from the office again, did you?” 

“I did tonight,” you say, “I just really wanted to get the soft copy of the article done and—” 

“Out, out!” Jungkook clicks your seatbelt off and he’s coming out of the passenger side, opening your car and pulling you out by the hand, “c’mon, I’ll drive.” 

You shake your head, hiding your smile in your hand as you let Jungkook do what he wants. Normally you’d be insulted that anyone suggests they should drive your car but Jungkook would always drive you around, saying he loved long rides. Above all, if you could trust anyone to drive your car, Jungkook is at the top of the list. 

Buckling in, you bite the inside of your cheek as Jungkook easily pulls out of the parking spot one-handed. His jacket is pulled up to his elbows, exposing his veins as he expertly whirls the wheel in the direction of the drive-thru. Since college he’s always looked very attractive driving.  

Doesn’t mean you have to act like you’re still in college. You tamp those feelings down, knowing that your article probably has you feeling stuck in time. 

“—coming along?” 

“Wha?” 

“I said, how’s the spread coming along?” 

“It’s pretty much done, I think. I’ll send you the hard copy when it’s ready,” you tap your fingers against the dashboard, “but are you sure you’re okay with me writing it? I know I’m using a pseudonym and everything for you two but I still feel weird—” 

“It’s fine, I think it’s a good thing,” and you still squirm in your seat when he flashes you a genuine smile, “I mean, it kinda is a funny story and I think it’s good for both of us. Like closure, y’know? Moving on and—hi, can I get two Oreo McFlurrys and a large fry? Thanks!” he pulls out his wallet to scan the total on the e-reader.  “I mean, didn’t it feel good writing it?”

“Yeah,” you replied honestly, relaxing in your seat, “like, college was fun and all, but when Jisoo kinda ruined all that… after awhile I didn’t think it was ruined after all, y’know? I still made amazing friends and ended up where I wanted to be. I want to show the readers that shit happens, and that’s okay. And if things are really meant to be, they’re meant to be.” 

The summer playlist hums in the background as Jungkook pulls up to the pick-up window. He thanks the worker and hands you the tray, and you make quick work to put the fries in the first cup holder for optimal sharing. He doesn’t park at McDonalds, but instead smoothly pulls out of the restaurant into the direction of his apartment. It isn’t a particularly long drive, but you figure it would be easier for Jungkook to go home first if you’re already parked at his complex. 

“What do you mean by that?” Jungkook parks in the driveway of his apartment, taking his McFlurry from your hands. 

“Mean by what?” 

“If things are really meant to be, they’re meant to be.” 

“Well, we’re here now, right?” 

Jungkook pops his spoon in, swallowing vanilla and a silly smile through his coral pink lips, “We’re here now,” he repeats. 

The night air is cool and your conversation is warm. You promise Jungkook that you’ll send him the final copy of your spread as soon as it’s done, and you two eagerly deviate away from the past and focus on the present. 

You can’t help the eagerness that flows between you, as if you’ve never spent time apart like this and it’s only now that you’re reuniting. It must be absence that makes the heart grow fonder, because you swell with affection and you find Jungkook’s presence sweeter than any kind of ice cream. 

Are you dating now? Maybe. You and Jungkook are going on dates, everything without the title. McFlurry runs, marathons of HGTV’s Design on a Dime, having lunch at each other’s respective buildings with the Wusbands. Whether these dates are exclusive or not is unknown, but you figure the question will present yourself one way or another. 

You’re in a good place right now, potential relationship or not. After all, your priorities are simultaneously positive and in order: family, work, friends, and any potential romantic trysts are at the very bottom. You could kiss the cover of this month’s issue (and trust, you have kissed your own copy multiple times) if it is not for the fact that this specific issue is for Jungkook. 

So, romantic trysts and friends have a tendency to flip-flop on your priority list, but only because it’s Jungkook. 

Unsurprisingly, there’s no guilt knowing that you’re dating your former best friend's ex-boyfriend. 

After a much deserved early work day, Namjoon and the crew arrange a hearty happy-hour filled with good food and enough relaxation to last the weekend. With your combined successes, your team felt like they made the best issue yet. At the heart of it, The Most Beautiful Moment in Life: Class of Youth became a reckoning of each other’s young life. Despite the love and the growth that occurred from your college years up until this point, you’re glad to close that chapter and move forward. 

You did not tell Jungkook when the issue would come out, so you think it’ll be a fun surprise for him when he sees it magically show up at his apartment. Bending down you move to slip the issue under his door, one hand pushing it under while one hand braces against the frame to steady your balance. 

Just as the shiny cover glides under the door it swings open, and you fall flat on Jungkook’s feet. 

Being the little shit he is, he simply giggles at the blunder, looking at you with excited eyes. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he says. 

“Creepy as hell, Jeon,” you mutter under your breath, brushing the dirt off your aqua pencil skirt. Looking at him from your spot on the floor and his large height, you grimace. “You look like a middle-aged serial killer looking outside your peephole.” 

“Now, we know that’s not true.” he finally offers his hand, easily pulling you up to your feet. You follow him into his kitchen, where he’s cutting up fresh fruit. He throws your issue on the counter, gentle enough so it doesn’t slide off the granite. He gestures to himself with both hands, “me, a dashingly handsome late twenty-something in Nike sweats who can bench-press two of you? Totally not a middle-aged serial killer.” 

“It’s in the eyes,” you chastise, “you look crazy.” 

“Maybe I’m just crazy excited to see you,” he says with a cheeky grin. 

You try your best not to choke on your spit at the cheeseball comment, throwing a blackberry in your mouth. Savoring the burst of tart flavor that fills your mouth, you wait for Jungkook to plate the fruit before meeting him on the couch. He’s holding a prettily arranged plate of berries, bananas, and mango with a huge dollop of whipped cream in the middle. In his other hand is Big Hit’s magazine. 

Throwing your blazer on the couch’s arm you don’t hesitate to cuddle up next to him, eagerly waiting for him to read your spread. 

The cover gazes back at the two of you like a reflection. The entirety of the staff is posed on the cover, made to look like a class photo. Some of you are holding balloons in your respective school colors, many of you grouping up with whoever happened to go to college together. You and Vernon are wearing matching university sweaters with silly grins on your faces. In the middle of the issue is the editor-in-chief, Victoria Song holding a placard that reads: Class of Youth. 

Jungkook spares you a glance from the corner of his eye, your head naturally tucked into his shoulder. With an exaggerated sigh, he fiddles through the glossy pages, “Hmm, which one should I read first?” 

“Of course you’ll read mine first,” you pout. 

“Ah, Namjoon’s looks really fun. Or Vernon’s? New York looks pretty cool,” he flips to a random page, “wait, Yerin’s spread is a Korean cookbook! I definitely want to make some tuna rice...”  

“Jungkook,” you whine, “read mine.” 

“I don’t know,” he taps his finger on his lip, “I mean, I pretty much know your spread because I’m already in it. It would be kind of redundant to read it.” 

“Kook, you’re being mean,” you glower, rubbing your cheek against his soft sweater. He’s just so damn comfy. 

“I’m kidding,” he tugs at your cheek, “where’s the table of contents, first page?”

“I’m on page eighty-three.” 

You speed up the process like an impatient child, leaning over to brush the pages to the desired spread. You even dog-earred it, a habit that drives Jungkook crazy as he immediately fiddles to iron out the crease. 

“Are you gonna read it to me too, mom?” he teases. 

“Okay fine! I’ll be quiet, but don’t take too long.” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

Eyes fluttering, you let Jungkook take his time to absorb your piece. A roommate by any other (rude) name: the lost letter. A cheesy, gimmicky title that Victoria insisted upon that you had no choice but relent to. The rest of the spread thankfully has a very authentic edge to it, your story laced with photos of you and Jungkook, your internship with Vernon, and most importantly, a scan of the lavender letter that got left in the past. 

Jungkook’s not silent through his read-through, either. He laughs at all the right parts, fueling your ego as his smile grows at your favorite lines. While he doesn’t directly engage in conversation, his positive energy is enough for you to make you feel like you’ve done your job right. It’s one thing to write about unknown celebrities and unnamed artists, but for people like Jungkook, the validation is personal. 

“It’s beautiful,” Jungkook says when he’s read it thrice through, running his thumb over a picture of you. “Really organic. Really, real.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he chuckles, having run out of adverbs. “It’s funny, too. I liked your little internal monologue. I wish I knew how you felt back then.” 

“I wish you did, too.” 

You’re quietly munching on a strawberry, looking over a polaroid Jungkook took. It was  sometime in the beginning of senior year, where you’ve fallen asleep on his mattress, drool drying on your mouth. Normally you’d be opposed to having such unflattering, grainy pictures amongst your writing, but it encapsulates the youth you’ve tried so hard to chase away. 

“How do you feel?” Jungkook says, switching out the magazine for the plate of fruit, placing it on his side. 

“Feel great, actually,” you muse, smiling to yourself. By no means are you a hero writing some grand gesture in an entertainment magazine, but you feel like you’ve saved yourself. You’ve savored your youth in four thousand words, cutting out the poison and keeping the moment as sweet as it can be. 

“I’m proud of you,” he reaches to ruffle your hair, and you don’t even get mad when it tousles out of your pinned style. 

Reveling in the attention, you simply close your eyes and feed yourself a handful of blueberries. 

“Love that I make money, but I definitely miss college from time to time,” Jungkook stretches, jostling you out of your comfortable position. “Like I remember Taehyung and I would take turns bringing backpacks to the dining hall so we could stuff fruit in it for later.”

“Yeah, but as much as I loved college I wouldn’t go back,” you nod to yourself, “I’m happy where I am now.” 

“What about when we stayed up for midnight breakfast? The dining hall was filled to the brim with food. Remember when I tried to eat a whole stack of pancakes?” 

“Jungkook…” 

“Or when our classes got cancelled and we went to Lotte World? You ate way too much funnel cake and I had to carry you to the car!” 

“Jungkook—” 

“And that one time we snuck out to the music hall’s rooftop?” words gush out of Jungkook’s mouth like a waterfall, unable to relent, “that’s when I realized I liked you. I liked you so much, I tried to tell you that night but choked—”

“Jungkook!” and he immediately zips up, frowning. You straighten up, on your knees as you reach over to run your hands through his onyx tresses, moving the styled strands to the back of his pierced ears, “Jungkook,” you repeat softly, “I’ve heard all these stories, I was there for most of them. As much as I love the past… can we talk about something else?” you give him a small, tentative smile to show him you’re not mad, but a little uncomfortable at his reminiscing. 

He leans into your touch, pressing your palm against the soft swell of his warm cheek. “Okay,” he agrees, resting one hand on your thigh. 

You’re roped in his gaze, and you have to force yourself to breathe when Jungkook moves closer to you. He hooks a leg behind his back, and another across his lap. A cool breeze kisses your inner thighs when your skirt exposes your cotton underwear. You should be embarrassed but instead you’re fixated, unable to understand what he’s trying to accomplish. 

“Then I’m gonna talk about the future,” Jungkook traps you between the couch, his thumb running hot circles to where your skirt has hiked up. It exposes a slip of the thigh that Jungkook has seen a million times. He’s seen you walking around your apartment in a large shirt, ridden up to your boyshorts. It’s different now, you feel exposed and tingly, thrumming with excitement. “I like you, obviously anticipated news and old news. I can’t stop thinking about how much I want to go on dates with you, re-watch Avatar, grumble when I force you to come to the gym with me,” he bumps noses with you when you scrunch yours, “I wanna be with you. Heck, I’ve even cleared space in my spare room so you’d have closet space for all your fancy designer suits if you ever need it.”

“You cleared space?” you manage to choke out. Visions of a shared apartment roll through your brain. Cooking meals together, having two toothbrushes side by side, and waking up to his face. 

“Of course I did. Do you know how financially attractive you are?” he says lightheartedly, “you’re a sexy working woman and it’s crazy to imagine you’d want to settle for me and my little apartment. But I have to try now because if I don’t, it’ll be too late.” 

“That’s not true,” you retort, “you’re not someone I’d settle for. I want you, and no one else.” 

He chuckles, running a thumb over your cheek. “Then what are we waiting for? Your key’s hiding under the mat.” 

“Jungkook…” on the tip of your tongue lays the words you’re going too fast but it doesn’t make its way to the air. 

“But do you really think it’s too fast?” he reads your face clearly, “these feelings never went anywhere. They were locked away, sure. And I loved her,” he can’t even say the name, not when you’re warm and flush against him, “but I loved our friendship more.”

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you breathe, letting the cogs in your brain roll until sparks develop. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” he concedes, “I just wanted to let you know. Could’ve done the letter thing all over again and let the past repeat itself. I know Namjoon wouldn’t hide a love letter for two years, but if I left another damn letter he’d definitely make a copy and tease me about it.” 

You snort, pressing your forehead to his. You’re practically buried in the couch now, tingly and vibrating with happiness. “And I’m not going to leave you hanging. I do want to say something,” and he looks at you expectantly, licking the leftover berry juice on his lips, nearly making you miss your train of thought, “I like you too,” you say, the other L-word is also applicable, but you feel like that phrase is reserved for another time, “I want to show you off on work vacations, bring you along as my date and show them you’re my muse,” you confess, “I wanna play video games with you ‘till 2AM, and eat ice cream in the comfort of our apartment instead of our cars because we’re too stubborn to admit we don’t wanna go home without each other.” 

Jungkook absolutely preens at the affection, sending you a heart melting smile that has your stomach doing backflips.

“Jungkook, I want to fall in love with you again.�� 

Your squeal of surprise is swallowed by Jungkook’s lips, tasting of mangoes and berries as strong hands cup your backside, easily lifting you onto his lap. You plop under his strong thighs, feeling them flex against yours. The both of you are pouring in this kiss, raining with promises and hopes for a future with each other. His taste is concentrated, and you can feel the devotion practically injected in his embrace. 

When he pulls away his lips are cherry-red and shiny, looking up at you through clear coffee eyes. “This isn’t a dream, right?” he looks at you up and down, unable to decipher fact from fiction, “because I distinctly remember two wet dreams that involve you looking like this.” 

Looking down, you heat at the disarray you’re in. Hair wild and parted in different wavelengths, tired of the day’s efforts. Your slightly sheer dress-shirt is rumpled, the lace collar opened with two popped buttons revealing your cleavage, and your skirt is stretched so tight that it’s ruched all the way up your thighs. Sprawled across Jungkook’s lap, you’re dangerously close to something long and hard. 

Emboldened, you clutch at Jungkook’s collar, pulling him closer. 

“Show me what happens in your dream,” you whisper into his ear, barely brushing your clothed core against his crotch, “maybe we can make it come true tonight.” 

You can’t see his face, but you feel something dark and sensual overtake him. The grip on your ass tightens, a delicious pain that has you pressing your breasts against him and nipping on his ear, your tongue darting sensually through the cold silver hoops that dart through his skin. 

Within seconds, he rips you away from his neck and demands, “Open.” 

Dazed, you barely get a centimeter of your mouth open when Jungkook presses something cold and sugary against your lips. Whipped cream. You manage to take a small bite of the tart strawberry that he holds by the viridian stem, rolling the flavor between your mouth as Jungkook paints the leftover whipped cream over your lips. Once he’s satisfied he then creates a white trail that leads to your cleavage. 

Better than any dream, his eyes drink you in like the last glass of water in a desert. Your lips are swollen and parted like a baby kitten, covered in the creamy confection. “So pretty,” he exhales, his hot tongue licking from your cleavage to your lips, swallowing the flavor of you and strawberry juice, “such a pretty girl you are, and all mine.” 

“Yours,” you submit easily, rolling your hips against his. 

At that moment you think you’re meant to fall in love this way. You can’t imagine the shy, fumbly Jungkook and your equally confused self waltzing around a relationship when you barely had your lives together. The two of you still had growing to do. The wait is certainly worth it, because as you feel his arms tighten around you, you’re sure this love will stay strong.

It’s difficult for you to find a rhythm at first, what with Jungkook’s strength and need to be satiated, both of you are sloppy but the friction is nothing less than delicious. Your finger reaches over to swipe at the leftover cream on the plate, and you press your finger to Jungkook’s mouth, and he immediately complies. A dollop of sweet cream leaks out of his lips and your panties dampen further when you feel his tongue lick you clean, imagaining how good it would feel if it was your pussy he was licking. 

Your mouth waters at the feeling of his dick lining up against your core, as sticky as the strawberry juice that clings to your bodies. 

“C-can I make a confession? I—oh, Jungkook…” your mind is all fuzzed up when he snaps his hips against yours, causing you to shamelessly bounce on his length. 

“Yeah?” 

“I… I like it when you use all your strength like that,” his hips slow as your words sink in, but you don’t mind as it gives you time to make a long drag along the entirety of his member. “Everytime you pull me up when I trip, or you come back from a workout, I like it when you carry me around like I weigh nothing.” 

“Do—do you think about it a lot?” he grunts, and you stifle a moan when he does a slow, hard drag against your wet folds. “Tell the truth.” 

“It’s, it’s embarrassing,” you whimper, unable to think straight with the amount of stimuli you’re receiving.  

“Please, baby.” 

“Yes mm—oh! I do,” you try to get the words out as quickly as you can. He stops moving, and you groan in frustration so you just lay it all out on the table. “I, I love it when you hold me in your strong arms. And, ah, uh w-henever you come back from the gym you just look so sexy fresh from the shower. Sometimes I think about how you’re too damn nice for your own good but I bet you’d be so rough in bed.” 

“Really?” and then he’s shoving you onto the couch, air brushing against your bare thighs as your back hits the beige throw pillows. He’s hovering, dark eyes starting from the tip of your toes to your damp lips. “You like it when I manhandle you? Throw you around like a little doll?” 

“All that strength, and for what?” you try to keep your snappy remarks in check, but it’s hard when he’s pressing his straining dick against your thigh, weeping and needy. 

“You’re not gonna be joking about my strength anytime soon, baby,” emblazoned, he easily throws your leg over his shoulder, pushing your panties to the side to let your wetness leak out and onto his fingers, “are you gonna complain or be a good girl?” 

“Yes, I’m ah—” you wince when he inserts a finger, “I’ll be good for you,” 

“My good girl,” he revels in the way you melt under his touch, your previous sarcasm quickly dissolving into a puddle. You always had an inkling that Jungkook would be a sneaky fox in bed, all that muscle hidden behind a kind smile and a penchant for tea with milk and honey. 

Jungkook slips in another finger, stretching you and preparing you for what’s to come. He’s scissoring you at a sensible pace that has you squirming and wanting more. To prevent you from shimmying off the couch he holds you down with his free hand, and you love the way he practically feeds you to the couch, hands dancing over your neck as he shoves you further into the furniture. 

“You look so gorgeous,” he says, causing you to moan and keen at his attention, “you’re such a strong, gorgeous woman. Having you sprawled out like this, ready to do whatever I want to you is so fucking hot.” 

“I’m—I’m only weak for you Jungkook,” you say honestly, tears pricking when he dips another finger. The stretch burns deliciously, and your folds eagerly swallow him up until you’re filled to the brim. Your fingers or toys cannot compare to flesh, and you sigh in relief when you see his inked fingers pick up the pace once more. 

“You’re damn right,” Jungkook husks, and with a grain of love he murmurs in your ear, “I’m only weak for you, too.” 

And that’s when he snaps, thumb rolling against your bud as he slams his other fingers against you, going at a brutal pace. You cry out, not caring whether his neighbors hear as he pulls you back and forth through pleasure and pain. 

“T-too much, Kookie,” you mewl, your hand warbling to find his, “I, ah, ‘m gonna cum!” 

“That’s the plan,” he only goes faster, stretching your band further and further before your desired high is reached. His hand trails up to force your chin straight, looking up at him, “let go for me, baby. Wanna feel your pussy clench around my fingers.” 

In seconds, you gush. It has you in a slight panic, drunk on endorphins as you try to lift your head up but Jungkook’s hand is firmly pressing you on your shoulder as he fingers you efficiently through your high, the wet squelching sounds only increasing with your cries. His lap is drenched in your arousal, along with his chin and lips glistening with your essence. 

He finally releases you when you’re practically shaking, his hands sticky and creamy. You moan when he shamelessly licks them within your view, making sure to wrap his tongue around his ink-stained digits. 

“I,” your mouth is dry when you feel the dampness that hits your bottom, “I’ve never, I don’t remember ever—” 

Your babbles are lost between your throat and Jungkook’s tongue, shoved deep into your mouth. Tasting your arousal has you practically vibrating in your place, as you two rut against each other like hungry bunnies. 

“God, you’re amazing,” he says between pecks, kissing away your face of any tears you may have pricked, “Amazing, adorable, absolutely beautifulIadoreyousoso—” 

“Pleasepleaseplease,” you press your hips up, wiggling for more attention, “please fuck me, Jungkook.” 

You can’t help the witchy, satisfied smile when Jungkook’s eyes darken to a thick coal, “Anything for you,” he murmurs, swinging your legs between his arms as he lifts you like a feather. 

On his lap again, you soon accept that the way you two mesh like puzzle pieces is one of your favorite positions as it gives you both equal space to ravish each other. 

Just when your hand trails to the waistband of his boxer briefs and you’re rolling your thumb over its collected moisture, the moment is shattered when the doorbell rings. You jump in his arms, unprepared for your moment to be interrupted. 

He groans into the crown of your hair, and you soften in his relaxed hold, “I ordered us pizza,” he nearly forgot. 

Perking your head up to look at him you regard him innocently, as if you didn’t release a waterfall on his sweats two seconds ago. “You got us pizza?” 

“I knew you’d be coming over tonight,” he’s pouting into your neck, regretting ever having called the pizza guy if he knew this would happen, “Victoria posted the publish date on Twitter. I just didn’t think,” he gestures vaguely to the mess on his pants, “this would happen.”  

“Damn, and here I thought I was being sneaky,” you chuckle, flicking his ear playfully. 

He gives you an uncharacteristically subby whine, shamelessly upset he has to let you go so fast after he’s given you your first of many highs. Before he weakens further under your beauty, he unceremoniously shoves you off. “Sorry, pretty girl,” you melt at the easy way his pet name rolls off his lips, “can you wait in my room for a bit so I can pay the delivery guy? I don’t want them to see you like this.” 

“But I want to eat pizza,” you declare stubbornly, standing up to button your blouse and pull down your skirt. 

Before you could fasten one button or pull down one centimeter, his hand darts out to snatch your wrist away from your body. It doesn’t hurt much, but it causes your body to heat in more places than one. He’s sexy like this, demanding your attention. “No,” he rumbles definitively, “my room. Now.” 

“Why?” you throw your hands in the air, yelping when he slaps your ass. He makes sure to make it sting, cupping you fully. 

“Because,” he says firmly, “you don’t get to eat until I eat,” you whimper when his hand reaches to cup your sex, panties wet and cold without his warmth as he pushes you in the direction of his bedroom. 

Oh, you can’t wait for both of you to eat tonight. 

some time later.

“Ohmygod the view is beautiful!” Krystal, who works in advertisement, squeals. “No filter needed!” 

“Alright alright, make room Princess,” Namjoon teases. With a bump to Krystal’s tiny hips Namjoon shoves you two across the pavilion, putting his arm around you once he finds the perfect angle, “Umji, can you get a pic of me and my Work Wife? I want this on the Big Hit Instagram!” 

You hold your straw sunhat down from the salty wind, smiling beautifully as Umji takes multiple pictures of you and Namjoon from her Nikon. Another successful year under your notch, ending with a successful work retreat. 

“Namjoon, can I take a picture with my actual wife now?” 

“We’re not married, Jungkook,” you chastise, patting the chest of Namjoon’s floral printed Hawaiian shirt so he can switch. Instantly, Jungkook slides up next to you like a picture perfect stock model piece, and you wrap your arms around his trim waist, “we’re not even engaged.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he pouts, looking over the pavilion and adjusting the both of you so there’s a good amount of you and the resort in the background. The sun may be scathingly hot, but it looks beautiful perched over the crystal clear waters. “Namjoon, you got it easy,” Jungkook says when he hands him your phone, “every angle is our good angle, so you can’t mess it up.” 

Being the honest man he is, Namjoon knows better and doesn’t say anything to that. Instead he shoots down whatever pineapple-flavored concoction is offered to him on a silver platter, and starts shooting. 

“Is this swimsuit new?” Jungkook murmurs into your ear between shots, flicking your little red number by the strap connecting the back, “because I didn’t see this in the luggage.” 

You smile big, pearly whites as Namjoon demands to pop out your butt and work it, pressing your body closer to Jungkook’s. “Tiny enough so I could hide it in my purse,” you reply proudly, voice low for only each other’s ears, “why, surprised?” 

“Definitely not prepared,” his fingers dig deliciously in your bare flesh, “would Victoria fire you if she catches us doing it in the cabana?” 

Amused that your boyfriend now shares your combined awe and fear of your boss, you twist his nipple lightly. He yelps, and from Namjoon’s guaff he’s definitely got that on camera. “We didn’t come to Boracay to fuck in the cabana.” 

“Then the hotel room?” 

Namjoon hands you back your phone when he considers his job done, letting you and Jungkook have some alone time. You wave your phone in his face, trying to get him to focus on the task at hand. You wanted to post some cute pictures of you and your boyfriend, one to impress the family back home and the Big Hit interns back in Seoul who are absolutely pining for your position. 

“Jungkook, they have the water ski thing where you can flip in the water mid air! Doesn’t that sound fun? Or we can go scuba diving, have Filipino food, or get massages. LIterally, we’re on Big Hit’s dime, and the first thing you want to do is go back to the room?” 

“Yes,” he pouts petulantly, leaning into the hollow of your ear and whispering, “got a chub on.” 

Discreetly so, your hands brush against his navy trunks and you note yes, he’s half hard. “No!” you shake your head definitively, pushing him out of your arms. You’re not letting sex get in the way of your hard-earned vacation, you’re on company dime and you intend to milk every peso of it. “Namjoon, take him away!” 

You blow him a kiss and follow another group who’s decided to go eat, watching your boyfriend get dragged away by Namjoon’s long arms. Krystal, who’s been mildly watching the whole ordeal in-between taking selfies, looks at you in awe, “You got it good, bosslady,” she says, and you happily link arms with her in the direction of the restaurants. 

You and Jungkook definitely have it good. You don’t see him until dinnertime, looking utterly relaxed as he sips on a mango-muddled concoction. He must’ve gotten a couples massage with Namjoon, cute. Splitting up was definitely a good idea, by the time your meal arrives the two of you are practically leaning against each other, telling each other what events you need to do tomorrow and events you think will be fun to do together. 

“Joon,” Jungkook is throwing an arm over your Wusband’s shoulder, mildly tipsy. The image is adorable, as Jungkook long ago previously confessed that he felt a little jealous of Namjoon’s work relationship with you before you were dating. Now, it feels like they’re best friends and you’re third-wheeling. “What do you think about having halo-halo tomorrow? It’s like bingsu but with a bunch of other good stuffs. There’s red bean, mango, ube, ice cream…” 

Just as Jungkook begins his tirade of dessert ingredients, you pull up your phone to check on your social media. You smile back at your profile, seeing your latest Instagram post at the very top of the feed. Not to flex, but the two of you look pretty smokin’ since you’ve been keeping up with Jungkook’s insistence to join him at the gym. Jungkook and you are leaning against the pristine veranda, overlooking the clear blue water and a cloudless sky. The smiles you two sport are genuine and utterly in love. 

You scroll down the comments, most of them filled with sweet messages but one of them has you doing a double take. 

@sooyaaa__: 😒😒😒 knew something was goin on behind my back… good riddance

The smell of Jungkook’s detergent overtakes your nostrils, and you turn to him. He’s stopped talking, now immersed in whatever’s going on in your phone. 

“The nerve of her,” Jungkook scrunches his nose, disgusted at her latest comment. “As if anyone would believe her.” 

“Yeah,” you echo, “I feel bad for her, though. She’s probably lonely.” 

“Her loss, she put this upon herself. Not us.” 

You pout, “I know, but she was my friend at one point.” 

He frowns, putting an arm behind your backrest. It would be easy for him to say yeah, and she was my girlfriend and one-up you, leaving it at that. But now he knows better, and that friendship is a much better value than an ill-fated relationship. “Sorry baby,” it’s not his fault, but he sees your disappointment in putting out hope for an old friend. He gives you a little smooch on your temple, “do you miss her?” 

“The old her, yeah,” you sigh, clicking on her profile, “but now? I can do without her negativity.” 

“Okay,” he takes your phone from your hand, “have you ever blocked a person before?”

“No.”

“Well, today’s the day,” he says it so coolly, you barely have time to think when he clicks the ‘block’ button on Jisoo’s profile, then clicking off his phone to put in his pocket. “No more phone for today,” he proceeds to take your plate that was recently served, taking the time to cut your large vegetables into smaller portions. “Like you said, we shouldn’t waste your vacation time.” 

Your heart swells with butterflies for Jeon Jungkook, who’s meticulously cutting your food and telling you to relax and stop dwelling on the past. He’s right, if Jisoo’s not going to stick around for the future and continue to cause negativity in your life, why not keep the positives in the past while it lasted? 

“You know I love you, right?” 

He ceases cutting, and looks at you to pop a sweet potato in his mouth. “Love me enough to do it in the cabana?” 

He’s still on that? “Jungkook,” you warn, pretending to get up, “forget I said anything. I’m gonna go karaoke with Umji.” 

“Kiddingggg,” he whines, pulling you back down with an outstretched hand, “you know I love you too.” 

“You’re terrible.” 

“Only this way because I’d know you’d totally be into cabana sex if we were vacationing by ourselves.” 

“Yes, but you’re still terrible,” you giggle when Jungkook steals a kiss, just as easy as he’s stolen your heart.  

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

What would happen if you were sent back and ended up in the orphanage with Tom Riddle—and say you also had magic?

Oh boy.

Well, there's a lot to question here. Judging by the... spirit of this ask, I presume I'm... pretty much reincarnated. I'm in the orphanage, I'm much younger than I am now and a child, I'm pre-Hogwarts age, and I retain my current knowledge.

For the purpose of this ask I suppose I also retain my current mental faculties. Despite being in the body of an eight-year-old, I'm not The Carnivorous Muffin at eight.

Welp, there's a lot to consider here.

First, I probably don't realize I'm in Harry Potter for quite some time and instead assume I've been reincarnated to some parallel universe. It's the 1930's, I'm in England in the depression, WWI has occurred and the vast majority of major historical events I know about seem to have happened in the right order, and this Earth is eerily similar to the Earth I left behind.

Strange that I appear to remember everything of my past life with my adult mental abilities, but alright universe, I guess that's how we're going to play this.

What I do know is that I'm dirt poor, presumably still a woman which does not bode well for my career prospects, and if I want any prospects in life period I'm going to have to fight tooth and nail for it. It'd be great if I got adopted to help with this, and might be nice to have people in my life who love me, but there's a lot of orphans in the world and a lot of orphans who are much less weird than I am.

The orphanage is the orphanage and not great, Mrs. Cole is overworked, the orphanage is chronically understaffed, and the kids are running wild beating the shit out of each other.

Being a girl, I probably don't have to worry about getting the shit kicked out of me quite as much, but I still probably try to keep my head down and don't aggravate the particularly beefy looking orphans.

Yes, there's some very angry gremlin named Tom Riddle around who will shove you down the stairs in retribution, but that's just a weird coincidence. And then supernatural shit starts happening. Billy's rabbit hangs itself, people get injuries when Tom is nowhere near them, and I start wondering if this is really the Tom Riddle.

I'm in Wool's Orphanage, my matron is Mrs. Cole, Tom Riddle is running around lighting things on fire. It's possible, though it could all be a strange coincidence.

Now, how things go from here depends on how controlled my own magic is. Since accidental magic typically does manifest at least once or twice, it probably does manifest for me for.. something. If Tom Riddle's there to witness it then...

Well, I imagine he's very offended. Here he was, special, different, better than everyone else, and then some girl in the orphanage (who dares to get very good grades on her assignments in school) has it too.

And I just stand there, smiling, going "Tee hee".

He probably confronts me to prove that he's better at it than I am, and he probably is unless the universe hates both him and me, but having someone else with the Shining around probably prompts him to take me as his protégé (in part so he can show off and in part because he's genuinely excited to be able to share this super cool talent).

I am now apprentice to eight-year-old Tom Riddle. Whoop de doo.

Well, I don't remember this part of Harry Potter, so now I'm probably confused as to where I am again. Regardless, I try to advise Tom on how to tone it down and not, say, traumatize Amy and Dennis for life and antagonize all the other orphans forever. He probably doesn't take me seriously. What do I know, I can't even light that patch of grass on fire?

Hanging around Tom Riddle gets me a reputation to, given the difference in genders, probably a fairly nasty one at that. When Dumbledore arrives he's undoubtedly told hot gossip about how eleven-year-old Tom and I have had sex in a ritual to summon Satan. Dumbledore takes this seriously.

Dumbledore probably meets us both at the same time and it's a disaster. I tried my best to prep Tom without revealing I'm a prophet, Tom first doesn't believe there might not be others, then doesn't believe they would be antagonist/anything but amazed by how awesome he is.

Well, Dumbledore lights his wardrobe on fire while I sit there. Dying inside. Dumbledore probably also does something to me too, to teach me some kind of lesson about something.

I imagine he temporarily disfigures me/makes me appear very ugly, then sticks a mirror to the wall, that way I realize that looks aren’t everything/being a whore is wrong. Tom, still traumatized over the wardrobe, is no help and my magic’s probably not controlled enough to do a thing about it.

I spend a day looking like a pig, Tom and I are given just enough money to buy new wands and second hand/barely functioning everything else and given the world’s worst directions to Diagon Alley. Thanks, Albus.

Well, months pass, we get our wands, Tom gets excited for Hogwarts and I... start seriously considering the future. WWII is coming, the Blitz is coming, Tom and I live in east London and must be able to evacuate during the bombing of London (which went on well past the Blitz to the end of the war). I also start considering my future in the wizarding world. Do I now actually have career prospects?

Probably not because I’m muggle born and a woman. My best bet is doing very well in useful subjects and finding employment with the goblins, I can’t imagine they have the same hang ups as the wizarding world.

Tom wants to go to Slytherin, of course, I tell him this is a bad idea. “Gee Tom,” I say, “Not sure how I know this but I have this feeling that Slytherin is filled with people who loathe our very existence and will shank us. Why don’t we pick Ravenclaw or Gryffindor instead?”

No one shanks Tom Riddle! Tom says. Tom is still eleven and while he admits that sometimes I may, in retrospect, have been right about certain things that doesn’t mean he wants to go to the house known for hard work. That’s code word for everyone there being a moron and having no other redeeming features than tenacity. As for the other two, Ravenclaws sound like smug, elitist, nerds and Gryffindors like dumb jocks.

Better to be known for ambition, cunning, and actually being competent.

Well, there’s no talking him out of this one, and goddamn it we’re all each other has.

I’m the closest thing Tom Riddle has ever had to a friend in all these years and in the orphanage the only one who could hold a decent conversation with him. And while it’s not my moral obligation to keep Tom from becoming a domestic terrorist, and there’s no guarantee I even can, dumping him for one of the other houses and drifting apart won’t help.

Not to mention that, after all these years, I’m undoubtedly lonely, I’m in this foreign land, and he’s now the closest thing to a friend I have.

Looks like I’m going to Slytherin, YOOOOOLLLLLLLLOOOOOOOOO! I shout as a battle cry as tears run down my face. I may have to convince the hat to put me in Slytherin, but like all human beings I am a mixture of many qualities. I’m not cunning in the least, mind games exhaust me unutterably, but I’m full of ambition. 

This confirms every bad opinion Dumbledore had regarding me and Tom.

For the next several months, Tom probably beats the shit out of dormmates who steal his things/harass him. He beats up mine too because feminism (TM) means that he should treat all people equally when guilty of the same crime. I... am not sure I can win that fight so I just resign myself to having to adopt some of Tom’s tactics to make sure I’m not shoved in lockers, have tampons thrown at me, or pig’s blood dumped on me at the prom.

Once again, everyone thinks Tom Riddle and I are dating. I don’t even know if they’re wrong at this point.

Well, being in class with eleven year olds who seem to have had little to no prior education, Tom and I are undoubtedly blazing through class. I imagine I’m bored out of my mind (the Hogwarts curriculum sounds unbelievably boring) and Tom is... well, probably devouring the library but probably also bored. I decide to try and see if I can find some real history texts on this world (there are probably none, the wizarding world seems to only have two historians and both... have a different approach to history than current modern thought as I know it) and discover what magic even is. That shit is fascinating: wingardium leviosa is not.

Dumbledore likely gives neither me nor Tom points in class, I think the house cup is stupid, so I really don’t care. I have no interest in playing quidditch, neither does Tom, so that doesn’t happen.

The second world war starts up, Tom, me, and the muggle borns are the only ones who give a flying fuck. I work harder on figuring out how to get lodging during the Blitz/the bombing of London. Unfortunately, Mrs. Cole hates me too for being the Bride of Satan, so that’s a no go. Third year, 1939, I probably write her in earnest anyway telling her to PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, send Tom and I instructions for the summer/where the orphans are staying/how they’ve been dispersed to the countryside. As a back up plan, I try desperately to shmooze shopkeepers in Hogsmeade during every Hogsmeade weekend to get myself and Tom part time jobs and lodging over the summer. As a back up back up plan, I spend my time badgering Tom to become very good at survivalist wandless magic and if the Lord has pity on me gain some ability in it myself.

Hopefully, either Mrs. Cole or one of the Hogsmeade shop owners take pity on us. If not, then Tom and I are going extreme camping. Given Mrs. Cole (and the brain damage brought on by Dumbledore erasing memories left and right) and the likelihood of Hogsmeade shop owners just not getting it, Tom and I probably go extreme camping.

(Tom, meanwhile, asks Dippet and Dumbledore if we can stay in Hogwarts over the summer. He’s told no exceptions. London’s being bombed, you say? No exceptions. Toodles. Tom is never the same.)

Me, Tom Riddle, a tent we made ourselves, several rabbits we had to catch and skin ourselves, and the pitiful fire that we can keep going through pure will alone because if we try to use real people spells then we’ll get arrested. It has the benefit of making Tom feel very manly and impressive, catching his own food, but both of us are well aware that this sucks.

But hey, we aren’t dead.

Well, I’m sure Tom doesn’t appreciate that and this is where I imagine he seriously starts talking about violent revolution. I imagine much of my time is spent discussing the merits of not violently overthrowing our ant overlords. I imagine a thirteen-year-old Tom isn’t impressed by my pacifism, but he’s not married to Voldemort yet (probably).

Then I imagine the horcrux thing comes up and... Well, I will argue hard against it. Humans die, it is a truth of the universe, and simply something we have to accept. Horcruxes are not a measure against that, they can be destroyed, given infinite time they will be, and the sacrifice they require is too high: human life as well as the very essence of who you are.

What is a soul? I’m not sure, we never really learn in HP canon, but whatever it is, it is in some way the essence of yourself. If you take half of it and throw it somewhere else, you will cease to be you, someone or something else is walking around in your body while the other half of you exists in endless agony.

If you must chase immortality, create a philosopher’s stone (as I darkly wonder why it was that couldn’t be replicated and what Flamel had to do to make it in the first place). On second thought, maybe we should search for the Holy Grail.

Whether I can talk Tom out of this or not is... unclear. I’m going to say that I can, in part because I imagine he’ll want to show the chamber off to me, tell me when he realizes he’s Heir of Slytherin, and in doing so I can prevent the basilisk incident from occurring. Without that, there’s no dead Myrtle, which means no first victim. That summer, when he goes to the Gaunts, I’ll go with him and convince him that it’s not worth it. He can just turn around and leave these people alone, I hopefully can talk him down. Which means no second victim.

I start writing Flamel to see if Tom or I can get an apprenticeship (Dumbledore probably beats us to the chase and poisons him against us, but it’s worth a shot).

Then, should all go well, I can convince Tom to find employment with the goblins rather than shady antique dealers on the bad side of town. Hopefully, I can convince him to never become Voldemort, and instead we travel the world together looking for the origins of magic or something.

Dumbledore goes around taking people’s memories of us in preparation for when Tom becomes a dark lord and I his lady of the night darkness.

TL;DR Apparently my life would become an SI/Tom Riddle fic. So, thanks anon.

[h2bakugou]

Hi! Can I please request some headcanons for Izuku, Katsuki, Shouto, and Denki with an s/o who doesn’t like getting into arguments and will always try to avoid getting into one with their boyfriends either by compromising and/or just throwing in the towel and just admitting that whatever their boyfriend said is right and it’s because they didn’t have a great home life growing up and want to avoid becoming like their parents and the boys finding out and their reaction to that? Thanks!

a/n: hiya!! of course hun! i did a similar argument hc a while ago, but this one is vastly different in a few ways!! thank you for the request love!!

headcanon: them reacting to their s/o’s refusal to argue with them

key: (y/n) - your name / (f/n) - first name / (l/n) - last name / (e/c) - eye color / (h/c) - hair color / (y/q) - your quirk

warnings: fluff, swearing, some angst, one mention of sky high, endeavor is trying™

;cut for length;

»»————-　★　————-««

izuku midoriya

»»————-　★　————-««

Surprisingly enough, there are a good number of times you’ve had an argument arise with Deku.

Not the ones where you playfully tease him about not sitting with you on the long trips you took as a class to places.

But the ones where you’d find him training for hours on end with no text or call to let you know that he’d be running late for a date, or a study session.

The ones where he’s so caught up in everything else that he doesn’t really make time to focus on your relationship.

Which wouldn’t be that big of a deal, had he just told you upfront that he was busy. But with the promise of always finding a way to make time for you, you were beginning to feel like maybe there was someone else, or maybe he didn’t really like you, like you thought he did.

But even when you were upset or angry, and Deku cornered you to talk about it, you’d shut him out and tell him it was fine, and that it really wasn’t his fault. It was yours for being so devoted to a relationship during such a serious time.

But Deku knew it was more than that.

Every time you seemed upset, or angry, or frustrated by something that seemed like something he’d done or may have had a part in, you always shut him down, telling him you’d get over it like an adult, and handle it.

“You don’t have to handle everything by yourself, let’s just talk about it, why are you feeling like this? You can talk to me, you know I’ll listen.” Deku’s comforting arms wrapped around you, preventing you from leaving this time around.

He’d spent maybe a few too many hours trying to learn some new moves and forgot that he was supposed to text you after the first hour to check up on you and your studies.

And when he finally came back after a shower, he realized you’d sent him a few texts asking if he was okay and if he was going to be done training soon.

“It’s fine, Izu’. I have some work I have to finish-”

“It’s not fine. I upset you, I’m sorry. But please talk to me. Why are you always trying to dismiss what actually happened?” Deku tried to capture gaze, only to find your lashes sprinkled with tears as you gave a shaky breath.

“I just don’t want us to end up like my parents. All they did was fight and argue.” You’d never really told anyone about that. Let alone anyone you’d been in a relationship with. 

In that moment, all Izuku could do was hold you closer, laying his head in the crook of your neck.

“I’m sorry. I should take your feelings into account when I make promises to you. I apologize for not keeping those promises.” Deku pulled back and looked into your eyes.

“And please don’t be afraid to talk to me. I know that’s scary to think about, but if I make you upset, just talk to me, we don’t have to scream or fight, we can have a civilized conversation together about something, and if you feel like we can’t, we can always have our friends help if you’re comfortable with that.” Izuku smiled softly, swiping his thumbs over your cheeks to wipe your tears away.

You pushed a small smile onto your lips, resting your face back on his chest as he held you close.

“I’m sorry too.” You apologized.

“Don’t be, it’s okay. Why don’t we watch a funny movie and relax? I can make us some popcorn!” Izuku was ready with some cheesy hero movie on hand, probably one about some superhero high school with a magical flying bus and a protagonist whose parents were the top heroes, a plot you’d begun to see more and more often these days with the progression of hero society.

“Sounds like a plan.” You giggled.

»»————-　★　————-««

katsuki bakugou

»»————-　★　————-««

Bakugou argues with you because you won’t argue with him-

On a serious note, most of your ‘arguments’ start because he feels like you don’t trust him enough to talk to him about your feelings.

If you are upset with him for something, or if you feel an argument coming on, you’ll dismiss yourself, your feelings, say he’s right, and just back down.

And we all know Bakugou will not go down without a fight example a, the sports festival.

He gets defensive, if not a little more agitated when you don’t tell him what’s going on. Not that he’s entitled to know how you’re feeling constantly, but because if he’s going to be in a relationship, he wants communication between the two of you.

If there’s something you can’t communicate to each other, then it doesn’t need to happen or there’s a problem somewhere.

Which is why when you say that it’s nothing, or that you aren’t upset when he knows that that’s utter fucking bullshit, he gets angry. 

He won’t take his anger out on you, he’s not that kind of asshole. 

Even though he hates the assholes, he sometimes drops little clues to Kirishima or Sero.

But overall, he just wants to talk it out with you. He wants to understand what’s going on, why you’re feeling the way you are, what-if there’s anything-he can do differently to help you feel better or to prevent this feeling from happening again.

It all crumbles apart when Bakugou said he’d help you with some math homework that you’d be struggling on.

Only for him to be four hours late because he was sitting in detention for sparking a fight with some shit-talking smartass from a support class.

That night you had struggled to answer the problems on your homework, only to bomb the pop quiz on the same subject the next day. It was a mess, and you were upset.

Your grades of course were not Bakugou’s responsibility, but his responsibility was to at least give you a heads-up that the study session would’ve been moved, or cancelled.

Instead you stayed up way to late trying to understand problems that weren’t making any sense, and now your grade was sitting in a hole.

So you were upset. 

But when Bakugou questioned why you were so quiet around him, you just shrugged your shoulders.

“What gives? You not talkin’ to me or something?” Bakugou wasn’t exactly sure why you were mad at him until you packed up your things at the common room table, your low grade on the pop quiz and homework proving why you were in a bad mood.

And then Bakugou realized that was the homework he said he’d help you with.

“Shit, that was due Tuesday wasn’t it.” Bakugou grumbled.

“Yeah.” You mumbled.

“Hey what’s wrong with you? Did I do somethin’? Why you fuckin’ ignoring me and shit?” Bakugou’s fowl language was something you were used to. He wasn’t angry, he was confused, though his vocabulary could’ve fooled you.

“It’s nothing, you didn’t do anything, I’ve got to study to get this grade up, I’ll see you tomorrow.” You pushed on without another word, trying to escape back to your dorm.

At the mention of the word study, Bakugou then remembered the promised study session.

“Hey wait! I was supposed to help you do that shit, let’s go work on-”

“It’s fine, I got it. Go do whatever you want.” You didn’t look at him.

“No, now cut the bullshit let’s go study.” Bakugou tugged you up toward his dorm.

Inside you stood holding your things, your emotions beginning to bubble over as you watched him look for his bag, a stray bandage over his cheek from the punch the kid had thrown at him. Just staring at it made you upset.

“Why did you do it?” You asked quietly, your voice wavering.

“What? Do what?” Bakugou responded.

“I just wanted you to help me and...you-” You stopped yourself, realizing it was selfish to think it was Bakugou’s job to help you exceed in class. Shaking your head you held your things tightly and turned to leave.

“I’m sorry, I’m not feeling well-”

“Bullshit, what the fuck is goin’ on with you? You’re upset, I know you are, what’s the problem?” Bakugou stopped you from leaving, almost forcing you to sit on his bed and explain why you were so distant.

“No- it’s not fair to you, I can’t do this, I can’t argue with you over something so stupid, I don’t want to end up like my fucking parents.” You were crying at this point, tears flooding from your eyes as you dropped your things, your books scattering across his bed as you fell into his arms.

“Are you talking about the fight? You have to communicate with me if you want me to help you. Can you at least tell me what you’re feeling?” Bakugou wanted to help, but with no information, there was little he could do.

“I was just so frustrated, because I was looking forward to studying, and then I found out you were in that stupid fight and I felt like I was all alone, like you’d deserted me and so I just tried to do it on my own and I messed up, and I felt like it was all your fault. I know it’s not. Had I just talked to you we could’ve studied and I would’ve done fine.” You broke down, sobbing into his warm embrace.

“I’m sorry. Just call me out on my bullshit, okay? It’s not right that you gotta’ be affected by my own stupid actions.” Bakugou tugged you back from him to place a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“Why don’t we try and do a few practice problems to help you better understand the material?” Bakugou offered, stroking his thumb over your cheeks to wipe your tears.

“Yeah, that sounds nice.”

After some silence of Bakugou helping you work through the problems, you thanked him silently with a long hug, just resting your head on his chest. He didn’t ask any questions about the comment you’d made, he knew it was probably a sensitive topic.

But he’d be there when you were ready to talk about it.

»»————-　★　————-««

shoto todoroki

»»————-　★　————-««

Todoroki doesn’t really like to argue, not like full on yelling and screaming at least.

If he’s having an argument, he’ll try his best to be civil about it, but sometimes he can get a little heated and possibly raise his voice.

He’s always been fairly outspoken, having to usually bide by someone else’s rules that he barely thinks for himself, but as of late, he’s doing himself a favor and being his own person, living by his own rules, and sometimes that means bucking up against others when they’re incorrect.

But when it comes to you, he can’t really see himself arguing with you, at least over little things.

However, he des find it rather upsetting that you didn’t mention you’d ran into his dad a couple days ago.

You’d just been out shopping and happened to bump into the pro and you said your hello’s, conversed for a few second about school before both continuing on with your day.

You didn’t think it was all that important, and for the most part you’d kind of forgotten about the entire incident.

You’d met Shoto’s father a few times before, which is why he recognized you as his son’s significant other.

So when Enji just so happened to mention the little meeting at a ‘family lunch’ on the weekend, Shoto was a bit surprised, and a bit concerned about the run-in.

Considering the first time Shoto introduced you to his father as his significant other, Enji was a bit opposed to the idea of his son having a relationship, but eventually he grew fond of you, thinking that it might be a good idea for his son to have something normal like a relationship, and go on dates, and live like a teenager.

Worried that he might’ve said something rude, Shoto brought it up in his room after eating lunch.

“Why didn’t you mention running into my father?” Shoto asked bluntly as he sat on his bed, watching as you straightened out your sweater.

“I didn’t really remember it when I came back to the dorms, it was quick, just said hi and talked about school for a few seconds before we went our separate ways.” 

“If it happens again just tell me, I don’t know what he’s thinking, just because he says he’s okay with us together doesn’t mean that’s what he really wants.” Shoto was almost dismissive of the fact that his father had actually just seen his son’s s/o in public, stopped to say hi and then get back to his busy day.

“It wasn’t anything like that, he seemed fine. He was busy, if he was upset it was probably just because he’d had a long day.” You lowered your voice, bowing your head before speaking again.

“I should’ve told you, I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad at me.” You were on the offense now, leaving your old statement in the past.

“What? Be mad at you? I’m not mad, I’m just concerned.” Shoto stood up and walked over to you, quickly noticing how emotional you’d become.

“Hey did I say something wrong? Please don’t dry, what’s going on, talk to me.” Shoto lifted your chin only to see your eyelashes coated in tears.

“I’m sorry! You’re right I should’ve told you-”

“Hey, hey, shhh.” Shoto hugged you, his warm arms wrapping around you as he held you close.

“You don’t have to side with me, if he was nice I believe you. Are you alright?” He asked pulling away to wipe the tears from your cheeks.

“I just-I didn’t want us to argue or fight like my parents and I just didn’t want you to be mad-”

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m not mad, and we don’t have to argue, we’re just talking, we’re not arguing, okay? It’s okay.” Shoto comforted you, allowing his hands to rub your back.

“I’m sorry.” You cried softly as he led you back to his bed to sit.

“Don’t apologize, it’s okay to feel differently than me, it doesn’t mean I’m mad or upset at you. I’m here to listen when you need me to, please don’t feel afraid to talk to me.”  

Lifting your head to look at Sho, you pushed a small smile onto your lips.

“Your hand is cold.” You nudged his right arm, his hand touching your skin under the hem of your shirt as he held you close to him.

“Sorry.” He smiled, wiggling his fingers to tickle you.

“Hey! They’re cold!” You laughed through your tears, trying to get away from his icy fingers.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” You pressed a small kiss to the back of his right hand, his cool skin resting against your lips.

»»————-　★　————-««

denki kaminari

»»————-　★　————-««

Kaminari doesn’t argue- at least not with you.

He’ll accuse Kirishima of cheating on some first-person shooter game, or yell curses at Sero for blue-shelling him in Mario Kart.

But he’s never really argued with you about anything.

That doesn’t mean you’ve never had opposing views. Most of the time, Kaminari just listens and tried to understand how you feel.

But more recently, as you progress through school, he’s been doing weird things.

Training longer, forgetting to text you-and he always texts you.

It hurts your heart when you see him smiling and goofing around with Kirishima when today was your movie-night.

You’re not angry at him, you don’t own him for the day, he’s allowed to do other things, but you feel upset. You feel like he doesn’t care about your feelings.

So you head up to your room early, not even bothering to say goodbye to him.

Only about thirty minutes go by when he’s knocking on your door asking for you, asking if you’re feeling okay and why you went back to your room so early.

“I’m fine.” You lie, your expression was more than telling of that factor. You had a pout on your lips, your brows weren’t up and happy, and your eyes didn’t sparkle at the sight of your handsome boyfriend.

“You’re not! What’s goin’ on shawty?” Kaminari always uses humor to make you feel better, that’s just what he’s good at. He can be serious too, but he likes putting a smile on your face before he gets all serious.

“It’s nothing, you were having fun with Kirishima, I don’t want to interrupt.” And without meaning to, you’ve spilled exactly why you were feeling so upset.

Kaminari stares at you with his wide golden eyes, shaking his head as he practically tackles you through your dorm-room door frame into a hug.

Wrapping his arms around you he hugs you close and smiles.

“I didn’t ignore you! Kirishima just talks a lot.” Kaminari is quick to assume you were slightly jealous.

“I-I, no no you’re fine! Go have fun!”

“No. I’m staying with you.” Kaminari’s voice is a bit rougher this time, forcing the fact that he was going to spend time with you now.

After speaking he realized you’re crying. He quickly starts panicking, wondering if his stern ‘Bakugou’ voice scared you.

“Hey, hey! Why are you crying? What’s wrong?” He’s rubbing your arms and trying to wipe your tears away as they flow from your eyes.

“I didn’t want us to argue-I was just feeling weird and left-out and I-I’m sorry for being so jealous over something so little and stupid, please don’t be mad at me, I don’t want to fight and bicker like my parents do.” You don’t realize Kaminari’s expression softening at the mention of your fear, becoming like your parents.

“I’d never yell or argue with you over something like that. It’s okay to feel jealous or hurt, just talk to me about it okay? I can’t help you if I don’t know how to. We can converse like this about things, it doesn’t have to escalate.” Kaminari is soothing surprisingly. His touch is gentle even though it wanders.

Holding your hands is a nice feeling, and he enjoys holding them. Rubbing his thumb over your knuckles relaxes you as you lean in to rest your head on his chest.

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize. I love you.” Kaminari kisses the top of your head and hugs you tightly.

“How about you pick out the movie this time! If it’s scary, you get the pleasure of cuddling into me!” Kaminari wiggles his brows.

“You were the one terrified to turn the lights off last time.” You giggle, lifting your head to wipe your eyes.

“I don’t remember that at all.” Kaminari teases, walking over to your bed to get comfy while you looked for a movie to watch.

»»————-　★　————-««

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