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jeonginsleftcheek · 7 months ago

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The sun to me

The Departure. Bonus chapter.

~ this is part of my series The Sun To Me, so if you haven't read it, this scenario might not make sense! if you want to read the series first here's the link to the masterlist!💙

pairing: hyunjin x afab!reader

synopsis: For the frist time in years your feet gather courage to step on the ship, this time with Hyunjin holding your hand.

warnings: mentions of crying and insecurities, very small pinch of angst, multiple sex scenes, oral (f and m), face fucking, unprotected sex, creampies, mentions of throwing up and alcohol, fingering, squirting, mentions of pregnancy

wc: 10.9k

a/n: these events take place after the epilogue. got a bit too long whoopsie! i just love the universe of this series sm🥺

Hyunjin was sleeping peacefully until his body somehow recognized the lack of your warmth next to his, his arms reaching out where your place is, hands in search for your familiar figure.

After some time as he rolled over to your side, his eyes opened and he realized you weren't in bed.

But your warmth and smell lingered, Hyunjin couldn't help it as he leaned into your pillow and took a whiff of your shampoo.

In his sleepy state, he smiled to himself before getting up in search of you.

A faint light was coming from the kitchen so he let it lead him to what he was looking for.

You were staring out the window with a cup in your hand, all wrapped up in Hyunjin's clothes.

"Hey." he said quietly, his voice still raspy from sleep and you turned around to take in the sight of your lover.

You stifled a giggle at his disheveled hair, his cute puffy face, the pout on his lips, his shirt somehow twisted and falling off of his shoulder.

"Hey." you smiled and he made his way to you, his arms wrapping around you as soon as they could, a kiss planted on your forehead.

"Why aren't you in bed, cuddling me?" he whines, leaning on you as he buries his face in your neck, swaying you both a little.

"I couldn't sleep." you chuckle, putting your cup on the windowsill so you can embrace Hyunjin properly.

"Still nervous about tomorrow?" he looks at you and you nod.

"My flower, there's nothing to be scared of." he shakes his head, caressing you gently.

"I know. It's just been so long since I've left the island and this is the only thing I've come to know. Being away from my garden and my shop will be unusual for me."

"Love, we'll only be gone for five days." Hyunjin cups your face and you chuckle.

"Ah, I know I'm being dramatic. I've been hanging out with you too much." you smirk and he giggles.

"And still it's never enough." he whispers as he leans down to kiss you gently. "Why don't you come back to bed?"

"Okay." you nod and let Hyunjin take you to your bed, where he pulls you into his comforting embrace.

You do manage to fall asleep after some time, your dreams still restless, intertwined with excitement of going to the city with Hyunjin by your side.

Even though it's not the first time you're going there, you know with him it'll be a completely different experience, the memories you make there together will replace anything negative both of your minds have conjured up about the city.

"Good morning, lover." you greet Hyunjin as he walks into the kitchen the next morning, looking even more disheveled than he did when he woke up last night.

"Morning, my flower. Did you make pancakes?" he skips towards you and you nod fervently.

"Wow, you made so many! How long have you been up?" he purses his lips, feigning annoyance.

"Just a few hours." you grimace.

"Y/n! You were supposed to get some rest for today." Hyunjin pouts, his arms wrapping around your middle as he holds you from behind, pulling you into his body.

"I'm well rested. I'm just too excited." you giggle when he playfully bites your shoulder, wiggling his eyebrows at you.

"You're adorable, you know that?" he kisses the skin he bit into.

"So you tell me all the time." you chuckle.

"And I'll continue saying it." he smirks.

"Okay, sweet talker, eat your breakfast, we have to leave soon." you add, tapping his hand as he makes a kissy face at you.

After rolling your eyes at him playfully, you plant a kiss on his lips.

As soon as the two of you finish breakfast and clean up, having already packed the day before there was nothing left to do but get ready and leave to the ferry.

Before you go down to the pier, you leave your key to Catherine, who was more than happy to come check on your garden while you were away.

"Have a safe trip, my lovebirds!" she calls behind you as you wave at her and Luna with smiles on your faces.

The ferry was already close when you arrived to the pier, and Hyunjin squeezed your hand as soon as he saw you shiver.

He leans in and kisses your cheek, calming your nerves without any words, cause that was sometimes enough.

Just a light touch of Hyunjin's presence was all you needed to know you're safe.

Stepping on the ship felt like a dream, one you've thought about many times.

Before you met Hyunjin, there were times you felt angry and lonely making you want to pack up and leave everything behind; the garden, the flowers, the shop, the entire island that seemed to bring you nothing but misery back then.

After he came into your life, the island seemed different too, it's as if you were looking at it from his point of view, a pair of fresh eyes that made you realize just how much beauty can be found in simple things; like the rocks on the beach, like the sunlight peeking through trees, like the very flowers that grow from the ground, like the smiling face of a loved one.

When he left without saying anything for the whole summer, you thought about running to him, your legs taking you down to the pier many times but you never set foot on the ship, you only watched people come out and go in.

Sometimes you thought you saw Hyunjin.

It only hurt more.

Your inability to leave the island behind, as you would stand there just watching the ship disappear further away from you, just like it did the day he left.

But the thought of trying to find Hyunjin in the big city only for him to turn away from you was equally as scary as the thought of him never coming back to you.

Thankfully, he came back and stayed.

And now, you were brave enough to venture out of your comfort zone only if he was there, walking by your side.

"Whatcha thinking about?" Hyunjin caresses your hand as the two of you sit down, the ship slowly beginning to move.

Your heart leaps out of your chest for a moment and you take a deep breath in.

"Just how happy I am." you smile at him.

"I'm happy too." he smiles sweetly, leaning in to kiss you gently.

You lean your head on his shoulder as your fingers entwine, palms pressed together.

The wind picks up as the ship catches speed and the loud sounds of the water splashing against the hull coupled with the deep hum of the ship fill up your ears.

Hyunjin brings your hand to his lips and kisses your skin.

You're still scared but you keep reminding yourself that Hyunjin is there with you so nothing can go wrong.

Time passes by as the two of you talk and enjoy the breeze before you decide to take a little walk around the deck.

Thoughts and memories are swirling in your mind, on the day you left the island when you got into university, thinking you're definitely never going to come back to live on the island.

"You okay?" Hyunjin asks as you stare off into the distance.

"Just reminiscing the last time I was leaving the island in this ship."

"And when was that?" he asks, his hand finding yours again as you lean on the railing and look out into the horizon.

"When I got into uni. Gosh, it feels like I was a different person back then. So naive, so giddy to be away from everything that made me who I am. I thought I was going to find myself in the big city, that I was going to run away from the things gnawing at me. I thought I was going to change my life around, have an amazing career, experience love. Have a perfect life. Away from the garden and my mother." you scoff. "I was so stupid."

"You weren't stupid, y/n. You were brave, you got out of your comfort zone and stepped into something completely unknown. You tried it and there is really nothing wrong with trying to find yourself." Hyunjin squeezes your hand.

"But I failed." for some reason your eyes become teary. "I was weak and couldn't take it."

"You didn't fail. You had to go back to the island because of your mother. She was sick and you came back to help her, that just shows how strong you are. Not many people could do that, watch their parent die. It's not something to be taken lightly but you were able to go through that. And look at you now." he smiles, kissing your cheek.

"Actually." you shake your head. "Can I tell you a secret? Well, it's not a secret. It's just embarassing and I never told this to anyone before."

"You can tell me anything, my flower." Hyunjin nods.

"I didn't come back here because of my mother. I came back two months before she fell ill." you swallow as Hyunjin listens intently. "I came back because my heart was broken, because I felt abandoned and I couldn't deal with it. I couldn't deal with the harshness of the city and the people at my university and the person I was dating. So I came back here and that's why I always think I am weak." you admit, a weight lifting off your chest as you take a deep breath in, waiting for Hyunjin to say something.

A single tear slides down your cheek before you turn to look at him and see the fond smile on his face.

"That again doesn't make you weak, my love. You recognized the toxicity of the situation and you left it before it could destroy you completely. You fled to the island just like I did. I didn't think of myself as weak, rather someone who wanted to find and keep their inner peace. That's why we're similar and why I understand what you did. Don't beat yourself up over that, I think it all turned out well now, don't you?" he chuckles, pinching your cheek for a moment and you let out a giggle.

"It did. Sorry I never told you this before."

"You told me now." he shakes his head with a smile before wrapping his arms around you and holding you.

"Hey, it's like Titanic!" Hyunjin exclaims suddenly and you laugh as he grabs your arms and lifts them up.

"I would never let you die in the freezing water." you quickly say as you look back at him.

"I know you wouldn't." he smiles before kissing you gently. "My rose." he adds, wiggling his eyebrows at you and you chuckle, smacking his chest.

Feeling elated, now you can't wait to finally arrive to the city.

The moment you step foot onto the city's pier, it's clear how different it is.

There are so many sounds, so many people rushing around you, so many cars in the distance, huge buildings creating a familiar skyline.

"I texted Elsie earlier so she will pick us up." Hyunjin announces as the two of you walk further away from the ship and towards the cars lined up and waiting.

"Okay." you nod.

Elsie was a friend of Hyunjin's who he left his gallery to tend to while he was on the island after the whole ordeal with Charlie.

You didn't know anything about her except that she went to the same academy as Hyunjin and was an artist herself, though she worked as an art critic more than a painter.

"There she is!" Hyunjin's face lights up as he waves and you follow his eyes until they landed on Elsie.

You gasp a little, never knowing just how beautiful she is, tall and slender, her hair long and shiny, her face like a model's, her clothes expensive.

She looked like a million bucks and you suddenly felt a pang of jealousy in your stomach.

Even now after all this time of being with Hyunjin, sometimes you'd wonder what he saw in you, your insecurities getting the best of you and almost convincing you that you're not worth it.

And now seeing this gorgeous woman hug Hyunjin, made you realize you could never compete with someone like her.

"Ah, my favorite artist is back!" Elsie taps Hyunjin's shoulder as he chuckles.

She turns to you as you stand awkwardly on the side, waiting for them to finish hugging.

"You must be y/n." she says, making her way to you and unexpectedly wrapping her arms around you.

"I'm so happy to finally meet you. Put a face to the name. Hyunjin yaps about you all the time, so much so that I couldn't wait to meet the woman who stole his heart." she leans back, smiling at you enthusiastically. "And I understand now. You're really beautiful and coupled with what he told me about you, you're the perfect match."

God, she's even nice.

"Oh." you blush. "Thank you."

"Let's go then, I'll drive you two lovebirds to the gallery." she motions for you to pile your bags into the car, before both of you sit in the back.

Night starts falling over the bustling city, but it's not turning it into contemplative quietness like on the island, quite the opposite actually.

At night time, the city seems even more alive.

As Elsie starts driving, her and Hyunjin fall into conversation, reminiscing of memories you aren't a part of, you opt to stare out the window.

The flurry of lights pass you by, so many cars speeding up next to yours, people on the street acting like it's the middle of the day as they walk around, dressed flashy and probably going to some party as they laugh and hug, some house music pumping through the car's speakers; so many overwhelming things that they hurt your brain and you close your eyes.

Hyunjin notices and grabs your hand.

"We're almost there." he whispers and you nod, looking at him briefly before turning your attention back to the outside world.

You almost get so lost in your thoughts that you don't even notice the car had stopped and Elsie opened your door.

"We're here." she chuckles as you come to your senses and finally get out of the car, seeing Hyunjin taking out your bags.

You stare up at the huge building where Hyunjin's gallery resides in, his apartment now only a few floors above it.

"Well, I'm sure you two want some time alone. But please, hit me up this week, I soooo need to take you both out to dinner and pick your brains." she says before tapping Hyunjin's cheek and waving at you.

You can't help the jealousy that tugs at your heart strings.

You had no idea how close they were and it seemed to you now that they were pretty chummy and he never told you about it.

You'd never doubt Hyunjin's devotion to you, but sadly you always doubt yourself.

"Is something wrong, my love?" Hyunjin asks as you stop in front of the entrance to the building.

"No, everything's fine." you force a smile and Hyunjin squints his eyes at you, not believing it for a moment.

"I'm just tired." you say as Hyunjin swipes his card and the door buzzes.

"Well, the bed in the apartment is very cozy." he smirks at you, wiggling his eyebrows and you let out a little chuckle.

"You wanna go there first or the gallery?" he adds as you walk into the elevator.

"I really wanna see the gallery." you smile and he nods, clicking the button as the elevator doors close.

You're quiet, trying to come up with a way to ask Hyunjin about Elsie but you're not even sure what you are trying to find out.

"Here we go." Hyunjin leads you to a big glass door before he puts in a combination and you hear a click, signalling that the door is unlocked.

As soon as you walk in and Hyunjin turns the lights on, a gasp leaves your lips.

Yes, you've seen some pictures of the gallery but actually being inside it, seeing Hyunjin's works of art hung all over the walls, hours of his hard work on display for people to admire, his heart on the canvas in shapes of flowers and you, filled you up with warmth and love.

"So, what do you think?" he asks, wrapping his arms around you, his lips on your neck.

"It's beautiful, Jinnie."

"Mhm, I like it even better now that you're here, flower. You're the most beautiful work of art amongst all of them. But only for me to look at." Hyunjin smirks into your skin before nipping at your sensitive spot.

Before you can melt into his embrace completely, you need to get one thing out of the way; Elsie.

"So, how close are you and Elsie?" you slide out of Hyunjin's arms and pretend to look at one of the paintings more closely.

He smirks behind you, knowing exactly why you're asking that.

"Is my sweet rose jealous?" he almost skips towards you with a goofy smile on his face and you can't even pretend to be mad at him.

"No." he narrows his eyes at you. "Yes." you sigh.

"Oh, y/n." Hyunjin chuckles before grabbing your face. "You do know that you're the only woman that exists to me? Elsie is like a sister to me. We're close like that, nothing else. She also has an amazing husband who she's been dating for years, and we're probably going to meet them for a double date at least once this week. You've nothing to be jealous about, I'm only yours." he talks, leaving gentle kisses on your face.

A sigh escapes your lips.

"I know, I'm not doubting you. I just get insecure. I'm sorry I'm like this, always ruining everything." your eyes water.

"You didn't ruin anything, my love." Hyunjin smiles gently at you before leaning in to kiss you again. "You could never. You can only make everything more beautiful." he says between kisses and you slowly start melting.

"You're so biased." you chuckle against him.

"So be it." he whispers before devouring your lips, his hands gripping your waist and pressing your body against his.

"Baby, are there cameras here?" you chuckle when he starts kissing your neck, your fingers tangled in his hair, playing with the ends of it.

"Yeah." he licks at your skin before sinking his teeth in.

"J-Jinnie, someone will see." you gasp, gripping onto him as he sucks a love bite into your skin.

"No, they won't, I already made sure they turned them off for the night." he smirks before leaving kisses on your collarbone.

"So, you planned to seduce me in here?" you chuckle as he presses you into the wall, right next to a painting of you.

"Damn, you caught me." he jokes and both of you chuckle.

"In all seriousness, you know I love you forever, right?" his eyes become big, sweet, full of emotion as they search yours.

"I know, Jinnie. I love you forever too." you smile and kiss him, the sweet and innocent kiss escalating slowly into a more passionate one, tongues clashing into each other as Hyunjin leads you to the couch in the middle of the gallery.

It looks expensive and has two sides, one turned towards the art pieces and one looking towards the city, the huge glass windows with all the buildings on display, the lights in the distance twinkling like stars, promising something good to whoever stares at them for long enough.

You think he's gonna lay you down on it but instead he makes you stand in front of it, the side overlooking the city, before he slowly kneels down.

"My muse." his hands roam on your thighs, sliding under your dress before he bunches it up above your panties.

Your breath gets caught in your throat as Hyunjin leans in, kissing your clothed clit and taking a deep breath of you in, his eyes fluttering shut, cheeks rosy instantly.

He grips your leg and hooks it on his shoulder before leaning in again, and your pussy clenches around nothing as his breath hits your warmness.

You grab onto his hair for leverage and he whines into you, pushing your panties to the side and burying his tongue inside you.

He laps you up, always hungry for more, never tired of tasting your sweet juices on his tongue as he holds you steady, gripping your ass as you shiver and grind gently against him.

"H-Hyunjin!" you whimper when he sucks on your clit before diving back between your folds, pushing as deep as he could, his tongue moving inside you wildly.

You look up from his flushed face and dark eyes to see the city before you, feeling like every single soul that was awake could see you now, see how you were falling apart just from your lover's tongue and it made you even more wet thinking about it.

Gripping his hair harder, you fuck yourself against his lips and nose and Hyunjin whines into you, letting you use him for your pleasure as your high pitched moans echo off the walls of the gallery.

You throw your head back, gasping when you notice the huge mural painted on the ceiling, you and Hyunjin together in a garden full of blooming flowers, making love to each other, the petals hiding your private parts.

"Fuck!" you whimper, grinding against him faster before the coil snaps and you explode all over his face.

"Mm." Hyunjin moans into you, licking your juices up as he smirks.

"I take it you like my main piece." he leans back with a satisfied smile, his tongue darting out to lick at the droplets of your pleasure all around his lips.

"I- I'm speechless." you gasp, your ears ringing as you come down from your high, still looking up at the ceiling.

Hyunjin stands up and grabs your chin gently making you look down at him.

"Me too." he kisses you hungrily and soon both of you stumble but Hyunjin catches you as he smirks and grabs your hands.

"What are you doing?" you chuckle confusedly as he takes you over to the other side of the couch, the one turned towards the paintings.

"I want you to have a pretty view of the city." he says and before you can ask what he means, he pushes you down onto your knees, bending you over the backrest and making you look towards the huge glass windows.

"Oh." you whimper when his fingers slide against your wet folds, his other hand freeing his length out of his pants before he replaces fingers with his cock.

"My lovely muse." he whines as he pushes in and you grip onto the backrest, gasping as he slides in easily. "My only rose. I love you so much." he pushes his entire length into you, taking your breath away.

"I love you so much, Jinnie." you moan as he hovers over you, fucking you slowly.

Your eyes roll back, fluttering shut as the familiar stretch of him burns a little, giving way to pleasure as he keeps dragging his cock against your velvety walls faster, making you wetter by the second.

His hands roam freely on your body, wrapping around you to cup your breasts and you arch your back, chasing his touch.

Hyunjin groans when he sees you like that, his hips pounding into you faster as you kneel and take it.

"You're clenching so much around me, my flower. Let go for me." he fucks you harder as you keep whimpering, your eyes opening to stare out the window, all the lights becoming blurry as pleasure starts overtaking you.

"Ah, J-Jinnie!" you moan loudly as you let go, cumming around his cock and he grips onto you, his hips snapping against you while you count all the stars, your body shaking under him.

"Y/n!" he moans you name out as he spills inside you, riding his high and filling you up with his warm liquid.

Hyunjin pulls out of you, collapsing onto the couch and pulling you against his body as he wraps his arms around you.

Your breathing is heavy as you hold onto him, nuzzling as close as you can and you look up at the ceiling again as he giggles.

"When did you paint that?" you ask.

"The first time I had to leave after we opened up our gallery in Isaac's house." he answers and you look at him.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I wanted to surprise you when you come here. I'm glad I never told you to look up. You did it just in the right moment." he teases with a smirk and you giggle, biting into his arm and making him yelp before he laughs at you adoringly.

"Why don't we go upstairs and wash up? Are you hungry?" he asks.

"A little bit." you nod as you sit up.

"We can order, I don't really have groceries here." Hyunjin chuckles and you nod, kissing him shortly before you get up and make your way up to the apartment.

It's a small one bedroom apartment, enough for when Hyunjin comes here alone to promote his new work or the works of a fellow artist who he represents.

You can see it's not too lived in but there is a touch of Hyunjin to it, as well as a touch of you.

Noticing photographs of the two of you together framed on the shelf makes your heart warm up as you smile.

"I look at them when I miss you." he pouts, giving you a quick peck.

"You're cute." you giggle.

"I know." he scrunches up his face and you laugh.

You leave for the bathroom first, stripping before you step into the shower, adjusting the water while Hyunjin orders some food.

He joins in shortly, throwing his clothes haphazardly on the floor just so he can jump in as quickly as possible.

You squeak when his cold hands grip onto you and he chuckles.

"Sorry, baby." he says, still he presses himself into your warmed up body.

"Cold." you gasp a little as he buries his face into your neck.

"You know, I read that transferring body heat helps warm you up quicker so I have to stick to you like this. You don't want me to die from the cold, right?"

"You will not die." you roll your eyes playfully, still your arms wrap around him to keep him close to you.

The shower turns more into a fun time than a regular shower as you wash each other's hair and sing a duet, your giggles echoing in the small space.

After getting dry and warmed up, the food arrives and you eat in Hyunjin's living room, again the view feels huge as you scan the buildings.

"Would you ever wanna live here again?" you ask as the two of you eat, sitting close to each other.

"My honest answer? No. I love being on the island with you, it feels more like a home than any other place I lived in. I got used to the limited space there, like here everything seems so big and so wide, like you can go anywhere and do anything. When in reality it is not like that. The island might be small, but every single part of it is beautiful and filled with memories. I wouldn't trade that for anything." Hyunjin smiles wistfully.

"But, if you want to move here I would for you." he adds, his hand on your knee as he caresses you gently.

"That's sweet, Jinnie but I think the city is too much for me. I don't mind visiting, but I love being on the island. It's comforting and familiar, and I love having you there." you smile.

"Mhm then you wanna keep me there forever, right?" he leans in closer as you finish eating.

"Yes." you chuckle.

"I don't mind being your prisoner forever." he shakes his head with a cute smile and you laugh, carding your hand through his hair as he plops his face into your chest.

"Is that how you feel? Imprisoned?" you tease and he whines into you.

"That is not what I meant! I was trying to be romantic like you stole my heart forever and now I can't go anywhere-"

"Okay, okay, I get it, I was just teasing you a bit." you smirk, making him whine again as he nuzzles his face between your breasts.

"Cuddle me." he pushes his body closer to yours and you wrap your arms around him, merging your bodies together in the warmness of the small apartment.

You go to bed shortly, excited to explore the city, experience something new with the one you love; the jitters making you shiver in anticipation for tomorrow.

But for now, you relish in the sweet and familiar feeling of tangling up with Hyunjin under the sheets as he holds you close to his loving heart.

As you open your eyes the next morning, you panicked for a second, not recognizing your surroundings until you remembered that you came to the city with Hyunjin, and are now laying on his chest safely.

Taking a deep breath in, you look up at him and instantly melt when you see his messy hair and cute sleepy face as he still dreams about who knows what.

You bury your face in his neck, kissing his soft skin gently, getting yourself worked up just from his warmth and his familiar comforting scent.

He doesn't wake up immediately, not until you bite into his skin, sucking on it and creating a pretty mark on your lover.

"Mm... Darling." he groans, his voice deep and laced with sleep.

You continue kissing him, thankful that he slept shirtless as your lips traveled down to his collarbone and chest.

"What are you up to?" he chuckles as you keep kissing lower, a tent appearing in his boxers as his cock strains against the material.

"Nothing." you wink, your lips now closer to his middle.

"Really?" he tries to sit up but you lift up quickly, grabbing his wrists and he lets you pin his hands on either sides of his head.

You throw your leg over him, pressing your core against his hardness and he gasps quietly, his hips lifting up towards you already.

"You said that you're my prisoner." you say and he smirks, letting out a little giggle.

"I am." he nods.

"Then just stay like that and let me do what I want with you."

"Of course, my flower." he smiles as you lean down to kiss him before returning back to your original position.

You lay your hand on his bulge and squeeze slightly before you start palming him.

"Mm, y/n. My love." he whines, pushing up into you and you smirk, leaning in to kiss him through his boxers, noticing a little wet patch appearing on them.

Your fingers circle his head and he whimpers, almost begging you to remove the obnoxious fabric as he grips onto the sheets below him.

You give him a little smirk before you bite into his inner thigh, making him jolt and moan, his cock twitching under your hand.

Deciding you were done teasing him for now, you hook your fingers in his boxers and slide them off, his leaky cock slapping his abs as you free him.

Hyunjin's eyes become darker as you lick at his tip, lapping up the pre-cum before you give him a little kiss. He observes you as you start leaving kisses on his cock, teasing him with the gentleness of your lips, pressing them into his vein, your tongue darting out to lick at his length a few times, all the way down to his balls.

"Trying to kill me?" he pants and you giggle before lifting up.

"A little." you smile before leaning in towards his tip again, swirling your tongue around him as you take him into your mouth, sucking lightly.

"F-flower, ah!" Hyunjin's fingers tangle in your hair as you tease him, the tip of your tongue playing with his sensitive underside and dipping into his slit.

His patience starts to run low, he's more desperate and sensitive than usually in the morning, and he wanted to feel you wrapped around him.

His fingers gripped your hair harder, quiet moans escaping his lips and you let him push you down a little as you took more of him in.

Gripping his thighs, you started to bob your head up and down, your eyes fluttering closed as you savored the taste of him.

Hyunjin shivers, keeping his eyes on you, your pretty lips wrapped around him, taking him in so well, always so sweet and so giving for him.

"Fuck!" he groans when you squeeze his balls, looking up at him sweetly as you continue your ministrations, taking more of his length in until his tip hit the back of your throat, making you gag a little.

"Be careful, flower." he smirks a little, teasing you, he knows you love when he fills you up like that.

You hum around him, sending vibrations through his core and making him twitch as you keep sucking on him like your life depended on it.

The more you sped up, twisting your tongue at the top, massaging his balls in tandem with your mouth, the more desperate he became.

His legs started shaking, he was a babbling mess as he started fucking up into you, meeting your movements while you gagged on his length.

"C-close!" he whimpers and you speed up, determined to make him explode in your mouth.

He repeats your name like a prayer, louder and louder until he finally twitches inside you, spurts of his warm cum painting your throat as you keep swallowing everything he gives you.

"Wow." he gasps as you lift up, making you chuckle.

"Was it good?" you tease and he laughs breathlessly.

"Perfect." he says, his hands gripping at your hips as he brings you closer to him.

"We should get up." you warn and he lets out an incredulous laugh, throwing his head back, his hair splayed cutely around his head on the pillow.

"You think I'm gonna let you get up without returning the favor?"

"Oh, that." you giggle.

"Yeah, that." he pinches your ass, making you jolt and squeal before he hooks his fingers in your panties so you lift up a little, helping him take them off.

"Aren't you and Elsie meeting with some clients?"

"They can all wait. My beautiful girlfriend needs me." he smirks, his fingers sliding against your wet folds.

"H-Hyunjin." you moan.

"Come up here." he motions towards his face and you blush profusely.

You've always been a little embarassed about sitting on his face, feeling awkward to do so but Hyunjin assured you every time that he loved it.

"Are you sure?" you ask.

"Positive." he smiles as he holds your hand, bringing your palm to his lips.

"Okay." you whisper, scooting closer to his face before you hover over him.

"Relax, my love." his arms slide around you, gripping your ass and slowly pulling you down closer to his face.

You close your eyes, grabbing at the headboard as his tongue swipes over your folds a few times making you clench around nothing.

His lips wrap around your clit and he sucks, making your legs shake and squeeze around him.

Hyunjin moans into you, flattening his tongue and slowly moving you against it as he grips onto you.

Your mind becomes dizzy quickly and you start moving on your own, grinding against his tongue and nose languidly as more arousal keeps dripping down onto Hyunjin's face.

His eyes flutter closed and all the embarassment you feel keeps being replaced with the growing pleasure inside you as you keep fucking his face.

His hands massage your ass as he keeps moving you against him, so you move faster as you keep holding onto the headboard for dear life.

Your moans become louder and louder as Hyunjin pushes his tongue into you and starts moving it, tasting you and playing with you, swallowing all your wetness.

"J-Jinnie!" you whimper loudly, your thighs pressing around his head as you snap, spilling all over his lips and face.

His nails dig into your flesh as he holds you down, lapping your juices up and your body trembles from overstimulation as you try to move away.

Hyunjin doesn't let up until he cleans you up, his face flushed and wet when you move away.

"Sorry, w-was that okay?" you feel the embarassment seep in again as he looks at you wildly.

"Baby, I don't think we're leaving the bed yet." he smirks and before you can protest he's already grabbing your waist and pulling you down as you squeal.

Hyunjin has been sitting in the meeting room for almost an hour, constantly glancing at the clock, his mind only on returning to you.

He had promised to take you out on lunch but the people participating in the event had so many ideas to discuss that the meeting just kept dragging on.

His leg kept bouncing up and down as he bit on his lip and nodded at the man sitting before him.

"You're creating an earthquake, Hyun." Elsie leans into Hyunjin's ear.

"Oh. Sorry." he chuckles quietly.

"I know you wanna go back to your darling as soon as possible so try to concentrate now and we'll be done sooner." she reminds him and Hyunjin nods, quickly getting himself together, getting back into the groove of the discussion.

As Elsie predicted, the meeting ended succesfully and quickly after that, the event was all but ready minus a few minor details.

After they saw the clients out, Hyunjin turned to Elsie with his eyes big, his hands clasped together in a pleading position.

"Oh I know that face. What is it now?" Elsie chuckles, knowing he's about to beg her for help.

"I need you to do something for me and y/n can't find out. Will you please?"

"As long as it's legal, of course. Eh, who am I kidding, I'd probably help you hide a body if it came to that." Elsie jokes and Hyunjin laughs.

"Thank you, you're a life saver!"

"I'm sorry I'm late!" Hyunjin runs into the apartment, finding you in the living room, reading your book.

"Oh, no it's okay. I was entertained." you smile, waving your book shortly and Hyunjin chuckles breathlessly before skipping towards you and leaning down to press a few sweet kisses to your lips.

"Are you hungry?" he asks and you nod.

"Yes, I'm ready to eat."

"Okay, well there is this restaurant here that I used to go to a lot and the food is amazing so I wanna take you there." he says excitedly.

"Should I dress fancy?" you get up and Hyunjin chuckles, his arms wrapping around your waist as he brings you closer to him.

"It's not too fancy." he answers, kissing your jaw.

"Alright, casual fancy." both of you chuckle as you leave to get ready.

Hyunjin paces the living room while he waits, thinking of his request for Elsie.

A wave of excitement and fear runs through his body, giving him happy jitters.

You walk out of the bedroom after some time and Hyunjin's eyes soften as soon as they land on you.

"You look beautiful."

"Thanks, lover. You too." you smile as he leans in to kiss you.

Hyunjin takes his camera, ready to capture the beautiful memories the two of you are about to create in the city.

Your afternoon is filled with new sights, completely different than your little island, where you know every nook and cranny, every piece of earth your feet have touched, every detail of it so dear to your heart and so deeply etched into your mind that you could walk it blind.

It's exciting, the restaurant, the huge buildings, the flashing lights, the people, the city never sleeps, it's the same during the day and the night.

Hyunjin snaps so many pictures that you've lost count of them, his cute happy face making your heart beat faster.

But the excitement slowly starts turning into exhaustion as you keep venturing further into the heart of the city.

Hyunjin, always so perceptive when it comes to you, notices your sudden quietness so he takes your hand and slowly leads you away from the crowd to a park near by.

You find a somewhat quiet bench, some guy playing the guitar and singing not too far away, creating a romantic atmosphere as the two of you sit down.

The sun is already almost gone behind the horizon as your eyes roam around the sky, the beautiful swirls of purple and pink giving way to the darkness slowly creeping in.

Hyunjin wraps his arm around your shoulder, bringing you into him.

"Are you having fun?" he asks with a smile.

"Mhm. I am."

"Love, you can tell me if you're not. I'll call a cab to take us to the apartment immediately."

"No, no, I'm enjoying being outside. It's just that we saw so much today so I'm processing it." you chuckle and Hyunjin giggles.

"Sorry for dragging you everywhere." he smiles sheepishly and you lean in to kiss his cute dimple.

"It's fine. You're so cute when you get excited. And it's only fair that you show me everything as the designated tour guide." you tease.

Hyunjin laughs, briefly reminiscing how you were the tour guide on the island, showing him all the places you found beautiful.

"Let me take you to one last place and then we're done, I promise."

"Lead the way." you smile and after a 20 minute walk, Hyunjin and you arrive in front of a huge building.

"What is it?" you ask.

"You'll see." he leads you behind the building, holding your hand as you walk together.

The back of the building is almost all glass but what captures your attention the most is an exhibit of different art installations.

You lean in to look closer as Hyunjin stands next to you.

"This is the academy I attended." he starts and you look at him.

"Oh." you gasp.

"This is where I spent so much time being scrutinized for every little detail in my art. In a way I'm thankful cause I learned so much. But I often asked myself what was the purpose and at what cost? It almost crushed my soul, and all for that-" he motions towards a painting on the wall, one of a face you don't recognize, "to be on display for everyone."

You may not recognize the face but you recognize Hyunjin's brush strokes.

"I hate that painting." he says quietly.

"Who is that?" you ask.

"Nobody. I made him up in my mind. He's just a no one." Hyunjin's shoulders tense and you're quick to put your hand on his back, gently caressing him to soothe him.

It works instantly as he melts into your touch.

"I-I'm sorry. I don't wanna ruin the mood, I just wanted to show you where I spent lots of time. I sat there a lot." he turns to point at one of the outdoor tables. "Would doodle in my little sketchbook. I made the dumbest drawings in those, just to have some kind of outlet where I could feel like I was in charge, not just doing something that someone else told me to."

"So it was like a diary. Like mine." you remember showing him your sketchbooks when you just met. "You never showed me those."

"My mother found them and she threw them away." he sighs sadly and you lean on him.

"I'm sorry." you whisper.

"It's okay, it's in the past plus I can paint whatever I want now." he smiles and leans in to kiss you gently.

Sharing a kiss with you right in front of the academy feels surreal to Hyunjin, especially when he looks back at it with a pinch of bitterness, remembering the sleepless nights and his mother's sinister words.

"I'm glad we did this." Hyunjin squeezes your hand as you sit in the back of the cab.

"Me too. You gave me a new perspective on the city."

"Yeah, I think we created some nice memories here. It feels better." he agrees.

"Definitely does." you nod.

The next day, Hyunjin took you to another restaurant which was a bit more fancy, something you've never experienced before, making you feel a bit awkward.

Elsie and her husband Peter were already waiting at one of the tables, Elsie waving enthusiastically as soon as she spotted the two of you.

She hugged both of you and after shaking Peter's hand, you sat down and took in the view.

The restaurant was in a building, high up and looking over the city, making all the buildings, cars and people look like Lego pieces from up here.

Most of the food you couldn't even pronounce but Hyunjin was there to recommend you something tasty.

You thought it was going to be an awkward evening, but Elsie and Peter were both nice and you could see how Hyunjin was relaxed with them, having known them for years.

The conversation was light and fun, the food delicious and the wine was wonderful, creating a nice atmosphere around your little table.

Later in the evening, Elsie leaned in closer to you while Hyunjin and Peter conversed.

"I'm so glad Hyunjin decided to take a break on the island." she says.

"That makes two of us." you smile at her.

"He was different before he met you. Well, before he fell in love with you. I really thought he'd never find himself again, I was scared for him. He's really like the brother I never had and seeing him this happy with you makes me so excited for the two of you." your eyes almost tear up at her sincerity.

"Oh thank you, that's really nice of you, Elsie."

"Are y'all talking about me?" Hyunjin smirks.

"Always." you smirk back at him as he rolls his eyes playfully.

Falling back into the conversation, Elsie and Hyunjin start reminiscing their academy days, and hearing how he would sneak out to party just to spite his mother, things he did and said then was like a new side of him you've never known.

He told you a bit about it all before, but Elsie was determined to embarass him, at least a little.

"Remember that time you got so drunk and I had to drive you home? You puked all over my car." she laughs.

"It's not funny." Hyunjin blushes immediately, glancing at you shortly.

"It totally was. You were speaking nonsense. Ah, those parties were crazy. Remember that time we played truth or dare?"

"I do. Sadly." Hyunjin grimaces as you lean in curiously.

"It was nothing but we kissed." Elsie says and even though she already said she sees him like a brother, you felt a little weird that he never mentioned that.

"Ew. It was like I was kissing my sister." Hyunjin makes a disgusted face and she laughs.

"Would not do that again." she chuckles, before looking back at you. "I hope that didn't bother you."

"No, no, it was in the past." you say, a small smile on your face, but Elsie could see it was forced.

"Oh for god's sake!" she grabs your face and your eyes widen, before you can even say something she presses her lips into yours, kissing you shortly before leaning back, leaving you shocked.

"There. I kissed you both, now it's even." her husband laughs, shaking his head as Hyunjin rolls his eyes with a smile, his arm wrapping around you.

"Please, never do that again." he narrows his eyes at Elsie as she lifts her hands up in surrender.

"Thought it'd be fun. Sorry if it was too much, y/n."

"It's- it's fine." you chuckle quietly, feeling a bit embarassed about the whole situation.

The rest of the evening is uneventful and as soon as you arrive to the apartment, Hyunjin's hands and lips are on you.

"I can't believe she kissed you." he chuckles, his lips on your cheeks, his hands roaming on your hips and waist.

"She's a bit... extroverted?" you grimace, making Hyunjin laugh.

"You can say crazy. Cause she is. This is nothing compared to what she usually does, I think she was trying not to make you feel awkward. Which I appreciate, but I still didn't like that she kissed you. Your lips are mine only." Hyunjin cups your face, kissing you before you could even respond.

And he keeps kissing you as he slowly leads you to the bed, both of you falling down on it and never breaking the kiss.

Even though his exhibit was tomorrow, neither Hyunjin nor you got too much sleep, instead your time was spent in each other's embrace, your bodies moving lovingly into one another.

You're sleeping on your stomach when you feel Hyunjin's breath on your neck.

His hand lands on your waist, caressing you gently as his lips start traveling down your spine.

You flutter your eyes slowly before opening them and looking out the window.

From your position, you're looking right at the blue sunny sky, a few clouds floating by.

It's quiet and peaceful as Hyunjin keeps showering you with gentle kisses, his lips on your back, your shoulder, your neck and your arm.

He peeks at you and you giggle, making him giggle too before he brings his middle closer to you and you feel his hardness press against you.

"Again?" you chuckle in amusement, after last night's multiple rounds you had no idea how he still wanted you.

"What else do you expect, my flower? When you're so beautiful and loving, I need you close to me always." he caresses your hair, his lips on your neck as he slowly grinds into your backside.

"J-Jinnie. My love." you whimper when his cock slips between your thighs, grinding against your wet pussy.

"Stay like that." he grabs his cock and pushes into you easily, making you moan as you arch your back a little.

"I love you so much." he whispers into your ear as his arms wrap around you, his hips moving into you.

"I love you so much, Jinnie." you echo, grabbing his hand and entwining your fingers with his.

Hyunjin groans lowly into your ear, getting you more wet as his cock slips in and out of you, not giving you his entire length in this position but it's still a nice, satisfying stretch.

His hand releases yours to cup your breast and play with your nipple as you whimper, gripping at the bed while he moves a bit faster.

"You're mine forever, my love." Hyunjin holds you closer still, his hand traveling down over your stomach to your clit as he starts playing with it.

"Only yours." you moan out, your high building up.

Pictures start appearing in Hyunjin's mind, the two of you like this, always and forever, and his thoughts start racing, suddenly imagining something he never really let himself think about before.

His face and ears feel hot, followed by his body burning up and the wave of hotness rushes down into his already hard cock.

His heart starts beating fast as he imagines you carrying his child, the two of you bound together forever, creating something purely out of love.

"Fuck!" he curses, unexpectedly cumming before you as you gasp at the feeling of him filling you up.

"I'm sorry." he squeezes your thigh and you turn around to look at him, seeing his face is completely red, his forehead sweaty and his eyebrows twisted like he's struggling.

"Are you okay?" you reach out to touch his cheek and he melts into you.

"Yeah. Let me finish what I started." he chuckles sheepishly and you giggle as his fingers slide on your folds, gathering his cum and pushing it back in.

Your eyes flutter as you look at him and he wonders if you ever thought about that but for some reason he feels too shy to ask, scared to break the moment as he brings you closer to your edge.

"H-Hyunjin, so good." you whimper.

"Feels good, love?" he smirks, fucking into your sweet spot, making you feel like you're floating.

"Mhm, harder please." you grip onto him and he obliges, fucking into you harder until you squirt all over his hand.

The way he looks at you after, his lips opening and closing a few times makes you chuckle, your head tilting in curiosity.

"What is it, lover?" you sit up, carding your fingers through his hair.

"Nothing. I just love you more than anything." he smiles, making you melt on the spot.

"I love you more than anything too."

Despite your protests, Hyunjin takes you shopping after breakfast.

You kept telling him you didn't need anything, that you had everything you wanted and more but he kept reassuring you that it would be fun to walk around the shops and try on clothes, buy some new painting supples while you're at it.

And he was right, it was fun.

Hyunjin decided to find the silliest outfits and make a fool out of himself just to make you laugh.

He also brought you a few dresses to try on, lifting up a pair of lacy underwear too.

"Put that back." you smack his arm as people passed by you, your face becoming red.

"For the record, I think you'd look amazing in it." he smiles cheekily.

"Oh, would I?" you smirk.

"Definitely." he ushers you towards the changing rooms and of course follows you in.

"What are you doing?" you chuckle, putting the dresses aside.

"Helping you out." he smiles behind you, feigning innocence as you look at his reflection in the mirror.

"Mhm. Right. Go wait outside." you say and he pouts.

"I thought you loved me." he teases, sighing dramatically.

"Hyunjin." you narrow your eyes at him, not wanting to be thrown out of a fancy shop because the two of you couldn't keep your hands to yourselves.

"Fineeee." he whines, walking out so you can change.

"What about this one?" you walk out after trying on the last dress.

"It's perfect." he says, a lovesick smile on his face.

"You said that about every single one of them." you laugh.

"Well, because you're wearing them! We'll get all of them." he says and you quickly protest.

"No, please don't spend so much on me."

"Who else would I spend it on?" he says softly, caressing your face as he stands in front of you.

"But-"

"Please, let me do this. I wanna spoil you a little since we're here. It really makes me happy to do that."

"Okay." you give in as he looks at you with puppy eyes and pouty lips.

You kiss him before changing back into your clothes, then making your way to the cash register.

After paying for the dresses you make your way out, the amount of money makes your head spin but Hyunjin really seemed happy to do that, and it made you curious as to why he was so adamant about showering you with gifts when the both of you were into more simpler things, like cooking dinner together or a walk on the sunny beach.

After Hyunjin splurged on new painting supplies, you sat down in a cute café, ordering some cakes and coffee.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Hyunjin chuckles.

"Oh. I was just curious as to why you wanted to buy all those dresses for me. You know I'm happy when you're just next to me. That's the greatest gift to me, Jinnie."

"I know." he softens, taking your hand in his. "It's just what I always imagined when we come to the city. Taking you out shopping, it just goes well with the vibe here and it's not something we can do on the island. It's okay really, I don't care about the price, I'm just glad you found something you like." he adds the last part as you chew on your lip, not used to getting those kinds of gifts.

"Thank you, Jinnie."

"You don't have to thank me." he smiles, kissing your hand.

The door chimes, signaling a new customer coming in and as Hyunjin glances towards the door, you see his face contort.

His eyes widen, his lips pressing together before he frowns.

You look towards the door, staring at the couple who came in until realization dawns on you.

"Shit." Hyunjin curses under his breath, looking down at the table, boring holes into his half eaten pastry.

"Is that-"

"It is. I should've known. They used to bring me here a lot when I was younger." he says quietly, praying to whatever that they don't look this way but life usually does the exact opposite.

"They saw us." you say and Hyunjin's hand immediately flies to touch you, fingers squeezing around yours.

"Are they coming here?" he asks, his voice small and insecure.

You see his mother stare at him, her face that of a shock before going back to the cold expression she wore before. His father seemed to want to come closer but you could see how she held him back.

Her eyes then traveled to you and you mustered up the most murderous stare you could, throwing daggers at her with your eyes and she looked away, lifting her chin up like it was none of her business.

"They're... not." you squeeze Hyunjin's hand and he scoffs.

"Please, let's leave." his voice breaks along with your heart as you watch his eyes fill with tears.

"Of course." you quickly stand up, gathering your shopping bags, thankful you already paid as the two of you made your way to the exit as fast as possible.

Hyunjin is quiet the whole ride to the apartment, you can see him swallowing tears as he avoids looking at you.

You reach out to touch his hand and he moves it away.

"Don't." he whispers, shaking his head. "If you touch me, I'll fall apart." he adds quietly and you nod in understanding.

So as soon as you arrive back to the apartment, Hyunjin throws himself into your embrace, crying into your chest as you hold him and caress him.

"They really threw me aside. Even my father. Like I never meant anything to them." he sobs.

"I'm sorry, my love, I really am." your own eyes tear up as he squeezes you.

"It's not your fault."

"I hope you know you are loveable and I'd never leave you." you say as he looks up at you sadly.

You reach out to wipe his tears away and he smiles a little.

"I don't know what I'd do without you. Thank you for loving me." he holds you even tighter.

"Thank you for letting me love you, Jinnie."

"Someday... I hope we can have a family of our own." he looks at you hopefully and your face becomes hot instantly, butterflies swirling in your stomach as your heart skips a beat.

"I would love that." you whisper, caressing his hair and Hyunjin melts further into your embrace.

The afternoon is spent in each other's arms, soft kisses and touches slowly healing the damaged soul.

The promises that leave your lips are ones you intend to fulfill.

The last evening in the city is wrapped up with Hyunjin's collaboration with two other artists, their works displayed together on the walls of his gallery as people congratulate him.

He looks unreal in his suit, his hair neatly pulled back, his jewelry shiny.

You could hardly believe this was the same man who just cried in your embrace like a wounded child, yet here he was proudly showing off the beauty his heart held and captured on the canvas.

You couldn't be more proud of him, giddy with excitement as the evening progressed into a little celebratory party.

People stayed later than they should've perhaps, leaving one by one as the hours passed by until there was no one left but you and your beloved.

"Whew. That went well." Hyunjin stands by your side, wrapping his arm around your waist.

"I'm so proud of you." you tell him, making his heart swell with happiness and love.

"Feels good when you say that." he leans in, nuzzling against you. "Let's go upstairs, I wanna make love to you."

You giggle and let him lead the way, his hands impatient even in the elevator.

You kiss upon entering the apartment, bumping into furniture and throwing your clothes on the way to the bed.

Hyunjin lays you down gently, taking his time to touch you slowly, his pretty hands running all over your soft skin, squeezing occasionally as he looks at you like he's just seen you for the first time, like he's falling in love with you all over again.

Your cheeks become rosy as you lift your hands up to reciprocate, exploring his skin and muscles.

Hyunjin leans in to kiss you, worshipping your body with his lips until you're squirming for more, needy to have him closer to you, as close as possible.

Your legs wrap around him and he smirks before kissing you, the tip of his cock prodding at you.

"Hyun- please." you whisper against his lips and he grabs his length, slowly sinking into the familiar warmth of you.

"Y/n." he moans your name when you clench around him.

He starts dragging his cock slowly inside you, his eyes becoming teary.

"Are you okay?" you ask cautiously, gently taking his face in your hands.

"Never been happier. I need- I want- ugh." he buries his face in your neck and you almost chuckle at his sudden bashful behavior.

"Tell me what you want, lover." you coo at him.

"I want you to have my baby." Hyunjin says gently as he fucks deep into you and you gasp, clenching at his words.

"Please. I wanna have your baby, Hyunjin." you whimper, becoming incredibly wet at the thought.

"Ah, my flower." his cock twitches, his eyes suddenly squeezed shut as he grips at you.

"Gonna fill you up good, make you all full and round for me." he groans, pressing his forehead against yours, as his tip keeps kissing your cervix.

"P-please Hyunjin!" you go crazy at the thought of that, having a connection so deep with someone you love more than anything, being only his for the rest of your life makes your heart swell and your high approaches quickly as you clench around him and explode.

"Ah, gonna give you everything I have. Gonna make you a mommy." Hyunjin's hips stutter as your nails dig into his back.

"Yes, give me a baby Hyunjin, ah!" you whine, your eyes tearing up as he speeds up, chasing his high and quickly cumming at the thought of you being pregnant.

"Shit." he plops down on you and you giggle, holding him tight.

"Was that too much?" he asks.

"No, it's okay, don't worry." you smile, kissing his hair.

"I really do want that with you. I wasn't just saying it in the heat of the moment." Hyunjin says.

"I know. Me too." you say and he lifts up, hovering over you with a goofy smile on his face.

"You really wanna have my baby?" he asks.

"Yes, I really do." you nod, your heart still beating fast.

"How many babies?" he wiggles his eyebrows and you laugh, smacking his arm.

"Let's start with one and then we'll see." you smile and he chuckles.

"Okay but first I want to do something else once we get to the island." his eyes light up as he looks at you lovingly.

"What?" you ask and Hyunjin quickly shakes his head, sitting up.

"Not gonna ruin the surprise. You're gonna have to wait until we get there." he smirks, pinching your cheek and making you whine as you swat at his hand.

"Not fair."

"We'll be home tomorrow morning." he lays down next to you. "Honestly, I'm done with the city. I miss our little island and our home and our garden." he says, caressing your face as he turns to you.

Your heart flutters as Hyunjin calls your home and garden his too.

"Me too. I can't wait to go home with you."

And Hyunjin can't wait either, his heart exploding for the little surprise he begged Elsie to help him with.

He had planned it for some time, wanting to find the perfect ring for you, the thoughts of making you his wife running through his mind constantly ever since he moved in with you and started living on the island, his heart so full every day, so loved, held so preciously in your hands.

Hyunjin knows he wants to spend eternity with you, forever melting in your loving embrace, his mission to make you happy for the rest of time.

taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @laylasbunbunny @porangporangmeong @jeonginslefthand @sapphirewaves @simpforleeknaur @laughatdanger @lixies-favorite-cookie @linavc @quokkacidal @thisaintredwine @m00gyu @yaorzu-blog @skzfelixlove @tajannah-price1 @puccaaak @aft2rsexs @xxkissesforchanniexx @aprilmaejune77 @lilmeowneow @stayjinnie @astrobebba @danihwang882 @kaysungshine @nchhuhi @1810cl @chartrucewhore @babigriin @jisuperboard @alisonyus @minluvly @instantsoulnight @kkamismom12 @its-stayville-forever @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @painterhyunjin @lemonadeboun @eastjonowhere @frehyun

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onlyswan · 1 year ago

Text

dreamboat | jjk (2)

summary: aboard the dreamboat, jungkook finds himself drawn to a beautiful stranger who appears to be drowning in melancholy. weeks later, he sees her face on the other side of the aquarium at his apartment building’s lobby. he soon learns that it’s not fate’s grand romantic plans that brought you back to his life. / (alt.) / a shipwreck and a dreamboat form an unusual bond in an aquarium.

non!idoljk x f!reader (jk is a business major who works at the amusement park ; oc works at the call center) / strangers to lovers / fluff, angst, suggestive / chapter wc: 15.9k / total fic wc: 30.8k

warnings/content (for full fic): is it an onlyswan fic if nobody cries? ; smoking ; making out ; mention of nude art ; mention of flashing ; panic attack ; a ghost cameo lol ; s*x scandal ; abuse of authority ; harrassment ; jk throws a punch once ; oc drives a motorbike without a helmet once ; vminjin + yeontan cameos :3 ; tae and jk are the same age tho

<- part one (wc: 14.9k) | spotify playlist (open to song recs <3)

note: yaaay full fic is out 🥹💕 i’ve been so attached to these two for the past month i’m gonna miss them sm :( reblogs and feedback are appreciated i’d love to hear your thoughts 🥺 p.s. it does get pretty heavy so pls take care of urself while reading 🫂 hugs and kisses

—

jungkook lets out a big yawn, removing his glasses so he can wipe off the sleepy tears from his eyes. his phone pings with new text messages and he peers down at the table to read them.

01:18am

stop texting.

why are you still awake? you have that big presentation tomorrow.

you need your brain functioning at full capacity so you can answer the prof’s questions.

he types out his response.

01:20am

i want to sleep too but i’m not yet done practicing 🥲

if you’re on a mission to make him fall hopelessly in love, it would be safe to say that you’re succeeding. instead of being a distraction, here you are showing concern for his health and motivating him about his studies. he’s not used to having this kind of dynamic with the people he likes. usually he’d be stubborn and stay on his phone, but he puts it down so he can refocus on his slides. he’s excited to do his presentation well and gush about it with you at the end of the day.

twenty minutes later, a rapping at the door disrupts his concentration.

“he better not be drunk.” he grumbles on his way to the door.

no one else would disturb him at this time but taehyung.

but it’s not taehyung.

it’s you.

“i didn’t wake you, did i?”

“no, no- i was still-” he takes a glimpse at his messy desk. “practicing for the presentation… uhm, i thought you were at work?”

“we don’t have work today.”

you nonchalantly bring out a glass full of green goop from your back, encouraging him to take it.

“here, drink this.”

he stares at it in bewilderment as he slowly accepts it. “what’s this?”

“bedtime smoothie.”

you sense his disgust and foreboding.

“there’s bananas and cherry juice in there.”

that knowledge emboldens him to take a sip. he licks off the mustache it leaves on top of his lips. “hmm, not bad!”

“i told you so.” you send him a tight-lipped smile which disappears in two seconds. “do you want some help practicing?”

“oh, that’s right.” his eyes widen. “you’re good at speaking!”

he steps aside so you can pass through the narrow entrance.

“please come in.”

jungkook is compelled to make himself clear. he hasn’t invested on a shelf. never found the time. his room may look like a mess to an outsider’s eyes but he has an organized system and he’s incredibly resourceful.

“jungkook… you can’t live like this.”

is it that bad?

his jaw slacks when you pick up a plastic bag on the floor and begin throwing in the scattered empty cans and bottles of caffeine on and around his desk, including the one he hasn’t finished drinking yet. that— he won’t win defending.

“you’ll die at this rate.” you rebuke him calmly. “do you even drink water?”

“of course i do!” he proceeds to drink the smoothie you made for him. “but you drink a lot of coffee too.”

“not anymore,” you head to his fridge after dumping the plastic bag in the trash. “i’m already adjusted to my job… i’m taking these.”

you bring out the two remaining cans of energy drinks and stuff them into the pocket of your hoodie.

“you can’t just take them!”

you ignore his protest. “is the smoothie good? you like it, right?”

his shoulders deflate in defeat. he takes another gulp and swallows, nodding happily. “i like it.”

“then i’ll make you an energy-boosting one when you need it. i received fruit baskets at work. they’d only go bad if i try to eat everything alone.”

“sounds like a sweet deal,” he grins.

he’s definitely not complaining. the artificial flavoring of the energy drinks pale in comparison to the real thing.

“okay, let’s get started then.” you pad over to his desk.

you hand him his laptop which is displaying his powerpoint before making yourself comfortable on his chair.

he stands infront of you awkwardly. “we’re really doing this?”

“we are,” you reply curtly, sinking further into the chair. it’s a pretty big chair, even for him. it’s endearing to see you play around with it. “are you nervous? you can’t be nervous.”

“i’m not,” he lies. “i’m a professional!”

you have no idea that you make him more nervous than having forty other people in the same room.

he sighs. “hold this for me then.”

you take the glass into your hands, sipping a little. he clears his throat and pretends that didn’t affect him at all.

“okay, let’s start… good mor-”

“wait-” you shake your head, demandingly waving your hand to the right. “wrong slide.”

—

“where are you? i thought you were going to help me with my project?”

jimin, a friend he met through a school organization two years ago, begins coughing dramatically over the phone. “jungkook, i’m sorry. i’m feeling under the weather.”

jungkook grimaces, stopping on his tracks to berate him. “hyung, i can hear the dj music!”

“ah, yes…” he can practically hear the wheels in jimin’s brain turn. “actually, i’m about to leave the club! since i’m not feeling so well.”

“wow,” he huffs out a laugh. “you’re really terrible.”

“i’m serious! let’s reschedule tomorrow. i’ll buy you dinner so we can catch up too.”

“fine,” he blows a loud breath.

“i love you, jungkook-ah.” jimin proclaims with exaggerated affection.

he makes a noise of disgust. “you’re really drunk.”

“oh, why aren’t you saying it back?” jimin angrily questions him.

“maybe i will, after you buy me food.”

“okay,” jimin cackles. “i’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“okay, goodbye.”

he drops the call, still uncertain whether jimin was lying or not. either way, he gets a free meal and he no longer feels the need to complain.

he shrugs and continues his journey home.

that is until he inhales the unmistakable scent of smoke from the alleyway.

again, it could be anybody, but there’s a peculiar feeling that won’t let him move forward. deja vú is what they call it. it is often described as bittersweet, but jungkook is nervous. scared even.

he doesn’t want his gut feeling to be right.

he knows what your sobs sound like, their effect on him and his heart that is awfully weak when it comes to you, but he wants to be wrong so badly.

right then and there, jungkook faces a dilemma.

those who hide do not want to be found.

he has the choice to keep walking, pretend that he was never here. that it doesn’t hurt him to walk away. he can do what he failed to do the first time and not jump in to interpret your crying as a cry for help.

he stands there like a fool waiting for the stars to spell out the correct answer for him to read.

unfortunately for him, life doesn’t work that way and there isn’t even one to wish upon.

you flicked his forehead and erased his memories. if he makes the same mistake twice, then maybe he can use that as an excuse to lessen the burden of regret.

—

you flinch and lift your head in fear when something bumps against your knee, but that fear soon morphs into an entirely new fear when you perceive the person sitting infront of you.

your bloodshot eyes make out jungkook’s features in the dim light.

you’re no stranger to that look. you know what you look like. the cigarette tastes terrible, it doesn’t smell better with liquor either. there are teardrops on the ground and your sobs are caught in your throat and they come out as hiccups. you wouldn’t even dare to call yourself a mess, because scattered pieces of a broken whole float on the surface and sometimes miraculously wash ashore. you’re at the rock bottom being eaten alive and you’re not going anywhere else.

“just walk away,” you croak out, pushing him away with the hand not holding the cigarette.

he doesn’t budge. you don’t know if it’s because you’re too weak or he’s too strong.

“i can’t leave you like this.”

“you can,” you argue.

“you don’t have to be alone. i’m here.”

he holds your arms, coaxing you to recognize the sincerity in his eyes. those wide doe eyes, always shining when you reflect on their irises. you wish they could stay that way forever. you wish you could be at peace with that.

“you can confide in me. you can use me. whatever you need to feel better. ____, please.”

“you can’t help me.” you bluntly assert. before he begins begging. before he says more swoon-worthy words that would break down the walls you’ve built. “i appreciate the thought, but nothing you can do will make this better.”

god knows that you’re yearning to hear them, but you still don’t know how much of it you can trust.

“maybe i can!” he interjects. desperately. his grip on you tightens a little. it steadies your body as your mind and heart fall apart, but you feel suffocated.

“jungkook, i don’t want to fight right now.”

“if you just let me try, ____. i’m here for you. i swear i won’t pass judgement or-”

“you can’t! okay? you can’t!” you break down, uncontrollable sobs making your words less coherent. “you’re just wasting your time!”

with every morsel of strength you have left, you force yourself to stand up. an unnamed object clatters on the ground and you shove jungkook to the ground without meaning to.

a combination of hurt and shock flashes across his face. you become racked with guilt.

however, this is what you wanted. this is for the best. you’re supposed to live a quiet life and not get too close with anyone, but you don’t cause a person this type of pain, and you don’t feel this guilty about it, if your hearts were never intertwined.

you should be the one to walk away.

every step you take to escape from him is heavy. you’re confused by the contradictions between your mind and heart and the last thing you need right now is confusing. what else can you do but run?

jungkook wraps his arms around you from behind, stopping you on your tracks.

“what are you doing?”

the world stops for a little while.

“let g- let me go!”

you struggle out of his embrace, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t disappointed he let you go so easily.

“you think a hug’s going to make me feel better and fix my life? are you that naive…? wow, i envy you. if it was that easy, i wouldn’t be at this fucking dumpster with you!”

maybe you’re even angry that he did, pounding away at his chest with rigid fists to break his heart too. your throat is painful and rough from screaming but the thought of losing your voice doesn’t occur to you. apparently, you don’t care that you’re burning your lungs either. the world may very well end at this moment because that’s what it feels like. you have nothing left to lose but this vessel— and this vessel is heavy, worn-out, and incurable.

you’re an overflowing sink of adrenaline rush, shaking and tearing apart at the seams.

“i never would’ve ruined my hair with this- this stupid color. i wouldn’t be getting cursed at by bigoted strangers because they hate my accent…”

your forehead collapses on jungkook’s chest. a string of sobs follow the words that were forcefully uttered against your better judgment. you would’ve been fine after a smoke and a good cry, not processing anything so you can settle with being numb instead of jaded.

“i’d still be studying. i’d become a doctor. i wouldn’t give a fuck about fishes and what they can and can’t eat.”

—

for the first time, your laugh stabs him in the chest instead of making his heart flutter.

“i’d be living a good life not being bombarded by someone who-” you hit his chest with every word spoken with gritted teeth. “wants to be the fucking hero. i don’t need you!”

there’s no way. you don’t mean that. you’re just angry. jungkook convinces himself in his head as he openly takes the hits. he did say you could confide in him—use him—and you’re doing it right now. he just didn’t know he’d have to grow thicker skin on the spot to be what you need.

your icy glare pierces through him and renders him motionless.

“you can’t do anything, so please, don’t feel bad for me.” you sneer. “it’s making me feel bad for you.”

—

you’ve stormed off and jungkook stays right where you left him, wiping away his tears. the last time he cried was when his ex-girlfriend broke up with him. that was over a year ago, it only dawns on him now.

you’ve been the only person in his mind since that one sunny june day.

where he stands, the autumn winds are getting colder and the winter is fast approaching.

just as fast your lives were weaved into a blooming wildflower did it also begin to wither.

jungkook does want to save you, but he doesn’t want to be a hero. after all the time you’ve spent together, do you sincerely see him as someone who values self-interest most of all? the truth did come out, the snide truth, a bitter pill he can’t swallow. you don’t want to be here. he can’t save you. it can’t be possible when he’s part of the picture you can’t stomach to look at.

“hyung,” he tries to be strong but his voice wavers, echoing the wretched state of him. “are you still at the club?”

“i’ll turn on my location.” jimin responds without question, which jungkook is thankful for. “call me when you’re near. be safe, got it?”

“yes, hyung,” he ends the call.

he inhales sharply, hoping that would alleviate the weight on his chest and allow him to move his feet. the heavy smell of burnt chemicals still hangs in the air. even after everything, he’s envious of the discarded stick of drug on the ground for having touched your lips.

jungkook turns to leave, but is interrupted by a small object caught underneath his shoe. he picks it up for inspection— a blue lighter hand painted with a goldfish.

he doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

—

you woke up with a pounding headache, burdened with immense regret you assume. you deserve it. you don’t remember the exact words you said but you only scream when you don’t know what you’re talking about. you pushed away the only person who cared enough to sit with you in the dark. the line between right and wrong is blurring. you don’t know what you’re doing with your life anymore, if you’re doing anything so that it could be heading somewhere.

you thought life couldn’t possibly get worse, but here you are anxiously nibbling at your nails as you wait for a man to reply to your texts because you’re scared of losing him.

08:25am

jungkook i'm sorry about what happened last night i never meant to act that way and hurt you. i was out of my mind

i know you really care about me and i'm grateful for that

please forgive me

09:13am

[attached image]

you gaze wistfully into the aquarium. the fishes swim around with considerably more energy after their breakfast, and it drives you to wonder if jungkook fed them dinner. last night was the first night you received no messages from jungkook, not even an image alone.

“i think i fucked it up with your dad.”

you spot dahlia, and clementine, and coral, and tangerine… blissfully unaware of you drowning in misery.

accordingly, the wildcard emerges from the shipwreck. it swims to you, the glass acting as the barrier that prevents it from kissing your nose.

it doesn’t do this to jungkook, so you like to think that you’re special. you feel guilty that you failed to treat it the same.

“poor thing,” you hang your head in shame, sniffling. “we haven’t even named you yet.”

—

you learned from the new security guard on the night shift that jungkook requested for her to take over feeding for the meantime. three more days pass without any sign or trace of him, and yet you still send him your good morning pictures and you hang out at the lobby waiting for him to come home.

he has to come home soon.

he still lives here… right?

11:47pm

how long will you ignore me?

where are you? i'll come to you

please, let’s talk

you jolt on your seat when your phone vibrates with a ping!

12:01am

jungkook:

meet me at the rooftop

you are charged with joy and relief as much as confusion.

there’s… a rooftop?

—

you stand at the door staring at jungkook’s back, gathering all courage to face him despite your shame eating away at you.

“i didn’t know tenants were allowed here.”

“we’re not,”

he looks back at you, and surprisingly enough, his charming smile melts away your anxiety. you can’t tell if that’s a good thing or bad thing. it’s not right for you to fall in love.

“why are you still standing there?” he chuckles. he sits on a low table with his legs crossed, feet tucked beneath his thighs. he pats the space next to him. “here, sit.”

with a nod, you close the door behind you. you sit beside him, but with considerable distance, like the first time you sat next to each other.

“the view is quite nice.”

in consideration of the time, you didn’t expect so many lights. they look like shining stars from where you are, only that you can actually reach for them if you try. you even spot a ferris wheel. although, you’re not certain if it’s from the amusement park jungkook works at.

“it is, isn’t it?”

“do you go up here often?”

“not since the aquarium became our spot.”

our spot.

you smile to yourself, eyes falling on your lap as you mindlessly fiddle with your fingers.

“i’m sorry… for what happened.” you pause to swallow the lump in your throat, breathing shakily.

as ever, it’s difficult to apologize to someone and agree that there are dispensable parts of you. you’re scared that you might cry again infront of him. it never ends well.

“i-i was having a bad day, and i didn’t want to drag you down with me. but i got overwhelmed by my emotions and i said words i didn’t mean. you didn’t deserve that. i’m sorry.”

“hey, i understand.” he replies kindly. “it’s also my fault.”

“no, it’s not.” you jump in, not being able to stand him taking blame. “you’re a really good person, jungkook.”

he shakes his head. “i should’ve backed off when you told me to leave.”

“but i do like being with you.”

“and you mean that?”

he gazes at you with those endearing doe eyes. you look somewhere else to quell the funny feeling in your heart.

“of course i do.”

jungkook crosses the distance between you, teasingly bumping his shoulder against yours. “i like being with you too.”

just an hour ago you thought you’d lost him, now he’s here effortlessly making you laugh. perhaps you do take life too seriously, submissive to fear. you weren’t always like this. you wish you could unlearn the new way that you function.

“so do you forgive me or should i grovel more?”

“i forgive you.” he rolls his eyes. “i’m not that mean.”

“apparently i’m the mean one between us.”

“you are,” he chuckles, leaning back and balancing himself with his hands anchored behind on the table.

for some sick reason, this new position of his leaves you hot and bothered. thankfully, you’ve mastered the art of maintaining a calm demeanor. albeit, it’s not always that you use it for this reason.

“you seriously hurt my feelings back there, you know that?”

“i’m so sorry. i’m really, really sorry.” you apologize more expressively within the more comfortable space the both of you created. “…when is your birthday?”

his forehead wrinkles in confusion at the random question. “why?”

“you’re my friend.” you point out. “we should know these things at least.”

“it’s on september one.”

“what?!”

he blinks innocently. “what?”

“it’s already november!” you point out, taken aback by the fact that you totally missed it. “why didn’t you tell me?”

“you were busy with work. besides, it wasn’t a big deal. i just had beer and meat with my friends.” he shrugs, brushing it off. “when’s yours?”

you rise on your feet, dust off your bottom, and begin marching towards the door.

“where are you going…? yah, ____!”

“i need to do something.” you vaguely inform him, waving your hand. “stay there! wait for me!”

—

“what’s taking so long?” jungkook thinks out loud, scratching his head.

it’s been fifteen minutes since you left. you couldn’t have forgotten about him already, could you? that might hurt him worse than when you were screaming and punching his chest. he slept over at taehyung’s dorm for a few nights, hoping to find some peace and clarity within a different space, but he was pretty much ready to forgive you when you texted him to apologize, then followed it up with a photo of coral eating. however, taehyung went on and on about his wounded pride, and maybe he did want to see you grovel and feel that he is at some level of importance to you.

he perks up when the door opens and your head pops out of nowhere, peeking. when did you put on a cap and face mask? did you go out? anyway, you’re so cute, he gushes to himself.

“close your eyes!”

“why would i do that?”

“just do it!” you demand with an angry pout.

“okay, okay- fine!” he surrenders. “i’m closing them now.”

“no peeking. i see your eyelashes moving.”

“how do you even see from there?!”

he hears your scoff and the clicking of your shoes as you walk. “you’re not sleek, you know?”

a series of rustling. a mystery object placed on the table. he gets a whiff of your perfume, powdery and fruity sweet, the next second, you’re tying a silk scarf over his eyes.

“what’s happening?” he laughs nervously.

he knows that is not what’s happening, but the impure thoughts enter his mind anyway.

“i need a minute.”

you sit beside him, your knee bumping against his. he hears more movements take place.

“can i remove it now?”

“i said a minute.”

he frowns impatiently. “a minute has passed though.”

“no, it hasn’t.” you counter. “now hush and cover your ears.”

“cover my ears?” he repeats to make sure he heard you correctly.

“yes!”

“why?” he whines. “what is this about?”

“just do it, please?” you plead with him sweetly, covering his ears with your hands as if to demonstrate.

and since he’s already too deep into this, he obeys your third instruction. he puts his hands over yours, and then you slip away, leaving him covering his ears the way that you wanted.

“okay, you can look now!”

jungkook removes the scarf over his eyes, and discovers a sight so beautiful, he wants to cry that he can’t permanently capture it in a polaroid.

this is the first time he’s seeing you in this light, the warm orange glow of birthday candles that paints you spellbinding golden. you’re beaming at him, with a rare smile that reaches your eyes, as you hold up a round chocolate cake topped by fresh strawberries.

just when he thought it was impossible to fall in love with you harder, you begin singing the happy birthday song. instead of clapping, you sway your body ever so slowly and gracefully. what is arguably considered the jolliest song on earth, you transform into a soft lullaby— the kind that flies you to the night sky and tucks you into bed on the moon, gathers the fluffy clouds and handcrafts them into pillows and a blanket. your voice is light and delicate, sweet as candy. it is an instrument on its own and you do not need anything else. he never knew you were a good singer.

“happy birthday, dear jungkook~ happy birthday to you…”

this is his best birthday yet, and it’s not even his actual birthday.

jungkook is stupidly and hopelessly in love with you.

he welcomes doom, hangs its coat, and pours it a hot cup of tea.

“i hope you like chocolate. i fought someone for this.” you shyly confess with a laugh. “turns out there’s not many bakeries open at midnight.”

he is speechless.

his gaze falls on your lap for a moment, where lies an opened plastic clamshell container, two strawberries too small compared to the ones decorating the cake. on the table, a fruit knife sits on top of the cake box.

you even decorated the bare sides of the cake with half strawberries. he doesn’t think he has seen someone do that yet.

“i- i like it so much.” he stutters. “you made the cake so pretty.”

“thank you!” you beam at the compliment. “okay, time to make a wish.”

he panics a little. he doesn’t know if it’s only a personal or perhaps a universal thing, but he tends to feel pressured when he has to make a birthday wish. he always wants a lot of things.

“five candles means ‘i’m sorry and happy birthday’ by the way.”

but there is five candles, so maybe he is free to be greedy this time.

he slowly flutters his eyes shut, and he takes his time to think. after whispering his wish to the universe, he blows out all of the candles.

“what did you wish for?”

there is five candles, but he only wished for one thing.

“if i tell you…” he begins, transfixed eyes tracing down to your lips. “will you make it come true?”

they part slightly as your chest begins to heave, cranberry stained and inviting.

he yearns, he craves. he doesn’t want to live with regrets, haunted by the what if’s. all or nothing. you deserve his all. he surrenders everything to your court for the touch of your lips.

are you thinking what he’s thinking? do you feel the way he does?

tell him he’s not the only one losing his mind. please.

and when your eyes lock, there is a palpable electricity none of you can deny.

“it’s for your birthday. you don’t have to ask.”

again, the best birthday ever.

without another word, he crosses the short distance, pressing his lips against yours.

there is no fireworks like in the movies and fairytales. instead, he gets flashes of memories in his mind. all those awkward and comfortable moments, stolen glances, blushing and stuttering, captured images, sleepless nights, tears shed. even the bitter memories inserted make this kiss much sweeter. it’s infinitely better than he could’ve ever imagined.

he removes his hand tenderly cupping your cheek, also the other that is anchored on the table, blindly searching until he successfully engulfs your delicate hands in his. he holds them, and the board carrying the cake, tightly.

when you smile against his lips, so does he. you give him a firm peck, so hot that he almost falters on his seat, before breaking away.

“let’s put this aside first.” you giggle, guiding your restless hands to set it down on the table. “you have chocolate all over your hand.”

jungkook can hear you, but he’s not listening. he immediately goes for your lips again, and ends up sorely disappointed when you dodge him.

“whoa, wait. you’ll smear chocolate on my face-”

“you said i don’t have to ask.” he argues.

you narrow your eyes at him.

he hurries with a solution. “i’ll keep my hands behind my back.” and true to his words, he acts as if his hands have been cuffed.

“that works,” you shrug.

he is to blame for his nasty torture when you drag yourself closer to him, draping your legs over his thighs and wrapping your arms around his neck.

you’re practically sitting on his lap and he can’t touch you with his dirty hands. ridiculous.

there is the urge to complain, then lost and forgotten after you seal his lips with yours. he is the luckiest man on earth tonight.

—

“will you stay the night?”

jungkook’s cheeks are beginning to ache, but he can’t stop smiling for the life of him. how could he not? you’re lying on his bed, and this time you’re both under the covers. it can’t be more perfect than this, the way you’re mirroring each other. he’s admiring your face and you haven’t averted your eyes from his either.

at this moment, it feels like nothing else in the world matters.

“if i’m being honest, i’m still scared of the ghost.”

“is he bothering you again?” he quirks an eyebrow, prepared to brawl with a bothersome spirit. he is suddenly aware that the lamp is the only source of light in the apartment. “do we turn on another light?”

“no,“ you chuckle at his reaction. “but he appeared in my dream once after that.”

“what about me?”

“you?” you send him a puzzled look.

he grins toothily. “do i appear in your dreams?”

that earns him a sarcastic roll of the eyes.

“why is it suddenly about you?”

“i’m helping you get your mind off the ghost!”

“can we just… i don’t know…” you avoid his intense gaze, chewing on your bottom lip. “cuddle?”

this is real, right? he isn’t hallucinating?

he already made out with you until the two of you couldn’t breathe. surely, cuddling is nothing compared to that… but he has pined for you for months. going from zero to a hundred is giving him emotional motion sickness. like a rollercoaster, but arguably more dangerous. and he shamelessly lives for that.

“oh, so you got mad at me last week for hugging you but now you want to cuddle?” he mocks humorously.

“change is the only constant in life.” you say as a matter of fact.

and jungkook isn’t very fond of that knowledge, but if it led you to his arms tonight, then he can try to make peace with it.

he spreads his arms, and you push yourself close with an arm over his waist, until you’re properly hugging him and he has your body cocooned with his.

he breathes out a sigh. this is heaven.

“so? have you dreamt of me?”

you make a noise of protest, cheek squished against his chest.

“come on, humor me.” he coaxes you into revelation. “it’s my birthday.”

“…we went on a ferris wheel once.“

“really? were we on a date?”

“i don’t remember.”

“what were we doing?” he continues poking.

“i don’t remember.”

“that’s it?” he grumbles. “you must remember something else.”

you giggle. “it was a long time ago, jungkook.”

“and you didn’t dream of me again after that?”

“stop,” you draw back just enough to see his face. “we have more important things to discuss.”

jungkook gulps nervously.

more important things like what? the meaning of that kiss…? um, kisses? the label of your relationship? are you really bringing it up right away like this? he imagined he would be the one to do it.

“there’s one fish left without a name.”

oh… his face falls.

“have you thought of one?”

“i have, but…” you jut out your bottom lip. “don’t we decide together?”

beneath the stoic demeanor you parade around wearing, he realizes that you’re just like everybody else, craving to be held and to spend quality time with someone who makes you feel special.

he doesn’t hold back on kissing you.

“we will!” he pinches your cheek, which brings out your smile. “i’ll tell you what i think.”

“that goldfish actually reminds me of you.”

“really?”

you nod eagerly.

“how so?”

“the both of you,” you giggle. “always follow me around.”

his jaw falls slack, not expecting to be called out like that. you’re having fun with the fact that he’s wrapped around your finger, huh?

“so you want to name it after me?”

“something like that, but let’s make your name sound cute.”

you hum as the gears in your brain turn. on the other hand, jungkook is not thinking at all, he’s memorizing your face. maybe it’s an artist’s sickness aggravated when faced with the apple of their eye.

“jung… kook…” you take a long pause, lips left in the shape ‘O’ due to the pronunciation of his name. “kook…?”

“you know, i do get called jungkookie sometimes.”

“jungkookie…?” you slowly repeat the nickname.

seconds later, your face lights up.

“then how about kookie? cookie but with-” you draw the letter into the thin air using your index finger. “a ‘k’?”

jungkook is relieved that you instantly put two and two together. he didn’t want to be the one to suggest it. honestly, rather than a cute vibe, he’s going for the manly vibe.

“it sounds so cute. what do you think?”

“i think so too!”

as long as it makes you look this happy, he’d accept any name that you come up with.

“okay, it’s official.” you return to cuddling up to him. “i can sleep peacefully from now on.”

was that bothering you? you truly do care for them. he thinks you might care more than he does.

“let’s sleep…”

before closing his eyes, he plants an affectionate kiss on top of your head. the truth is he doesn’t want to sleep. if it was up to him, this moment would stretch into forever. as you slip into unconsciousness, he tries his damn hardest to resist it. he yawns, wipes his sleepy tears dry on the pillowcase, caresses your hair and forces his hand to move again when it falls on the bed.

“jungkook?”

he hears your voice in its tiniest form yet.

you’re still awake?

he barely is anymore.

“mhmm?”

“i really am,” he feels a light tug at the back of his shirt, your weak hand forming a closed fist. “sorry.”

—

jungkook wakes up at 5am with his stomach grumbling for food. your positions shifted throughout the night and he lies there cuddling you from behind, spending five minutes or so dwelling on regrets. he pictures the cake in the fridge, still in pristine condition, and how different it could’ve been if he didn’t stop himself after three stolen strawberries.

after that, he thinks about breakfast. rolled omelette would be amazing right now. he just stocked up on side dishes too. only problem is he forgot to buy eggs.

who goes to the supermarket and somehow manages to miss the whole egg section?

jeon jungkook, apparently.

a challenge arises: getting out of bed without waking you up. he isn’t a novice, but he isn’t exactly an expert either. he figures it’s just based on luck, and he’s… very unlucky.

he manages to slip out the arm you’re using as a pillow, replacing it with a real one hoping that you wouldn’t notice the difference in your sleep. a second later and you’re already stretching out your limbs.

“where are you going?” you utter raspily, swollen eyes from sleep peering at him.

“out- to buy eggs for breakfast.” he replies in a low voice.

you start to harshly rub off the sleep from your eyes.

“i’ll go with you.”

“there’s no need.” he strokes your hair gently. “sleep more.”

you shake your head stubbornly. “i need to buy something too.”

you drag yourself off of the bed before he can stop you. from your toes down to the heel, you slightly stumble when your feet touch the ground.

“i’ll brush my teeth.”

—

once you and jungkook step out of the building, you both find that it’s still before sunrise, but the street lamps are already turned off. everything under the sky is washed with a shade of blue. it feels almost illegal to be here with no other souls walking the streets, but you can breathe a little easier, and you’re warm because jungkook is holding your hand inside the pocket of his jacket.

what was supposed to be a stolen glance turns into an enamored gaze.

“you look pretty.”

“so do you,” the two corners of your mouth lift into a quick, shy smile.

“yah, jungkook!”

that’s taehyung’s voice.

his best friend approaches from the opposite direction, a pomeranian on a leash waddling and wagging its tail beside him. despite the distance, jungkook can already see his smirk poking fun at him.

count on him to disrupt a perfectly romantic and peaceful moment.

as soon as they meet halfway, jungkook shows him a grimace.

“what are you doing here?”

“to return your camera,” he waves the silver film camera, its strap wrapped around his wrist. “i’m taking tannie on a walk so i decided i’d bring it over.”

“okay, give it and go on your way.”

jungkook snatches it from him, wearing the camera around his wrist as the rightful owner.

when taehyung finally sets his sight on you, jungkook’s fear of embarrassment instantly kicks in. if he says something stupid, he swears to god— he lets go of your hand in favor of putting his arm around your shoulder, gently tugging you closer to him.

“you must be ____!” taehyung snaps his fingers when he, at last, recalls your name, which jungkook knows he’s grown tired of hearing. “nice to meet you! i’m taehyung.”

“ah, yes…”

jungkook senses your awkwardness. he presses his lips into a thin line, sending his best friend a threatening glare that screams ‘i know i’m a hypocrite, but don’t embarrass me.’

“it’s nice to meet you too.” you offer him a polite bow.

“yeontan seems to like you a lot.” taehyung laughs, gesturing at his dog who is nuzzling its face against your shin.

jungkook also smiles in endearment. that’s another animal drawn to you for some unknown reason. he can’t say he’s surprised.

“does he bite?” you cautiously ask.

“no, he’s nice. you can pet him.”

you nod, bending down to gingerly scratch yeontan’s fluffy ears. “hello, yeontan.” you quietly greet him with a voice so sweet.

“honestly, ____ looks familiar to me. have we met before?”

“must be when she rode the dreamboat before.”

“i don’t think that’s it though?” taehyung tilts his head, still racking his memories for your face. “i think i saw her more recently, but maybe not with pink hair.”

you stiffen beside jungkook, knees going weak out of the blue. you straighten up, but you keep your head slightly bowed down, hair falling over your face.

“that’s impossible. maybe it was someone who looks like her.”

“ah, maybe,”

taehyung rubs the back of his neck, giving in to the theory.

“alright then, tannie is getting hyper.” he snorts at his pet trying to run away but is held back by its leash. “see you around, ____! i’ll see you at work, bro!”

“sorry about that.” jungkook intertwines your fingers again. “let’s go.”

he moves forward, and you get left behind.

“____?”

his concern grows when he observes your despondent body language.

“are you okay?”

“huh? oh- i’m okay.”

you snap out of it, but as you walk to the convenience store together, jungkook gets the impression that something is weighing on your mind.

—

jungkook watches you move around the store through the viewfinder of his camera, zooming in on your face when you whip your head around. it fails to capture the countless packs of lozenges you’re hugging to your chest.

“miss ____, who are you buying so many candies for?”

you blink down at them before innocently staring back at the camera. “they’re for my co-workers. it’s flu season so many of them are getting sick.”

��

with the sun returning to reign over the vast sky, the shade of blue has been replaced by an orange hue. the two of you walk back to your apartment building in silence. he doesn’t know what’s wrong, if it’s his fault or not, but your mood changed after your encounter with taehyung.

you’ve decided you want some space and jungkook respects that. the entire time, he thinks about how his hand feels empty without yours. is he being paranoid? he feels like he’s already woken up from a dream too good to be true, crafted out of his greatest fantasies, and he’s going to be thrust into a nightmare— learning that none of it was real. this endless push and pull with you, he’s grown to be somewhat ill at ease in your presence.

he wants it to go away.

he moves closer, content with the mere brush of the back of your fingers against his, but that small pleasure is robbed from him when you pull your hand away.

“let’s stop here.”

the decisive tone of your voice instantly fills him with dread.

you turn to face him, and he searches your eyes for any trace of emotion. sadness, or fear, or even humor… but he gets nothing.

“let’s stop seeing and texting each other.”

and he’s scared most of all when you’re impossible to read. just when he thought he had managed to slither past your walls, he is met by larger and stronger ones with welded spikes.

“what are you talking about?”

“i don’t want anything to do with you anymore.”

you said it like it’s nothing. like you haven’t consumed his every thought since he saw you crying and you broke his heart without him knowing your name. like you haven’t been breaking his heart over and over again and he still can’t bring himself to detach from you.

“what is this joke? it’s not really funny.”

but he laughs anyway, or else he’d start crying, and you’d want him less.

“just forget all about me.”

his muscles tense. even now, he doesn’t know if he’s angry, but he is lost and it hurts so much, and he doesn’t know how else to express it without appearing weak.

“you think that’s something i can just do overnight?”

“what makes it so hard?” you raise your voice. the venom stings without the bite. “you don’t even know me that well!”

“then what was last night even about?” he hisses, hands balling into fists. “did you do that just to fuck with my feelings? am i just a game to you? what the fuck is your problem, ____?”

“you told me to use you to make myself feel better!”

it completely catches him off guard when you stomp your feet and produce guttural screams— it borders on a childish tantrum— you damage your throat in doing so, voice coming out high-pitched and scratched up.

his jaw clenches, straining to hold back his tears. the sun has risen and you’ve come to your senses. he regrets opening his eyes and acknowledging the morning.

“it didn’t work— is that what you’re saying? is that why you’re throwing me away?”

he doesn’t get a verbal answer, but your glassy-eyed stare and labored breathing have answered enough.

“wow, that hurts…” he chuckles sarcastically. “yah, seriously- i have to give it to you. i’m shocked… you’re good. you’re a good actor.”

he uses his middle finger to wipe the corners of his eyes, acting as though they are tears of amusement.

“you know, out of everyone i liked… you have to be the most cruel.”

jungkook’s pride has never been this crushed. he feels utterly infuriated and humiliated. yet another exchange of ‘i should have listened’ and ‘i told you so’ between him and his best friend. he’s also sick and tired of his heart leading him to the opposite direction of the love he deserves.

“i hope you find some other lunatic who would let you use them too. have a good life.”

this time around, he walks away, and he would like to think that he did it on his own terms.

—

jungkook loses his appetite after that. he informs his manager that he won’t be able to go to work because he’s feeling under the weather, then he drags himself back to bed.

your scent has clung to the pillowcase, the sheets…

it’s unbearable.

despite his lack of energy, he forces himself to set up the extra bed on the floor. he expected himself to have difficulty falling asleep, but the amalgamation of physical and emotional exhaustion pulls him down under.

he wakes up again in the afternoon. he ignores the cake in the fridge, instead snacking on yogurt and crackers while watching a movie on his computer. he takes a long shower after and buries himself in assignments until dinner time rolls in.

by this time, he assumes taehyung has blabbed about what he saw this morning. his friends must think he’s out here relishing in the honeymoon phase. how he wishes it was true.

he has that whole carton of eggs but he doesn’t have it in him to cook anymore. maybe it’s best that he surrounds himself with people, disrupt his depressing thoughts with loud chatter, and so he makes plans to go to the street market.

“wait!”

he sprints to the elevator, managing to slip his arm between the doors before they close entirely.

under different circumstances, this would’ve been fate instead of bad luck.

—

you stand your ground as jungkook enters the elevator, not sparing him a glance. just like you wanted, he also treats you with indifference. it’s hard to breathe in an enclosed space with him now that he hates you.

two girls from the eleventh floor enter; they stand infront of you and jungkook.

“did you find the video?” the girl infront of you, with the blonde hair, asks impatiently.

“wait- i’m looking for it.” her friend, you assume, replies as she is focused on aggressively scrolling and tapping on her phone screen.

“having a sex scandal with your professor? wow, that’s really something. how does that even happen?”

your blood runs cold.

from that statement alone, you can make an educated guess on what exactly they are talking about, but your brain tries to reject the thought. there are many scandals going around these days. maybe they’re talking about somebody else. you hope they are. does that make you a bad person?

“that’s not confirmed, though. the guy’s face doesn’t show in the video… oh, i found it!”

she presents her phone screen to the blonde-haired girl, and you feel as though gallons of ice have been dumped over your head. through the gap between their arms, you get a good view of your face. of the video you were forced to watch so you could acknowledge your sin… the video that not only damaged your reputation but stripped you away of everything. your dignity, your dreams, your people, the essence of your being.

you don’t need to look to know that beside you, jungkook is also secretly watching.

you’re trapped.

“this was really popular at snu but it suddenly got spread outside. my cousin who studies there said the girl’s parents are like- super rich- and they tried to bribe the university, but she still got kicked out. i think her name is ____?”

you bow your head to hide your face, vision gradually going blurry. strangers drop your name so casually to tell the shortest life story known to man. they discard the majority of the parts, retain and distort what entertains them, and in the end, they decide who you are.

you knew it was going to happen eventually, but this isn’t how you wanted jungkook to learn.

you didn’t want to be here for it.

“wow, she’s going at it.”

a scandalized gasp.

“no wonder men are going crazy over this. even the quality is-”

“insane, right?!” the storyteller whisper-shouts.

“but… what if she doesn’t know she’s being recorded? getting kicked out sounds a bit unfair, no?”

“no, no- she even holds the camera when they switch positions. watch!”

you can’t. you can’t take it anymore. you turn away, squeezing your eyes shut in extreme anguish.

you don’t realize that you’re shaking until jungkook holds your hand tightly, it’s almost crushing.

“ah, what are you doing?! turn it off! turn it off! it’s too disgusting from this angle!”

you look at him in shock, for a split moment you forgot he was there. his features have softened; so does your heart.

although you can’t exactly figure out how he’s feeling, you’d take anything that isn’t disgust.

the elevator reaches the ground floor.

as the girls take their leave, you also attempt to step out— but jungkook doesn’t let you. he grips your hand tighter and he presses the button of your apartment floor.

“why did you- i need to go to work…” you meant to chastise him, but your voice comes out small.

“stay a little bit. it’s still early.” he speaks to you softly, wiping off the beads of cold sweat on your forehead.

when did that happen?

“no, i need to-”

you feel dizzy; the walls are closing in on you. the turning of your stomach is bordering on intolerable. you lurch, pushing him away as you clamp a hand over your mouth and gag uncontrollably. you’ve had to experience this humiliation in school hallways, public spaces… in front of your friends, your parents; in the dean’s office. this is the first time your body is having this type of reaction; you feel physically sick, like your body is shutting down.

he rubs your back as an effort to alleviate your ails. “are you okay?”

you could answer, but what’s the point? you’re breaking down in front of him again. you’re no longer the mystifying neighbor he obviously yet secretly cherishes. he has discovered the missing puzzle piece you could never bury even if you died trying.

“did you enjoy it?”

“what?”

you wish he would stop looking at you with those big, sparkly eyes. at this moment, they’re making you feel small.

“the video. was it fun watching it too?”

the silence is suffocating.

he utters your name. he doesn’t know what to say; you don’t know what you want to hear either.

“it doesn’t change the way i see you.”

“bullshit,” you spit out— a knee-jerk reaction.

“look, i-i don’t know what happened but this isn’t right. you don’t deserve this. you can sue ever- wait! ____!”

the elevator opens and he chases after you, effectively blocking your path.

he has officially wore you down.

“it’s not me,” you declare near to tears instead of pushing him away. “it’s not me, jungkook. i d-don’t know how they- they did it. i know it looks so real but it’s not me. i swear-”

and as an act of desperation, after months of having given up on proving it’s all some sort of well-orchestrated deception, your hands come up to the buttons of your blouse.

“it’s not my body.”

“no no no- you don’t have to do this! this isn’t right!” jungkook freaks out and binds your wrists with his hands, unwillingly using his strength on you when you fight back. he anxiously glances at the camera monitoring the hallway. “stop, stop-”

“i just need one person to believe me.”

“i believe you, okay?” he captures your wrists in one hand, the other tenderly caresses your cheek. “i believe you. i promise.”

he cradles your head on his shoulder, hugging you so tightly it almost feels like you’re one person.

“when the girl said you might not even know you were being recorded… the terrible thoughts i had- like what if he…”

it’s too much alone in his head. he can’t bring himself to say it into the universe.

“but you didn’t get hurt, right? nothing like that happened? it’s not even real.” he sniffles, holding you tighter as if that is still possible. “that’s a relief… i mean- this, this is bad, what happened to you is. but i was scared.”

you remain there, dumbstruck and motionless. the line between standing and letting jungkook carry your weight has blurred.

you wish he would never let you go.

—

jungkook brings you to his apartment, sits you down in the kitchen, and takes out his birthday cake from fridge. he conveniently finds two pairs of chopsticks in a plastic bag on the table and offers you one, which you accept without thinking. you think he understands that you don’t want to talk about it but you can’t be alone right now either.

chocolate is supposed to help raise one’s spirit, doesn’t it?

well, it tastes delicious, and jungkook is with you. you feel a little less shitty.

he can’t sit still, though.

he cracks open the eggs he bought this morning into a bowl and starts chopping up vegetables to be mixed into it. all the while you sit and watch in silence. no, in peace. the rhythmic tapping of the knife against the chopping board is like music to your ears. even the sound of the oil crackling as he pours the beaten eggs into the frying pan.

you abandon the endorphin-inducing treat on the table. you saunter over to jungkook in search of something else more associated with love, sneaking your arms around his torso. a tidal wave of relief washes over you. this feels more like resting, and you can’t believe you’re saying this, better than drugs. as it turns out, you’ve been homesick for a body you haven’t touched. a hug can’t fix your life, but it may convince you that it’s possible to survive an unfixable life.

however, the key difference between jungkook and nicotine is that you can’t simply have jungkook because you want to.

what he has unleashed upon you is greed.

“i’m sorry,” the more you apologize, the easier it becomes, but you’re also growing sick of it. “i didn’t mean what i said. i was scared of your reaction when you find out so i pushed you away… i keep taking you for granted. i’m sorry.”

“it��s okay, i understand.” he rubs your forearm comfortingly. “just don’t do it again… it really hurt.”

“i like you too.” you confess like you’re running out of time.

you no longer have room for apprehension. you can’t gamble with your chances once more when there’s not much left.

“i wasn’t playing with your feelings. up until earlier, i thought i’d never be able to let you know, so i’m doing it now. i like you.”

a chill runs along your spine. it feels immensely intimate— how jungkook slowly takes a hold of your hand and guides it to his soft lips, pressing a long kiss to your skin.

“i like you too, a lot.” his laughter makes his body vibrate, waking up the slumbering butterflies in your stomach. “incase i haven’t made it obvious enough.”

—

“will you stay?”

you nod your head as you joyfully munch on your fresh homemade meal. “they’re already forcing me to use my vacation days anyway.”

he makes a noise of surprise. “you’ve never missed work?”

you shake your head no.

“rude clients aside, i like what i do. it helps me keep my mind off…” you wave the radish-bearing chopsticks. “things.”

he only nods, ruffling your hair affectionately. “you should eat well, okay?”

“you too!”

you feed him a big bite of your omelette, and then rice, and then kimchi.

it results in stuffed cheeks and aggressive chewing, but you look especially happy watching him eat. jungkook assumes that it’s just how you express your affection, and it’s euphoria to be at the receiving end.

—

you found your way back to where you were last night— jungkook’s warm bed. comfy pajamas and tangled limbs. everything went to shit after you left, so if you were to get stuck here forever, he wouldn’t disapprove.

he listens to you talk as half of his mind is preoccupied by innocently kissing every inch of the exposed skin of your face and neck.

“i’m going to the salon tomorrow.”

he inwardly groans against your neck when your fingers card through his silky yet messy hair, twisting and tugging.

“what color should i color my hair? red? orange? brown?”

“red sounds really great?” he draws back in excitement. “but i’m going to miss your pink hair. how did you maintain it for so long?”

“i only chose it because it doesn’t look good on me.”

“that’s ridiculous!” he exclaims.

you snort. “i thought if it doesn’t fit me then it would seriously change the way i look.”

“then you were very wrong. it fits you so well.” he passionately insists that you see yourself from his point-of-view.

“you’re ridiculous.”

you don’t believe him, but he still earns himself a kiss on the lips.

“have you ever thought of getting a lip piercing?”

“why?” he fails to hide his smug grin. “would it look good on me?”

“mhmm, i imagine so.”

you lazily trace his lips with your thumb. it’s suddenly making him dizzy.

“should i get it then?”

“nope,” you reply with finality. “too many girls would fantasize about kissing you.”

he bursts out laughing. “isn’t that too much of a stretch?”

“i’m a girl! i’d know!”

“so you’re the jealous type, huh?” he cockily quirks an eyebrow.

“i’m not,” you scoff.

“possessive?”

“maybe,” you shrug.

“cool,” he chuckles. “you want to keep kissing?”

you don’t answer and instead you meet his lips halfway with a tug at the collar of his shirt. you’re an amazing kisser; his brain goes haywire once you tilt your head and you kiss him deeper, tongue sneaking in for a taste. he doesn’t want to kiss anyone else again.

as the tension escalates into something hotter, your wandering hand manages to slip under his shirt, teasing and caressing his skin. fuck, he feels like he’s running a fever. however, when your fingers begin tracing and teasing the waistband of his calvin klein boxers, much as it feels heavenly and stirs something feral deep within him, he has to pull away.

not too fast.

he doesn’t want to overwhelm you. he’s afraid you’re not thinking straight.

“are you free this weekend?” he asks as he catches his breath, tongue swiping over his swollen lips.

“saturday night,” you reply with a drunk smile.

“since you granted my birthday wish, shall we make your ferris wheel dream come true?”

your smile fades away a little. “where you work?”

he nods, but he senses your hesitation. “but we can go to a different one, if you’d like.”

as your silence stretches, he also begins to regret having asked you in the first place. after what happened only hours ago, you must not want to go out in public and risk reliving that experience.

“…doesn’t it bother you that your friends may have seen the video already?”

at that moment, taehyung’s voice rings in his ears.

‘honestly, ____ looks familiar to me. have we met before?’

his heart breaks upon the sight of genuine fear swimming in your eyes. he dips his head to press a kiss on your forehead, and he hugs you tight. and tighter. he doesn’t pray much, or ask big questions, but he despises it when bad things happen to good people. he wants to protect you, but how?

“i’d tell them the truth. i’d fight for your case.”

“but what if they don’t believe you…?”

—

a deafening crash resonates in the break room as taehyung’s body slams against the lockers before collapsing on the floor.

“ah, seriously! i said it’s not her!”

“what the fuck, dude?!” taehyung yelps as he sits up, putting a hand over his assaulted cheek. he’s more offended than hurt if he’s being honest.

as it turns out, it does bother jungkook.

taehyung’s phone landed a few feet away from him. the video is still going, and unlike the people in the elevator, he didn’t have the courtesy to keep it muted. obscene moans and sounds of skin slapping repeatedly play from the speakers at a low volume.

“it’s so clear, look! how can it not be her?!”

“it’s edited! it’s ai, you fucking idiot!” jungkook scowls at him.

he picks up the phone, teeth gritted in anger as he exits the video and discovers that it’s posted at an adult website. the view count has reached five digits and the comment section is flooded. he knows this isn’t the only place it’s posted. hell, other people could have it downloaded. although it’s not your body, it’s still you being violated and lusted after. he feels sick to his stomach.

“you should’ve said that from the start!”

he looks away for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut, hard, hoping that would erase the explicit images and thumbnails from his memory. after gathering himself together, his eyes zero in on the report button.

he clicks ‘submit’ before he crumbles, weakly sitting down on the chair.

taehyung rushes to his phone that was tossed carelessly on the table. “ah shit- the screen is cracked!”

if this is how he feels, then he can’t even begin to imagine how you feel.

he stares at the floor, eyes unfocused. the world goes on and his back remains hunched over as he struggles to make sense of what he should do.

—

when you were called over to the human resource department, you didn’t exactly prepare yourself to watch your alleged sex scandal on a 21.5-inch computer monitor. the light from the screen reflects on your skin. you have to harshly claw at the skin of your knee to stop it from anxiously bouncing; you force yourself not to also gag when the you on the screen chokes and gags.

“was this reported to you,” you swallow the lump in your throat, shifting your stare to the man in suit and tie. “or did you find it on your own?”

“miss ____,” he leans in on the table, clasping his hands together. the golden band around his finger shines under the dim lighting of his office. “do you even understand the kind of trouble you’re in?”

“am i being fired?”

“but you don’t have to be.” he bares his teeth as if he’s delivering good news. you long to destroy his face and his condescension with your bare hands. “i believe we can agree on an arrangement.”

“what do you mean…?” you ask carefully, grasping the tiny bit of hope that what you have in mind isn’t what he meant.

“i think you know what i mean. you’re smart.”

your heart drops to your stomach when he side-eyes the screen.

“do you expect me to beg for my job and do the same things i did in the video?”

“why?” his tone then becomes threatening. you begin to hear your heartbeat thumping loud in your chest. “you won’t do it?”

but if you allow yourself to be intimidated and treated less than a human being worthy of dignity and respect, then you may never be able to forgive yourself.

your sharp eyes and your cutting words make up for its trembles.

“you’re right, i’m smart. i know you don’t have enough grounds to fire me. you seriously think you can manipulate me this easy?” you contemptuously push over his name plate, the bronze metal tumbling and clashing with the wooden desk. “you’re not qualified for this job.”

your dismissal of his authority bruises his ego. he holds you in a hostile glare.

“if i were you, i would stop talking. right now.”

“or what?” you challenge him. “you’ll hit me…? what would your wife think when she hears about this conversation?”

his face is contorted with anger and frustration, but he is visibly holding himself back from doing something else that would damage his career.

“i plan on suing the people who are responsible for this. i’d appreciate it if-” you gesture at the monitor. “you can delete your copy too. i’ll clean my table and leave.”

“you have a real attitude problem, you know that? you need your eyes opened to the reality of life.” the alarms in your head starts blaring when he slowly gets up from his seat. “i think i know what i need to do to fix it.”

“don’t you dare touch me.” you grit your teeth, tears welling in your eyes as he circles his desk. “i will kill you.”

he squats on the floor beside you, wearing a mocking grin. you want to move away, but the chair is too small, and you’re determined to show him that you have no fear.

“you’ll kill me?”

he grabs a fistful of your hair, tilting your head back, and a scream is ripped out from your throat. the pain is mind-numbing; if he does it long enough, your guess is that you’d surely faint. he forces your head to the direction of the monitor.

“who you should be killing is the man who put you in this situation.”

you close your eyes. you try not to let him get under your skin, but the tears rolling down your cheeks are your self-made traitors.

you have. in your head. a million times. is it truly a man? is he even alone?

as you tiredly re-open your eyes, you unleash the pepper spray you’ve been holding under your thigh and begin spraying it all over his face. when he collapses on the floor, screaming and clawing at his own skin, your hand also falls limp over the armrest. you take a deep breath, blinking at the mess you made with heavy eyelids.

does it hurt that much or is he simply dramatic?

you’d stay and enjoy his demise, but you decide he’s not worth your time.

“____, come back here!”

“oh-” you freeze on your tracks.

you pull the lace of your company id over your head, hurling it at his face. he rolls over with an agonized groan.

“i quit!”

you unlock the door, dry your tears, and walk out of his office with your chin held high.

—

you stand at jungkook’s door, staring down at your shoes. you’ve been contemplating on whether you should knock or not. you want nothing more but to crawl into his arms, but a part of you is holding back. is it right to drag him into your world? you’d hate it if he becomes infected by your sadness. it broke you to pieces when he cried because he thought you were hurt. what would his reaction be if finds out what happened tonight?

“____!”

jungkook approaches with a plastic bag from a 24/7 restaurant nearby. judging by his tousled hair, he must’ve just woken up from a long nap. and you think to yourself—he’s so handsome—as he walks over to you and you scramble to collect yourself.

“have you been waiting long? sorry, i had to buy dinner.”

“i just got here.” you deny.

“is that so?” he stops infront of you, eyeing your outfit. “is everything alright? you’re home from work so early.”

“i went home.” you force a smile. “i’m not feeling so well.”

it takes everything in you not to cry when he starts stroking your hair with the gentlest hand.

“what’s wrong…?” he frowns. he worriedly presses the back of his hand on your forehead, then your neck. “you are a bit hot.”

“i think i just need some more sleep.” you dismiss the topic quickly, throwing your arms around his neck for the hug you’ve been yearning for since you walked out of that office.

his free arm wraps around waist, pulling you taut against him. he doesn’t ask you anything. like you, he closes his eyes, and he nuzzles his cheek against you, not taking any second for granted.

—

you spend the remaining days before saturday locked up in your apartment, withholding the fact that you quit your job from jungkook. with work gone and social media apps wiped out from your phone, there’s not much to do. just like always, you feed the fishes and converse throughout the day over the phone. they eat less and less as the weather gets colder. you bring up the growing size of the fishes and he agrees that they should be moved into a bigger tank soon. he sends you photos of him bored in class and you send him photos of you in bed. every second that passes by, you feel guilty for holding on to him until the very end.

you greet him with a radiant smile, opening the door just enough for him to see your face. you can tell that he styled his hair, sprayed on more perfume than usual. he looks absolutely dashing. it almost makes you mad.

“are you ready?”

you can feel the crushing weight of everything that hides behind the door. your clothes, your shoes, your self-care, your stacks of medical textbooks… your entire life packed in boxes and bags.

jungkook was right. out of everyone he liked, you must be the most cruel.

—

he doesn’t take you to his workplace, and instead brings you to their largest competitor. the amusement park is swarmed by locals and tourists alike, waiting for the firework show to commence. you hide your face with a thick scarf wrapped around your neck. you’ve been waiting, freezing, in line for over an hour, but you don’t mind it at all. it only means more time spent with jungkook.

you take turns in biting on the pretzel he bought to get rid of your boredom, happy and content in your shared bubble among the hundreds of voices within the vicinity conversing all at once. you become the other half of those lovey-dovey couples people cringe at in public. every now and then you and jungkook mimic a stranger’s voice, or the instrumental music from the nearby rides, and you laugh until your tummies ache. he hugs you to warm you up and you reward him with a kiss on the cheek.

“your hair looks even prettier in person.” jungkook compliments you with stars in his eyes.

“thank you! it turned out better than i expected. i’m really happy about it.” you gush, confidence renewed. you eat the last piece of the pretzel happily. “red or pink?”

“okay, red does suit you better,” he admits. “but i still think you were also beautiful in pink.”

“since you’re always saying that, i’m starting to believe it.”

“you should, because it’s true.”

“have i ever told you that you’re handsome?”

he shakes his head with a half-amused, half-sheepish smile.

“well, you’re very handsome,” you declare playfully, but you believe it a hundred percent.

“thank you,” he bursts into a fit of giggles, and it delivers you a special kind of joy— making him happy.

“lemonade?” he offers you the drink he’s holding.

you slot the straw between your lips, taking a few sips. your eyes widen in surprise, also delight. “it’s hot?”

“it’s good, right? i feel so warm.”

he sips on the drink himself. at the same moment, the line begins to move.

“oh! it’s our turn!”

he grabs a secure hold of your hand, not allowing a slither of chance of you slipping away from him. you give out your tickets, and the remains of them returned, one of them jungkook takes and the other, you slide into the pocket of your shoulder bag.

“oh, it’s too high-”

your nervous pondering is interrupted by a yelp, thanks to jungkook effortlessly lifting you into the moving cabin with his hands on your hips. with a boyish grin, he jumps in after you.

—

he curiously watches you set up your phone on the parallel side of your shared seat, you and him filmed by the front camera and displayed on the screen. he chooses not to say anything, but he is pleasantly surprised that you are the first one who initiated on recording this memory.

once you fix it into the perfect angle, you return and sit beside him with a hint of satisfaction painted on your expression. but as soon as the the cabin quakes mildly, it morphs into nervousness.

“it’s okay, it’s normal.” he strokes the back of your head, reassuring you. “are you afraid of heights?”

you scoot closer to him, and he forgets how to breathe for a moment when you innocently lay your hand just above his knee. “i try not to be.”

“i was going to suggest the rollercoaster next, but maybe not.”

once again, the cabin moves, causing a whimper to emit from your throat. your nails begin to dig into his thigh, their sharpness dulled by his denim pants.

“anything but that- i have bad memories with the rollercoaster.”

“maybe i should sit on the other side to balance ourselves bett-”

“stay!” you quickly pull him back down, resulting to another shake. “in my dream, we sit next to each other.”

“oh,” his lips shape into a smirk. “anything else i should know about?”

“you had your arm around me.” you bat your eyelashes.

he does as you request, hugging you to his side.

“like this?”

you shake your head with a sound of disagreement, moving his hand from your arm down to the curve of your waist.

“you suddenly remember everything.” he remarks with a teasing squeeze of your flesh.

you sheepishly smile, shrugging. “eh, i remember this much.”

he loves moments like this— when your innocence rises to the surface and allows him a glimpse of your purest parts. they completely contradict everything your brain leads you to think is for your protection. you don’t want to be alone, and you do want to be held.

amidst his bittersweet musing, the night sky begins to be lit up by a sequence of launched explosives, shooting off glowing embers that descend slowly through the air.

he jolts on his seat and clings to you as a result.

“ah, that scared me!” he whines in annoyance.

you spare his scaredy-cat moment a short giggle. you barely pay him any mind; you didn’t even look at him. jungkook decides to watch the fireworks from your wonder-filled eyes. the colors soar across your irises— he can’t really differentiate the silver and the gold; there’s also blue and green; a lot of red.

his view from here is one-of-a-kind. he temporarily mistakes you for a painting. brings out his phone. snaps photos of you like one instinctively does in an art gallery.

the mortification only sets in when your eyes meet the camera and upon realizing, you give him your dazzling smile.

“you should watch the fireworks too.” you scold him lightheartedly, redirecting his hands outside. “they’re amazing.”

and he obeys you.

for a short while.

you catch him longingly gazing at you sooner the second time around. he likes that he doesn’t need to look away anymore because his feelings are already out in the open, and most importantly, reciprocated. he catches your eyes flicker to his lips. he swears this is the most romantic scene of his life. will anything ever come close? you cup his cheek in your delicate hand, bringing your plush lips to his. he wonders how many times you also hesitated to kiss him before. how long would it take before he has kissed you more times than he didn’t?

—

jungkook is glued to his phone, walking at a slower pace behind while you search the spacious parking lot for your motorbike.

the wicked reality he stole you from momentarily waves at him as a reminder that ignoring it doesn’t make it disappear. a notification from a fan that says they found a clip of your video on another social media platform and reported it there too. a notification containing the link. he clicks on the app and finds that his latest video has reached almost half a million views.

technology has gone too far. how is there no law for this yet??? someone's life is ruined

what is this. you've totally ruined the video for me

jungkook!! when are you going live again?

everyone stop spreading the video around!!!!!!!!!! report it if you see it!!!!

but how come you suddenly made a ten min vid talking against ai so passionately? do you know this girl personally?? haha

lol? he already talked about ai in a live before. his follower would know that he knows a lot about editing and technology too. hes using his knowledge for good. stop assuming

it was obvious from the start ㅠㅠ the expressions look a bit unnatural. this is unsettling.... i feel so bad for her

um .. am i the only one who doesn't know about this

you're better off not knowing 😭

it's gone viral recently

how? it's all over my feed

his temples throb with a threat of an incoming headache. he can only hope and pray that he didn’t do more harm than good… and by some miracle you don’t find out about this, at least not before he is prepared to see you mad at him again. sharply inhaling, he swipes out of the comment section and tucks his phone back into his small crossbody bag.

“wait for me!”

he jogs to catch up to you, hurling himself to your back. you are both nearly knocked over if not for him throwing his strong arms around you.

“you’re so hyper. are you a puppy?” you groan. “go put your helmet on.”

“this hurts my pride. i said i’m not wearing it again!”

he is, once again, left with no choice when you forcefully shove your only helmet over his head.

“calm down, nothing bad will happen anyway.”

“this feels so wrong.” he continues complaining. “everyone i know owns an extra, just so you know.”

“well, i never planned on riding with a passenger.” you pull down the visor, sealing the deal. “hold on tight, okay?”

—

how often do you see a man on the road sitting at the back of an expensive motorbike that his cool girlfriend drives? jungkook wishes someone could take a photo and send it to him as a memento because being that man is pretty darn fun. except for the part that you’re not wearing a helmet and he’s also freaking out in the back of his mind, especially when the vehicle tilts even at the slightest.

but yeah, fun.

until the rain starts to come down and he ends up numb from the freezing cold.

your driving speed decreases. you move farther into the center of the lane to avoid the slippery paint on asphalt.

“jungkook, remove my glasses.” you instruct him urgently.

“okay!” his arm freezes in the air. “wait, where do i put it?”

“fuck, anywhere. over my head!”

—

owing it to your driving experience and extreme carefulness of your passenger, you park at your designated parking space safely. by the time you do so, the rain has become a downpour.

“run!” you shout as you both begin to brave it.

for the record, jungkook tried.

his shoe slides against the wet and slippery ground and a startled scream leaves his mouth as it all happens too fast. he lands on his butt, but loses balance again and ends up completely lying down in the middle of the parking lot.

“jungkook!”

alongside the fierce raindrops, your frantic footsteps bringing you to jungkook contest in creating loud splashes. you get down on your knees, forcibly shaking his frame with yet another call of his name.

“are you okay? where are you hurt?!”

garnering no response, you resort to giving his face weak slaps.

“stand up. this isn’t funny.”

his ears catch you blowing out a sigh, layered underneath is the most adorable growl he has ever heard— reminds him of a tiger cub. there is the lightest trace of smile on his lips as you carry his head over to your lap with utmost gentleness.

“jungkook!”

you wipe his rain-soaked face with your rain-soaked hands as if it would do something. he dies of laughter inside.

“are you being serious right now?!”

he slowly cracks one eye open, and then the other, greeting you with the most gleeful giggle. he’s so stupidly happy it’s almost painful. chest-restricting. doesn’t help much when you hit his chest, rightfully so, and he laughs harder.

“ugh, you’re so annoying!”

his upper body tumbles over again to the wet ground when you return to your feet. the view from here is not that bad. he is losing half his mind from the cold and his eyes are blurry from the rain. it presents itself as the perfect opportunity to say something cheesy about going to heaven, but would an angel nudge him with their foot and say “stand up. we’re totally going to get sick now, you jerk!” before running away?

in jungkook’s defense, he checked the weather forecast this morning. it’s painfully clear to him now that they lied. the two of you are dripping all over the floor mat in front of the building’s entrance doors. there is no other choice but to wring your clothes here to minimize the trail of mess you will leave behind when you go up to your units.

you’re squeezing out the water from your hair. he is left with a white t-shirt sticking uncomfortably to his skin as he does the same with his sweater.

the earthy and distinct smell of the rain clings to the air, and therefore, everything.

“jungkook,”

“yes?” he cranes his head to your direction and your eyes connect.

“don’t get sick.”

“i won’t! i’m healthy. i only get sick once a year.” he boasts with a grin.

given the length difference, jungkook’s method is messier than yours— he shakes the water out of his hair like a puppy.

“okay, rude-” you chide at him, flinching away from the shower.

“oh i’m sorry!”

didn’t think about that, he winces.

“aquarium after showering?”

—

“worms make me queasy.” you make a noise of disgust as you dispose of your plastic gloves.

“but clem loves them.”

“true,” you return beside jungkook, who is watching your five beloved swimmers with pure fascination. “but not as much as coral does.”

“sometimes i wonder if they’re getting tired of seeing our faces everyday.”

“i hope not,” you frown.

after all, they’ve taken over a considerable chunk of your daily life for the past half year. you worried more about their meals than your own. you hated it when clementine and dahlia would get scared and hide from you at the beginning. you worked hard to gain their trust. how long will it take for them to forget you? contrary to the three-second memory span myth, you read that they can keep memories for weeks, some claim months, at least five, or even years.

“yeah, probably not because they associate us with food.” he chuckles.

“that’s true.”

he straightens up and drops himself on the couch. while you’re alone, you take your time to prepare your heart.

you try your hardest to look at every little detail of each fish, anything you haven’t seen before. you always loved the way their tail and fins glide and flow as they swim, reminiscent of long hair blowing with the wind. when they play about the shipwreck, it feels you’re being healed. something broken can still be a source of joy.

“i had a wonderful time, by the way.” you turn to jungkook, making your way to where he is. “thank you for tonight.”

“me too. i was so happy.”

he squeezes you to his side, dipping to press a kiss to your temple. you never understood people who preferred forehead kisses until you met jungkook. a kiss on the lips meant being wanted, and maybe that was everything to you.

“but i’m buying the extra helmet myself tomorrow.”

“you don’t have to do that!”

while he laughs, you force a smile.

there’s no point. there will be no next time.

“no but thank you for everything, really… my life has been a living nightmare but- but i felt like a person again when i was with you.”

you take a pause, willing yourself not to cry. you need to tell him everything you haven’t said so you can live with less regrets.

“you’re such a kind person. i’m sorry that i always lashed out on you too. just because i was hurting doesn’t make it right to hurt you.”

“why are you talking like that?” he questions you suspiciously. he masks his nervousness with a tone of humor. “it sounds like you’re saying goodbye.”

because you are…

you’ve never been good at goodbyes. the original plan was to leave in the middle of the night without letting him know, leaving a note was an option. either way you know that you will hurt him, and as an admitted coward, you didn’t want to witness that.

but in the future, when you reminisce about him, you don’t want to be overcome with guilt. and when he reminisces about you, you don’t want memories of you to be tainted with bitter resentment. you hope that when either one of you sheds tears, the pain of loss eventually becomes gratitude for what you had momentarily.

and so, you take a deep breath.

“i need to tell you something.”

he stares back into your eyes without saying anything. in the duration of that silence, jungkook is able to interpret and predict where your shared story is heading.

“you’re leaving…”

the end.

you never considered that hearing him say it would hurt much more than telling him yourself.

“when?”

“my flight is in six hours. i’m so sorry.”

you nearly break down into the tears, but you harshly chew on your bottom lip. you can’t cry, not in front of him. you don’t have the right.

“my parents, they finally forgave me… i can continue studying with their help. but no one wants to accept me here anymore, i tried, everywhere… so i’m going back with them to milan.”

“where they work…” he says meekly. he remembers you mentioning it in passing.

“can’t you postpone?” he tries to spark up even a smallest crumb of hope. he places his hand over yours, squeezing lightly. “even just for a day?”

you shake your head, unable to look him in the eyes, but you flip your hand over so you can hold his. and you do. tightly. and when it doesn’t feel enough, you use both hands and you clasp him in between.

the silence in between is suffocating.

“when will you come back?”

“i don’t know.”

“i can wait-”

“no, you can’t.” you interrupt, looking at him decisively. “you shouldn’t.”

with hardened features, he challenges your stare. you’re not scared or intimidated. he’s not angry. he’s just…

“that’s not for you to decide.”

fighting for you.

you’d be a hypocrite if you said that you wished he wouldn’t.

“jungkook, please, don’t.”

you throw your arms around his neck, hugging him so he won’t be able to see your face and decipher your thoughts. deep inside, with logic thrown outside the window, where all you can see and feel and touch is him, you wish that he would beg and convince you to stay.

“you’d only waste your time doing that. you’ll meet someone else…”

those words leave a bitter taste in your mouth. possessive, he jokingly described you once.

“don’t say that.” he interjects.

“you deserve to be happy, jungkook. there is so much more to life.”

“i knew- i-i had a feeling you would leave soon. i just didn’t know when.”

a tear drips from your eyelash; you hug him tighter and wipe it off on his shoulder.

“i wish i could’ve done more.” he utters regretfully. “to help you. and comfort you. you endured everything on your own…”

“you believed me and you stayed with me. you did more than everybody else.”

taking away the science of it, it’s common knowledge that a hug has wondrous healing effects. it’s one of those things that we naturally learn through experience, feeling. the hormone and neurotransmitter oxytocin can affect how we feel and respond to pain. studies say that it kicks in for hugs that last at least six to twenty seconds.

“will you be okay there?” he whispers. he’s gently stroking the expanse of your back and it feels like getting tucked into bed.

by now, you’ve been hugging jungkook for over twenty seconds, and you realize that the time is irrelevant. perhaps what they are referring to are the hugs you wouldn’t mind staying in forever.

“i’m scared,” you confess. “but i’ll be okay.”

a glimpse at the aquarium and enters a silly, gutwrenching thought.

“you know… maybe in another life,” you peek fondly into a future that may very well never exist. “we’re old and married, and we have a big pond instead of an aquarium.”

jungkook draws back and stares you down with his tearful eyes.

you clear your throat, face going warm with regret. “sorry-”

“you’re impossible-” he mutters before leaning in to kiss you.

you’re frozen at first, mind going blank, until he’s kissing you deeper, gripping your waist tighter, with intense emotions you’ve never felt him express before, and you are forced to remember that this kiss is a goodbye.

your hands around his neck fall over his shoulders, and you grant him the power to let you fall into the abyss where nothing else exists but the two of you.

you stop worrying about the time ticking.

you do not think about pulling away.

he is the one who breaks the kiss and your heart is broken.

his gaze is heaving with longing as does his aching chest. “why can’t it be in this life?”

you think this is when the gravity of the situation comes crashing down on you. jungkook is once in a lifetime. he is the person you will dedicate a memoir to when you reach the point in life where the only thing left to do is to look back. revealing the closet full of skeletons of who you were and who you will never become. he will be the subject of your what if’s, the other main character of the alternate version of your life story. the cynics will clamor, your time together was too short for it to have meant something, ignorant of the most lamentable grief— and you will envy them for it.

the corners of your mouth are lifted into a wistful smile. “fate made us meet at the wrong time, when i’m the wrong person for us.”

—

when you arrive at your apartment, you are deprived of the privacy to break down. your brother and your family driver, mister lee, have only begun hauling your bags and boxes. you try to ignore their presence, head straight to the bathroom, but as always, your brother doesn’t allow you peace.

“are you seriously bringing your motorbike too?”

you take a deep breath to compose yourself, but you still end up gritting your teeth. “it’s mine.”

“it’s too expensive to have it shipped-”

“shut up, you’re not the one paying for it.”

you turn on your heel, but you become rooted into place when you hear jungkook’s name.

“that boy you were with- jungkook, is it?”

you face with him a look of suspicion, eyebrows furrowing. “why do you care?”

he casually leans against the kitchen cabinet, hands tucked into his jeans’ pockets. “he must genuinely like you a lot to make that video. the tide has turned because of him.”

“wh-what are you saying?” you sputter. “what video?”

he narrows his eyes at you. “you don’t know what i’m talking about?”

“are you fucking with me again?”

“yeah- okay, nevermind.” he dismisses the topic, straightening up to pick up one of the boxes that will be carried to his car.

“moon!” you irritatedly shout his name, throwing the first thing that your hand touches. the comb hits his back before falling on the floor with a smack. “what is it?!”

“god, ___! it’s nothing! forget about it!” he barks, going straight for the front door with two boxes stacked in his arms. “go and make sure you didn’t forget to pack anything. i don’t need you nagging me when a package gets lost on its way to milan.”

you’re obviously having a hard time. can’t he go a little gentler on you?

“and cover your face.”

“does it matter? i’m already leav-”

“dad asked for it— not me. just do it, ____.”

you weakly slump back against the wall. you have no fight left in you today. you’d like to commend yourself for making it this far, surviving the worst of the worst and having the courage to come out of the tunnel, but you fail to make the distinction between being strong and becoming jaded.

“ma’am-” mister lee offers you a handkerchief. “i found it in one of the drawers. did you mean to leave it behind?”

you shake your head, and with a cold, shaky hand, you take it from his open palm.

once the tears begin to slide down your cheeks, there is no more stopping them.

as a sign of respect to you, he also leaves the room.

you choke back a sob, clutching to your chest— the handkerchief you were never sure if you were given or you stole.

—

jungkook’s tears glimmer from the lighter’s dancing flame. after several clicks, he manages to light up the cigarette. he isn’t innocent–after all he’s already an adult—but it’s a habit he makes an effort to avoid. surely, he can give himself a pass today, though. he’s heartbroken, and he feels pathetic enough hanging out in the alleyway you frequented.

he blankly stares at the lighter you believe you lost due to your carelessness. thinking back to your words from earlier, he’s furious at how calm you appeared. it was an easy decision— leaving him behind.

the rain has stopped, but raindrops collected by the roof still trickle to the ground and clang against metal pipes.

with trembling lips, he exhales the smoke— a sob threatens to be ripped from his throat and he roughly covers his mouth to stop it.

what could possibly be the lesson he’s supposed to learn from this pain?

he didn’t know where else to go. at his apartment, he’d feel you leave. at the lobby, he’d see you leave. he’d go far, but he doesn’t want to be too far. until the very end, he is at your disposal.

you could’ve been the one. no, he desperately wanted you to be the one. if you had stayed, he would’ve loved you as often as he breathed— but your paths intertwined only to be unraveled.

some sadistic tool, fate is. what was the point of finding you again?

a passerby’s fleeting shadow blocks all sources of light casted over jungkook’s secret place.

you wear your only carry-on, a duffle bag, around your body.

you cross the street with unhurried steps.

as you climb into your getaway car, jungkook flicks off the ash from the cigarette held between his fore and middle fingers.

the tires roll over the wet asphalt, leaving behind a hissing echo. your brother’s car follows suit.

thirty-five, thirty-six… jungkook anxiously counts the vehicles he hears driving away.

was one of them you?

…are you gone?

#jungkook au #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook one shot #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #bts fluff #bts reaction

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hurthermore · 1 year ago

Note

Hi it’s my birthday in Wednesday (24th April) and I was wondering if you’d do an Alastor x fem!reader oneshot? I don’t have a plot in mind but smut and an established relationship and fluffy as well please

»»------► 𝙱𝚘𝚠𝚜 𝚗 𝚂𝚝𝚞𝚏𝚏 (18+)

Pairing: 𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚡 𝙵!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

Warnings: 𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢, 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚌𝚞𝚝𝚎 𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚝

A/N: 𝙰𝚑 𝚘𝚏𝚌!!<𝟹 𝙷𝙰𝙿𝙿𝚈 𝙱𝙸𝚁𝚃𝙷𝙳𝙰𝚈 𝙸 𝙷𝙾𝙿𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝙰 𝙶𝚁𝙴𝙰𝚃 𝙳𝙰𝚈!! 𝙷𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚖𝚢 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞!<𝟹𝟹 𝙸 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚍 𝚛𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚒𝚎𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚞𝚜𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚌𝚞𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚙𝚒𝚎𝚌𝚎, 𝚜𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚒𝚏 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝!<𝟹

𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚜𝚔:

"I love your bimbo series and was wondering if you could do a fluff smut chapter? Like the reader grooming him and putting little bows on his tail etc. and he pampers them in return. After reading the latest chapters, SM fic, and Misconduct I've been in such a sub-drop LOL Much love 💗🥺"

The Radio Demon: an entity that with his name alone, intimidated and struck fear into the undead souls of millions. A being that was so terrifying, his presence was always warned among the masses to not cross, to not even attempt to annoy, to avoid at all costs, was also a demon who allowed his darling and frolicsome girlfriend to paint his claws and put fatuous pink bows into his hair.

No, Alastor may have been a scary embodiment of evil to some, but for you, he was nothing but a sweetheart, a sweetheart who would allow you to do whatever you pleased to him; even at the cost of his own dignity.

Which was where he currently found himself; his dignity snatched away from him as he allowed your defiled and naked form to sit on top of his equally desecrated and nude body as you parted his hair down the middle, only to clip back each side with dubious amounts of little pink bows and hair clips, all whilst he smoked a cigar, simply relaxing in the afterglow of the sexual night you two had just consummated, delectably ravishing each other until you both had found your releases.

Alastor was perplexed on where you had pulled the amass of hair accessories from, but the way you had asked him so sweetly if you could put some in his hair? He could never say no to you, even more so when you gave him such an excited expression pulled with that ridiculously beautiful face of yours, only to be topped off with your begging tone. He could never win against that combination.

You truly did have him wrapped around your little finger.

He genuinely never believed he’d find himself in such a debasing situation, but he found himself quite uncharacteristically enjoying it too; mainly due to how softly your hands caressed him, how he had complete view of your supple body as it was on complete display for him whilst you both revelled in each other's presence.

Blowing a puff of smoke into your chest, Alastor observed the stretch of your arms as you placed little pink ribbons on each side of his antlers, wrapping the silked material around them before you smiled widely. “Done! You look so cute!” You had grinned with ebullience, clasping your hands onto his shoulders before placing a kiss against his cheek.

“I am many things, my love, but cute is not one of them.” He almost deadpanned as he placed his cold palm into your cheek, moving a tussle of stray hair behind your ear before he continued to stroke your face, admiring you. “But you? You’re quite the sight for sore eyes.”

“You’re cute to me.” You replied before giving him a knowing look, a look that told him you were feeling frisky; erotic, even. And as you took the cigar from his sharp claws, you place the stick in between your lips ever so softly before inhaling the contents, only to blow a cloud of smoke of your own into your lovers facial structure before you stubbed the cancerous stick out in the ashtray that laid against a black tentacle conjured from the same man you sat a top.

Slinking your arms around his shoulders, purposefully pressing your bare chest against his, you began breathing heavily in his face with want; for some reason, you just had the urge to fuck your boyfriend whilst he looked so cute, filled with bows and clips, regardless of how many times you may of already fornicated that night, you couldn’t help but feel yourself get hot again as the juices of your lover still excreted from you.

Slowly, you began grinding your already wet and naked core against his soft cock, holding him tighter as you purposefully moaned ever so softly against his cheek. Alastor, although surprised you wanted to carry on your sexual endeavours, especially after the two of you had already gone at it for a few hours prior to you deciding you needed to vandalise his hair with silly bows, had turned his lips to meet yours, softly pulling you into a passionate but sweet kiss.

He was surprised you wanted him again, even after how imbecilic you had made his appearance.

But the Radio Demon was a vigorous being, one who would never deny you anything, especially your warm walls against him; placing a clawed palm against your posterior, he assisted in helping you move your squishy folds against his now hardening cock slightly harder, making sure his length glided perfectly between your folds.

It didn’t take long for him to become ready to wear your cunt like an accessory on his cock, and as he entered back inside your already cum filled core, you both breathed heavily as his heavy sex filled you back up to the brim, his previous ejaculation excreting from your cunt as he did. It was so slow and so sensual, the way you moved your hips as you rode the Radio Demon; your boyfriend.

Feeling your wet walls clamp down on his cock, bouncing against his pelvis ever so gently, Alastor couldn’t help but open his mouth, persuading you to do the same before he entered his tongue back into your mouth, tasting the remnants of his own cock that he had shoved in your mouth only an hour ago.

He could live the rest of his existence like this; he would never get bored of it.

Sorry i SUCK at fluffy smut but HAPPY BIRTHDAY<3

#alastor x reader #alastor #alastor x you #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #reader insert #hazbin hotel #alastor x reader smut #x reader #alastor smut

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taegularities · 9 months ago

Text

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

#jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #bts smut #bts fluff #jeongguk smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts x you #bts imagines #jungkook fic #bts angst #jungkook angst #jungkook

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shesgaymichaelscott · 1 month ago

Note

your stories are so good!! i started reading them on ao3 and was really happy to see you posting here as well :)

this means everything to me🥺. i love writing sm and the sweet cheeks fic is literally my baby so i'm sharing some other chapters! this is friendsgiving with the abbott fam and thanksgiving with melissa/the schemmenti family ❤️

Word Count: 8.9k

(fluff/romance, lesbian gfs in love, eventual smut, strap!, jealous melissa {thanks to kristen marie 😌}, melissa comes to a realization 🤭)

taglist <3: @writerspirit @schemmentigfs

Lilia stood at the front of her classroom, rubbing chalk dust off her fingers as she prepped the board for their Great Gatsby timeline. Outside, the late November wind howled against the windows, but inside, her eighth graders were buzzing with a whole different kind of storm—pre-break restlessness and a dangerous level of curiosity.

"Ms. Greenley," Jamir piped up from the front row, his eyes gleaming with mischief, "do you and Ms. Schemmenti share Thanksgiving dinner? Or do you just feed each other turkey and whisper sweet nothings about history?"

The class erupted into giggles.

Lilia turned slowly, eyebrow arched. "Do you want extra homework?"

"No ma'am," Jamir said quickly, but grinned. "Just curious."

"Oh my God, Ms. G blushed," Destiny whispered not-so-quietly from the side. "She totally did."

"Y'all are wild," Lilia muttered, turning back to the board with a small smile tugging at her lips. She wasn't about to let them know how accurate the teasing was—especially after the cozy weekend she'd had curled into Melissa's side, watching Real Housewives and eating leftover pumpkin pie like domestic queens.

A folded paper airplane sailed across the room and landed near her boots. She leaned down, unfolded it, and read the scribbled message:

Are you gonna be Mrs. Schemmenti someday?

Her jaw dropped.

"Okay! Everyone!" she called, trying not to laugh as she waved the note in the air. "Let's redirect our curiosity to the roaring twenties, shall we?"

The class groaned dramatically in unison.

Lilia was halfway through explaining the symbolism of the green light when a soft knock came at the classroom door.

Before she could even get the words "Come in" out, it swung open—and there stood Melissa Schemmenti, looking like sin in slacks and a cropped red cardigan, a smirk already on her face.

"Sorry to interrupt, Greenley," she said, eyes sparkling. "But someone left their lunch in the fridge again." She held up the little bento box with its telltale purple lid.

Lilia blinked. "I—how did I—?"

The class didn't give her a chance to finish.

"OHHH IT'S MS. SCHEMMENTI," Jamir practically sang, clutching his chest like he was watching a romcom. "She brought her girl lunch!"

"She's wife material!" Destiny squealed.

"Oh no," Melissa murmured, sauntering up to Lilia, "what did I walk into?"

"They're... being themselves," Lilia sighed.

One of the students in the back chimed in, "Ms. Schemmenti, are you gonna propose at Friendsgiving?"

Melissa snorted. "Not unless I wanna get tackled by Barbara Howard mid-sentence." She winked at the class. "But don't worry, I'm taking good care of your teacher. Make sure you are too, huh?"

A chorus of dramatic ooooohs rang out.

Melissa leaned in toward Lilia's ear as the kids erupted in whispers and laughter. "You owe me for this," she whispered with a teasing smirk. "Big time."

Lilia smiled despite herself, fighting a blush. "I'll pack you two lunches next time."

"I want something better than lunch," Melissa whispered, eyes dropping meaningfully for a split second before she turned to leave. "See ya later, kids."

"BYE MS. SCHEMMENTI!" they shouted, waving.

As the door clicked shut, Lilia turned back to the board and muttered, "We are never speaking of this again."

Destiny raised a hand. "I just wanna say... y'all are, like, endgame."

Even Lilia had to laugh at that.

⸻

The smell of too-strong coffee, orange-scented cleaning spray, and Janine's hand lotion filled the room as Lilia dropped into one of the cracked vinyl chairs with a dramatic groan.

"Tell me again why I chose middle schoolers?" she asked no one in particular, flopping her forehead to the table.

"Because they have the emotional range of a soap opera and you love the drama," Jacob chirped from the corner, where he was elbow-deep in paper turkey decorations and multi-colored string lights. "Also, because you're chaotic in a poetic way."

"Speaking of chaos," Janine said, breezing in with a clipboard and a mission, "Friendsgiving prep is in full swing, and I need everyone's food assignments locked in by the end of the day."

"Janine..." Gregory warned, lifting his eyes from his grading pile. "You said this wasn't going to be a production."

"It's not! It's just a lovingly coordinated, themed, potluck-based evening of togetherness," Janine replied with her signature grin. "Lilia, you're doing dessert, right?"

"Apple pie," Lilia said automatically. "Nonna's recipe. And maybe a pumpkin something if I survive grading these Gatsby character journals."

"Ooh," Ava called from the doorway, sauntering in with a caramel apple in hand. "I'll bring vibes. And drinks. But mostly vibes."

"We need chairs, napkins, serving utensils—" Janine began ticking off items.

"Girl, it's a Friendsgiving, not a wedding," Ava cut in, flopping dramatically on the couch beside Gregory. "Let it breathe!"

"Okay, okay," Lilia cut in with a hand raised. "What are we doing for music?"

"Oh thank God someone else cares," Jacob said, launching into a rant about playlists that didn't include "the same five Michael Bublé songs."

Melissa stepped in a few moments later with a bag of pretzels and a look that clearly said she was Not Here For The Nonsense. "Why is it every time I walk in here, it's like a therapy circle run by Pinterest?"

"Ohhh, the wife is back," Ava smirked.

Melissa didn't even blink. "And she brought pretzels. Which I'm hiding from Greenley if y'all don't get it together."

Lilia was still sitting with her head on the table and just gave a thumbs-up.

Janine, entirely unbothered, handed Melissa the clipboard. "You're on sides. Make your famous roasted garlic Brussels sprouts or face the wrath of Barbara."

"I fear God more than Barbara," Melissa muttered, scribbling her name next to the side dish column anyway.

From the hallway, they could already hear Barbara's familiar voice drifting closer—and with it, the realization that if they didn't at least pretend to be productive, the queen herself would give them all that patented disappointed mom stare.

"Alright, alright, back to work," Gregory said, pushing off the couch.

"Back to pretending to work," Jacob corrected.

Ava raised her caramel apple like a toast. "To chaos, carbs, and communal trauma bonding."

The Abbott crew all echoed with varying degrees of enthusiasm as they prepped for what was sure to be an unforgettable Friendsgiving.

⸻

Dessert prep meant extra practice, and Melissa of course was eager to assist. The apartment smelled like cinnamon, cloves, and sugar—an autumn dream wrapped in warm light and soft jazz from Lilia's record player. Her countertops were floured, her apron dusted, and a mixing bowl sat like a battlefield in front of her, halfway filled with peeled apples and brown sugar.

Melissa leaned against the kitchen doorway, one eyebrow raised, sleeves rolled up, and a suspiciously innocent look on her face. "So you're telling me this whole process takes, what—three hours? For one pie?"

Lilia didn't even glance up. "You're only asking that so you can calculate how much time you have to flirt and be unhelpful."

"Guilty." Melissa sauntered closer, wrapping her arms around Lilia from behind. "But I also brought wine. That counts as helping."

"It counts as bribery." Lilia reached for the cinnamon and shook it liberally into the bowl. "And I'm not falling for it."

"Mm," Melissa hummed, nose brushing against the curve of Lilia's neck. "That's what you said last time."

"Melissa."

"My love."

Lilia sighed dramatically, her cheeks flushed—whether from the warm oven or the woman currently pressing kisses to her neck was unclear. "If this pie ends up lopsided, I'm blaming you."

"I'm good with my hands," Melissa murmured. "Let me prove it."

"Oh my God," Lilia laughed, pushing her away with floured hands. "Go get the crust out of the fridge before I throw this bowl at you."

Melissa grabbed the chilled dough, smirking like the troublemaker she was. "Yes, chef."

"Don't you dare start that again."

Melissa rolled it out with exaggerated flair, and every time she bent forward over the counter, Lilia tried not to laugh. "You're doing this on purpose."

"I have never been so insulted in my life," Melissa said, eyes twinkling.

"You're literally wiggling your ass at me."

"Maybe I'm just happy to be domestic with my girl."

Lilia stopped, hands mid-stir. That made her heart flutter. "You're cute."

"I know."

They fell into a surprisingly productive rhythm—Lilia slicing apples, Melissa arranging them in the pie shell with shocking precision.

"I learned from the best," she said when Lilia complimented her layering.

"From who?"

"You," Melissa answered simply, brushing her flour-covered fingers against Lilia's cheek and kissing her temple.

The moment stretched between them—soft, golden, and heavy with something unspoken. Love, unhidden.

Lilia smiled as she slid the pie into the oven. "You're dangerous when you're sweet."

"And yet," Melissa said, leaning against the counter, "you still let me near hot ovens."

"I must really love you or something."

Melissa winked. "Must be."

⸻

Janine's place was warm, loud, and packed wall-to-wall with mismatched chairs, folding tables, and the smell of way too many side dishes. Her signature paper leaf garland was strung across the ceiling, and Luther Vandross crooned softly from her Bluetooth speaker in the corner.

Melissa, Lilia, and Jacob stepped in together, arms full of food and wine.

"Look at the throuple!" Ava called out from across the room, sipping champagne with one pinky raised. "Y'all look like a walking ad for gay Hallmark. I love it."

Jacob blinked. "I—wait, thank you?"

Lilia laughed as she handed her pie to Barbara, who was already eyeing it like it owed her money. "It smells amazing in here."

"That's because I handled the mac and cheese," Ava said, flipping her hair. "I don't play when it comes to soul food and vibes."

Melissa leaned close to Lilia and muttered, "You think she actually cooked anything?"

"No chance."

"Excuse you!" Ava popped her head between them. "I boiled the noodles. That counts."

Janine was bouncing between guests, beaming like it was her wedding day. "Okay! Melissa and Lilia are here! That means everyone's officially accounted for."

"I like that we count as one," Lilia teased.

"You're basically joined at the hip now," Janine said, pulling her into a hug. "You guys look cute."

"Thank you. It's my girlfriend's shirt," Lilia replied, smug.

Melissa made a show of rolling her eyes. "I knew I should've picked something uglier this morning."

Jacob was already mixing cocktails in the corner and gossiping with Mr. Johnson, who had shown up in a turkey hat "for morale." Barbara and Gregory were deep in conversation about stuffing techniques, of course, and Ava had taken it upon herself to critique everyone's outfits like she was hosting a roast.

They all squeezed around the table, plates stacked, glasses full.

At one point, Janine insisted on everyone going around to say what they were thankful for.

When it got to Melissa, she shifted in her seat, clearly uncomfortable with the spotlight. But Lilia gently touched her knee under the table, steadying her.

"I'm thankful for this weird little family we've made," Melissa said, glancing around. "And for good people. Especially one in particular who's made this year feel... lighter."

A chorus of soft "awwws" and some not-so-soft "ooh girl"s echoed around the room.

Lilia looked like she was about to melt.

Ava raised her glass. "To Abbott. And to love. And to me, for organizing the liquor table."

"To Ava," everyone said in semi-sarcastic unison, glasses clinking.

The night buzzed on with laughter, arguments over sweet vs. savory cornbread, and dance breaks every time the playlist hit a throwback.

Lilia caught Melissa swaying in the kitchen later, tipsy and relaxed, humming along to Earth, Wind & Fire while stealing bites of someone else's pie.

"You having fun?" Lilia asked, leaning against the counter.

Melissa grinned and pulled her close. "I always have fun with you."

They kissed behind the fridge door, unnoticed and unbothered, wrapped in the kind of ease you only find when you're truly home.

"What would you say about pulling an Irish goodbye and having our own fun at home?"

Melissa grinned with a glimmer in her eye, "Lead the way, baby."

The Friendsgiving chaos was finally winding down. Half the guests were slipping into food comas, sprawled across mismatched throw pillows and folding chairs. Someone had put on a slow R&B playlist, and the vibe had mellowed into cozy candlelight and lingering pie.

Lilia glanced up from Melissa's shoulder and caught Jacob yawning into his wine glass.

"You okay, honey?" she asked.

"I'm fine," Jacob sighed. "Just emotionally drained. Ava made me play Never Have I Ever with Mr. Johnson and now I know way too much about the Vietnam War and sex on the roof of the Franklin Institute."

Melissa snorted. "That's on you for agreeing to play anything with Ava after dark."

Jacob waved his fork weakly. "I need a night of warmth. Peace. Companionship. Maybe a heating pad and a romcom. Maybe a long sleep at your house—"

Melissa didn't even blink. "Nope."

Jacob blinked. "What?"

Lilia tried to hide her grin behind her cider. "Babe."

Melissa turned toward Jacob and patted his shoulder once—too firmly. "You've had a good run. But tonight? It's a no. You're cut off. Find another couch."

Jacob's jaw dropped. "You're kicking me out? After everything I've done for this couple?"

Melissa shrugged, standing and slipping her coat on. "Don't take it personal. You were always temporary housing."

Lilia stood up and kissed Jacob's cheek. "We love you. Truly. But I've had my hand on Melissa's thigh under this table for the last forty-five minutes and if we don't leave now, I'm going to start saying very inappropriate things in front of Barbara."

Jacob narrowed his eyes. "You're monsters."

Melissa threw him a wink over her shoulder. "Monsters in love."

"Just don't get anything on my weighted blanket," Jacob called after them.

"Too late!" Melissa shouted back as she tugged Lilia out the door.

The second the front door clicked shut behind them, Lilia felt the air shift.

It was quiet except for the rustle of jackets and the low hum of the hallway light. Melissa set her keys in the dish, then turned—slowly, deliberately.

Her eyes landed on Lilia like she was the only thing in the room. "You really had your hand on my thigh for forty-five minutes?"

Lilia stepped closer, unbuttoning her coat with lazy fingers. "Mmhm."

Melissa's gaze flicked down to the motion, her jaw tightening. "That's rude."

"You liked it."

"Did I?" Melissa closed the distance in two strides, backing Lilia gently against the wall. "You're lucky I didn't drag you out of there an hour ago."

Lilia smirked, breath catching at the closeness. "You tried."

"Yeah, but then you did that little thing with your fingers..." Melissa's voice dropped, her hands slipping around Lilia's waist. "Got me all distracted. You're dangerous, Greenley."

"Am I?" Lilia tilted her head, her lips just brushing Melissa's. "Maybe you like me dangerous."

Melissa didn't answer. She kissed her instead—slow, deep, claiming. The kind of kiss that made Lilia's knees buckle and her body melt. Melissa's hands slid lower, gripping the backs of Lilia's thighs and lifting her off the floor without effort. Lilia wrapped her legs around her, laughing into the kiss.

"Someone's in a mood," Lilia murmured against her lips.

"You have no idea."

Melissa carried her straight through the living room and into the bedroom, tossing her gently on the bed. Lilia landed with a breathy laugh, curls bouncing around her face as she looked up, flushed and wanting.

"Clothes," Melissa said, peeling off her sweater. "Off. Now."

Lilia bit her lip. "Yes ma'am."

She sat up slowly, teasingly pulling her top over her head and shimmying out of her jeans with a sultry roll of her hips. Melissa watched like she was starving, pausing only to kick off her own boots and unzip her pants.

Lilia leaned back on her elbows in nothing but a lacy bra and underwear. "Come here."

Melissa crawled over her like a predator, nipping along her collarbone, hands already everywhere—possessive, reverent. Her lips found Lilia's again and she murmured, "Mine."

"All yours," Lilia whispered, arching into her.

Melissa was already losing herself in her.

Lilia lay sprawled beneath her, flushed and breathless, those eyes half-lidded and shining like she'd been waiting for this exact moment. Melissa pressed kisses down her chest, open-mouthed and hungry, sliding Lilia's bra straps off her shoulders with slow, deliberate intent.

"You drive me crazy," Melissa rasped, her voice wrecked with lust. "All night, the way you touched me under the table—"

She kissed the curve of Lilia's breast, nipped gently, then soothed the bite with her tongue. Lilia whimpered, her fingers tangling in red curls.

"Keep talking like that and I'm not gonna last long," Lilia said, barely holding herself together.

Melissa smirked against her skin. "Then don't. I want to watch you fall apart."

Her hands trailed lower, slipping beneath Lilia's panties, dragging them down inch by agonizing inch until they were off and discarded. Melissa paused to look at her—just look—like she couldn't believe she was real.

"So fuckin' perfect," she muttered, mostly to herself, before moving back in, tongue tasting every inch of skin she could reach, devouring her in worshipful frenzy. She kissed down Lilia's stomach, eyes locked with hers as her hands gripped her thighs and pushed them open.

"Melissa—" Lilia's voice broke as her body arched off the mattress.

Melissa didn't give her a chance to breathe. She buried herself between Lilia's legs with single-minded purpose, her mouth greedy, tongue skilled and deliberate. Lilia cried out, one hand flying to the headboard while the other fisted in the sheets.

"Oh my—fuck, Melissa—"

Melissa moaned against her, which only pushed Lilia closer to the edge, her legs trembling, her moans turning desperate and high-pitched. Melissa kept going, relentless, arms hooked under her thighs, holding her in place as she coaxed every bit of pleasure from her.

When Lilia came, she came hard—back arching, vision white-hot, a scream tearing from her throat as Melissa didn't let up for a second, milking every last wave.

Melissa finally pulled away, mouth slick, eyes dark and wild with need.

"Still with me?" she asked, voice thick.

Lilia blinked, utterly limp and glowing. "Barely."

Melissa smirked. "Good. 'Cause I'm not done."

She reached into the nightstand and pulled out the harness she'd stashed there last week, eyes gleaming with intent. Lilia's breath hitched.

"Oh," she whispered. "You've been planning."

Melissa slid it on with practiced ease. "Damn right I have. You really think I'd let you tease me all week and not do something about it?"

Lilia's thighs squeezed together in anticipation.

Melissa climbed back on the bed, kissed her deep and messy, then guided Lilia onto her stomach, tugging her hips up gently. "Gotta show you what happens when you make me jealous and horny in the same night."

"Please," Lilia gasped, already breathless again.

Melissa lined up behind her, ran a hand up her spine, and pushed in slow—deep—drawing a long moan from both of them.

She set a rhythm that was steady at first, then harder, faster, as the room filled with the sounds of skin, breath, and Lilia's ragged, desperate cries. Melissa bent over her, biting her shoulder, panting in her ear.

"This what you needed?" she growled. "Letting everyone see how good you look, knowing you're mine?"

"Yes—yes—fuck, Melissa—"

They moved together like fire and gasoline, Lilia collapsing under the weight of it, Melissa driven by nothing but pure, aching hunger.

"You're so fucking beautiful under me, tesoro. Such a good girl."

Lilia barely had time to catch her breath before Melissa's hands gripped her hips again—tighter this time, fingers digging into soft flesh hard enough that she'd absolutely be bruised come morning. She didn't care. She wanted it. Wanted all of her.

"Mel—wait—" she gasped, but it wasn't a protest. Not really.

Melissa leaned down, teeth grazing her ear as she pushed in deep again, making Lilia choke on a moan.

"No waiting," Melissa growled. "You begged for it. Now you take it. Be my good girl."

Lilia whimpered, body shaking. "I am—fuck, I'm trying—"

"You're not trying. You're doing perfect." Melissa yanked her back by the hips to meet every brutal thrust, her rhythm punishing, obsessed. She was completely lost in her—sweat-drenched, flushed, and feral.

"Gonna fuck you until you forget your name," she snarled into Lilia's neck, one hand trailing up into her curls and yanking her head back, forcing her spine to arch, exposing her throat.

Lilia sobbed out her pleasure, eyes rolling, drool on her pillow as she took it, helpless under the overwhelming weight of Melissa's lust.

"You feel what you do to me?" Melissa gritted out. "You ruin me, Lilia."

The sounds were obscene—slick, soaked, absolutely drenched as Lilia's body responded without pause, her climax building again fast and furious.

"Melissa—I—I can't—" she cried.

"Yes, you fucking can," Melissa growled, snapping her hips forward so hard the headboard slammed against the wall. "You can give me one more. You're gonna gush all over me like the good girl you are."

Her hand snaked around Lilia's front, fingers finding her swollen clit, rubbing with expert, filthy precision.

Lilia broke.

She came hard, again, this time squirting, her whole body jolting as liquid splashed against the sheets beneath her. She screamed Melissa's name, her thighs trembling violently, breath gone.

Melissa moaned like she was the one coming, rutting through it, not letting up. "That's it. That's my girl. Fuckin' beautiful."

Lilia collapsed fully, face down, sobbing from the overstimulation, hips twitching as Melissa finally slowed her thrusts—but stayed deep inside her, still panting.

She kissed down Lilia's spine, easing her back to earth. "I got you," she murmured. "I got you."

And Lilia could only nod, completely wrecked, blissed out, and entirely, irrevocably Melissa's.

Lilia's body was boneless, melted into the sheets like warm honey, still twitching with aftershocks. She didn't even try to move—couldn't. Her breath came in soft, uneven puffs as Melissa gently pulled the strap from her, setting it aside before leaning down to kiss the small of her back.

"You alive?" Melissa whispered, voice wrecked but full of fondness.

"Mmm." Lilia made a soft, indecipherable noise that was half sigh, half giggle.

Melissa chuckled, warm and low. "That was a yes, right?"

"Barely," Lilia croaked, finally turning her head to the side. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes still glassy. "You were... out of your mind."

Melissa climbed off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. Lilia heard the water run, then a soft rustle as Melissa returned with a warm washcloth and a tender look in her eyes.

"You make me crazy," she said, voice softer now, as she began to clean Lilia up with slow, reverent movements. "Don't act like you don't love it."

"I do," Lilia whispered. "So much."

Melissa leaned down, brushing her lips across Lilia's shoulder blade. "Let me take care of you, baby."

She helped Lilia up—though her legs were jelly—and guided her into the bathroom. The tub was already filling with warm water and lavender bubbles. She stepped in first, then reached out and pulled Lilia into her lap, both of them bare now, skin flushed and glowing.

Lilia melted into her like she was made to be there.

They sat in the tub, the water gently lapping around them, Melissa's arms wrapped securely around Lilia's middle. Fingers trailed soft, lazy patterns over her skin.

"You're gonna have bruises," Melissa said eventually, voice full of something tender and sheepish.

Lilia smiled. "Good. I want them."

"Naughty girl." Melissa kissed her shoulder, then tucked her chin into Lilia's neck. "I've never felt like this, you know."

"I do," Lilia whispered. "Because I feel it too."

They stayed there until the water cooled, trading kisses and quiet words. Melissa washed Lilia's hair, kissed the tip of her nose, and told her she was beautiful.

Later, tucked back into fresh sheets with candles flickering low and a soft jazz playlist murmuring through the room, Melissa pulled Lilia close, bare skin against bare skin.

"I love you," she murmured against Lilia's temple.

Lilia smiled, still drowsy. "I love you more."

Melissa chuckled, squeezing her tighter. "Not possible."

The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains in soft golden stripes, casting a warm glow across Melissa's bedroom. The air was still, quiet, thick with the kind of post-Thanksgiving-Friendsgiving haze that left everything feeling a little dreamy. Melissa stirred slowly under the sheets, her body sore in the best ways, muscles relaxed and limbs heavy with satisfaction.

But the second she blinked open her eyes, she realized one very important thing: Lilia wasn't next to her.

"Mmm... baby?" she mumbled, voice rough with sleep, reaching blindly toward the other side of the bed.

No answer.

But then—then she felt it.

Soft kisses down her stomach. Fingertips smoothing up her thighs. And then the heat of Lilia's breath, hot and purposeful, nestled between her legs.

"Jesus Christ," Melissa hissed, back arching instinctively. Her hand fumbled down, tangling in Lilia's curls beneath the sheets. "You're gonna kill me."

Lilia didn't stop. In fact, the little grin she flashed upward—barely visible in the morning light—only confirmed her plan to do just that.

Melissa couldn't think, couldn't breathe. Lilia had barely begun and she was already falling apart, whispering her name like a prayer, cursing under her breath, one hand gripping the headboard and the other fisting the sheets.

And when she finally shattered, it was with a low, guttural groan that echoed off the walls—her thighs trembling around Lilia's shoulders, her voice breaking into a laugh as she collapsed back down.

"You're insane," Melissa panted, pulling Lilia up and kissing her fiercely, lazily. "But you're mine."

Before Lilia could say something smug in return, Melissa's phone buzzed on the nightstand.

She groaned dramatically and blindly reached for it, answering with a rasped, "Ma?"

"Melissa Caterina Schemmenti," her mother snapped immediately. "You sound like hell."

Lilia slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing and buried her face in Melissa's shoulder.

"I'm fine," Melissa said, clearing her throat. "We had Friendsgiving at Janine's last night. Little too much wine, that's all."

"I'll bet. Is my sweet Lilia there?"

Melissa raised a brow at Lilia. "Yeah. She's here."

"Good. Because she better be at Thanksgiving. If you show up without her, I'm locking the door behind you. That girl is an angel, Melissa. An absolute doll. She brought me wine and tiramisu. Tiramisu! You haven't even made me toast since '08."

"Ma, please."

"I'm serious. She's the best thing that's ever happened to you. I'll come back from the grave and haunt you if you mess this up."

"I know, I know. I'm treating her right."

"You better be. And for the record, I'm already telling everyone she's family. So don't screw it up."

Melissa rolled her eyes with a secret smile and caught Lilia's hand under the covers, intertwining their fingers.

"Lilia's coming. You've got nothing to worry about."

"Good. And tell her I want her cannoli this year. None of that store-bought crap. Tell her I said that. And give her a kiss for me. On the cheek, I mean. Jesus, Melissa, I'm still your mother."

Melissa hung up with a sigh and turned to Lilia, who looked far too pleased with herself.

"Cannoli?" Lilia teased, propping herself up on one elbow. "That's a big responsibility."

"You've already won her over. She's not gonna let me live it down."

Lilia kissed her with slow affection, their bare legs tangled beneath the covers.

"Don't worry. You've got me wrapped around your finger too," she whispered.

Melissa grinned. "Damn right I do."

"Coffee?" Lilia pouts.

"C'mon, baby," Melissa gets up and pulls Lilia with her, giggling happily the whole way downstairs.

The smell of coffee drifted through the kitchen like a warm blanket. Lilia, still wearing Melissa's flannel shirt with nothing underneath, stood at the stove barefoot, gently stirring a pot of oatmeal. She hummed softly to herself, hair messy, cheeks pink from earlier. Melissa leaned against the counter in sweats and a tank top, sipping her coffee and watching her with a fond, smitten look that she didn't even bother trying to hide.

"This is dangerous," Melissa said eventually, eyes trailing Lilia's bare legs. "You makin' breakfast like that. No pants. Soft music. Domestic bliss. It's giving wife."

Lilia glanced over her shoulder, smirking. "Then maybe you should put a ring on it, Schemmenti."

Melissa choked on her coffee.

"I'm joking," Lilia added, laughing as she handed her a small bowl of oatmeal topped with fresh fruit and a drizzle of honey. "Kind of."

Melissa took it, still smiling. "Mmhm."

Before Lilia could reply, the front door creaked open—and in stumbled Jacob, wearing sunglasses and yesterday's clothes, looking like he'd lost a fight with a bottle of whiskey and some bad decisions.

"Jesus," he mumbled, squinting. "Why is it so loud in here?"

Melissa raised an eyebrow. "It's not."

"Why does my soul hurt?" Jacob continued, dragging himself to the kitchen island like a dying man. "That bartender was a mistake. I'm pretty sure he ghosted me before we even said goodbye."

Lilia passed him a glass of water and a banana with the nurturing precision of someone who had clearly done this before.

"I told you not to try and match Ava shot for shot," she said, patting his back gently.

Jacob whimpered. "She called me 'lightweight supreme.' I had something to prove."

Melissa snorted. "What you proved is that your liver is made of glass."

Jacob groaned dramatically. "And yet, here you both are—radiating intimacy and morning sex glow. I hate it here."

Lilia kissed Melissa's cheek just to spite him, grinning. "We're heading to the store soon. Need anything?"

"Dignity," he mumbled.

Melissa finished her coffee and stretched, muscles loose and happy. "You can tag along. We're stocking up for Thanksgiving. Ma made it very clear that if Lilia's not there—and not bringing cannoli—it's gonna be a problem."

Jacob dramatically laid his head down on the counter. "I will be recovering on this surface for the next two hours. You go live your perfect domestic life."

Melissa smacked the back of his head lightly on the way out of the kitchen. "Come on, babe. Let's get outta here before his hangover infects us."

Lilia laughed and followed her to the bedroom to throw on a cozy sweater and leggings, stealing another kiss before they slipped out the door into the chilly morning.

The grocery store was bustling, a pre-holiday rush already in full swing, carts clattering and kids whining and cheerful oldies music playing overhead. Lilia had taken charge of the list, scribbled neatly on her phone, while Melissa—unsurprisingly—was already going rogue.

"Melissa," Lilia called from the produce section, holding up two different kinds of apples. "Honeycrisp or Granny Smith?"

Melissa appeared beside her, tossing a random bag of kettle chips into their cart. "We're makin' pie, not a damn science project. Honeycrisp."

Lilia arched a brow. "We're making pie? I thought I was making pie and you were distracting me with loud opinions and snacks."

Melissa leaned in, smirking. "Semantics."

They kept bickering playfully as they made their way through the aisles, grabbing ingredients, debating butter brands, Melissa trying to sneak more junk food into the cart while Lilia caught her every time. To onlookers, they were unmistakably one of those couples—easy rhythm, casual intimacy, little touches and teasing that gave them away as deeply, comfortably in love.

That was, until they turned into the frozen section—and there stood Gary.

"Melissa?" he said, blinking in surprise. "Hey!"

Melissa stopped mid-step, her hand still resting on the cart handle. "Oh. Hey, Gary."

Gary—tall, awkward, wearing a Phillies beanie and a windbreaker—offered a sheepish smile. "Wow, it's been a while. You look good."

Melissa reached for Lilia's hand immediately. "Thanks. You, uh... how's vending machine life?"

"Actually—no more vending machines! I opened a little shop with my brother. And I got married!" He held up his hand to show off a simple gold band. "Got a baby on the way too."

Lilia watched Melissa closely, but Melissa's smile was genuine. Warm, even.

"That's great, Gary. Really. I'm happy for you."

"Thanks. And, uh..." Gary glanced at Lilia. "This your girlfriend?"

Melissa's grip on Lilia's hand tightened proudly. "Yeah. This is Lilia."

Gary nodded politely, then gave a small, self-deprecating laugh. "Guess you were right to say no, huh?"

Melissa chuckled. "Yeah. Guess I was."

They said their goodbyes, and Melissa didn't look back as they walked away. Lilia squeezed her hand gently, and Melissa glanced over with a little shrug.

"That was the guy who proposed?" Lilia asked softly.

"Mm-hmm."

"And you said no?"

"Twice."

They kept walking, but something about Melissa's posture had changed—just a touch of tension in her shoulders, her voice more careful. Lilia didn't press.

"You okay?" she asked gently.

"Yeah," Melissa said after a beat. "He's a good guy. Just... not for me. He wanted a life I didn't. Marriage. Kids. Suburbs. It was all mapped out, and I wasn't even sure I wanted to be on the road, let alone the destination."

Lilia nodded, sensing the weight in her tone. "That's fair."

Melissa gave her a glance, something fond but clouded. "I think I thought marriage was just another way to lose yourself. I'd already done that once. Didn't want to do it again."

Lilia didn't push. Instead, she slid her arm around Melissa's waist, leaning her head against her shoulder as they stood in the aisle between frozen peas and tater tots.

"You're allowed to want something different now," she said quietly. "You're allowed to take your time."

Melissa looked at her, the tension melting just a little at the edges. "Yeah. I know."

They kissed softly by the freezer door, and when a little kid nearby loudly yelled, "Ew, girls kissing!" they both cracked up laughing and pushed their cart along.

"Alright," Melissa said, recovering. "Let's go get your fancy vanilla and get outta here before we run into another ghost of boyfriends past."

⸻

The kitchen was alive with clatter, jazz playing low in the background, and the scent of cinnamon and brown sugar already wafting from the oven. Lilia had flour on her cheek, a dishtowel slung over her shoulder, and was elbow-deep in mixing the apple pie filling with practiced precision. Melissa, apronless and totally unhelpful, was leaning against the counter with an apple slice in one hand, smirking.

"I thought I was your helper," Melissa teased, tossing a slice in her mouth.

"You were supposed to be slicing apples. Not eating them one by one like a squirrel," Lilia said, side-eyeing her without pausing her stirring.

"I'm quality control."

Lilia chuckled, shaking her head. "You're chaos control."

Jacob wandered into the kitchen then, bleary-eyed, wrapped in a blanket like a robe and holding a mug that said #1 Reading Dad in faded letters.

"You people are too functional," he grumbled. "I just walked in on a Hallmark movie and it's not even 11 a.m."

Melissa didn't skip a beat. "You're just jealous because you woke up alone with a hangover and we woke up to an orgasm and coffee."

Lilia dropped her head into her hands. "Melissa!"

Jacob pointed at them dramatically. "See?! This is what I mean. This is what perfection looks like. You bake together. You banter. You bully me. I feel like I'm in a domestic cult."

Melissa handed him an apple slice. "Drink your coffee and peel these."

Jacob did his best, managing to mangle three apples before Lilia gently took the peeler back and gave him a mixing bowl instead.

"Here. You're in charge of filling the cannoli shells. Do not break them. We only have twelve."

Jacob made a face. "Cannolis too? You two don't stop."

Melissa, already leaning behind Lilia to nuzzle her neck under the pretense of checking the oven, muttered, "No, we don't."

Jacob fake gagged. "I'm calling Janine."

He pulled out his phone and immediately FaceTimed her. "Janine. I need refuge. They're baking pie and making cannolis while flirting. I can't survive this kind of love bubble. It's too powerful."

Janine's face lit up on the screen. "Awwww, I love that for them. But poor Jacob. Do you need a safe haven?"

"Yes. Take me in like a stray. You'll have one extra for Thanksgiving."

"Deal. But only if you bring a cannoli."

"Done," Jacob said, and then, to Lilia, "You heard the lady."

Lilia tossed a bit of flour at him. "You're lucky you're cute."

"Tell Janine that," he called over his shoulder, already grabbing one of the pastry bags and overfilling the first cannoli dramatically. "I have so much love to give."

Melissa watched him messily fill the next one, a glob of ricotta splattering onto the counter.

"You're banned from cannolis," she declared. "Stick to moral support."

"And commentary," Lilia added, sliding the finished pie into the oven with a pleased sigh. "You're very good at that."

The three of them settled into the rhythm—Jacob sipping his coffee and giving dramatic monologues about true love, Melissa trying to sneak more filling into her mouth than the shells, and Lilia wrangling them both like a saint.

It was warm. It was chaotic. It was the kind of morning that felt like the start of a holiday movie. And somewhere between the second pie and the last cannoli, Melissa caught Lilia in the middle of a laugh—her cheeks pink, hair a little wild, hands dusted in flour—and thought:

This is it. This is the life I never knew I needed.

It was late, the pie tins were cooling on the stovetop, and the smell of warm cinnamon still clung to the air like a blanket. The house was quiet now, dimly lit by the soft glow of lamps and the flickering light from the TV they'd left on but weren't watching. Lilia was in Melissa's oversized Phillies T-shirt, brushing her teeth lazily in the bathroom, while Melissa leaned against the bed, scrolling on her phone, a tiny smile tugging at her lips.

She was texting furiously—quick back-and-forths, her thumbs flying across the screen with the kind of attention that was usually reserved for sports scores or dragging someone in a group chat.

When Lilia came into the room, toweling off her hands and flopping onto the bed beside her, she caught the tail end of Melissa tucking her phone under her pillow like a guilty teenager.

Lilia raised a brow, smirking. "You hiding your Candy Crush high score from me?"

Melissa shot her a casual look, even as a blush crept up her neck. "Nope. Just Kristen Marie being annoying."

Lilia narrowed her eyes playfully. "Annoying how?"

"You know. Sister banter. She's harassing me about what kind of wine to bring tomorrow, like I haven't told her twice already. She's gonna bring Prosecco anyway, just to be a brat."

Lilia gave a suspicious hum but let it go, snuggling in closer, one arm around Melissa's waist as she kissed her shoulder. "You two are weirdly close."

"We're weirdly Italian," Melissa corrected, tucking Lilia closer. "It's a lifelong disease."

Lilia chuckled and reached behind Melissa to turn off the lamp, plunging the room into warm darkness.

Melissa stared up at the ceiling for a beat after Lilia got comfortable against her chest, then slowly reached for her phone again under the pillow. She angled it away, typing something out with careful silence.

She's the one. I don't know when it happened but... I want this every day. Every night.

I'm seriously thinking about asking her to move in.

Is that crazy?

The bubble from Kristen Marie popped up almost immediately.

Not crazy. About damn time. You're in love, Miss Forever Bachelor.

And I better be your maid of honor or I'll throw hands.

Melissa smiled softly, biting her lip. She read the message over again, heart thudding. The idea of marriage had once been something she filed away as a closed chapter—a burned one. But with Lilia?

It didn't feel like a trap. It felt like home.

Lilia stirred beside her and murmured, half-asleep, "You still texting Kristen?"

Melissa smiled into the dark. "Yeah. She says you're a perfect angel and I don't deserve you."

Lilia giggled against her skin. "Well, she's not wrong."

Melissa kissed her forehead, then the top of her head, and whispered, "I know."

⸻

The morning sun streamed through the windows far too early for Lilia's liking, but there was no chance of sleeping in. Not today. Not with Thanksgiving at the Schemmentis' looming like a final exam she wasn't quite sure she'd studied enough for.

She stood in front of the mirror, hair curled and pinned to perfection, tugging slightly at the lower neckline of her gold blouse—the one Jacob had insisted would "bring out your eyes and make you look like a sultry forest nymph." She wasn't sure if it said "respectable and lovable potential daughter-in-law," but it would have to do.

"Babe, you look amazing," Melissa called from the kitchen, her voice muffled around a piece of toast. "C'mere and stop stressin'."

"I'm not stressing," Lilia lied, applying another thin layer of mascara with precision that could rival a surgeon's scalpel.

Melissa appeared in the doorway, barefoot and casual in black jeans and a rust-colored sweater, still chewing, one brow arched. "You've put on perfume three times."

Lilia whirled. "Your mother is terrifying!"

"She's five-foot-nothin' and wears bunny slippers that bark when she walks."

"That's what makes her so powerful."

Melissa laughed, crossing the room to wrap her arms around Lilia's waist from behind, resting her chin on her shoulder. "You've got nothin' to prove, Greenley. They already love you. Ma's been calling you 'the angel' for like three weeks."

"That doesn't mean she won't turn on me if I bring the wrong wine."

"You brought your nonna's favorite and homemade tiramisu," Melissa said into her neck. "You're already MVP."

Lilia took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay. Okay. Let's do this."

They loaded into the car, Lilia clutching the dessert carrier like it held a Fabergé egg. The car ride was filled with a comfortable silence, broken occasionally by Melissa's soft humming along to the Motown playlist they'd started that morning.

"You're really not nervous?" Lilia asked, adjusting her hair in the passenger mirror for the third time.

Melissa glanced over at her, smile tugging crooked at the corner of her mouth. "Nah, you're my date. I already won."

That made Lilia's heart flip. "You're so cocky."

"I'm right, though."

Lilia reached over to take her hand. Melissa squeezed back. The car turned onto the familiar block just as Lilia's stomach did somersaults.

"I feel like I'm walking into the Colosseum."

Melissa snorted. "You'll be fine. Just don't tell Uncle Sal you like pineapple on pizza, and don't ask anyone if they've seen The Godfather. We've all seen The Godfather."

Lilia laughed despite herself, eyes wide as the Schemmenti family house came into view—cars lining the driveway, laughter already spilling out of the open front door.

Melissa parked, turned off the engine, and looked at her with warmth and a glint of mischief. "Ready?"

Lilia inhaled slowly and nodded. "Ready."

Melissa leaned in to kiss her gently, then whispered, "Try not to let Kristen Marie steal you. I'm already on thin ice."

"Oh, I'm definitely going to flirt back this time," Lilia teased, grinning.

Melissa groaned, threw her head back, and muttered, "I'm gonna have to fight my own damn sister today."

Lilia had barely unbuckled her seatbelt before one of the littlest cousins flung open the front door and shouted, "Auntie Mel's here! And she brought Lilia!"

That was all it took.

Within minutes, Lilia found herself swept into a sea of noisy greetings, warm hugs, cheek pinches, and a blur of names she could barely keep up with. Melissa stood back, watching with a mix of awe and smugness as her girlfriend charmed every relative from the toddlers to Nonna Lucia, who'd declared, "She's got the eyes of an angel. Don't mess this up, Melissa."

"She's perfect!" someone cried from the kitchen.

"When are you bringing her back? I wanna show her my science fair project!" another cousin insisted, tugging Lilia toward a folder on the table.

Lilia, radiant in her shimmering golden top and high-waisted slacks, laughed her way through every question. "School's been good! Of course I'll come back! Maybe I'll bring books next time?"

From across the living room, Melissa leaned against the doorway, Kristen Marie at her side, both of them watching Lilia like she was their favorite holiday movie playing out in real time.

"She fits in like she's always been here," Kristen Marie said quietly, nudging Melissa's side. "You love her."

Melissa didn't deny it.

Kristen Marie tilted her head, a rare moment of softness in her teasing demeanor. "You think maybe this one's it? Like... actually forever?"

"I think about it every damn day," Melissa said, her voice low. "Scares the hell outta me sometimes."

Kristen Marie put an arm around her sister's shoulders. "You deserve something that scares you in the best way. You've been stuck with me all your life—at least now you got a real upgrade."

Melissa huffed a laugh, eyes misting slightly. "She really is somethin' else."

Their mom joined them at the edge of the doorway, arms crossed, a dish towel thrown over her shoulder. "She loves you like it's the easiest thing in the world. And it is, for her. That kind of love doesn't come around every day, kiddo."

Melissa glanced back at Lilia, who was now holding one of the babies on her hip like she'd been born to do it. Her curls bounced as she swayed gently, her laughter mixing with the chatter and the music coming from the kitchen. She looked completely at home.

"I'm scared," Melissa admitted softly.

Her mom leaned in, kissing her temple. "You're allowed to be scared. But don't you dare let that fear make you lose her."

Melissa nodded, emotion catching in her throat.

Her mom smiled. "Now come on. Help me bring out the wine before your father pours it all into the sauce again."

The dining table groaned under the weight of platters piled high with roasted vegetables, lasagna, a golden brown turkey, and enough sides to feed a small village. Lilia was tucked beside Melissa, who took it upon herself to load Lilia's plate with exactly what she knew she'd want, adding extra stuffing and slipping her a wink when no one was looking.

Across the table, cousins shouted over each other about fantasy football, while Melissa's dad passed around his infamous homemade wine, sloshing generously into mismatched glasses. Babies were passed around like bread baskets. Lilia found herself holding a toddler one-handed while still managing to cut into her turkey. Melissa looked absolutely feral over it.

"She's gonna kill me," Melissa muttered to Kristen Marie, who smirked.

"You? I think she's already got plans to marry you."

Melissa nearly choked on her stuffing.

Dessert came next—apple pie, cannolis, and a mystery cake that no one admitted to making. Lilia got about three bites in before Kristen Marie flopped into the seat beside her with a wine-drunk grin and a conspiratorial lean.

"So," she said, propping her elbow on the table. "You and my sister. You makin' her soft on purpose or does it just come naturally?"

Lilia gave her a warning smile. "She's already soft where it counts."

"Oh-ho!" Kristen laughed, nudging her knee against Lilia's under the table. "God, you're fun. Are you free next Thanksgiving?"

Melissa appeared out of nowhere and set her wine glass down with a distinct clink between them. "No, she's not."

Kristen Marie just grinned wider. "There she is. Knew I could get your blood boiling."

"Careful," Melissa warned, arm sliding protectively around Lilia's shoulders. "You keep pokin' the bear, you're gonna get mauled."

"Ooh, a warning. How romantic."

Before Lilia could burst out laughing, the kids started yelling from the living room that it was game time.

Kristen Marie made it her mission to be on Lilia's team for every game. She whispered over-the-top guesses into Lilia's ear and leaned too close too often, until Melissa dragged Lilia onto her lap during Cards Against Humanity and declared, "We're a team now."

Kristen Marie winked. "Fine. But only 'cause she looks hot when she wins."

Melissa just growled and pulled Lilia closer, burying her face in her neck. "Gonna kill her," she muttered into Lilia's skin.

Lilia giggled and whispered back, "You love it."

Kristen Marie, however, showed no signs of slowing.

She curled up on the arm of the couch where Lilia sat, balancing her wine glass like she was born to flirt over cannoli crumbs. "So, Miss Greenley," she began with a slanted smile. "You always this good at charming Italian families, or are we just lucky?"

Lilia laughed nervously, cheeks pink. "I've had practice."

"Oh, I bet. You're all polite and warm and gorgeous—total teacher's pet vibes."

Lilia raised a brow. "Is that a compliment or an accusation?"

Kristen grinned, bold and unrelenting. "Both. You've got that 'read me poetry and then ruin my life' thing going for you."

Melissa, seated across the room in a recliner, had been nursing a bourbon and trying to play it cool. But her grip on the glass tightened with every passing second.

When Kristen leaned in, brushing a piece of imaginary lint from Lilia's sleeve and murmuring, "Bet you're dangerous when you want to be," that was the final straw.

Melissa stood abruptly. "Babe, come with me."

Lilia blinked, caught off guard. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, just—come on."

She tugged Lilia by the hand, leading her down the hallway to the guest bathroom and shutting the door behind them with a little more force than necessary.

Melissa leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, trying to look unbothered and failing miserably. "She's doing it on purpose."

Lilia stepped closer, amused and touched. "Yeah. I know."

Melissa huffed, cheeks pink from more than just wine. "She's been like this since high school—likes to rile me up. But tonight she's pushing it."

Lilia leaned in and slid her hands around Melissa's waist, resting her chin on her shoulder. "Well, I've got news for you. You're the only Schemmenti I'm going home with."

Melissa finally let out a breath, her hands settling low on Lilia's hips. "Damn right you are."

They stood like that for a moment—quiet, close, their foreheads almost touching. The sounds of laughter and clinking glasses drifted faintly through the door, but here, it was just them.

"You okay?" Lilia asked softly.

Melissa nodded. "Yeah. I just... she makes me feel like I gotta stake my claim sometimes. Like if I don't say it enough, you'll forget how much I—" She caught herself, then smiled. "You know."

Lilia kissed her, slow and sweet, fingers brushing over Melissa's jaw. "I know. And I love it. You, being protective."

"I'm not usually like this," Melissa murmured, a little embarrassed.

"I think it's sexy."

Melissa chuckled, leaning in to kiss her again, deeper this time. "Well in that case..."

They were still tangled up together, whispering and giggling, when someone knocked on the door and yelled, "You two makin' out in there or what?"

Kristen Marie. Of course.

Melissa rolled her eyes. "Go away!"

Lilia laughed against her neck. "You ready to go back out there?"

"Not yet." Melissa kissed her again, breathless and a little desperate. "Let me have a few more minutes with just you."

⸻

The night wound down in a blur of laughter, soft jazz, and the scent of leftover stuffing. One by one, coats were tugged on and kisses were pressed to cheeks. The kids emerged from the basement bleary-eyed and giggling, the adults moving slowly with the heaviness of wine and full bellies.

Melissa helped her mom clean up, tossing foil over trays and stacking dishes in the sink while Lilia said her goodbyes to the rest of the family.

Kristen Marie gave Lilia a dramatic, lingering hug and whispered in her ear, "Seriously. If she screws this up, I'll disown her."

"I'll keep her in line," Lilia whispered back with a smirk, and Kristen just winked.

Melissa's mom waited by the door, her warm hand cupping Lilia's cheek as she pulled her into a fierce hug. "You're a dream, sweetheart. Don't let my daughter be a pain in the ass, alright?"

"I'll do my best," Lilia chuckled.

"No, really," she said, holding Lilia's gaze with unexpected seriousness. "We've never seen her like this. Happy. Settled. Like... like she knows what she wants."

Lilia's heart squeezed. "That means a lot."

"She loves you," the older woman said quietly. "You can see it all over her. So don't go anywhere, okay?"

"I'm not going anywhere."

Melissa appeared then, coat in hand, tugging Lilia gently toward the door. "We outta here?"

"Before anyone tries to get us to take leftovers home we didn't ask for," Lilia teased, waving goodbye one last time.

They stepped out into the cold night, Lilia's hand finding Melissa's like it always did—naturally, instinctively. Their breath came out in soft clouds, and the crunch of leaves followed their footsteps down the driveway.

In the car, Lilia glanced over as Melissa let out a long, contented sigh.

"Wasn't so bad, huh?" Lilia asked softly.

Melissa smirked, eyes on the road. "You kidding? That was the best Thanksgiving I've ever had."

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kathlare · 12 days ago

Note

hi hi i absolutely love your writing and this universe so much, i was wondering (totally fine if you’re not comfortable with writing this but i just thought i’d ask) if you could write something set in 2025 where lando and amelie have sex on her period… i need the comfort rn 🙃😩 i know this is a bit much to ask but i love your smut chapters sm

Hii!! 💕 First of all, thank you so, so much for all the love and support — it really means the world 🥺 And thank you for feeling comfortable enough to ask for this! You’re absolutely not asking too much, and I’m so happy to say that I’ve gone ahead and written this chapter for you. Here it is — I really hope you like it and that it gives you the comfort you’re looking for 💗🔥

If you ever have more requests, you know where to find me! 🌙✨ Enjoy!!

woman

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Amelie finds herself struggling with discomfort during a work trip, and Lando steps up to support and care for her.

Wordcount: 4.4 k

Warnings: smut

full masterlist // request over

June 11th, 2025 - Lake Como, Italy

Lando was standing by the edge of the terrace overlooking the shimmering waters of Lake Como, the early afternoon sun casting a warm glow over the scene. The TUMI campaign shoot was in full swing, and Lando, dressed sharp in a sleek navy blazer with crisp white shirt and matching tailored pants, was effortlessly posing with the brand’s latest luggage collection. His usual easy charm was on full display — the half-smile, the cocked eyebrow, the subtle lean against the vintage wooden railing.

Behind the scenes, Amelie sat quietly beside a couple of Lando’s team members — his race engineer and a photographer who had flown in specially for this shoot. She was wearing a loose linen blouse and light jeans, hair pulled back casually, watching Lando with that familiar mix of admiration and playful affection that never failed to make him feel like the luckiest guy alive.

—Hey, Ames, did you see that?— one of the crew nudged her, laughing.

—What?— Amelie grinned, sipping a bottle of sparkling water.

—That look he just gave the camera. Total model shit.—

She laughed softly, eyes never leaving Lando as he shifted stance, his focus razor sharp but his mind clearly half on her.

Then, suddenly, Amelie’s face tightened ever so slightly. A sharp, unfamiliar twinge settled low in her abdomen.

—Fuck.— She muttered under her breath.

The pain was subtle but insistent — a dull ache crawling its way into discomfort. Her mind raced through the possibilities. Could it be her period arriving? She hadn’t really tracked it well lately with everything going on, but this felt like that familiar warning.

She excused herself gently from the conversation, murmuring, —I’ll be right back.—

The path to the bathroom felt longer than it was, every step tinged with that low, growing ache that made her wince when she wasn’t careful. Her purse bounced against her hip as she finally shut the door behind her.

She quickly checked — and yep, there it was. A small but unmistakable crimson stain on her panties.

—Okay, Ames, you got this.— She pulled out a tampon from her bag, carefully handled the situation, and took a deep breath before washing her hands and looking at herself in the mirror.

The sharpness in her stomach was still there, but now manageable.

Back outside, she smoothed down her blouse, feeling a little stronger, and headed back to the shoot.

As she approached the group, her eyes locked onto Lando’s across the sunlit terrace.

He caught the moment, his brows knitting for a heartbeat before his lips moved silently—no sound coming out, but the message clear: You okay?

Amelie gave him a small, determined thumbs-up and a half-smile that said, I’m fine. Just hang tight.

She sat down again beside the team, feeling the ache still lurking beneath her skin like a ticking timer, knowing the worst wasn’t over yet.

Lando’s eyes never left her. Even as the camera clicked around him and the photographer shouted out directions, his focus kept drifting back to where Amelie sat, trying to look casual but clearly unsettled. The way she shifted in her seat, one leg crossed then uncrossed, her hand resting—then pressing—lightly against her lower stomach. The crease between her brows she kept trying to smooth away.

He felt a familiar pang—protective, concerned, and honestly a little helpless. This wasn’t like the usual behind-the-scenes nerves or tiredness after long flights. He knew that look, that subtle discomfort, from the months they’d spent figuring out each other’s quirks and lows.

Lando’s smile faded just a little as he glanced away from the camera, lips pressed together. The photographer was yelling something about “more intensity, Lan!” but Lando barely heard it. His eyes flicked back to Amelie, who was fidgeting again—shifting on the chair, trying to settle, her fingers tracing small circles over her stomach like she was trying to rub the pain away.

Without missing a beat, Lando raised a hand toward the shoot’s assistant.

—Hey, mate, can we take a quick break?— he said, voice calm but firm.

The assistant nodded, and the crew began to pause, some lowering their cameras.

Lando walked over to Amelie with long strides, kneeling down beside her chair.

—Hey, Ames, you okay? You don’t look so good.—

Amelie forced a small smile but shook her head slowly.

—Just cramps, Lan. It’s fine.—

He shook his head.

—No, not fine. Let’s get you out of here for a bit. Someone from the team will walk you back to the hotel, yeah? I’ll catch up later.—

Amelie stood up, a little unsteady, clutching her purse.

—I can wait here, really.��

Lando reached out, pulling her gently back by the waist.

—Nope. You’re not waiting here looking like you’re about to pass out. You’re going back, and I’m making sure of it.—

He glanced at the nearby assistant.

—Mate, grab her things, please.—

The assistant nodded and hurried over, picking up Amelie’s bag and some of her things.

Lando gave Amelie a quick, reassuring kiss on the temple.

—I’ll be back soon. You rest, yeah? Call me if you need anything.—

Amelie’s eyes softened, and she nodded.

—Thanks, Lan.—

They started toward the exit, the assistant leading the way with her belongings.

Lando glanced back over his shoulder at the shoot as they walked.

—Don’t have too much fun without me.—

Amelie smirked, leaning into his side.

—No promises.—

Lando chuckled, squeezing her hand gently.

—You’re a bloody mess sometimes, Ames.—

—You love it.—

—More than you know, baby.—

They disappeared through the doors, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows over Lake Como as they left the shoot behind, ready to face whatever the day had next — together.

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

liked by sainzspice, papayafam, and others

ameliesunshine: Amelie spotted with a fan in Italy today 🇮🇹♥️ looking like an actual angel (as always) and making someone’s day brighter!

View all 27,015 comments

sainzspice: amelie making italy her runway like it's NOT a grocery run 😭 → paddockbabes: @sainzspice LANDO ON HIS KNEES RN

f1babygirl: amelie in italy? lando already booking a flight. mark my words. → l4ndo4ever: @f1babygirl jet-set boyfriend era is so real rn 😌✈️

strawberriie: amelie in italy? lando about to teleport there in .5 seconds 😭 → pitlanepass: @strawberriie he’s already googling flights rn

papayadrive: no way she looks that cute in candids too?? unfair!! → lanmelieluvr: @papayadrive lando punching air somewhere

papayafam: she’s too cute like how is lando functioning knowing she’s out here looking like this 😩

paddockvibes: lanmelie doing long distance? nah he’s def about to teleport to italy

gridgirlie: ames in italy = lando looking for “urgent sponsor meetings” near milan 😂 → lane4melie: @gridgirlie LANDO IS ALREADY ON FLIGHTRADAR I BET

ameliesfiles: she’s so pretty but lowkey looks tired 🥺 someone get this girl some tea and a blanket → lanmeliequeen: @ameliesfiles lando already taxiing the jet as we speak

papayadrama: ames looking a lil pale… lando get ur girl some rest!! 😭

f1tealeaks: ames pls rest up!! we don’t want a sick queen 😞 → lanmelie4ever: @f1tealeaks lando’s calling room service for a gallon of tea rn

tracksidegossip: she looks like she needs a long nap and a cuddle 😔 → lanmelieluv: @tracksidegossip and lando’s probably sending a “you okay? 🥺” text every 5 mins

f1circuitcrush: ames pale as a ghost and STILL serving?! iconic. → gridgossip_: @f1circuitcrush lando in the background like “you’re done. bed. now.” 😂

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

The camera was already recording when Lando sank down into the couch, brushing hair out of his eyes, grinning sheepishly. The setup was crisp and clean: a cozy corner of the hotel room, warm afternoon light pouring in from the windows, and his well-worn, much-traveled TUMI backpack resting on the table in front of him.

—Hey, everyone,— he started, brushing a hand down the surface of the bag, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. —So, I guess this is the ‘What’s in my bag’ video… which, full disclosure, is kind of a mess. But that’s sort of the point, right?—

With a shrug, he pulled the zipper and started unpacking.

The first thing he pulled out was a sleek laptop. —That’s mine. Not too exciting. Just where I review data, watch movies… reply to Amelie when she doesn’t text back quick enough.— He winked at the camera, brushing hair from his forehead.

Then came a charger and a set of noise-canceling headphones. —Standard stuff. Got to have music for the flights. Might be Amelie’s too, I’m honestly not sure anymore. We just… share everything at this point.—

He gave a soft chuckle and pulled out a small, cream-colored zippered pouch. —Alright, this one? Definitely Amelie’s.— He waved it for the camera. —That’s where she puts like… hair ties, lip balm, this tiny roller thing for headaches. Basically, the ‘I didn’t bring a bag so can I shove this in your backpack’ kit.—

He pulled out a pack of painkillers, then a neatly wrapped heating patch. —Yep. Those aren’t mine, obviously. Someone had cramps often and it ends up in here. Not complaining though. You’ve got to be prepared when you travel, right?—

Next came a sleek travel-sized bottle of Amelie’s favorite perfume. Lando smiled, brushing a finger over it like it was some sort of treasure. —She tucks this in sometimes. Never noticed until she’s like ‘smell this’ in the car or whatever. So now, I just carry it. Because why wouldn’t I?—

A hair scrunchie emerged, pastel and soft. Lando gave it a glance and shrugged. —More evidence that this bag isn’t just mine anymore. Honestly? It’s worth it. Means she’s with me, in some way, even when she’s not.—

Then came a granola bar, a small packet of gummies, and a little case of tea bags. —Yep. All Amelie. Because she swears I forget to eat when I’m working. So she sneaks snacks and tea into my bag every time. Not mad about it, to be fair.—

He pulled out a Polaroid photo next. Amelie, hair windswept and grinning, and him making a stupid face beside her. He smiled at it for a long moment before holding it closer for the camera.

—This one’s mine. Goes with me everywhere. Doesn’t matter where I am, track, hotel, airport, this makes it feel like home.—

Lando laughed quietly to himself and reached further inside the bag, fishing out a small, plain black case.

—Okay, full honesty here…— he said, cheeks reddening just a little as he held it up for the camera. —This is… uh… emergency boyfriend material.— He gave a sheepish grin, glancing sideways like he was trying to avoid full exposure. —Yeah, I forgot I even had them in here. But you know, gotta be prepared, right? Responsible and all that.—

He paused, then shrugged.

—Look, you never know. Plus, if you’re gonna be a decent boyfriend, it’s all part of the package.—

Lando chuckled again, shifting the bag slightly and digging deeper.

—Oh, and here’s one more thing...— he pulled out a small, worn set of keys on a familiar keychain, with a tiny charm that Amelie had given him. —These are the keys to my heart... or well, her place anyway.— He winked. —Officially stolen, no returns.—

The camera caught the faintest flicker of a smile, the warm glow in his eyes that only showed when he talked about her.

—Honestly, most of this stuff is… hers. Or stuff she says I need. And I’m not complaining. It’s kinda nice knowing you’re carrying around someone you care about with you everywhere you go.—

He paused, brushing a lock of hair behind his ear, the grin softening.

—So yeah, that’s my bag. A little chaotic, a little Amelie, a lot of boyfriend things. If you ask me, it’s the best kind of travel companion.—

Lando gave the camera a quick thumbs-up, then leaned back with that relaxed, cheeky grin.

—Alright, that’s enough oversharing for today. Catch you later, yeah?—

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

liked by sainzspice, papayafam, and others

lando_update24: Lando’s living that model life 🇮🇹✨ Spotted on TUMI Travel’s Insta, looking fresh and sleek while filming their latest campaign in Italy. Can’t wait to see the full drop!

View all 46,228 comments

paddockqueen: italian vibes got him looking like a whole snack 🍝👀 → norrisfanatic: @paddockqueen honestly, he’s making us all hungry for more than just pasta

vroomvroom_vibes: can he just stop flexing so hard pls my heart can’t take it 💔

speedqueen: lando out here flexin in italy 🏎️💨

driftgod: TUMI really said “hold my bags” and handed it to lando 🤩 → norrisstan101: @driftgod the way he’s serving looks makes me wanna quit racing and join fashion 😂

amelieloverx: bet ames is lowkey on set too, can’t wait for collab pics 🙌

lanmelie_4ever: italy trip confirmed for the power couple 🇮🇹✨ → speedqueen: @lanmelie_4ever I’m screaming they’re living their best lives rn

savage_pitstop: lando lookin like a snack, ames better be bringing the sauce 🍝😏 → lanmelie_4ever: @savage_pitstop 100%, italian vibes got him glowing

driftgod: ok but if ames is there, pls show us pics 😭🙏 → ameliefan99: @driftgod we’re all waiting on that lanmelie content

norrisstan101: the fact that lando’s working and ames probs nearby makes me soft 🥹

f1memequeen: lando out here multitasking: racing, modeling, boyfriending 🤡 → speedqueen: @f1memequeen the MAN is unstoppable

amelieloverx: send good vibes to our king he’s doing everything 😍

amelie_fanatic: she’s probably hyping him up behind the scenes 💖 → lanmelie_4ever: @amelie_fanatic 100%, queen supporting her king always

norrisstan101: lando’s smile in these pics is giving me “in love” vibes not gonna lie → lanmelie_4ever: @norrisstan101 that’s our lovebird for ya 🥰

f1memequeen: lando really out here making all of us jealous, the man’s got it all 👏

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

The key card clicked, and Lando pushed open the heavy door to their hotel suite. The Italian sun, which had been so vibrant outside, seemed to have retreated, leaving the room in a soft, diffused light. His tie was already loosened, and his blazer slung over his arm. The day had been long, a whirlwind of cameras, curated smiles, and endless directions, but all of it faded from his mind the moment he stepped inside.

—Amelie?— he called out softly, dropping his bag near the entrance. No immediate answer. He walked further into the room, past the small sitting area, and into the bedroom.

There she was. Curled on the plush king-sized bed, a rumpled duvet partially covering her, looking utterly miserable. Her face was pale, almost ashen, and a fine sheen of sweat was visible on her forehead despite the cool air conditioning. Her knees were drawn up tight to her chest, and one hand was pressed firmly against her lower abdomen, as if trying to physically contain the agony. She looked… shit. Really, truly awful.

—Ames,— Lando said, his voice instantly laced with concern. He moved swiftly, discarding his blazer and tie on a nearby chair. His shirt was unbuttoned as he walked, revealing the toned expanse of his chest. Within moments, he had shed his trousers, leaving him in just his fitted black boxers. The usual playful energy he carried had been replaced by a quiet, focused tenderness.

He carefully eased himself onto the bed beside her, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. He didn't speak, just gently pulled her closer, wrapping an arm around her, letting her head rest against his shoulder. He started to stroke her hair, a soothing, repetitive motion.

She let out a small, pained whimper, her body still tense. Even nestled against him, the pain wasn't letting up. She tried to shift, seeking a position that might offer some relief, but it seemed futile. Each subtle movement brought another grimace to her face.

Lando pressed a kiss to her temple, feeling the clamminess of her skin. —Still really bad, huh?— he murmured, his thumb rubbing small circles on her arm.

Amelie just nodded, her voice choked. —It's… it's so much worse now, Lan. I feel like I'm going to throw up.—

He held her tighter, a familiar helplessness bubbling inside him. He hated seeing her like this, so vulnerable and in so much pain. His mind raced, trying to recall anything, anything that might help. Then, a random fact, something he'd skimmed in an article months ago while procrastinating on an email, resurfaced.

He hesitated, a faint blush creeping up his neck. It sounded… well, it sounded like an excuse. But he had read it. —Hey,— he began, his voice a little unsure. —I… I read something once. About how, uh, sex can sometimes help with cramps?—

Amelie, even in her agony, managed to crack one eye open and squint at him. If this were any other day, she would have burst out laughing, probably accusing him of being a "horny bastard" or asking if he'd just pulled that out of his ass. But today, the pain was too overwhelming for witty comebacks or playful banter. She was desperate.

She let out a slow, ragged breath, her eyes closing again. After a long moment, barely audible, she whispered, —Really?—

Lando nodded, his chest vibrating against her. —Yeah, I swear. Something about… muscle contractions, or blood flow? I don't know the science, but I read it.—

Another pause, punctuated by a faint groan from Amelie. Then, a sigh of resignation. —Okay,— she mumbled, the single word heavy with pain and a surprising flicker of trust. —Okay, fine.—

A wave of relief, mixed with a healthy dose of awkwardness, washed over Lando. He gently disentangled himself from her, the warmth of her body leaving him feeling strangely cold. —Right,— he said, pushing himself up. —Just… let me get a towel first.— He didn't want to make things any more uncomfortable for her than they already were. He quickly scanned the room for a fresh bath towel, his heart a little lighter, knowing he might actually be able to offer her some real comfort.

He found a large, soft bath towel from the closet, laying it carefully over the pristine white sheets beneath where Amelie lay. As he turned back, he finally shed his last piece of clothing, his boxers pooling at his ankles before he kicked them aside. He then knelt beside the bed, his hand gently finding the waistband of her jeans.

—Let’s get these off, baby,— he murmured, his touch feather-light as he helped her unbutton and slide them down her hips. She was still wearing the loose linen blouse, but he carefully eased that off too, her body a pale, trembling landscape beneath his hands. When he reached her underwear, he paused, his eyes meeting hers. She nodded subtly, trusting him. He delicately removed them, his gaze falling on the small, crimson evidence of her period. Without a word, he took the tampon, discreetly disposing of it in the trash can in the en-suite bathroom before returning to her side.

He then returned to her side, his gaze gentle, his heart aching with concern for her. She was still curled, eyes squeezed shut, but there was a flicker of anticipation, a desperate hope for relief in her posture.

He leaned down, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. —Mi amor,— he whispered, his voice thick with tenderness. —Are you sure, baby? We don't have to.—

Amelie shook her head, a slight tremor running through her. —No. Just… please, Lan. Try.—

He nodded, understanding. He shifted, gently positioning himself over her, supporting his weight on his forearms so as not to press down on her tender abdomen. Her eyes fluttered open, meeting his, and he saw a raw vulnerability there that made his breath catch. He leaned in, kissing her softly, trying to convey all his care and adoration through the press of his lips.

As he moved closer, a soft gasp escaped her lips. The usual warmth and welcoming embrace he was accustomed to was amplified by her pain-induced tension. She was incredibly tight, a sensation that would normally drive him wild with a primal urge for dominance and speed. But now, it only fueled his resolve to be as gentle, as patient as possible. He moved slowly, deliberately, a silent question in his every careful push forward.

Her body, usually so pliant and eager, was resisting slightly, not out of unwillingness, but from the involuntary clenching of her muscles. He took his time, murmuring soft reassurances against her neck, his touch feather-light. He felt the subtle tremors running through her, and his heart clenched.

—It’s okay, baby,— he whispered, his voice low and soothing. —Just breathe. I got you.— He waited, letting her body adjust to his presence, his own breathing slowing to match hers. He felt the tightness, the delicate barrier, and he pressed forward with agonizing slowness, until finally, with a soft, strained sigh from Amelie, he was fully within her.

He paused, letting them both adjust, feeling the exquisite, almost painful grip she had on him. It was a maddening sensation, a challenge to his usual control, but he held it in check. His focus was entirely on her, on easing her discomfort. He started to move, slowly at first, barely a rhythm, just a gentle, rocking motion.

—You’re so good, mi amor,— he praised, his voice a soft murmur in the quiet room. He felt her shift, a tiny, almost imperceptible softening in her muscles as his words washed over her. Amelie always blossomed under his praise, and even now, in her agony, a faint hint of it reached her. —So beautiful. So strong.—

He watched her face, searching for any sign of change. The grimace was still there, but subtly, slowly, it began to ease. He deepened the rhythm, still tender, still gentle, but with more purpose now. He leaned down, kissing her eyelids, her cheeks, her lips, his body a warm, comforting weight against hers.

As the waves of pleasure began to build, he felt the rigidness in her slowly, mercifully begin to melt away. The tightness remained, a delicious, demanding pressure that whispered of her vulnerability and her need, driving him to be even more deliberate, more tender. He loved this feeling of being in control, but right now, his control was dedicated to her comfort, to helping her find that elusive relief.

Her breathing deepened, becoming less ragged, more rhythmic. A soft moan escaped her lips, not of pain, but of building sensation. He felt her hands tangle in his hair, her fingers gripping lightly as she arched against him, finally surrendering to the rising tide.

He kept the praise flowing, soft words of adoration, knowing how much it pleased her. —You’re amazing, Amelie. Absolutely incredible.— He felt the powerful clench of her muscles around him, a shudder running through her, and then a profound, utter release. The tension drained from her body, replaced by a soft, yielding warmth.

Suddenly, a different energy surged through Amelie. The desperate edge of pain had vanished, replaced by a deep, throbbing pleasure that coursed through her. She gasped, her eyes flying open, no longer clouded with misery but alight with desire. Her legs, which had been drawn up in a defensive crouch against the cramps, now instinctively wrapped around his waist, drawing him in even deeper, closer.

—Lando,— she breathed, her voice low and husky, entirely different from the choked whispers of moments before. Her hips began to move against his, a new, urgent rhythm emerging. —Go faster, Lan. Please.—

His breath hitched. He saw the change in her, the way her eyes now locked onto his, demanding. The subtle shift in her grip, the playful challenge in her voice despite its softness. The pain was gone. And in its place, the Amelie he knew, the one who loved to push him, to pull him deeper into their shared passion, had returned.

A dark, possessive gleam entered his eyes. His tenderness didn't vanish, but it deepened, transforming into a more powerful, unleashed care. This was what he craved, this raw, uninhibited connection with her. He leaned down, capturing her lips in a hungry kiss, and began to move as she asked, faster now, matching her newfound urgency, their bodies finally truly in sync, no longer fighting against the invisible enemy of pain. Each thrust was met with a moan from her, each deepening kiss a silent promise of pleasure.

As Lando picked up the pace, guided by her breathless pleas, the room seemed to fade away. It was just them, their intertwined bodies, the crescendo of their shared desire building with every powerful thrust. Amelie’s fingers dug into his shoulders, her moans growing louder, sweeter, no longer hinting at pain but pure, unadulterated pleasure. He felt her arch beneath him, her whole body trembling as she rode the waves, her internal muscles clenching around him in a final, exquisite grip. A raw cry tore from her throat, and moments later, with a guttural groan, Lando followed, burying his face in her neck as the tremors shook them both.

They lay tangled for a long moment, their breathing ragged, the humid air of the room heavy with their exertion. The silence that followed was profound, broken only by the slowing beat of their hearts. Lando felt the last vestiges of her tension completely dissipate, replaced by a pliant, contented softness. He lifted his head, gazing down at her, a soft smile gracing his lips. Her eyes, still heavy-lidded, met his, and a faint, satisfied blush crept across her cheeks.

—Are you… are you okay, mi amor?— he whispered, his voice still a little breathless.

Amelie let out a soft, almost purring sigh. —Yeah, Lan. More than okay. It… it actually worked.— A small, incredulous laugh escaped her. —You’re a genius.—

Lando chuckled, a warm feeling spreading through his chest. He gently shifted, pulling himself out of her body, the separation a soft, squishy sound in the quiet room. He then reached for the towel he'd laid down earlier, carefully dabbing her clean. He was meticulous, tender, ensuring she felt cared for and comfortable. As he moved, his gaze briefly flickered to his inner thigh, where a faint, dark smudge of red stained his skin. He registered it, then, without a word, simply ignored it, his focus entirely on Amelie.

Once he was sure she was as clean as possible, he pulled the duvet up, tucking it around her before carefully sliding his arms under her, lifting her easily. She was light in his arms, her body still warm and pliant from their exertion.

—Come on, baby,— he murmured, pressing a kiss to her damp hair. —Let’s get you properly clean. A nice warm shower.—

Amelie wrapped her arms loosely around his neck, resting her head against his shoulder. —Okay,— she whispered, her voice sleepy and content. She didn’t object, didn’t comment on the lingering mess, or the dampness beneath them. She simply trusted him, allowing herself to be carried, utterly exhausted but finally, blessedly, pain-free. Lando carried her from the bed, his bare feet padding softly on the cool marble floor towards the bathroom, leaving the rumpled, stained sheets behind.

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