#hope this answered your question well :> (also i am not one to just 'quit' fandoms easily. im still floating in those that i no longer have

[dragongirlsweetie]

Regarding your sandwich post (as someone probably egging tf out)

Do you have advice on knowing whether you want to be a woman vs wanting to be intimate (platonic/romantic/sexual) with one?

Bc like I think 95% of my egging is just finding women hot, with the incorporated "idk why the fuck a woman would willingly chose to date a man these days"

Which honestly sounds pretty egg but idk.

well i have two things to say regarding this. first off my sandwich post is just some bullshit i wrote because i was eating a sandwich and had been awake for a grand total of 5 hours, 4 of them at work and another half hour driving to work. second is that if my bullshit meaningless sandwich post is making you question yourself this hard i'm guessing there's probably something to it

now you are on anon and i know next to nothing about you (aside from this ask) so i'm just gonna cover all my bases here: these are concerns i had a lot of in my eggy stages and ultimately i think that if you wanna try giving being a woman a shot, even if just in private with a few trusted friends, you should go ahead and do it. worst case scenario is you get an answer to your question. if you find the idea of being a woman or having people see you as one makes you a bit giddy and bring out some kind of longing ache in your chest that's another good sign. and if you are looking for permission to be a woman, as i really needed before my egg really cracked, then i am officially giving you permission. you are allowed to want to be a woman and you are allowed to be a woman

my final thought is that the lines between a desire for identity and a desire for intimacy can often be very blurry, and i myself often mistook my desire to be a woman as just me being attracted to them. ow that my egg has cracked i know now that the reason i felt that way is because i wanted to be like that too. and i know that there was never really a meaningful distinction between my desire for identity and my desire for intimacy, the two were just different manifestations of the same core feeling that i am not eloquent enough to describe

that last paragraph probably doesn't make a lot of sense right now, and if you transition in the future it might or it might not. we're all fucked in the head in different and beautiful ways. point is don't let yourself get caught up in wondering if what you're feeling is one or the other. take it as slow as you need to but give it a shot. like i said, worst case scenario you find out the answer to your question and can move on with your life. and while i don't know much about you, i do know that cishet men generally don't spend a lot of time wondering if their attraction to women could instead be a desire to be a woman, and they definitely don't get so caught up in those thoughts that a post about trans women staring hungrily at sandwiches would lead them to start asking around for answers. as the saying goes: don't die wondering

sorry i rambled quite a bit there, but i hope i was able to give you the push in the right direction that my younger self desperately needed, or at the very least helped you find an answer to something that was bothering you. and i also don't really know how to end this. uhh byebye! good luck!

[castielsprostate]

I have a question. You kind of appeared out of nowhere to me so I wonder if you had another url before or if your blog just exploded and you're very active on here

hey! yeah i used to be a different blog completely!! ive gone through 6/7 different blogs since 2012-ish and i made this one at the end of 2020? i think? i do remember having this specific blog on Nov 5th, fun sjonnie trivia fact

i never really went to the spnblr side, sometimes id just browse some tags, like some things, but the brainworms didn't get to properly root until earlier this year. i did watch it on and off (aka, when, and im gonna go out on a limb here, and say it was RTL7 ((MeEr vOoR MaNNeN)) was streaming it late at night so it was utterly sporadic and i saw the pilot. many. many. times.) when it was airing, but idk, i was hovering in different fandoms (mainly youtubeblr, 1dverse etc) and being rabid over there hehe <3 i recently left the latter fandom due to some.. things.. and i felt kinda lost :/ and then i saw something in my queue that was destiel related when cleaning it/organising it aaaaaand yeah, then i fell into the spnpit for realsies, rewatched the entire series + the anime (i might've. might've watched this one first i am sorry..?) + a bunch of amvs and then i started rabid posting about it :3 so yeah. i didn't really explode? i don't think so at least.. i just really like this fandom and it's been a while since i actually felt at home in a fandom :v so i went a bit (going still) insane with it tehehe

sorry for this length-y-ish response, but i hope i explained it well enough :3

[ranoutofficssoiwritemyown]

Hello, I hope you're fine!! If you are open for requests, how do you think the lads men would react to mc telling them her period is late?

Hii, so sorry for the delay. Uni and work have been crazy and I finally managed to sit down to write

Soo let's start with Zayne. He tracks your period so he knows it's late, hence he doesn't even seem fazed when you burst into his office panicking.

"Yes, 8 days to be exact. You've been under stress these two weeks and don't even eat meals properly. Although, I suggest taking a test and in case of pregnancy I'll schedule and appointment with the gynecologist in our hospital"

You can't help but look at him shocked by his calm demeanour.

"Of course, I would tell all of these 2 days ago if only you didn't ditch our appointment. Now, if you excuse me I have a patient waiting for me in surgery room"

He rose from his chair heading to the door but stopped in front of you.

"I hope you know, in case of pregnancy you don't have anything to worry about"

You just nod your head still dumbfounded and he left the room with a kiss on your forehead.

I imagine Sylus also tracking your period and he wants you to be pregnant so bad. He is the one to tell you that you're pregnant, actually. One night, when you're in the kitchen deciding on late night snack he stands beside you with his arms crossed.

"Your period is late"

He brushes off your question about him tracking your period, instead repeating his statement. You make a mental calculations and just shrug.

"Only by 3 days. It's no big deal"

He clears his throat.

"It might become a big deal. You should take a test just in case"

"It happens sometimes. Like I said, no big deal"

"Take a test, just to be sure"

"First of all it's too early. Second of all, we use protection-"

"We know it doesn't protect 100% of times"

"Oh, stop worrying, will you? I'm not pregnant"

You finally decide on strawberry yogurt.

"I think you are mistaken, sweetie. I do not fret over the possibility of you being pregnant. Quite the opposite, if we are being honest..." he mumbles the last part under his breath but you squint at him.

"Sylus"

"Yes, sweetie?"

"Do you want me to be pregnant or something?"

A small smirk pulls on his mouth

"I am definitely not opposed to the idea"

You shake your head standing on your toes to peck his cheek but he turns his head to kiss you. Even after dating him for so long this small gesture leaves you blushing mess.

"I'll be in our room" you tell him and he nods still with the lovestruck look on his face. Once you leave the room he pinches his nose mumbling about canceling the order of baby-proof items.

Poor Rafayel doesn't know what hit him. Sure he has imagined having a family with you but didn't expect it to be so soon. What do you mean there might be a baby? He's the baby. There's going to be another person you'll love as much as you love him? He has to share now? This can't get worse. And as you look at him nervously he realises you're waiting for his answer.

"Late... okay, cool cool cool...  how late?"

"7 days"

He scoffs as if it's nothing.

"7 days is nothing, right? It's- uh did you take the test?"

"Yes-"

"It's negative, right?"

His hopeful tone makes you scrunch your eyebrows.

"It is" you say hesitantly "but it's still too early to be sure. I'll take another one tomorrow"

"Yeah, of course. Okay"  He seems to calm down

"Umm Rafayel... do you not want me to be-" you clear your throat "what if I'm pregnant?"

It just hit him that he's making this worse for you.

"Oh, cutie. It's not that. I want to have children with you... someday" he avoids your eyes "it's just... yourattentionwouldbeonthemallthetime"

You just give him a look that hints you have no idea what he just said. He sighs, giving up.

"Your attention would be on them and you'll cast me aside and I'm not ready for that" He admits blushing.

"Okay well, if I turn out to be pregnant..." you trail off not knowing, or not wanting, to finish your sentence.

"I'll be there, all the way. That's my kid too, ya know"

You crack a small smile

"You're weird"

"Well, you're not perfect either" he scoffs "nevermind, you are perfect"

You just laugh at him.

Xavier is so confused

"It's late. That's amaaaziiing....lyy bad..?" He tries to construct a sentence based on your expression but fails miserably "can you tell me what that means?"

"Well I don't know. It might be nothing serious but there's a chance I might be pregnant but we always use protection so I don't know how..." You sit with your head in your hands "I'm scared"

Xavier falling silent doesn't help your panic at all.

"Please say something"

"I'm going to be a father?"

You let out a confused laugh.

"I don't know. Probably not, but you might. I have an appointment with doctor Zayne tomorrow so maybe we'll know"

"I'm going to be a father"

You start to think you broke him

"Xavier... we don't know yet"

"Yeah, of course. But I would like to have a child with you"

He closes the distance, placing his hands on your hips

"Do you not want to..."

"I wasn't planning on it yet, but I'm not against it"

He smiles gently.

"Don't get your hopes up yet, though"

"Of course"

But as you leave the room you hear him saying "I'm gonna be a dad" to himself.

One evening, Caleb comes home and lets out a sigh when he enters kitchen.

"Okay, why is the breakfast I made for you still untouched in the refrigerator? We agreed you'd eat meals properly y'know?.. Pipsquak?" He calls out in the end when he receives no answer from you. He finds you in your bedroom sitting on the bed with your knees to your chest.

"What's wrong?" He's alert.

"My period is late"

"Oh my god" He starts laughing sitting beside you and pulling you into a hug. "No wayy, did you take a test? Are we gonna have little you and me running around? I'm definitely teaching them how to shoot a gun"

"Shut up for a minute" you grumble in his chest "I didn't take a test. It's only 5 days, I don't think test would show it if I was pregnant"

"I'll buy them anyway. Bunch of them, so you can take one everyday till it shows positive"

His ridiculous statement pulls a giggle out of you.

"Glad to know you're okay with it"

"Try ecstatic"

You look up at him and spot a mischievous grin on his face.

"You know... you'd be a milf"

That earns a smack on his chest

"Idiot"

"This idiot is going to be a father of your children, so be nice"

"I might not be even pregnant"

"I can take care of that"

He laughs at another smack he receives.

[taegularities]

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

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

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

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

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

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

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

“Angel? Breathe.”

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

Sighing, you ask, “Are you okay?”

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

“Yes… I know.”

“Let’s go?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes.

Has he been keeping up with stuff?

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

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

“Oh, I’m…”

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

“What’s that mean?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

In some sense, it’s worse.

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

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

You follow.

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

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

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

And in the end, it’s still his dad.

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

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

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

You’re incorrect.

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

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

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

“Mhm,” Jungkook merely responds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The city called and it kept them.

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

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

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

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

“Ah. Is it that pretty?”

“It’s pretty amazing.”

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

“I’m trying to, really.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s unnecessary.”

“Okay.”

Tense. Quiet. Gulping.

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

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

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

“I was.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Damn, Kook.”

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

“Yeah. I really like it here so far.”

“Good.”

“Are you?”

“Yeah. It’s okay.”

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

“Good. I think we cou—”

Pause. 

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

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

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

“Helloooo!”

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

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

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

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

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

You giggle. Goodness.

“Gosh, sure!”

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

Weird.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She’s not going to…

No.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s crazy.”

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

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

“What is?” you ask.

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

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

The weeks of insecurity and then the trials of life.

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

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

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

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

Yeah… yeah, it sounds like him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Some people I knew…”

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

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

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

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

“You say it so… weirdly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She calls, “Ah! You’re finally here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hum, “I’m getting tired, yeah…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yearning.

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

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

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

Reminiscent of a youth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Victoria’s Secret?”

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

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

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

“Never threw it away, though.”

“Never thought of it.”

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

“You okay?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then again…

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

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

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

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

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

“Baby!” he exclaims back.

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

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

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

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

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

“Gureum?” you repeat.

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

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

“Okay. Okay…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This is so pretty,” you say.

“Right?”

“Was this the surprise?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You could take him to the city.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s old?” you wonder.

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

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

He just is… He just is.

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

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

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

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

Jungkook…

He took you strawberry picking.

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

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

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

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

“Oh— Really? How so?”

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Try it, too,” he then instructs.

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

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

“You’ll have to eat mine, then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That too.”

Oh.

“What else?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course. Gotta wash them, though.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Right?”

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

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

“No bullshit berries indeed. So good.”

“You picked good ones!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh… yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You understand.

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

The affection is unfiltered and crystal clear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can wait. Things can wait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I really wanted to help, though.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Offended indeed. You learned this?”

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

Junghyun chuckles. “Even I remember.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nonsense.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jungkook—” Junghyun interrupts.

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

“What are you talking ab—”

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

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

But it’s hard to listen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Watch your mo—”

“Or wha—”

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

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

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

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

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

The fire in his eyes is blue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kook…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know. It’s okay.”

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

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

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

Why can’t he love me?

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

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

But he keeps believing—

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

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

“Your mother doesn’t either…”

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

“Didn’t you… hate me, too?”

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

“Not for a second,” you say.

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

“Yeah. I’m okay. We’re okay.”

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

“I know. I love you, too.”

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

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

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

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

And it does fifteen minutes later.

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

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

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

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

“It’s okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah… yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hmm…

“What did he go down for?” you ask.

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

After a fight.

Like the breakdown last night. You understand.

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

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

“Sure!”

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

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

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

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

You’re thankful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She’s so wrong. Both she and him.

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

You remember…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit…

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

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

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

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

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

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

You walk down the steps to the basement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uhmmm, just looking through old stuff.”

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

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

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

He does this often. Zone off like this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Too much of a fool for you, yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

“Ah. That’s kinda sweet, though.”

“Isn’t it?”

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

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

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

“Yes, I did. Don’t be a brat.”

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

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

Make up, probably.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Does he feel the same about you? Probably.

Because he curses, “What the fuck.”

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

“What are you even?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He chuckles. “They can try.”

“They? Well, shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Damn it. Both of them deceived you.

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

“And I got it for you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’ll suit you.”

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

“Ah… I can try.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A tease here, a flirt there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah.

Ah…

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

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

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

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

Ahhh…

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

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

Come on. Unrealistic.

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

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

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

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

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

What? When?

“When?” you echo.

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

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

For the very first time.

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

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

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

Fuck, what if it happens again?

“I’m going to panic,” you tell Ria.

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

“But now I might keep thinking about it.”

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

“No… no, it’s okay. You should’ve.”

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

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

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

Well. Okay.

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

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

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

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

You smile.

Okay…

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

Okay.

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

Breathe in. Breathe out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You take a deep breath.

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

It’s not too much to ask, you reckon.

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

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

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

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

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

You soon meet the first one of the latter kind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Up and down. Smile telling. Uncomfortable.

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

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

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

“Nice. And wait, sorry, you were…?”

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

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

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

“Lucky. You look pretty together.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook nods. “Christian Yu now. Yup.”

“Right.”

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me neither,” Ria confirms.

Of course he didn’t like it.

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

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

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

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

“Okay.”

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

Ah…

“Hm?”

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

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

“Oh— Kook—”

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

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

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

Well… at least now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve been thinking it all dead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I tell you something mainstream?”

You hum, “Hm?”

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

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

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

I’ll spend my life with you.

Not a question. Not a need.

But a confession. A goal. A plan. 

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

It’s a song.

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

“You probably do.”

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

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

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

“You did? Then she must’ve…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This… this is it.”

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

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

[chaiisms]

BALDURS GATE 3 PARTY BANTER PROMPTS LIST.

all of the following prompts are taken from party banter between the companions in larian studios' baldurs gate 3 (2023). there should be no spoilers! also, a disproportionate amount of these are from astarion and karlach. i'm not sorry.

I am enjoying our walks together, aren't you, [ name ]?

You'll be as depraved as the rest of us in no time.

Friend of yours?

Were you always so sneaky?

If there's hope for me there's hope for anyone.

How are we not there yet? My feet are killing me.

This is what I get for trying to strike up conversation.

We're not going to have trouble, are we?

If we continue this way, we may get too close for comfort.

Don't get too comfortable. We shouldn't overstay our welcome in such a place.

Do you have pet names for each other yet?

[ name ]! Was that a joke?

You know what - that is not the easiest of questions for me to answer.

Given your own nature, are you really the one to judge?

You can read?!

I'm surprised - I expected you to turn your back once you got what you wanted.

I wouldn't know a flirtation if you whacked me alongside the head with it.

Why stay somewhere safe and comfortable when we could be in mortal peril?

Can't say I love what they've done with the place.

I'm learning to enjoy the taste of chaos. Count me in.

At least you didn't tell me to 'be myself'.

You have so much to learn. Repeat after me: honey muffin, sweetie pie, sugarplum.

Nice to be in a crowd of normal people for once.

So [ name ], how is your sad, hopeless pining going?

You seemed a million miles away just then.

I fear I've been rather hasty to judge you, [ name ].

Ready to enter the belly of the beast?

Step one of starting a conversation: think before you speak.

I hear your relationship has taken on a new aspect recently…

All right, just keep it down. We're conspicuous enough without your hyena call.

Not one for roughing it, I see.

Why not have a little fun?

You're right, of course. Forgive me.

My money's on you, [ name ].

The echoes - listen! They're coming from three directions!

Want me to carry you?

Feeling at home?

Treat them right, or you'll have me to answer to.

Oh, darling, would you?

No doubt they found me too intimidating.

A girl could get used to this.

Now I don't know what to believe.

Well - yes, it was a joke.

I know that, too. It just wasn't funny.

And here I thought I rubbed you the wrong way.

Man, it's good to be home. First round on who?

Oh, I wouldn't actually leave. After all, where would you be without me?

You've quite the knack for finding the bright side of things, haven't you?

Well what would impress you, then?

Let's just stop this conversation right here, shall we?

Must've been an awful day for the people who lived here

You've clearly thought this through a great deal. I'm impressed and appalled in equal measure.

Sure, but think of the stories you'll be able to tell.

I never was scared of the shadows.

I know you're not really as heartless as all that.

I judged you wrongly. I'm sorry.

Are you charging for this sage advice, or is sticking your nose into my business just a hobby?

Pragmatism, thy name is [ name ].

That's ironic, coming from you.

We're either very clever or very lucky.

You do not need luck to survive, [ name ]. Not when you have me.

That will make getting word to my mother rather tricky.

Stop gawking at the decor. This place is dangerous.

I can't tell if you're joking.

So, what's it like caring for someone other than yourself, [ name ]?

You think I'm beautiful?

I feel it too. Here if you need a pick-me-up.

Yet another thing we have in common. We're two peas in a pod.

Is it so unbelievable that they would simply like me?

Use your words.

You gonna catch me if I eat a brick?

[ name ], I've heard you talking in your sleep.

Let's never speak of this again.

You can take a day off once in a while, [ name ]

Hey! Something bit me.

Cheer up. It might be all downhill from here.

I love a nice secret hideaway, don't you?

Think the bar is open?

[calebslittlecrow]

How To Assume

(stop being an overly anxious potato over manifesting)

Sometimes I see shifters asking “Oh, what should I do? Nothing is working :(“ and they get hit with the good ol “just assume” stamp and send on their way. And then, barely 10 steps later, they turn around and whisper “... the fuck do I even assume?”. Before I chew your ear off: assuming isn’t hard. Well, not really, but people tend to make it hard. We as humans just love acting like we need to turn ourselves into a pretzel every time we want something “big”. We actually assume every day - when we decide we suck, when we tell ourselves we’ll never shift anyway, when we confidently declare we are stuck in our 3D and shifting is just too good to be true and all those people in the reddit community saying it’s just astral projecting or deep lucid dreaming are right (what is even going on over there atm?). Guess what your 3D is doing with those assumptions? It grabs them, says “bet!” and starts running like it’s a race. Congrats ^-^ But hey, the good news: if you can assume all of that shit, you can also assume that you have shifted. Yeay! In the spirit of keeping it simple, I turned the way I see assuming into a neat little list. Enjoy, or not: 1. Just Decide That’s it. Thanks for coming to my TED talk, exit is to the right. Okay, it sounds suspiciously simple and I know some brains will twitch a bit right now with “That can’t be it”. But it is. You sit down, breathe and say “I have shifted”. No begging, no pleading, no howling at the moon. You just decide, and that is where a lot of people crumble already by pleading for it to happen instead of deciding it has happened. You don’t need an approval stamp, you are the CEO of your own reality, not the intern grabbing coffee. Act like it. Deciding isn’t hoping or praying, it’s simply knowing. No matter if shit catches up immediately, tomorrow or next week. Doesn’t matter, let go of the need for it to happen right now. 2. Stop checking You said you shifted and now you are still checking your reality every 2 seconds like a teenager waiting for a message from their crush. Stop it. You’re rereading your script, watching shifting TikTok like the answer to all your problems will jump at you, poking your subconscious like “are we there yet?”. That’s not assuming, that is panic dressed up as productivity (or something like that). You are basically saying “I don’t actually believe this is done and decided”. Cut it out. Just go live your life. Play some games, touch grass with two hands and one face (beware of bees), breathe some fresh air. Your desire won’t implode because you stopped choking it out and stopped micromanaging everything. Obsessing doesn’t equal manifesting. Just let it cook. 3. You commit or you quit Assuming means you have to kinda commit to it. You’re not almost there, or halfway shifted. You are there. You have shifted, no more ifs and whens and buts and any other kind of spiraling. Take five minutes out of your day, relax into that knowing (or deciding). Feel your DR bed, hear your DR friends be loud as fuck for no reason, smell the DR air. Let your imagination drown out this reality like unwanted background noise. Similar to the fake arguments you rehearsed in the shower. You never needed help with those, did ya? 4. Yell at your doubts Maybe do this one internally, unless you are really feeling bold today. Every time your doubts creep in and whisper “What if it is not real?”, you turn around, embrace your inner main character energy and yell back “Shut the fuck up Brenda (sorry to all the Brendas out there), get back into the backseat. You’re not driving, I am.” Your doubts don’t get a say in what you want. They are not invited. You think your DR self is out there wondering if they are real or not? No, they are living the life you are telling yourself is unreachable.

5. Feeling ready is overrated, just do it Stop waiting to feel ready and questioning if your script is perfect or not. Your brain will rarely send you the green light you think you need to go ahead. You will feel silly, you will feel delusional. And you might feel like a clown. Embrace it, be the clown. Insist on what you decided until your 3D gets nervous and bends over in existential fear. You don’t wait to feel certain, you decide you are certain. And then go and act like it’s done.

TL;DR (how dare you, but fine T-T) Assuming you have shifted is like assuming the sun will rise tomorrow. You don’t argue with your friend about it. You don’t beg the sun to rise again. You just know and walk with the confidence that it’s happened, and with shifting you do so because you said so. That’s it. Stop overthinking. Assume and now go, I need to do some drawing stuff.

[kyri45]

✨ShadowPeach Bio Parents Bio AU Q&A! 12/09✨

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the Shadowpeach Bio Parents AU! If you submitted your ask anonimously, then you’ll have to check the whole post if it’s answered here, if it’s not, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

@snsp6 I really hope that this won’t change MK’s view on his bio dads :( Anonimo Hello! Wanted to ask or more so I am wondering, will MK start seeing Wukong differently after finding out he literally killed Mac and even after seeing their past and how close they were, dam the trauma, anyhoo I love your art and the Shadowpeach bio parent au! Keep up the great work! >:D

Oh it will. (In a good way? a Bad? that's for me to know and for you to wait a week to know)

@hopefulbelievertimemachine Imagine if MK found someone who recently found out that they were a demon and he comforts them cuz he had a similar experience.

Oh that would be sooo wholesome!!! It's one of my fav trope when there's another character who go throught the same exact thing as another character and the two of them bond over this.

@zammy357 Hello, hope your day/night is going well. I wanted to ask since me and a friend like your bio parents blog and wanted to know if we can use it for an arc? Our blog is called @amnesia-wukong-au. We wanted to ask before we started doing it.

Hi!! Yeah sure as long you tag me and the masterpost of the shadowpeach au

Anonimo Wait what is a glamour (in context of Sun Wukong and Macaque)

A glamour is a magic spell that changes/cover your appearance. Like in the show macaque should technically have 6 ears. for animation purposi I guess they are not drawing all of them, but we say he uses a glamour also for covering his scarred eye.

@clueless-simp ha chiesto: What if PIF, BDK, Sun Wukong, and Macaque (and most definitely Mei) did a "parent trap" tactic to get MK and Red Son together? Setting things up, getting them alone together, pretending they are all busy, and the only option is for them to spend time together under the sunset XD XD XD

Oh no that would end bad. like-comically bad.

@honeylavender27 ha chiesto: Imagine red realizing mk doesn't know about court napping and just invites him over one day. Red son: so I'm sure your wondering why I invited you here.. Mk: yeah it's kinda weird you didn't want Mei to come. Is everything ok? Red: perfect actually, I'll explain everything just enter here first please. Mk: oh ok -walks into the prepared courtnapping room and gets locked in-.....uh red? Redson: consider yourself courtnapped...

Ahah poor MK. I think they would make a disastrous courtnapping that would be the equivalent of the phrase "task failed succesfully"

@artgurusauce ha chiesto: ARGGGHHHH, they're SO CUTE! I love your bioparent AU so much! Altho I am wondering: When MK turns back to normal would he retain some subconscious paternal attachment to our ol boys here? Maybe he even calls Macaque "Mom" without realizing it...

@blazerratbluefire-blog ha chiesto: Plot twist of the century for the oblivious monkey men. MK remembers ~everything~ when he was a cub! I'm not sure if that is what is planned, but! It would be really funny! Especially if he just calls Macaque 'Mama' all casual and just walks away. While Macaque EXP. has crashed and is rebooting. Gosh, that would be so cute! I absolutely love your artwork, by the way! It is so adorable!

Can't answer yet. He does NOT have memories, but he will remember ONE thing...

@daniellemarvel4 Hi, fist off I love your work and can't wait to see what you do next! I was wondering who is more protective of MK when it comes to Red Son? Whether that would be Pigsy, Wukong, Macaque, or even Tang (mabye Mei but I don't think she could stay serious long enough). Also, can we see what Sandy's doing?

mmmmmm---- I think Wukong. Freenoodle is pretty chill with the DBK family after everything that happened. Mac is also quite alright since he was always in good relationship with them. I would say Wukong would just want to be sure his kid doesn't get hurt by the fire in any way

Anonimo I've been squealing, grinning, and kicking my feet going through the Shadowpeach Bio parents AU. Baby MK has been SO CUTE and fun. I wonder if he's going to remember or be embarrassed about it. Another part of me hopes that river is still in play so Sun & Mac can fall in and suddenly MK and everyone has 2 chaotic super-powered Baby Monkeys to take care off 😭 😭 😭

Anonimo ha chiesto: I almost cried they are sooo cute. I hope that we get more sweet family content. Loving the comic thanks for making it 💕💕💕💕

Anonimo ha chiesto: I don’t want the cure to work ! Or could it be like that: MK is such a powerful being that the Dosis Pif gave them, just wasn’t strong enough. Instead it only aged MK up a bit so now he is a small kid or a teenager but not a grown ass money man again. I am not ready to leave the monkey family stuff behind 🥺

unfortunately the river has been close untile further notice. (dw this wont be the end)

@cutvdo ha chiesto: Mei bribing Red Son with baby MK pictures

@luciferapollyon ha chiesto: I hope Mei, Red Son, Macaque and Wukong all got pics before they turned MK back

Anonimo ha chiesto: DHJSJDJDH LIL BABY BEAN! I wonder if Wukong and Macaque took any pics of lil MK while he was smol baby? She would keep them and use them as blackmail. (affectionately)

Anonimo ha chiesto: Your shadowpeach bio parent au is just perfect!! Thankyou for feeding the fandom with the nectar of the gods!!! Especially the one where mac slips into the bed after wukong waits all night. Like Mac would wake up in the morning and see him fast asleep and think of Peng asking 'is there anything Wukong could do that would break his hold over you?' and just seeing him at his most vulnerable right now he's like 'no, not when he always gives me a reason to stay.'

MY HEART

@queen-of-purple-roses Wait if MK is experiencing Macaque’s memories then does that mean that Macaque can experience MK’s? Are they able to dive into each other’s minds?

So the thing is that MK is hearing the past from both POVs. Macaque by definition can hear ANYTHING so yeah he could definitely experience MKs memories. But the thing is-does he want to? I headcanon that his future-present-past hearing abilities are something he only used a couple of times, and because what he heard from them was so traumatic, he decided to NOT use them again (like wukong laser eyes)

@sillygothpartykid ha chiesto: I know everyone is asking you to make the gay monkeys kiss but I actually like how you are developing their relationship. You letting them work through their problems and feeling first giving us that sweet, sweet slow burn! Love your art btw!❤️❤️❤️

awwww ty!!!! yes pls slow burn for life.

@kraytherandomchick ha chiesto: Hey, love your ShadowPeach AU! (Started rereading it after crying from the season 5 finale hehe :'D) But there's always something that's kinda stuck in my head, if MK's no longer immortal, would Macaque or Wukong get sad at the thought of getting older and forced keep going without him?

So- *sigh* technically, we don't really know MK immortality status. it's a grey area for now. Because on one side, he's a stone monkey, who, by nature like Wukong, can perfectly age and grow like a normal monkey. On the other hand, he's technically died already, and by the time he was created by Nuwa, both his biological fathers were already immortal (Wukong bc yes, Macaque because he's a demon, and he can die from wounds and illness, but can't age)

So to answer: we don't know yet what's with him. we will see (I promise that)

@lmk4ever ha chiesto: I LOVE THE SHADOW PEACH BIO PARENT AU SO MUCH!! Mk boi is so lucky to have a artist like you and fathers like them. I want to ask, will shadowpeach ever get into a fight out of anger in front of Mk? Or did they moved on from that phase?

If they will fight it will be more of like- the 2 dads grounding MK. If they need to fight they learned that they need to go on another mountain to do it so they don't bother their child

Anonimo ha chiesto: Will we get a traffic light trio ship?

Probably not, but I'm all for dragonfruit/spicynoodle and having MK and Mei NOT dating each other at the same time.

@yuk1yun ha chiesto: If lmk season 6 isn't like your au, then I don't want to watch it

BRUH THAT'S THE NICEST THING I HEARD ALL WEEK

@conniescialla ha chiesto: HIIII!! ok scusa l'italiano ma letteralmente trovare artisti italiani ispira sempre quel momento patriottico alla YES ONE OF US MUAHHAHAH Scherzi a parte, il comic Shadowpeach bio parents Au è meraviglioso, si approva soprattutto l'hurt/comfort ;p

Tanti kudos!!<3

AAAAHHH CHE BELLO UN ALTR* ITALIAN*!!!!!

Anonimo ha chiesto: I really wanna see jelous wukong!!!!!! I dunno maybe some random demon trying to flirt with emo monkie or something and wukong is like oh hell no!! He is mine!! I think it would be so cute

he would become incredibly possessive and start hissing and growling like a tiger. NOBODY TOUCHES MY SOFT PILLOW

Anonimo ha chiesto: I think it would be so cute if Wukong would take care of sick Macaque! It would show Macaque that Wukong changed and is no longer like he was before. I wonder if Macaque got sick, would MK help or would Macaque be too stubborn to let anyone know.

I know everyone says Wukong is this great sage with incredible abilities in every field (and he is) but I would like to imagine that, since he needs to do these thing for Macaque specifically, he's so stressed over the fact he needs to do them perfectly that he fucks up lmao.

Like, he would try his best to take care of him and almost burn the kitchen in the meantime, while Macaque was only hoping the two of them could just stay more in bed cuddling each other

Anonimo ha chiesto: im just imagining Mac getting anxious becouse he cannot find baby MK and Wukong is there to calm him down

@shadowpeachera ha chiesto: Heyy I absolutely love your shadowpeach bio au, the drawings, the text its perfect! Did Mk every run off or get into trouble now that he’s a cub or even play games with Wukong and Macaque like hide and seek? That would be really cute. I can imagine them playing hide and seek while Mk discovers he can make shadow portals, meanwhile his parents are stressing and scared as they have no idea where he is.

i think both of them would freak out.

WAIT I HAVE THE PIC I HAVE THE PIC

I'VE BEEN SAVING THIS PIC SINCE 2017

@nyx-daughterofchaos98 ha chiesto: Hi! For LMK, I watched a nature documentary on Monkeys the other day and a lot of monkeys correct each others behavior by doing something called “Disciplinary Nips” or “Discipline Bites” (This isn’t a sexual ask I promise) I think it would be absolutely hilarious, if Macaque and Wukong are napping together, and for whatever reason, Wukong keeps moving around, unable to get comfortable. And in his sleep-riddled state, Macaque gets annoyed and bites him. 🤣 Like; I’M TRYING TO SLEEP! KNOCK IT OFF! 🤣🤣🤣 And when Wukong does stop moving, Macaque does actually fall asleep. Even better is if Macaque wakes up and has absolutely No Idea he bit Wukong because he was half asleep at the time. Or he thinks it was a dream and ensue the shenanigans when he realizes it wasn’t.

OMG THAT'S SO CUTE AND SILLY AAHHHH!!! EVEN BETTER: what if they do this without noticing BEFORE they are like-actually romantically back together, and someone sees the mark bites AND THEY START TO ASSUME CERTAIN THINGS BRUH.

@tabs-tabi-tabby  Can Macaque help with MK’s clones? Or would that be Wukong’s area?

MK can't make the same clones macaque has. He can control a little bit his own shadow, and use that as a clone. so as long as it's his own shadow, it's more Mac area, if it's his own hair clone then it's Wukong's

@startdustmonkie ha chiesto: Does Mk and or Wukong know about Savage and Rumble? (If so how did they find out about them?) — (also: do Savage and Rumble see Mama macaque as a parent?)

@mushrum-soup ha chiesto: Hi just wanted to say I absolutely adore your shadow peach au it's literally the highlight of my week 💖I was wondering tho are rumble and savage just shadow clones in your au or similar to their Lego counterparts :O?

Yes they know about them. No they aren't his kids let's say. My own personal headcanon for the Au (or the show in general) is that they are both Macaque shadow, like- clones with a little bit of personality just like MK clones represent specific parts of his personality. He has 2 of them because he lived 2 lives, one before and one after he was brought back to life.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Just read the latest Shadowpeach bio kid comic, and i cant help but giggle a bit at how MK’s chirp woke Wukong and Macaque up lmao just the “and they snoozing- OH SHIT BABY CHIRPING WHATS WRONG-“

HE IS BABYYYY

@hellobur ha chiesto: Did you base when mk was reaching fr macaque after he was walking away because mk called him mama after this or was it a funny coincidence (mk also doe the pose but I can't find it lol)

Also I absolutely love this story and your art your work is incredible! ^^

Omg LMAO NO I DIDN’T BUT NOW IT’S 100% MORE FUNNY

@dragonaboni-blog ha chiesto: Hi! First off, I love your art and your Shadowpeach AU, it's the reason I'm reactivating my own Tumblr account lol One of my favorite tropes in this story is "A gets sick and B takes care of him" so I'm wondering… What would that trope be like in the AU? What would the monkey trio be like when they got sick? Do any of them sleep through their illness? Or are any of them extremely dramatic like "These will be my last words…"? CoughcoughWUKONGCoughcough

Aaahh I’ve seen a lot of asks asking this one but honestly I don t know If I’ll ever draw that trope. Maybe bc Wukong should technically have canonically too much knowledge about general illness to be worried about normal daily life illness. If it was something more life-threating. Maybe yes, but I still have to cook.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Counterpoint: wukong can't handle spicy foods because he has no impulse control and his monkee brain wants him to only eat fruit and peaches

Ouch. Yes that seems about accurate for him lmao

Anonimo ha chiesto: About the lmk bio au.... we have seen that MK can manipulate certain parts of his body in the 72 transformations... so..... Wukong and Macaque could technically have children.

I’ll be 100% honest I have no idea if stone monkeys are…fertile?

Anonimo Hey there! I am in love with your art. LMK is something that came into my life recently and damn I love it so much! Love your AU, and I can't wait to see more of it. Funnily, since the baby MK incident I imagine this later on becoming a somewhat spark of many funny arguments later on. What I mean is I see baby MK has a favorite parent (*cough-cough* MacCRACK *cough-cough*) [Sorry with the name joke, couldn't help myself]. XD. And I imagine Wukong be a bit jealous at times and go 'Anything you can do I can do better XD' Also see lovely Redson have a thing for MK, and then I imagine him ask his parents about advice on pursuing his crush. "So who is the lucky girl?" "Well, you already know him-" *Spits out water* "You got yourself a husband?" "What, no I haven't yet-!"

Aww I don't think MK would have a favourite but definitely there are times where he wants one parent more than the other (play time with Wukong, nap time with Mamacaque)

Anonimo ha chiesto: Yknow what they say… like father like son! In the sense that they’re all gay /j

Oh yeah absolutely it's genetic/j

@wolfasketch ha chiesto: Mac being on the sunny side and Wuwu being in the shadows

I know I'm looking into it too much but- AHHH!!!

That was unintentional but HOLY SIT U R RIGHT

Anonimo ha chiesto: Poor Red Boy never got to see baby MK! Imagine him just staring at the adorableness that is baby MK and being like 'I hope our future children look just like you OH MY GODS YOU'RE ADORABLE'. Baby MK: :3

Their child will literally be Kai from Ninjago so I guess THEY ARE RIGHT HE WILL BE

Anonimo ha chiesto: And then MK will wake up back to normal, confused, but proud that he managed to get them even closer?

100% yes

@drowning-in-webnovel-chapters ha chiesto: I can't imagine how the monkey dads are gonna try to go back to sleep after that, oof. Also Wukong definitely knows all that from when he used to help Macaque through visions, right?

Yup! He does indeed!

Anonimo ha chiesto: I’m guessing MK is getting a mini version of Macaque’s “can hear the past/present/future” thingy, did he managed to hear it accidentally or was he trying to learn more about his powers/Shadowpeach’s past ?

Yes, he was just wondering since last time that he found the sleeping cuddling with him, what exactly happened for them to rift away. Guess curiosity killed the cat

@aurabooboo ha chiesto: So. I'm rewatching season 5, right? I noticed that they almost had a yelling match with MK right in the middle. Would Wukong apologize to him for that?

These 3 have so much to talk about… i wont draw everything, but they definitely apologised offscreen.

@elianaroselight ha chiesto: It is quite telling how Wukong immediately knew what to do to help calm MK, but also, Macaque coming in with the perspective of having gone through it himself. The need for them to remain close by and wait until Mk is asleep before trying to leave. This means Mac has been through exactly what he is telling them not to do and knows the pain, sorrow and trauma that comes from feeling abandoned like this. They may be facing their past hurting their own kid through proxy and try to help him fight against the trauma. Luckily they have good people to help when they themselves can't. *looks at Freenoodles*

Yup! Their response is exactly related to what they do to calm the other!

@thenerdycupcake ha chiesto: So, does MK’s gold vision combine with his hearing sometimes so that he sees some of what he’s hearing from the past?

Oooohhh i guess he does! So he can literally see and hear the past!

@frogsfandoms ha chiesto: Omg why can I see after MK wakes up he thinks that it isn’t the past he’s hearing and that it actually just happened. Rushing to see if Wukong and Macaque are hurt and or trying to stop them from fighting 😭😭😭

Oohhh our baby still doesn’t want to believe it actually happened :(

Anonimo ha chiesto: Adult MK: OH MY GOD A SPIDER *desperate scared monkey noises* Baby MK: what's this? A 5 starts meal? *Tries to chomp said spider* He's gonna be sooo disgusted when someone tells him he tried to eat one fkdkdlfmfl

Oh poor MK. He’ll be teased about this for the rest of his days.

@sailera ha chiesto: Hello I have question about you Shadowpeach bio dads au- How would Pigsy react that his only employee turned to a baby? And hadn’t answered his phone in few days? Also love your art!! And your ISAT comic got me again interested in playing Sky ✨

Mk only became a baby for like- 20 hours. Mei told him that he stayed at FFM because he was ‘tired after training’. As of now Pigsy didn!t found out

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

That's all for this week! Thank you a lot for all the asks!

[cades-outsider]

Robby Keene X Reader

Warnings: None, it’s mainly just fluff! This is S3 because I am IN LOVE with S3 Robby!

Side Note: I am not stopping the Cobra Kai writings! I am going to be focusing on Milo Manheim characters as well, so if you like any of his characters, send in requests! I have a special Ryan Baker smut coming up! 😩🤚

Your heart raced as you walked down the halls of the juvenile detention center in which they were holding Robby, a guard escorting you to your destination. Going through two big white double doors, catching the attention of a bunch of juvie inmates.

A bunch of squared silver chairs and tables came into view, but it seemed as if time had stopped once you spotted Robby, his hands covering his mouth anxiously waiting. Bobby, one of Johnny's best friends sat beside him. He was the one who was able to get you in to see Robby so soon, apparently you weren't old enough to visit him by yourself. Which you thought was stupid.

With every walk towards Robby your body was shaking, you were nervous. Not because of what happened that led him in here, but because of how he would react to you wanting to see him.

Bobby's head perked up as he seen you, he waved you over with a soft smile causing Robby to turn around. His lips parted as he was in shock, surprised that you actually showed. But more importantly shocked that you actually wanted to see him after what happened.

Robby stood up slowly as you walked closer to him, you couldn't hug because of the no touching rule. But you wanted to, and by his reaction you knew he wanted to as well.

You smiled at Bobby as he led you to take a seat beside him, Robby turned back around and took his seat, lips still parted, too shocked to speak.

Bobby looked back and forth at you both awkwardly for a moment before pointing behind him "I'll let you guys.... catch up" He spoke before walking away.

"You're- you're here...." Robby said lowly, as if in disbelief. He wouldn't have blamed you for not coming.

"I'm always here for you Robby..." You placed your elbows on the silver table, resting your chin on your hand.

Your eyes couldn't escape his, you had missed him so much and you didn't want to look away. The slightest smile fell across Robby's lips as he cleared his throat.

"So... what have you been up too?" He questions, wanting to know if you've been okay.

"Missing you" You crack a smile with your answer.

Robby let's out a small chuckle, with a side smile "besides that..." He jokes lightly.

You sigh, pretending to think "nothing too interesting, everything's pretty much been quiet" Your tone changes with every word you speak. It's as if Robby sensed your emotions, he raised his eyebrows and looked down slightly, disappointed with himself.

"Is... is Miguel okay?" Robby questions nervously, bitting his fingernail as he looks up at you. Almost not wanting to know the answer to that question.

"He's okay Robby, he's healing" You tell him sincerely.

You could see the pure guilt written on his face, the regret. "Hey..." You grab his hand that was laying on the table, completely disregarding the rules.

"I don't blame you for any of it... I know you would take it all back in a heart beat if you could, but it'll be okay..." You said lovingly. But you also didn't quite know what to say, you hoped he wouldn't take it the wrong way.

Robby's eyes bore into yours, you start rethinking your words for a moment until he nods his head, closing his eyes. A small tear rolling down his cheek.

Your hand finds its way to his right cheek, wiping the tear away gently. Your thumb runs over the purple and red bruise that lied there.

"What happened...?" You basically whisper.

"Just a couple of guys. No big deal" He tries to speak as convincing as possible, you could tell there was more to it but you decide not to push him further.

"I miss you Robby... a lot" You say, placing both of your hands on top of his free hand.

"I miss you too..." Robby says, his side smile starting to show.

Soon your sincere moment is broken up by Bobby placing his hand on your shoulder letting you know that your time was up. You nod letting him know you got the message, before turning back to Robby.

"I don't know when or if I'll be able to come back and visit you, but I'll be here to pick you up when you get out" You say, a small smile falling across your lips.

Robby nods his head in understanding, his heart leaping at such a promise. Though apart of him didn't expect you to keep it. Bobby and some of the guards lead you out of the waiting room, your eyes stayed glued to his as much as they could. You could feel Robby’s stare on you, and you knew that his eyes were still trained on the metal doors even when you were out of his sight.

*THREE MONTHS LATER*

Pulling up your car into one of the driveways at the detention center you spot both Daniel LaRusso and Johnny Lawrence at the doors, bickering. Daniel was your dad and Johnny was Robby's dad. You let out a sigh as you step out of your car, leaning on the side of it. You watched as Johnny and Daniel kept yelling at eachother.

"So you got it all under control?" Daniel interrogates.

"Yeah, I do." Johnny nods his head.

"Just like you had Kreese under control? Right?-" Daniel pauses. "-what did you think would happen when you summoned that devil back to earth?" He finishes, almost as if it was a rhetorical question.

"Kreese is my problem" Johnny states, tilting his head up.

"Not anymore. He's made it crystal clear that he's everyone's problem... as usual I'm gonna have to be the one that cleans up your mess" Daniel sighs.

"I clean up my own messes.... and I'm dealing with it" Johnny says louder, walking up to Daniel.

"Yeah and how exactly are you dealing with it? What are you gonna do, barge in there and beat him up. That worked real well with the guys at the chop-shop" Daniel smart mouths, using his hands as references.

"Those guys deserved it..." Johnny says.

"That's your problem Johnny..." Daniel starts, but before he could finish you drown them out, rolling your eyes at their antics, they acted like they were teenagers all over again.

"Seriously?" You hear a familiar voice interrupt the two kids.

You perk up leaning off your car and getting a good look at Robby, "Robby..." Daniel says, turning to look at him.

"Hey Robby" Johnny says as Robby takes a few steps closer to try and pass them, not yet spotting you.

Robby looks at Johnny "I told you i don't want you here." He says nodding his head upwards as if pointing to Johnny.

"You're my son, I wanted to be here" Johnny says 'as a matter of fact'.

"and so did I..." Daniel speaks up.

Robby turns to look at his and squints his eyes "Don't do me any favors, it's your fault I was in here" He blames.

"Listen I know you're upset but I was doing what was best for you...-" Daniel starts as Robby rolls his eyes, looking away "now that you're here I want you to know you'll always have a home at Miyagi Do." Daniel says sincerely.

Johnny steps up demandingly "you're with me." He says.

Robby looks back and forth at the two of them, pursing his lips, an angry expression on his face "both of you. Stay out of my life" He says before walking off.

He stops in his tracks as he makes eye contact with you, both Daniel and Johnny stop their staring contest with each other and turn towards you, just now noticing your presence. "Y/n? What the hell are you doing here?!" Daniel yells from afar.

"I came to pick up my boyfriend" You say as if it was a stupid question to ask. You see Robby let out a small side smile as you make eye contact with him once again, you smile and nod your head to your car. "You coming?" You question, a small smile placed on your face.

Robby nods his head as he walks over to the passengers side and takes his seat, you doing the same in the drivers side. You pass by Johnny and Daniel, both of them looking baffled. Daniel had a look of defeat and annoyance on his face, while Johnny’s face held a grin. He always liked you, despite your dads and his rivalry.

You make it down the road before looking over at Robby, "Thanks for coming Y/n..." He says as he sinks back in his seat.

"Of course babe, I wasn't gonna miss coming to get you" You smile, turning on a green light.

You look over for just a split second to catch Robby's side smile, "you hungry?" You question, looking back at him on a red light. "I could eat" He replies before resting his arm against the door, looking out the window.

You decided not to rush him into talking. You didn't want to overwhelm him, especially after what just happened moments before. Instead, you drove to In-n-Out.

You decided to drive to Miyagi Do, you knew nobody would be there at this time of day and you wanted a place to eat and talk alone with Robby. You parked your car horizontal to the dojo. You handed Robby his food and ate in silence for the first few minutes.

After Robby finished his food you decided to wrap the rest of yours up and put it back in the paper bag. You could feel Robby practically staring daggers into your head.

"Why did you come?" He finally spoke up.

You look up at him confused by his question, "what do you mean Robby?" You asked, furrowing your brows.

"That day, with Bobby. Why did you come?" He clarifies.

"Because I love you Robby" You state, staring into his eyes that are scrunched up in confusion.

"Did you not want me to come...?" You couldn't help but ask.

"It's not that, I just... no one's ever showed up for me like that and I just wanted to know why.... especially after what I did" Robby says, breaking eye contact to look at the floorboard.

"Robby... what happened was horrible, but I'm always going to be in your corner. I'm always going to be there for you" You say, as Robby feels his heart skip a beat.

He finally manages to look you back in your eyes and when you get to see his face, his eyes are filled with tears that won't stop rushing down. The small bags under his eyes are slightly red, as he finally reveals his vulnerable self to you.

"I need you Y/n" He cries, and you take that as your sign to unbuckle your seat and place yourself in Robby's lap.

His hands hold onto your waist for dear life as he looks up, and into your eyes. You place your right hand against his face, rubbing your thumb back and forth on his soft skin.

Your legs wrap firmly around Robby's waist as you place your lips on his. His lips fight with yours as his tears fall against both of your lips, it becomes messy and filled with love.

Robby pulls away to lean his forehead against yours, both his hands now holding onto the sides of your face only for his lips to be back on yours "I love you" he mumbles against your lips.

"I love you Robby" Your voice comes out as a whisper against his lips.

You pull away from his lips, your eyes gazing over every inch of his face, Robby's eyes are still closed as another tear rolls down his face. You take that as your sign to tightly embrace him in a hug.

His arms wrap firmly around your waist, hands resting on your back as he lets his head fall onto your shoulder, his body starts shaking as he starts crying harder, holding onto you for dear life.

  You stay like that for a while, until his breathing calms down and his tears fade away. Still on his lap, you pull away from the hug while his hands drop down to your waist.

  Robby's glossy eyes meet yours "I have something for you" You say before lightly placing your lips on his for a brief moment before getting off his lap and returning back to the drivers seat.

  You don't give him a chance to speak before you're already driving away from Miyagi Do. A little while later you pull up to his old apartment building.

  Robby looks at the building and back to you with a confused look on his face as you park the car. "Come on, it's just in here" You give him a small, innocent smile.

  You both get out the car, grabbing Robby's hand you walk into the complex and in the elevator to his apartment door. You grab the keys out of your back pocket and unlock the door, letting Robby in first.

  "Y/n what is this?" Robby questions looking around the apartment, as he noticed how clean and kept up it looked.

  "Well... while you were in juvie I decided to fix it up for you, I got permission from your mom and everything's taken care of, the fridge is full of food and the rents payed off for a while, so you don't have to worry about anything" You explain while you close the apartment door. You knew your dad, Daniel, would have some words to say about it, but you didn’t care, Robby needed someone, he needed you.

  Robby takes in every detail of the apartment until you're his main focus, your nerves start to take over as he walks up to you. He brings his hand to your cheek, his thumb moves back and forth in slow motions. His eyes move back and forth to yours and your lips.

  He's lost for words, but he manages to speak "you didn't have to do this, I could've figured something out on my own..." Robby says. Every part of him wanted to reject the offer, fearing it was out of pity but he knew by the sweetness in your voice that you truly just wanted to be there for him. Help him.

  "I know, but now you don't have to worry about that" You give him a small smile as you speak.

You don't give him the chance to say anything before you speak again "I want to help you Robby, not because of pity or feeling like I have too, but because I love you an-" Your sentence is cut off by Robby's lips on yours.

Both of his hands are now grasping your face, his lips move against yours with so much love and compassion as he pushes you up against the door. Your right hand goes to his shoulder as your left hand rests on his jaw.

You both make out for a while, it wasn’t any regular heated make out. No…. It was filled with love, warmth, and desperation. This was Robby’s way of saying thank you. You didn’t know what would happen in the future, or where this teenage love would lead you both, but you were more than willing to love him with every fiber in your body.

You were willing to be there for him.

[thewritingrowlet]

The Road Back to You, ft. tripleS Lee Jiwoo

tags: creampie, (light) daddy kink, rekindled love

length: almost 6k words

author's note: well, here it is: one of the fics that was stuck in the WIP dungeon—have at it, you.

-

“The Cavendish Group says—oh my God, who is it?”

You look at your buzzing phone; Jiwoo’s mother is calling you. You take a few deep breaths to clear your mind before picking up the call.

“Good afternoon, this is Shin Hyunwoo,” you greet her.

“Hi, son—have you been well?”

“Yes, I have, madam. Is there anything I can help you with?”

The woman on the other side pauses for what feels like an eternity.

“It’s about Jiwoo,” she pauses again, “she’s… been quite ill for the past two weeks, and I thought maybe you should pay her a visit.”

Your heart races: you haven’t talked to Jiwoo for almost a year now ever since she walked out your door that one night, and the prospect of seeing the cause of your heartbreak is rather… unsettling.

“I know you’re busy, but if you have time, please consider visiting her.” You can hear the sincerity in her voice, and it’s getting difficult to say no. Your gaze is locked on the large monitor in front of you as you thoughtfully consider her mother’s words. Eventually, with a heavy sigh, you agree to see Jiwoo at her place.

“I’ll tell her you’ll be coming after you get off work.” You can hear the joy in her voice, and it’s getting difficult to calm your racing heart. Your gaze shifts to the window next to you, and reflected on its surface is your smiling face. Eventually, with a chuckle, you admit to yourself that you are indeed excited to see Jiwoo at her place.

-

You take exactly 6 deep breaths before knocking on Jiwoo’s apartment door. Initially, no answer is heard from the other side, but as you prepare to knock again, the door suddenly shifts.

“O-oppa, you’re… actually here…”

You offer her a tentative smile, unable to tell whether she’s excited to see you or not.

“Yes, I am—erm, your mother asked if I could visit you, so…” You trail off, hoping that Jiwoo will catch on. A smile of similar nature stretches over her face. “Please get inside, oppa.”

Jiwoo invites you to sit on the sofa with her, and after you’re seated, she asks for permission to rest her head on your shoulder for “old times sake.” With a smile on her face, you grant her that permission. “Thank you,” she mutters softly as she leans against you. Your eyebrows furrow when you feel her hot temple on your skin. “You’re that sick, baby?” Jiwoo pretends to have missed the endearment, biting her lower lip to stop herself from blushing. “Yes, oppa; it’s been pretty bad.”

You offer Jiwoo to rest her head on your thighs, and without saying a word, she takes you up on it. Not only that, but she also guides your hand towards her forehead. “Hm, hot,” you blurt. She nods slightly. “My head hurts too,” she complains, sighing deeply at the end. You bite your tongue slightly as you think whether you want to ask her this question in your head. “Ah, screw it.” The suddenness confuses Jiwoo. “Screw what, oppa?”

“Can I take you to the bedroom, baby?”

Jiwoo’s blinks rapidly; she hasn’t heard you say such a sentence in a long while, and now, merely minutes after your return, she hears it again, thus causing her cheeks to turn pink.

“Y-yes, oppa; p-please take me to the bedroom.”

Jiwoo nuzzles her face in the crook of your neck as you’re lifting her bridal-style to her room. “Mm, you still smell the same,” she comments. You chuckle a little. “I just keep buying the same perfume and cologne,” you say. She nods against your skin. “Don’t ever change them, please; I love the smell of you, oppa.” Your eyebrows rise; does Jiwoo realize she’s saying all this like she was still your girlfriend?

“Ah, whatever—not the time to think about it.”

You carefully lower Jiwoo onto her bed, and that is when she tightens her arms around your neck. “Don’t leave me—please, not again,” she begs. You sigh deeply. “What do you mean not again, Jiwoo-yah?” She looks at you in the eyes. “You know what I mean, oppa, so please don’t leave me, not when I need you most.” You sigh again. “You were the one who broke us up, sweetheart; I was just respecting your decision.”

Tears prick at the corners of her eyes as she feels the weight of regret of the decision that led to her stepping out of your door and, in turn, your life. “I-I was… reckless, to say the least—I-I’ve now realized that I can’t leave without you.” You stay silent, indirectly asking her to keep talking. “I’m so, so sorry for leaving you, oppa,” her eyes are shiny with unshed tears, “I should’ve been more patient, more understanding…”

It warms your heart that Jiwoo understands the significance of her decision to leave the relationship and is welcoming about your return. Before guilt overwhelms her, you throw her a lifebuoy in the form of a soothing touch of hand to her forehead. “Sweetheart, I think we’ve both learned our lessons—for now, let’s just focus on recovering.” She smiles slightly. “Please join me in bed, oppa.”

You slide onto the bed as she asks, spooning her from behind just like how you used to. “This is… so nice,” she sighs, seemingly in relief, “thank you for making time for me, oppa; I know you’re busy and all that.” You give her a soft peck to the back of her head. “You have a special place in my heart and mind, Jiwoo-yah—not to mention that your mom was quite good at persuasion.” Jiwoo giggles. “A chip of the old block, or something like that.”

-

Time ticks by as you spend a few hours spooning the sick woman, and now that your eyes are open again, you see that it’s quite dark outside the window.

“Jiwoo-yah,” you whisper softly, “I think we should find something to eat.” Jiwoo stretches languidly as she gets herself together. “What time is it?” You look at your watch. “Almost 9 p.m.” She exhales deeply. “Can we have food sent here, because I don’t feel like going out.” You ask what she wants to have. “Anything that’s warm like you.” Your heart jumps. “Warm like me, you say?” She nods with a smile. “Warm like you, oppa—that’s what I need right now.”

You quickly order some noodle soup for both of you. “Food will be here in around 20 minutes, sweetie, so please hang on.” Jiwoo places a hand on yours. “Thank you, oppa; I appreciate it.” Once again, you give her a peck to the back of her head. “The pleasure is mine, sweetie—thank you for welcoming me again.” She sighs deeply. “Can’t we just pretend like we never broke up?” Well, isn’t that a good question. “I don’t know, honestly. I mean we haven’t seen each other for almost a year.”

You spend the time cuddling the sick woman whose (literal) hotness gradually becoming a source of concern. Thankfully, however, you’ve received notification that the food has been delivered to her door, which means that she’ll soon be able to take her medicines and get some rest.

Jiwoo reluctantly lets you go from the embrace. “Come back quickly, oppa,” she begs, her voice barely above a whisper. You give her a nod before stepping out of the bedroom to get the food from the door. You prepare the noodle soup for her, opening the bowl-like container and putting a spoon in it.

You help Jiwoo sit and lean against the headboard to support her weak frame. “May I feed you?” She nods with a faint pink on her cheeks. You take a spoonful of only the soup for her to taste. “Is that good?” Jiwoo sighs. “Not as good as expected, but that’s probably because I’m ill.”

You tend to Jiwoo with utmost patient, feeding her carefully until she finishes her food—or not; she’s weakly pushing your hand away from her lips. “That’s enough food,” she says. It’s unfortunate that she’s calling it quit now that there’s only two spoonsful of noodle soup left. “Baby, finish it, please?” She turns her face away from you, signaling that she really doesn’t want it. “Okay, if you say so.”

You place the unfinished food on the bedside table and ask where her medicines are. “I don’t want them too.” You sigh. “Baby, please, I just want to help.” Realizing that she can’t counter-argue, Jiwoo points at the drawer of the bedside table. When you open it, you notice that she has only taken her medications twice. “You’ve been skipping your meds, baby?” Jiwoo doesn’t answer your question, and that is when you sigh for the nth time.

You carefully turn her face towards you. “Baby, what’s happening right now—you’ve been ill for almost two weeks, but you haven’t been taking your medicines.” A tear flows out onto her cheek. “I-I’m sorry, b-but I just… I haven’t been feeling so well recently, if you know what I’m saying.” You hesitantly reach to pet her head. “Will you please cooperate for now? I’ll walk out of your life again when you’ve gotten better.”

Jiwoo breaks down into tears. “A-are you listening to yourself, oppa? Y-you’re saying that you’ll leave me again—are you fucking serious?” You wipe her tears with your thumb. “Baby, that’s not what I was trying to say; I’m just saying that I need you to work with me so that you can fully recover.” She closes her eyes tightly before looking back at you. “A-alright, I-I’ll… I’ll cooperate—j-just promise that you won’t leave me after this.” You offer her some assurance that you’ll stay, and that is when Jiwoo signals that she’s willing to take her medicines.

You prepare her capsules and pills along with a glass of water. “Ready when you are, baby.” Jiwoo takes the medicines from your hands and quickly swallows them. “Are you happy now?” You shake your head. “I won’t be happy until you’re healthy again.” She chuckles. “Hard to please, as always,” she snarks. A flicker of hurt crosses your features, but you quickly shake it off; right now, Jiwoo’s health is more important than your feelings.

Jiwoo moves to lie down, facing away from you dismissingly. “I’ll be at the living room if you need me,” you say. You give her some soft pats on the thigh as you make to leave to give her space to rest. You stop at the door, hoping that she’ll call you to cuddle her to sleep, but it doesn’t look like she wants it. “Yeah, okay,” you mutter as you close the door behind you.

You take a few deep breaths after sinking your butt into the fluffy cushions of the sofa. “Jiwoo has taken her meds and is sleeping right now,” you send a text to her mother, notifying her of Jiwoo’s current condition. “Thank you, son,” she replies soon after, and with it, you close your eyes to get a taste of peace.

Just minutes into your slumber, you feel someone wrapping their arms around you from behind while placing their chin on the top of your head. “Hm? Are you okay, sweetie?” “No,” she answers weakly. “Cuddle, please?” You collect yourself and stand up from the sofa. “I’m sorry, I just thought maybe you needed some space.” Jiwoo bites her lip in uncertainty. “I thought so too, but I think it’d be better if you’re with me.”

You follow her back to the bedroom, lying down square on your back while Jiwoo puts her head on your chest. “I’m sorry for being difficult, oppa; you’re here to help, but I’m not playing along.” You pet her head softly while offering some assurance, denying her attempt at guilt-tripping herself. “I wish… we hadn’t broken up…” she trails off as she drifts to sleep.

-

-

Subtle taps on your stomach stir you awake, and through your half-open eyes, you see Jiwoo sitting in bed next to you with a bottle (that’s more akin to a jerrycan) in her hands. “Can I help you?” She nods as she brings the bottle closer to you. “Can you, erm, get me some water, please?” You rub your eyes to wake up and take the bottle from her. “Sure, baby.”

You arrive at the kitchen where the dispenser is—wait, what is that hanging on the fridge?

You free the folded paper from the magnet and read the content, noticing the frequent strikethroughs right away.

“Dear ex-boyfriend,” the letter starts. "Thank you for making the time to come here and take care of me. It means a lot to me that you still care about me, and I don’t want to sound too hopeful, but I wish we can start over from square one.”

“So, can we start again?” Her voice makes you jump. “Answer me, oppa; can we start again? Will you give me another chance?" You turn to her with a sigh. “Let’s… focus on getting better for now.” Your indecisive answer disappoints Jiwoo, her eyes shining with unshed tears of unspoken dismay. “Sure, if you say so…” she trails off as she enters the bedroom again with slouched shoulders.

When you return to the bedroom, you find her curled up in bed, hugging her knees. “Jiwoo-yah, your water,” you say, hoping that she’ll get out of that position. “I’m not thirsty,” she replies, her voice barely audible. You set the filled bottle on the bedside table. “Well, it’s here if you need it.”

Your hand lingered on the bottle just a second too long, and Jiwoo is quick to find your wrist, gripping it weakly. “Stay,” she begs, “I don’t want to be alone again.” It’s disheartening to see the usually cheerful girl like this. “Alright, I’ll be in bed with you.”

Jiwoo tangles her long limbs around your body to keep you close. Not only that, but she also puts her head on your chest. “Your heart is racing,” she comments. You chuckle. “So is my mind.” She looks up at you with hopeful eyes. “I hope you’re thinking about getting back together.” You exhale deeply. “Well, I am, actually.” Jiwoo is getting excited. “So?” You take a deep breath before replying.

“Well, I think… I think I’m falling for you again.”

Jiwoo gathers her strength and moves to straddle your lap, a mysterious grin spreading across her features. “Why are you looking at me like that, baby?” She chuckles. “I want to make love to celebrate getting back together.” Blood rushes towards your cock at her words, but you don’t give into lust as you would’ve in the past. “Baby, you’re still sick—weren’t you complaining about a headache earlier?” She shrugs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she deflects.

Jiwoo’s grin falters when she gets the signal from your stern expression. “Ah, well, I suppose I should get better first.” She then proceeds to let her torso rest on yours. “Thank you, oppa,” she mutters. You press your lips against her temple. “We will have time for celebrations, baby—not now, though.”

-

When you wake up the following morning, Jiwoo’s limbs are still entangled with yours as she sleeps oh-so-peacefully with her mouth slightly open. You carefully free yourself from the embrace, not wanting to disturb her slumber any further, but despite that, Jiwoo wakes up.

“Going somewhere?” she asks, her voice hoarse. “I have to go to work; we’re trying to strike a deal with Covington.” Jiwoo furrows her eyebrows. “Covington? The same Covington from years ago?” You nod. “The one and only.” Jiwoo offers you a supportive smile. “Go get them, then, tiger—make yourself rich.” You chuckle. “Thanks, baby.”

Jiwoo’s smile begins to disappear as she watches you put on your jacket and walk out of the bedroom. “I miss you already, oppa,” she mutters, too quiet to reach your ears. She sighs deeply when she hears your car driving away. “See you later, I guess.”

Jiwoo spends some more time rolling around in bed, and at one point, she wonders if she could pretend like her illness is coming back just so she would have a chance to call you back home. As she scrolls down on her contact list, however, she decides against it; Jiwoo remembers that you’re trying to strike a deal with Covington.

The unhappy-but-understanding Jiwoo eventually gathers her will to leave the bed, stretching around and yawning as she gets herself together. She walks over to the mirror to take a look at herself; her hair is a mess, her lips are anything but red in color, and her eyes are, well, red.

“Whatever”, she shrugs, “still good enough for him.”

Jiwoo proceeds to make her way to the bathroom for a quick soap-less shower before heading towards the living room to entertain herself while you’re away doing God-knows-what. She picks up her handheld console to play the new game she bought some days ago, but she puts it down after a few minutes of gameplay; the bright and flashing lights are proving to be difficult to bear in sickness.

Jiwoo lies flat on the sofa, her mind wandering beyond the walls of her apartment. “What are you doing, oppa, and when are you coming back,” she wonders. A ding from the door makes her jump; could it be you coming back early to surprise her?

Jiwoo rushes to look through the peeping hole in the door, and excitement instantly goes away because it’s not you who’s at the door, but rather a food delivery guy. She puts on a face that screams “I’m sick” and opens the door to accept the food. “A delivery for Mrs. Shin,” the guy says as he brings the bag closer to her. Jiwoo blushes at the reference, but before her mind scrambles even further, she quickly grabs the bag from him. “H-has m-my husband tipped you?” The guy nods with a smile on his face. “Your husband was very generous with the tip, actually.” Jiwoo smiles in pride. “That’s… how he usually is.”

Jiwoo quickly sends the delivery guy on his way, closing and locking the door behind her before high stepping towards the sofa while giggling, the discomfort of illness forgotten for a moment. She pulls out the contents of the bag, which turns out to be a large box of pizza and a side of snacks from a place named Primo, her old favorite.

Jiwoo’s forehead furrows when she notices a folded piece of paper stuck on the cover of the pizza box. “What is this,” she wonders as she unfolds it.

“Hi, baby,

I’m sorry for leaving you alone this morning, but I promise I will come back as soon as possible. That is, if you’d let me come back.

Meanwhile, please enjoy the pizza and garlic bread. I asked for extra tartar sauce because I know how much you like Primo’s tartar. By the way, feel free to finish it all.”

With a smile on her face, Jiwoo presses the letter against her chest, both touched and entertained by the gesture. “Come back to me soon, oppa; I can’t stand being away from you for too long.” She puts down the letter on the table and shifts her attention to the 8 slices of delight and deliciousness in front of her.

One slice after another enters her mouth and towards her belly, and before she knows it, there’s only one slice of pizza left while the box of garlic bread hasn’t been touched at all. “I’m keeping you for later,” she says.

-

Another ding is heard from the door, and this time, she’s certain that it’s you instead of another delivery guy, considering the current time.

Jiwoo squeals when she sees you through the peephole, and in a moment of excitement, she happens to incorrectly enter the code of the door. “Oh, are you serious right now, Lee Jiwoo,” she’s annoyed at herself, “come on, come on—there we go.”

Jiwoo greets you with arms wide open, no longer showing signs of weakness from the illness, and you’re quick to fill the space in her embrace. “Oppa, welcome home!” You give her a peck to the temple. “Thank you for welcoming me back.” She returns the peck, but it lands on your lips instead. “You’re always welcome here—after all, we’re getting back together.”

Jiwoo pulls away from the embrace momentarily and looks at you in the eyes. “Wait, we’re getting back together, right?” You chuckle. “Only if you want to; I won’t force you into giving me another chance.” She takes the turn to chuckle. “You don’t have to force me; I’m already falling for you for the second time.”

Jiwoo drags you towards the sofa, the box of reheated garlic bread waiting on a table in front of it. “I finished the pizza right away, oppa, but I saved this for you.” Her cute joyfulness makes it irresistible to not smile. “Thanks, but can I ask you something first, baby?” She nods. “Ask away, oppa.”

“You didn’t forget your meds, did you?”

Jiwoo’s gaze strays away from yours at the realization that she forgot to take her medicine twice today. “I-I forgot, oppa…” she trails off, no longer as joyful as earlier. “You forgot, huh?” She gulps to swallow the anxiety that’s stuck in her throat. “Y-yes, oppa; I-I forgot, a-and I’m sorry.”

You get on your knees in front of her. “What could you possibly have been doing that made you forget about your meds, hm?” Jiwoo’s chin gets stuck to her chest as tears begin spilling out. “O-oppa, p-please don’t get angry.” You sigh. “I’m not angry, sweetheart—I’m a bit disappointed, though.”

You ignore Jiwoo’s sobs momentarily to get the bag of medicine from the bedroom, and with it in hand, you kneel in front of her again. “Take them, please,” you say, placing the bag on her thighs. She holds the bag tightly, still unable to calm herself down from getting the brunt of your stern attitude.

You carefully reach for her cheeks, wiping her tears with your thumbs. “Baby, you know I mean well, right? I just want to help you recover as quickly as possible.” Jiwoo sniffles. “B-but you’re still as s-scary as you used to be, oppa.” You sigh again, and you can feel anger dissipating from your mind. “I’m sorry, baby; I didn’t mean it like that.” Jiwoo suddenly hugs you tightly. “Leave your businessman charade at the door; I-I need my boyfriend right now,” she begs. You nod. “Of course, baby.”

You lift Jiwoo on one shoulder—while your free hand grabs the box of garlic bread—and carry her towards the bedroom. You then lower her onto the bed, positioning her to sit right on the edge of it. “Can I entertain you with some garlic bread, baby?” She nods feebly. You guide a piece of bread towards her lips while using your other hand to pet her head tenderly, and Jiwoo rests her head against your shoulder as she munches.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart; I didn’t mean to scare you like that.” Jiwoo hums. “I know you meant well, but there’s something about that stern look of yours that always scares me shitless.” You chuckle a bit. “Yeah, anyway,” you stand up and hand her the bag of medicine, “I want to see you take these meds right now.” Jiwoo does as you demand and takes her pills together with one swig of water from the glass you’ve provided. “Satisfied, my lord?” You scoff. “Yes, I am.”

“Now,” Jiwoo’s voice drops to a sultry tone, “don’t you think I deserve a reward for being such a good girl?” You exhale deeply. “A reward, you say—what kind of reward are you seeking, my sweet?” Jiwoo palms your crotch with one hand. “One that will make me scream until I lose my voice.” She smirks when she notices the way you’re getting hard under her touch.

“Please, daddy.”

Jiwoo beams when your suit jacket falls off your shoulders, going as far as biting her lip—quite sexy, admittedly. She follows your hands as they undo the buttons of your shirt from the top. She halts your movements when your fingers land on your belt. “That’s mine, daddy.” She unlatches your belt and swiftly zip down your trousers.

“Daddy,” she looks up at you with big eyes, “may I…?” Your permission comes in the form of a wordless nod, and that is when Jiwoo yanks your boxers downwards. Her jaw drops when your sizeable and hard cock is laid bare right before her eyes. “I’ve missed you, daddy.” You scoff. “Me or my dick?” Still enamored with your cock, Jiwoo answers, “Yes.”

You gently push Jiwoo backwards, thus making her land on her back on the soft mattress. Jiwoo invites you to touch her further by parting her legs as wide as she can, and you take this most welcome opportunity by placing a finger on her nub. “Oh, fuck.” Jiwoo arches her back at the first contact. “More, please,” she begs. You continue your teasing ministrations for some time, making Jiwoo’s moans become louder.

“Oh, I’m so close, daddy—God, how am I so close already?” With a smirk on your face, you remove your finger from her nub. Jiwoo screams in agony as orgasm eludes her. “No, no, no, please,” she begs tearily, “w-why did you do that, daddy? H-how could you be so mean to me?” You chuckle. “I’m the mean one? Remind me, who decided to break us up?” Jiwoo slams her head onto the pillow in frustration. “I-it was me, daddy; I-I was so selfish and immature.”

Jiwoo moves to sit and guides your hand towards her cheek. “If you want to slap me, oppa, then slap me.” She tenses as you lift your hand, seemingly to prepare to slap her, but she quickly relaxes again when your touch is a soft one. “You know I would never harm you like that.”

Jiwoo rubs against your hand like a cat. “That doesn’t change the fact that it hurt so bad, though,” you say. She nods. “I understand—hell, I still ask myself as to why I decided to leave.” You smile a little, hiding the pain behind a simple charade. “Well, you said you were looking for something I didn’t have.” Jiwoo looks up at you with shiny eyes. “I’ve learned that the safety and comfort you provided were second to none—you were the right person who came at the wrong time.”

For some reason, her declaration sends shiver down your spine; you swear you’ve heard this somewhere before.

“So, what convinced you to take another chance to be with me, baby?” A tear escapes Jiwoo’s eyes. “I long for the warmth and love that only you can provide, my love,” she answers, her voice thick with emotions. “And I just—”

Before she can finish, you crash your lips into hers, thus interrupting her speech. “I love you, Lee Jiwoo; I love you so, so much.” Jiwoo nods as more tears come out of her eyes. “I-I love you too—t-thank you for giving me another chance.”

Jiwoo suddenly pulls you onto the bed with her. “Hold me close, oppa,” she begs, and you comply right away. She lets out whimpers into your chest, showing vulnerability like she would in the past.

“I don’t know if this will help make you feel better, but I never saw anyone when you were away from me,” you confess. Jiwoo looks up at you. “R-really? Y-you kept yourself, erm, clean?” You nod at her question, and that is when she hugs you more tightly than earlier. “You knew we’d get back together, didn’t you, oppa?” You give her a peck on the top of her head. “I guess I did.”

After crying to her heart’s content, Jiwoo pulls away from your embrace. “Now, where were we before you made me cry, oppa?” You chuckle. “Well, I denied your orgasm,” you say. Jiwoo reaches for your arm, grazing it with the tip of her fingers. “Would you be so kind as to let me have an orgasm, daddy?”

“Only if you’ll ride me.”

Jiwoo agrees to your term, straddling your lap without being told twice. “You know, daddy,” she licks her bottom lip, “I didn’t see anyone when you were away from me either.” She bends down until her mouth is next to your ear. “It will feel like you’re popping my cherry again, daddy.”

Your grip on her hips fastens at the prospect of feeling her tight walls around your cock. “Excited, aren’t you, daddy? I know I am—after all, I haven’t felt your glorious cock in so long.” You pinch her waist. “Just get on with it already, hm?” Jiwoo chuckles. “What daddy wants, daddy gets.”

Jiwoo guides you towards her entrance and slowly impales herself on your shaft. “Oh, fuck, I feel like a virgin again.” She moves her hips up and down along your length at a relaxed pace, taking her time to get reintroduced to your size. “Fuck, daddy,” she moans, “fuck, you’re… stronger than before.” You groan heavily at the feeling of being gripped by her tight walls. “And you’re… tighter than before.” Jiwoo’s aroused face is decorated with a satisfied grin. “All for you, daddy.”

After getting used to your shaft, Jiwoo picks up the pace, and it’s getting harder to ignore her cute, bouncing tits. You pull her closer towards you so your lips can reach them. Jiwoo gasps loudly when you nibble her nipple. “Oh, yes, daddy; suck it, nibble it, bite it—do anything you want, daddy.” With her urge in the back of your mind, you increase the stimulation on her tits; you take turns putting each nipple in your mouth to make sure one doesn’t get jealous of the other.

While you’re busy playing with her tits, Jiwoo is busy riding your shaft while moaning loudly. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—oh, I’m so close already,” she announces. With an ear-piercing scream (that you’re certain can be heard by her neighbors), Jiwoo comes undone on your lap. In her weak state, she crashes into you, panting so heavily because of the intensity of her orgasm. “I… I’ve missed you, daddy—I’ve missed us.” You grit your teeth as her silky walls spasm wildly around your shaft, as if trying to make you blow inside her. “I-I’ve missed you too, baby,” you reply amidst the heavy pants.

After getting down from the high of orgasm, Jiwoo pulls away slightly; her hair is a mess, her eyes are shiny, but her smile is sweet and soft as always. “Oppa, I want…” she trails off as she tries to string together some words. Your eyebrows rise, urging her to continue. “I don’t know,” she sighs, “I just… I want to be tied to you, if that makes sense.” You think about the meaning of her words. “You want something more serious, baby?” She nods, and your brain comes up with an idea.

“Well, in that case, will you marry me, Lee Jiwoo?”

Your sudden question has her in tears.

“Yes, oppa—a million times yes!” She crashes into you for a tight hug. “I will marry you in this life, the next, and the one after that.” Her answer is as good as you hope, making you shed tears of your own. “I will truly be yours, oppa; your queen, your friend, your everything.” You nod, your cheek rubbing against hers. “Thank you, my love—thank you so, so much.” Your embrace grows tighter as you bask in emotions. “Thank you to you too, oppa,” she replies.

Now that the tears are starting to dry up, Jiwoo rises from your lap, thus letting your still-hard cock slip out. She lies square on her back next to you. “Come on, my king; make love to your queen.” You waste no time to take your rightful place between her spread legs. “Can I—” “Yes,” she interjects. “Come inside, my love; fill me with your essence and make me bear your child.” You chuckle. “Alright, let’s not get ahead of ourselves now, sweetheart.”

Jiwoo was about to say something else, but before the first syllable could leave her lips, your cock invades her lower ones. “Oh, yes, just like that,” she moans out, “make love to me just like that, my lovely king.” You move your hips at an unhurried pace, savoring the sensation of her tightness. “Oh, God, how are you this tight, baby,” you wonder out loud. She chuckles lightly with a blush on her face. “That’s just how much I love you, oppa.”

Jiwoo closes her eyes as the calm lovemaking progresses, finding it more intimate and enjoyable than kinky or rough sex. Quiet hums of approval also leave her lips occasionally amidst the soft moans. “Mm, yes, my love,” she mutters. “But a bit faster, if you don’t mind?” You smile. “Of course, baby.” You turn up the speed of your movements a few notches, thus earning a smile from Jiwoo. “Yes, that’s perfect, love—now, let’s run to the gates of orgasm together.”

Jiwoo’s sexy moans serve as fuel for you in this final stretch of the sprint towards completion, and the signs of orgasm are getting more apparent; you’re starting to throb inside her. “Fill me, my love.” With her permission in the back of your head, you lodge yourself inside her entirely and just… let go.

In your post-orgasm bliss, you fall limply onto Jiwoo, who is also as weak. “Thank you,” you whisper. A soft peck lands on your cheek. “Thank you, oppa,” she returns the gratitude. “It’s now clear to me that I can’t live without you—I mean, no one can understand me like you do.” You hum. “Promise me that you won’t get bored of me again.” Jiwoo sighs. “Saying it was a huge mistake anyway,” she adds.

-

“It is with utmost joy that I introduce to you, Mr. and Mrs. Shin. May their love grow stronger with each passing day.”

The hall that is filled with family members and closest friends explodes into deafening cheers, as those present are as happy as you and Jiwoo are for the new status.

You and her turn towards the crowd, waving at them, and you happen to spot your brother and his wife giving you four thumbs-ups. You put your hand on your chest to express gratitude to them for their wonderful, restless support for the past few months during the preparation of the wedding.

Jiwoo steals your attention by turning your face towards hers. “I love you, my boring husband.” Her words make you burst out laughing. “Boring means safe, yes?” She nods with an eye smile on her face. “Yes, I feel safe with you,” she says. You quickly capture her lips with yours.

“I feel safe with you too, baby, and I love you more.”

[jschlautism]

i just called to say i love you

"…To say that the events of tonight were unexpected would be an understatement, and a large one at that."

notes: first oneshot & fic i've written in a while.. i didn't really proofread it all that much so forgive me if it's a bit messy. also, the reader is intended to be a content creator but i wasn't quite sure how to flesh that out + schlatt is older than the reader. this has like 1,028 words & is gender neutral

As you were getting ready for bed, having just hopped out of the shower, your phone had begun to ring. You honestly had no idea why you had brought it into the bathroom with you in the first place, you hadn’t been expecting anyone to reach out during your nightly routine. Letting a drawn out sigh slip from your lips, you wrap your towel around you and pick up the phone, checking to see who was calling. To your further surprise, it was John.. Or, Schlatt, as everyone knew him. You’d known him for a little while now, and you two had gotten quite close, but he rarely ever contacted you in any way other than messaging… Admittedly, you were concerned at the fact he had decided not to just text.

“John? Why are you calling me at this hour, did something happen?” You ask with worry lacing your words as they escape your mouth. Unsurprisingly, John snaps back with his usual snarky attitude. You knew he wasn’t really like that, he just liked to try and seem intimidating.

“What? Pff, no. Nothing happened, I just wanted to see if you were awake. Got somethin’ to say to ya.” You could practically hear the rolling of his eyes over the phone. You decide the best thing to do in this situation is to try and match his energy as if you two were recording a video. After all, he might actually be calling you for the purposes of a video, he has done that in the past, so you really can’t be sure.

“What, you gonna ask me your dumb bacon question again?” You shoot back at him, a playful tone dripping from your voice, a tone that you hope translates well over the phone. “Because we’ve already established that I’m taking the bacon.” You’d barely given him a chance to even answer your rebuttal before you had spoken again, but after you were done, you could hear him sigh. “No, that’s… Hey, wait, why are you in content mode now?” John seemed a bit confused now, clearly not realizing you assumed he was calling you for a video. You were both quiet for a moment or two, though it wasn’t really an uncomfortable silence. 

Eventually, you decide to speak up. “Hold on, were you not calling me for something related to your channel?” After you finished your sentence, you heard him let out a laugh from the other end of the line. In your defense, though, you genuinely couldn’t tell when the older man wanted to have a genuine conversation, since almost every time you two had spoken, he was usually in content mode himself. “Ha! No! I wanna talk to ya about somethin’, honest!” He forced his words through his laughter. “Seriously though, and this might be a bit.. odd, comin’ from me, but I just gotta tell you, I don’t know how much longer I can keep up the act.” 

You raise a brow at this, though he can’t see it. Keep up the act? What was this about? “..What do you mean by that, J? You’re okay, right?” The worry returned to your words, betraying you as you tried to keep yourself in check. Picking up on this, John was quick to respond. “Yeah, yeah! I’m fine, just…” He sighs heavily. You’re sure he’s running his hand through that slightly curly hair of his. “Look, man, the more we hang out the more I realize that I… think I like you? Maybe?” You can hear him let out a groan, almost as if he’s embarrassed. You let out a soft chuckle and shake your head. “Seriously? That’s all this was about? You’re such a dork.” You respond with nothing but playful intent. In response to that, he huffs. “I’m not a dork, I’m… Okay, maybe I am a dork, but that’s besides the point. I think I like you and I was wondering if you felt the same..?” John got quieter as he spoke as he let his guard down and dropped the persona as a result of that.

Thinking about it, you had honestly had quite the crush on the older content creator for a good bit now. Not wanting the air to stay still for too long, you respond. “What if I do? Are you going to take me out to dinner first or what?” You laugh softly as you hear John practically choke on whatever he was drinking at your response, like he hadn’t been expecting you to even consider him at all. After recovering from his shock, he speaks up, quiet as ever. “I mean… uh.. I could? If you’d… actually want that, anyways.”

A smile creeps onto your face. How could such a big guy be so shy? You didn’t get it, but you did like it. “Of course I would, J.. I’m free whenever.” You then realize you’re still standing in the bathroom with nothing but a towel. “..Except for tonight. You caught me in the middle of my bedtime routine.” Like clockwork, John turns on his ‘charm’, as he calls it, which is really just the persona he uses. “Oh please, you would come outside and meet me at the flip of a dime, let’s be real here, toots.” You can hear him grin. This whole conversation suddenly feels like one of his Youtube ad reads. “No I wouldn’t, nice try. I’m freshly clean and about to get in bed.”

John looks at the clock on his computer. He realizes it is, in fact, late at night. “Tomorrow night, then?” He mumbles, somewhat defeated. He had really wanted to take you out to eat right then and there. He could only hope that tomorrow worked for you. Thankfully, his wish was granted as you responded to him. “Sure, just let me know when you’re on your way to get me?” He smiles to himself. “Yeah, sure thing.”

You two said goodnight and got off the phone. You let out a soft, content sigh as you set your phone down on the sink counter and get yourself dressed. You realized this could be the start of something great.

[suzukiblu]

Day twenty-nine of “obligatory sugar baby Kon” behind the cut. prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“The mahjong tiles are new,” Cissie observes, watching Tim just a shade too sharply. He internally hopes the others get here soon. He and Cissie arrived about the same time, and when she texted Bart to remind him they were all meeting up he showed up five seconds later, and Suzie was excited to see them but almost immediately ran off to get something. And Cassie and Kon had both said they’d be late–Cassie’s mom made her stay home for dinner, and Kon had just said something about something called “the Evil Factory” and a mission report he had to finish and then hung up without elaborating, which had totally not made Tim quietly insane or anything. 

The Evil Factory. What. What even is that? 

Tim needs to look into some things, clearly. 

“I’ve learned not to ask,” Tim says, and the look Cissie is giving him turns very pointed. 

“But you’re asking me about school?” she says. 

“Yes,” Tim says, because it’s not like she’s not perfectly aware he just did that, but also he doesn’t actually have to explain himself, so he just stops there. 

Cissie stares blankly at him. Tim keeps a neutral but approachable expression on his face. Filling an awkward silence is the first mistake any witness–or suspect–makes. 

She narrows her eyes, just barely, then opens her mouth to speak and–

“CISSIE,” Cassie wails from down the hall, and a second later she’s bolting into the room at full-speed and throwing herself at Cissie. Tim reflexively grabs for his bo and Cissie grabs for her–uh, bow–and Cassie makes an absolutely agonized noise and buries her face in Cissie’s lap. “I quit. I quit the team. I’m gonna ask Wonder Woman if I can move to Themyscira and I am never coming back.” 

. . . alright then, Tim thinks, just barely raising his eyebrows behind his mask. Maybe not a supervillain attack, then. 

“I’d really prefer it if you didn’t, actually,” Cissie says. “So like is this about your mom or–?” 

“Kon’s wearing clothes,” Cassie cuts her off despairingly, voice muffled in her folded arms and Cissie’s lap. 

“. . . I mean, I’d hope so?” Cissie says, patting the top of Cassie’s wig with a bewildered.expression as she sets her bow back down on the table. Tim–well, he might not hope that Kon was–never mind. But that seems like a pretty weird answer to that question either way. 

“You don’t understand,” Cassie groans. “I ran into him outside–he’s texting somebody or something, I don’t know, he said he was gonna be a minute–and he said ‘hi’ and he was wearing clothes and I tripped! I tripped in mid-air! I tripped in mid-air and he tried to help me up and I think I blacked out or something and then he laughed and he’s wearing clothes, Cissie!” 

Tim feels like maybe this is in some way “girl talk” and he shouldn’t necessarily be here, but also: what the hell is Cassie talking about? 

He also wonders who Kon’s texting and has the vaguely-annoyed thought that Cadmus might be bothering him or something. 

The subtle alert that means someone just texted Tim Drake’s phone goes off on his communicator and he makes a mental note to check it as soon as he can get a moment–it might be Dana or Mrs. Mac, or maybe one of the guys at school needs something, or . . . well, it could be his dad, technically, but statistically that’s not very likely, so– 

. . . why does he feel like he’s missing something right now, he thinks to himself, repressing a frown. What would he be missing? 

“Question: is this response proportional, or is this a ‘Code Superboy’ situation?” Cissie says. Cassie just groans all the more despairingly into her arms, not lifting her head at all. 

“This is a code black Superboy situation,” she says, and Cissie winces and pats her head again. Assuming their definition of “code black” aligns with Tim’s, that means “panic reaction; breakdown of mental/physical responses and capabilities”. So . . . yeah, that seems like a weird answer too. Just because Kon’s . . . what, outside and doing whatever he’s doing on his phone? While . . . wearing clothes? 

Tim really does not understand this conversation, yeah. 

Definitely a girl thing, he decides.

[zoeykallus]

hai!!! how are you doing? i saw ur doing requests again soon... and i wanted to request a tbb something ^^

how would they react to their s/o like. BITING THEM. not full on CHOMP! duh. but a little soft nibble anywhere(jaw, cheek, neck, hand, nose, YOU GET THE POINT)... like the same way you would bite when giving a hickey or biting an earlobe. cuz holy moly i need to bite the FLIP out of these guys.

thank you and i hope you're doing well :D

Aloha! Interesting Question 😁

The Bad Batch x Reader HCs - That Little Bite

Warnings: Mostly Fluff/ Partly Suggestive

Masterlist

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

Hunter

If you suddenly nibble his ear while he is cuddling, you will certainly not hear any complaints from him. In fact, it doesn't matter where you're gently nibbling, you'll hear Hunter humming contentedly. The next moment, you have at least one of his arms wrapped around you and are pressed close to his body.

He's crazy about your every touch anyway, and the more sensual and closer, the better. Small bites and nibbles are actually a good way to get his motor running if you're in the mood for more.

In any case, Hunter is a big fan and not shy when it comes to returning the gesture.

Echo

At first, he may be perplexed and keep completely still. Echo is trying to make sense of what is happening, but shortly afterwards you hear a soft laugh coming from his mouth.

“Am I that appetizing?” he teases you.

An approving coo from you and more small, gentle bites make him melt away. Whatever jokes may have occurred to him a moment ago are quickly gone again.

Don't be surprised if he sighs and shivers under your teasing touches, he enjoys every second.

Wrecker

He giggles, surprised, perhaps a little startled at first, but quite taken with the very sensual touch.

“Didn't you get enough to eat today?” he asks you teasingly.

Cling to him and keep nibbling, the jokes will soon be forgotten. His strong arms will pull you closer to him and a little later you will hear pleasurable sounds coming from his mouth.

As he gives in, he says softly, “Go ahead, make me your feast”

Tech

Your gentle nibble triggers a very abrupt, unexpected reaction. Tech jumps up and stares at you with wide eyes from behind his lenses.

“What's wrong?” you ask gently.

Tech clears his throat, pushes his goggles up the bridge of his nose with his index finger and seems to collect himself before answering in his trademark matter-of-fact tone.

“I'm confused. At the moment, I'm trying to categorize your actions on my body, which are new to me. Are these touches of an erotic nature? Do you just want to cuddle? Or should I perhaps be worried about a previously hidden tendency towards cannibalism?”

Disguising and suppressing the impulse to laugh with a cough, you finally answer, “Well, I'd say the first two options are true to a certain extent”

A small sigh of relief crosses his lips, then a smile twitches at the corners of his mouth before he lies back down with you and says, “I'm not averse to that. Go on if you like”

Crosshair

You hear a coo coming from his throat, a satisfied grin on his face. Crosshair is a connoisseur, especially when it comes to physical contact between the two of you. You certainly won't hear any complaints from him.

He lolls around like a cat, snuggled up to you, his long fingers trailing under the fabric of your clothes. Physical contact between you is like a balm for him.

But he doesn't just take, he's also only too happy to give. Don't be surprised if you suddenly find yourself lying under him, his teeth gently grazing your neck or nibbling teasingly on your earlobe. Basically, he's interested in just about every sensual touch in your relationship.

Don't hold back, you won't regret it.

Little Bonus

Gregor

He giggles his adorable giggle.

“Pretty daring today, I like that,” he says, quite taken with it.

Expect him to want a nibble too and very likely to leave a tender mark or two. Gregor is sensual and playful. Such moments often end in you rolling around in the sheets.

But it doesn't necessarily have to end like that, Gregor is also a cuddly bear and his strong arms are a great place to rest and recharge your batteries.

@rintheemolion

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

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@ivyyyyy

[marcelloshdz]

couples quiz

summary: you and marcello are the featured guests on the upcoming episode of the GQ "couples quiz." requested by anonymous. marcello x female!singer reader. this ended up being quite long, but i hope you enjoy! <3

“and there we go! you look stunning.” your makeup artist said to you.

“thanks to you.” you smiled at them. you were on set with GQ, getting ready to film a video with them. they’d invited you and marcello you partake in one of their “couples quiz” videos, and the two of you jumped at the opportunity.

you were led to the set, taking your seat as you waited for marcello to join you. he smiled at you has he walked over to you, pressing a kiss to your cheek before taking his seat across from you.

“you guys ready?” the producer asked, and you both nodded. 

“so ready.” you said with a smile, as some members from the crew handed you your question cards.

they counted down, and began rolling, you and marcello putting on your best faces and beginning the video.

“hey there, i’m y/n l/n,”

“and i’m marcello hernández,”

“and this is the GQ couples quiz.” you said in unison.

“alright, who wants to start?” you asked. 

“ladies first.” marcello said with a smile.

“well then, alright.” you settled the question cards in your hands, reading him the first one. “okay, this is a simple one to get us started. what is my favorite nickname for you?” you asked. 

“you call me cello a lot. or cellito, if you’re feeling flirtier than normal. but you’re also very heavy on the babe or baby. sometimes honey, which i personally love.”

“hmm, good to know.” you laughed before moving on to the next question. “oh, this is a good one. what was the first song i ever played for you?”

“i don’t want to give too much away, because as far as i know, it’s unreleased, yeah?” he asked, and you nodded.

“it is.” 

“but, i can say that you wrote it shortly after we made it official. so, almost four years ago. and, it’s about me.” he said, with a smirk to the camera.

“that is correct. at this point, i’m not sure i wanna release it, and instead just keep it between the two of us.” you said to the camera. you then moved on to the next question. “what is my favorite date we’ve been on?” 

“ooh, i know this one real well, because you tell this story all the time to people we meet.” he laughed, and you blushed. “it was when we were first dating, we were both in LA for work, and had coinciding days off. i took you to griffith park, we had a picnic, and we made friendship bracelets for each other with our initials on them. then, after lunch, we drove up mulholland, parked at one of the overlooks, and laid on the hood of our car while we watched the sunset over the city. it was very romantic. that was the night i asked you to be my girlfriend.” 

“i never told you this, but i’m sure i was already falling in love with you at that point. it was only like, a month or so after we started hanging out and talking, but i was already locked in.” 

“honestly, so was i.” marcello said, echoing your sentiment with a smile.

“next question; what is my favorite sketch of yours?” 

“you always tell me you have multiple favorites, and they change like, every month.” he laughed before answering.

“that is true, but i do have one all time favorite. one that i, without question, would top tier marcello sketches. and we’re not talking update features, because i love all of those. just live sketches.” you explained.

“okay, that helps me a bit. i’m gonna go with either fusion scientist, or the age of discovery.” he said.

“it is fusion scientist, but i’m only gonna give you half a point because you hesitated.”

“aw man.” he laughed. 

“although, i do also love the age of discovery. there’s something about fusion scientist  that just always gets me. i had genuine tears in my eyes the first time i watched it, and am still bitter it was cut for time.”  you clarified.

“that one was really fun to perform. it was so ridiculous and goofy, but i loved it.” he explained. 

“and thats why i love it too.” you said. “alright, next question. oh, this is a good one; what is my favorite gift you’ve given me?” you finished the question, and watched his eyes flit to your hands, landing on your ring finger on your left hand. he reached out to you, and you placed your hand in his, smiling as he pressed a kiss to the ring.

“this right here.” he said as you held your hand out to the camera for a close up. “i got you that ring on our first anniversary. it’s our birthstones in a heart shaped setting.” 

“not only is it my favorite gift you’ve given me, but i think it’s my favorite gift i’ve ever gotten, ever.” you said. you finished out your questions, tallying up marcello’s score. “alright, we are sitting at a nice round 20 points.” you said to the camera. 

“well, good for me.” he said with a laugh. “alright, my turn. first up, what sports did i play growing up?” he asked you.

“soccer was your main sport, and you played it throughout high school and college. but you also played baseball, and dabbled in golf, and sometimes fishing?”

“wow. yes to all of those. um, i don’t think i want to play this game anymore.” he laughed. 

“hey, we’re only one question in. don’t get too discouraged.”

“next question; who has been my favorite host to work with so far on snl?”

“either pedro or benito.” you answered, and he nodded. “those were really big episodes for you, and i know you had a good time getting to write and work on pretty good sketches during those episodes.” 

“those were both really good, and i enjoyed them both a lot. but, if i had to pick, i would pick benito over pedro.”

“oh, tea.” you gasped through a laugh.

“only because of the age of discovery sketch. that sketch being entirely in spanish, and all the love we got on it, it made me really proud. pedro was also part of that episode, so that still counts.” he explained. “what is my favorite food?” he asked.

“anything cuban or dominican. you’re very easy to please.” you answered immediately. “c’mon give me a challenge.”

“yeah i should’ve skipped that one.” he laughed. “next one. oh, here’s a good one. what was i wearing on our first date?”

“you were wearing a dark blue cardigan, over a white t-shirt, with blue jeans, and white sneakers.” you answered. “i had a picture of us from that night as my phone wallpaper for a long time, it’s practically burned into my brain at this point.” you said. “do you remember what i was wearing?” you asked him

“you were wearing a black, like, lacy top, with a white skirt and black platform loafers.” 

“actually,”

“what?!” he said loudly, feigning offense.

“no, i’m just kidding. that was right.” you laughed.

“i was about to be so mad.” he laughed. “alright, next one; where was our first kiss?” he asked.

“our first kiss was on the beach in miami. you were home, visiting family and some friends. you asked if i wanted to come see you, and of course, being as down bad as i already was, i immediately jumped on a plane with zero hesitation. we had just finished lunch, and we were hanging out on the beach near where you grew up. we were sitting there in silence, listening to the waves crash on the shore, when we turned to each other, and we kissed. i remember it being really awkward, and us almost missing?”

“i do remember that as well.” he laughed. “but look at us now, so it must not have been too terrible.”

“it was a first kiss, so you kinda expect it to be awkward. but it was good in the long run.” you said, and marcello nodded, smiling at you. before continuing through the next couple of questions.

“alright, i think this is my last one.”

“and, not to brag, but i am only one point behind you.” you said, raising an eyebrow at him.

“well, then this will count for two points.” he said, clearing his throat. “which one of us made the first move?”

“you did.”

“wow, that was fast.”

“you did! we were at an snl after party, after dua lipa’s episode. which, i was invited to by her, by the way.” you said, matter-of-factly. “we were both at the bar, waiting for our drinks, and made small talk. we hung out for a bit, and by the end of the night, you were already asking for my number. barely two days later, you were asking me to go out.” 

“and you accepted without hesitation.” 

“well, yes, but this isn’t about me.” you teased, and marcello rolled his eyes at you.

“well, that was my last question. our final scores are 21 to 20, y/n only getting extra points because i played multiple sports growing up.” 

“and for that, i thank you.” you laughed.

you filmed the outro for the video, saying good bye and thanking the future audience for watching. there was a loud “CUT!” from behind the camera, and the producers and crew were thanking you and marcello for such a fun episode.

“thanks for having us! this was a lot of fun.” marcello said, and you nodded in agreement. the two of you headed out to your car, making your way to a nearby restaurant for lunch. you got your food, and sat down at a table, replaying the events of the afternoon. 

“we should do more things like that. i know we pride ourselves on having quite a private relationship, but it was a lot of fun.” marcello said to you.

“it was! but i feel like youre just suggesting that so you can redeem yourself and let the people know that you know me better than i know you.” you said to him. 

“no, why would you ever think that?” he asked sarcastically. you just laughed and shook your head. the two of you finished your lunch, enjoying your meal and being with each other. truthfully, marcello knew you better than you knew yourself, and vice versa. and that made you happier than you could ever put into words.

[just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace]

Reveal (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which you can’t seem to quell Celebrimbor’s suspicions, and he finally learns the true identity of you and your husband

Warnings: evil!reader who fakes an injury and licks the blood off Sauron’s hand just because, light choking while kissing, you and Sauron being creepy together in general

Note: Can be read as a part two to Jealousy, but works as a stand-alone as well. Also, I have to say I feel awful for Mirdania and Celebrimbor in the show, reader is only antagonistic towards them in this fic for the sake of the plot.

The hours drag by most tediously as you assist Celebrimbor in the making of the Nine. The silence is broken only by the occasional request or observation from him, and your impatience grows by the moment. But you sit there, helpful and obedient, as you have in all the years you spent in Eregion.

You only need to endure this a little longer. Soon, everything will change.

There is a small break in your dull routine, though, when Celebrimbor suddenly says your name. He seems a bit more alert than he has been of late, and you see that he is now staring at the floor rather than at the Ring he had been tinkering with.

“Yes, lord Celebrimbor?” you reply, polite as always.

“That mouse,” he says. “You see it, don’t you?”

You throw a brief glance in the direction he is pointing. “Yes.”

“It’s not the first time it’s been here,” Celebrimbor says. His tone and the pointed look he gives you make it seem like more of a question than a statement, one to which he expects a positive answer.

“Indeed not,” you confirm. “Should I call a rat catcher?”

“No, that’s not what I...” Celebrimbor shakes his head, standing and walking to a different table. “This candle here. It hasn’t burned an inch. For hours, I am certain. And the embers in the fire—”

“Because I have replaced them, my lord,” you say, quite casually.

“I never noticed.” He frowns in your direction, unconvinced. You give him a small smile.

“It’s my task, isn’t it? To aid you in performing yours,” you explain softly. “You were quite absorbed in your own work.”

“I...” Celebrimbor looks to the place he had indicated when speaking of the candle, blinking in confusion. “I—”

“Why don’t I...?” you cut him off, standing from your seat at the worktable. “Why don’t I go and send for something to eat? I believe we have missed breakfast by quite a few hours.”

For a moment, he seems as though he might protest. But the kindly encouraging expression on your face deters him in the end. “Very well,” he nods his consent. With a smile and a respectful nod, you take your leave.

Your expression is anything but respectful, however, the moment you are out of his sight.

“A mouse,” you mutter to yourself as you descend the stairs to the bottom of the tower. “He had to invent a mouse.”

By ‘he’, you mean Sauron, of course. He may have many names, but to you he is, first and foremost, your husband. Long have you awaited his return, biding your time as one of Celebrimbor’s trusted smiths. Until, finally, your love had joined you in Eregion, posing first as Halbrand, then as Annatar. You had pretended not to know him, of course, only stealing moments of passion whenever you found yourself away from prying eyes. The ears have done nothing to diminish your craving for each other. Your bond is as strong as ever, your goals perfectly aligned.

There is only a small inconvenience to your shared plans now. When you bound yourselves to one another in marriage, those vows had a certain, mutually agreed upon effect. He could not use his power to deceive your perception, while you, in turn, received a part of his abilities—which you could not, however, use against him. As such, you can’t see the illusion Sauron has created for Celebrimbor, and can only hope to improvise correctly when the need arises. Had you noticed the discrepancies, you would have informed your husband of them long ago.

But it isn’t too late.

Chaos greets you the moment you take a look beyond the door that leads outside. Stone walls are being shattered by boulders flung from across the river, Elves are running every which way. What truly disturbs you, though, is the fact that your husband is talking to the Elf called Mirdania—again. And again, she is looking up at him with wide, doe eyes, practically begging for the slightest touch of comfort from him. Reaching out with your heightened senses, you hear what they are saying from a distance.

“Celebrimbor’s mind is gone,” Sauron says, sounding the perfect amount of regretful. “We are alone.”

Mirdania shakes her head. “No,” she says, full of sentiment. “Not alone.”

She puts her hands on his arms, tentatively lowering them to his wrists as if she hopes he might move to hold them in his own. It would be irritating if it wasn’t so pitiful. How he keeps his arms firmly planted at his sides while she searches his face for a sign of hope he might share in her feelings.

It would be an act of kindness, really, if you think about it—to open her eyes to the reality of things, once and for all. For now, though, you decide to put a stopper in this unbridled hope of hers without completely shattering the illusion. If only for a bit of personal satisfaction. You do still need her well within your husband’s power after all, same as the other Elves of Eregion.

Now, you may not be able to lock someone inside their own personal illusion, but you can alter your own appearance to the eyes of others. With a bit of concentration, your hand becomes covered in blood and your dress stained with it. You don’t need powers to make tears stream down your cheeks in an instant—your years of expertise in deception are enough for that. Holding your supposedly injured hand to your chest, you rush desperately towards Sauron and Mirdania.

“Lord Annatar!” you cry out. Mirdania quickly releases him as he turns towards you in haste, brow deeply creased with the concern he plays so well. “Lord Annatar, you must come quick! Lord Celebrimbor has—” you hesitate, glancing at Mirdania unsurely.

“It’s all right,” he says, understanding at once. “She knows of his state. Tell me, has he done this?”

He reaches for your bloodied hand, cradling it gently as he speaks. You see Mirdania avert her gaze uncomfortably, and—there. That’s better.

You suppress a smirk as you look up into Sauron’s eyes, nodding with the most helpless expression you can muster.

“He wasn’t pleased with the manner in which I was using the hammer. He-he snatched it from my hand to do it himself, and I don’t think he meant to do it, I truly don’t, but I didn’t manage to pull my hand away before—”

You dissolve into sobs, letting yourself fall against him as if you can’t stand on your own any longer. “Please, you must speak some sense into him,” you whimper into his chest as he wraps his arms around you for support. “I cannot bear it any longer!”

“Mirdania,” he says sternly, “you know my orders. See to it that they are followed.”

“Of course, my lord,” she promises, and promptly leaves. Maybe she looks pained because her city is under siege and its supposed leader has gone mad, as far as she knows. Most likely, that is the main reason. But you like to think a small part of it is seeing the object of her foolish affections holding his one true wife to his chest—even if she doesn’t know that is what you are.

You and Sauron keep up the charade for as long as you are visible to others, with you leaning against him as he leads you inside. Once the door has closed behind you, your tears and blood vanish as if they had never been there, and self-satisfaction replaces the feigned despair on your face. Your husband, however, doesn’t seem quite as pleased as he unceremoniously releases you to stand on your own.

“Must you be so dramatic?”

You smile sweetly up at him. “Would you love me if I wasn’t?”

“Depends,” he says coyly, “on whether you were still as wonderfully cruel as you are.” You delight in his compliment, but he grows serious once again. However enjoyable your twisted version of flirting, this is not the time for it. “What is it, really?”

You cross your arms with a small sigh. The fun was nice while it lasted. “You’re growing careless, and Celebrimbor is starting to notice. Apparently, there’s a mouse that keeps running in the same circle over and over, or something of the sort. And the candles never seem to burn out.” You tilt your head disapprovingly. “Really, it’s as though you’re barely trying.”

Sauron narrows his eyes slightly, but remains calm in the face of your teasing. “We are under siege, my love—”

“Which you orchestrated—”

“Still,” he insists firmly, “I was otherwise preoccupied.”

You might have made a snide remarked about who he had been preoccupied with—but a great rumble comes from outside, catching your attention and leading you to head for the window. The view that greets you draws a gasp from you.

“Is that—?”

“Yes,” Sauron says, watching the mountain crumble. “They are damming the river.”

“Just as you expected,” you say. After all this time, your husband’s cunning still leaves you in awe when you see his plans come together so smoothly. Or at least smoothly enough—the Rings are yet to be finished. “But we need more time.”

“Tell them to prepare for ground assault—my orders.” Your eyes meet, his as determined as yours. “I shall deal with Celebrimbor, then leave him under your watch once more.”

“You truly are cruel,” you lament. “You’d have me sit still and play the obedient little smith whilst there is a perfectly good siege right outside.”

The ghost of a smile tugs at Sauron’s lips. “I would much rather stand in the midst of chaos with you at my side,” he confesses, his arm sneaking around your waist to pull you close, “but we must practice patience before we indulge in its reward.”

His voice is low and suggestive, drenched with lurid promises. His gaze is just the same, and desire washes over you with enough force to break any dam in existence.

“Keep looking at me like that,” you say, turning towards him fully and leaning in close enough for your breath to ghost his lips, “and the chaos shall have to unfold without us.”

A groan leaves his throat, right as he takes hold of yours and kisses your lips. The pressure on your neck is just right, only just enough to stake a claim and convey his greed for you in the most delicious way. You whimper into his mouth, grabbing his wrist, wishing that you could direct his hand to places more desperately in need of his touch. Yet you know this is going to be a short kiss, a parting kiss, and so it is. He leaves, as always, with a sliver of your soul caught between his teeth. But you don’t mind, because you know there is always an equal part of his soul, trapped under your thumb.

Right now, there is work to do.

Although, it seems his side of it doesn’t go quite as planned—because when you return to the forge a little while later, you open the door only to be nearly knocked down by a wildly panicked Celebrimbor who was in the midst of bolting out of the room.

“My lord!” you exclaim, catching him by the shoulders. “Where are you going in such haste?”

“We must run!” he cries out. “We must call the guards—!”

“But my lord—!” You hold fast, refusing to let him drag you along with him. Sauron, to your surprise, is merely standing next to Celebrimbor’s worktable, watching calmly.

“We have all been deceived!” he screams in your face, desperate to make you believe him. “This—all you see here—is but a prison of the mind. A trick!” He turn away, pointing an accusing finger at your husband. “He is Sauron! Look at his blood!”

You’ve seen his blood. You’ve seen it, clear as day, since the moment he cut his hand to replace the mithril that the Dwarves had refused to provide. But the fact that he’s now allowing Celebrimbor to see it himself...

Oh, finally.

Finally.

“His blood?” you ask, barely maintaining some semblance of your pretence as pure elation runs through you. “What of it?”

Celebrimbor practically shakes with frustration. “Don’t you see? It’s black as pitch!”

But when he looks back, Sauron is no longer there. In the blink of an eye, through a power unknown, he is now standing at your side, between Celebrimbor and the door. The smith gasps in terror when he notices, and stumbles backward. You, on the other hand, merely lower your gaze to Sauron’s bloodied hand.

“You’re right,” you muse, as if deeply intrigued by the sight. “It is black.”

Celebrimbor watches, locked in confusion, as you take Sauron’s hand with both of yours, tracing the open cut with a gentle finger. As Sauron allows you to do so, holding completely still as you lift his hand to your lips and—under Celebrimbor’s horrified gaze, you lick the palm of Sauron’s hand. Eyes closed, humming contently, as if the pitch-black blood is the sweetest liquor to have ever graced your tongue. Your eyes open slowly after, sinisterly drifting to Celebrimbor.

“Seems fine to me, though,” you taunt, wiping your thumb over the remnants of blood on your lips and licking that clean as well. No more masks of kindness, no more concealment of your true, twisted nature. You feel as though you’ve been loosed from a horribly tight shackle, and the sensation is divine.

Celebrimbor, on the other hand, seems like he is either about to faint, cry or throw up, in no particular order. “What...” he mumbles helplessly. “What?!”

“Easy, my love,” Sauron all but purrs, his clean hand caressing the back of your head as if to tame a newly awakened beast. “We would not want to disturb Lord Celebrimbor’s... sensibilities.”

“‘My love’?” Celebrimbor’s repeats in disbelief. “You... you’re one of my oldest collaborators—”

“And have you any idea how tedious it was,” you hiss, spitting out long-suppressed venom, “playing the devoted subject all this time? Obeying your orders, when I should have been the one giving them? I had half a mind to overthrow you and take Eregion for myself. But I knew my husband would need you, if ever he was to return.”

Celebrimbor’s eyes dart between you and Sauron, taking in the sight of you standing side by side—his loving hand at the nape of your neck, yours clasping his other hand like a most prized possession—and realization dawns on him. “All this time... you knew,” he murmurs, terror giving way to resignation. “It was all a lie. All a charade.”

Your face twists in a mockery of the concerned expression you had worn the day Halbrand had arrived in Eregion. “My lord, he appears to be hurt,” you repeat your own words from back then, the ones that had convinced Celebrimbor to finally allow him an audience despite Galadriel’s wishes. “My lord, the night is cold. Shall I bring him a shawl?” Cruel amusement mingles with the over-dramatism in your voice, a sickly sweet chuckle bubbling out of you at the end.

“She can be... overzealous, at times,” Sauron says, a subtle smile on his lips as his knuckles brush your cheek affectionately. “A most endearing quality.”

“No, this will not stand,” Celebrimbor mutters to himself. “This will not stand!” the poor Elf tries to convince himself as he musters the strength to rush past you and out the door, hoping to find salvation where there is none left. Sauron makes to go after him, but you tug at his hand to hold him back.

“No, let him go,” you insist with a sick kind of enthusiasm. “Just for a little while. Let him look the fool and do your work himself, for a change.”

Sauron turns back to you, persuaded for the moment. “Your heart has grown even blacker in my absence, love,” he remarks, gaze dark with admiration. You give a small shrug, pressing his hand flat against your chest so that his open cut stains the fabric of your dress, right over your heart.

“What matters the shade of it,” you murmur, “so long as it beats for you?”

His other hand cups your cheek with the kind of possessive reverence only he can convey. He leans to you, his tongue slowly swiping away a drop of his blood which had lingered at the corner of your mouth. Then, he puts his lips to your ear.

“Work now,” he whispers darkly, “play later.”

Previous fic with same reader -> Jealousy

Next fic with same reader -> Theatrics

[777heavengirl]

the one with the walk home

sirius black x reader ! - 1,272 words masterlist bags masterlist A/N: no one say anything about how this is a few hours late- also i am scoring close to what i need on my practice exams and i am ECSTATIC

“I love you too,” Sirius looked up at you, as you answered his statement from hours ago. The walk from the hospital had been a silent one until now. After you bid your goodbyes to the new parents, the two of you decided to take the tube back to your flat, his hand finding yours as you walked under the mellow hue of the streetlights. His hand was enough to make you forget any embarrassment from wearing an oversized suit jacket on top of your pajamas through the streets. “just by the way-”

Sirius broke into laughter, brief and fleeting but it left a smile in its place. 

“D’you really?” He shoved you with his shoulder, your arms extending before he pulled you back to his side. “Couldn’t tell,”

“I bloody hope so Black, I’m walking in the middle of the night for you- we might even be too late for the tube by now,” 

“Oh please- Like I’d let anything happen to you,” He said with a wink, a smirk curling on his lips. He let go of your hand, his arm easily taking its place across your shoulders.

“Me and my wand would be just fine without you though-” 

“Ah yes- I forget, you’re quite the bright witch,” You hummed in agreement, a giggle breaking from your lips “Don’t know if Professor McCormack would agree- you nearly blew his head off in defense against the dark arts our last year-”

You tskd in annoyance at the mention of your… small, incident.

“That was an isolated incident- We both know I got better scores than you on all my NEWTs-”

“Only because I ditched like half of them-” You rolled your eyes at him, the only one he had bothered to even show up for was Transfiguration out of respect for McGonagall. Not that he’d ever admit such a thing. “How's mum by the way?”

 You smiled softly at the mention of your mom. Sirius loved the woman. She loved him too, maybe too much. You were thankful for it regardless.

“She’s alright- quite tired, I reckon my dad has been driving her a bit nuts these days-” He hummed in acknowledgment, you kicked a small rock on your bath “Not that he hasn't been driving all of us crazy for years…” you sighed “Sorry-”

“For what?” He looked down at you, and you kept looking forward, leaning your head against his side. 

“I really shouldn’t be complaining about him- It could be worse, he just wants what's best for me I guess-”

“Doesn’t mean he doesn't drive you nuts love- parents are tricky that way”

“It's more than just driving me crazy- nothing’s good enough for the man,” you sighed, rubbing your temple with the pads of your fingers. You went down the stairs onto the tube’s platform “It’s exhausting- I got a job like he wanted, not in magic like he asked me to” You shook your head, fighting the wobble of your lip and the hot tears behind your eyes. “I am trying so hard to please him, the other day he had the audacity to call and tell me that he-” The voice over the intercom announced the last train of the night as you both stopped right before the yellow line. You wrapped his suit jacket tighter around your shoulders. 

“He had the nerve to tell me that he thinks I should go back to school… go to some muggle Uni- to do something useful” you mocked his voice, annoyance ripping through you as your fingers air quoted his words. The train rushed through the platform, cutting you off. The doors opened and you instinctively grabbed a hold of his hand again. “I think- Well, I know- that he wishes I hadn't been a witch at all,” you said as you went inside.

The tube’s doors closed, and you went silent. Sirius wrapped his arm around you as you sat down, the emptiness and silence of the cart hanging over the both of you. 

You thought of your parents. Your mother who had been nothing short of ecstatic when you received your letter at age 11. She even wrote a letter back to Dumbledore, a million questions on the tip of her tongue- thrilled at how exciting everything sounded. He answered every one of her questions diligently. Her daughter was a witch. 

Who would’ve thought?

Your father was another story. You thought of him, the way he never answered your letters from school, it was only your mother. But, of course, he loved you.

You hoped. 

He always said he only wanted what was best for you because he loved you. 

You thought of Walburga Black. A woman who, despite the abuse, still had the audacity to say she loved her sons. 

It took Sirius years to stop saying her torture came from a place of love. 

The train car stopped briefly at the next stop. Neither of you stood to get off. You hoped Sirius was paying attention to the stops as you rested your head against his shoulder. He squeezed your shoulder. 

Your father had never been happy about the turn your life took. Wouldn’t let you do magic in the house even when you were of age. He hated it. He wanted you to go to University. Get a muggle career, a normal career. A normal life.

That wasn’t even mentioning how infuriated he was once he found out you were moving in with Sirius. You could still hear his words in your head, even years later. 

“He’s a good-for-nothing rich kid- he hasn’t lifted a finger in his life and you’re attaching yourself to him like this? With his stupid tattoos and his stupid bike- you’re going to get yourself killed- you’re not even bloody together” Sirius squeezed you tighter to him, you didn’t think he knew what you thought about. “What happens when he gets bored of you? Ditches you for some woman- you are so stupid-”

You didn’t know if you were stupid for it. Your mom was basically planning you and Sirius’s wedding while your father cursed his presence in your life.

You thought of his unpacked bags. 

Sirius swallowed the lump in his throat and stared at the map of the train lanes. 

3 More stops.

He tried ignoring the way you went silent, he tried for a second to forget the fact that you just implied you never wanted the job in the first place. Was he being crazy? No, well you just said it was what your father wanted. What about what you wanted? 

He knew the man wasn’t the fondest of him. He assumed it was the motorcycle and the tattoos, the pack of smokes in his pocket. Maybe even the smirk on his face. 

Maybe even the way his wife fawned over him.

But it was more than that, wasn’t it?

He hadn't even considered, that your non-magical father would hate the fact that you were magical. He thought of his mother, the brief flash of her words about how muggles were undesirables reverberating through his head. 

Who would’ve thought? 

So he held you tighter, in silence, because Sirius Black did not know what else to do but hold you tight in his arms and hope that you’d know. 

Hope that you’d know he loved you. Magic or not. Unconditionally, he thought. Jobless or employed. Sick or healthy. Young and stupid or old and wise. 

He loved you. 

He hoped you could hear his thoughts, so you’d know he was in love with you.

Because Godric knows he didn't dare to say out loud. 

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[alwaysless]

Fellow William analyst, greetings! I hope you are well, I hope you don't mind a question/ask.

I am curious about your thoughts on the lack of reaction we see of Will at the "one life" reveal at the dinner scene, if you haven't already shared your thoughts before! We know Annabel wasn't shocked, but what about Will?

It took me longer to answer than I thought, sorry

I'm not sure I can say anything new, but yes, it's pretty damn suspicious. The composition of the frame stylized as broken glass, makes it easy to draw Will with everyone, and a frame later we see him with other panicking students, so RnF didn't show his reaction quite intentionally.

But I also want to talk about his behavior further. In the next episode, Will doesn't behave the way you expect him to. Given his weak-willed personality, it seems like he should be scared and overwhelmed by the prospect of a survival game (like Morella for example) but he's confused at best, and moreover, confused by everyone else's reactions. He even tries to justify the deans, basically gaslighting the rest of the students.

Will is not afraid, but he does not understand why others are. I have only two possible explanations: either he knew, or he just doesn't care, just like Annabel. Or maybe both.

Maybe he has played these games before. Maybe he doesn't plan to fight for a second life (at least not in Nevermore, again just like Annabel). Maybe because he is somehow connected with the academic staff with all his doll aesthetic, there is no second life for him in general, he just works there. There are many options, but here I would prefer to focus on his parallels with Annabel - two characters whose reactions we don't see in this frame.

This is actually not the only scene where they are absent, contrary to common sense. In episode 6 we see the merit board for the first time. Most of the names on it are blurred, but some can be distinguished. Among them are Lenore, Annabel, Duke, Morella, Ada, Prospero and Will. All of them, except Annabel and Will, are present in the room at this moment.

I wouldn't have paid much attention to this scene if it weren't for Prospero. Why is he there? He doesn't speak a single line, and we haven't been introduced to him as a character yet. His presence here is useless. So maybe the idea really was for all the characters whose names were visible on the board to be in the scene(or at least have already been introduced, like Annabel).

So what about Will? My main problem with shapeshifter characters is that they can be anyone, anywhere, at any point in the story. Especially if they can also create their own copies. He could have already been introduced and we just didn't notice.

Now let's talk about the games these kids love to play so much. We know that Annabel is a talented chess player, and Montresor constantly uses card game slang. But did you know that it was William Wilson from Poe's original story who was a cardsharper? I just think it's such an interesting detail. Nevermore`s Will has never been seen like this, but considering how much of a board game aesthetic this webtoon has, I think it's important to note this.

And finally, there is a similarity that also makes them very different: both Annabel and Will have ribbons as an essential symbol, but it has a completely opposite meaning for each of them. For Annabel, the ribbons are a symbol of madness, fear, and perhaps her golden cage. It appears in her hallucinations after Lenore's fake death, as well as when Ada shows her her main fear.

Will, on the other hand? The ribbons are his weapon. He uses them to tangle other people. Curious, although his spectre is obviously a marionette, he doesn't have a control bar for strings, he controls the strings himself (not always successful but still).

No matter how weak-willed Will is, he's the only one in Annabel's group who isn't influenced by her. She blackmails Montresor, Prospero respects her as a leader and friend, Ada admires and envies her. But she doesn't have anything on Will. In the chess allegory, he will obviously be a pawn (and I`ll write a whole post about it, I swear), but not Annabel's pawn. I have an idea that sooner or later, Montresor will think of using Will to find dirt on Annabel in revenge. After all, given their spectre abilities, it's easier for them to find out lenabel's secret.

So, let's summarize what we found. Absolutely nothing. This post turned out to be longer than I had planned, because I was a little carried away, but I hope you found something interesting for yourself in this stream of thoughts.

Here, take funny little Will everyone. He deserves to be noticed.