#idk i feel like we are not exactly on the same wave length *squint eyes*

[moonilit]

I think we have two different perspectives on that note, i can't see someone writing something like "we of the Alberich Clan should lead lives as those who blaze like fire, rather than those who wallow in the embers." talking about their dealing with the abyss if he would talk about their abyss he would say something about the gods or never forgetting what the heavens did or something, but he talks about how they should lead forward and not wallow like babies, sounds to me like he is talking to the rest of his clan but again that is my perspective I could be wrong. also, I don't think their legacy is the abyss? their legacy was how they stepped in and were regents the abyss happened way later, but I can agree that his grief could be toward the world though

he is probably involving kaeya in a much bigger role then kaeya knows about, so him saying he is their last hope is true its just kaeya have absolutely no context of anything and been so out of the loop he can pretend like he just made a clear cut with the past?? we have two different prospective and dad!Albreich just didn't explain anything he probably will just show up later and be like "son you ready?" and everyone will just scream

3.5 spoilers

ok, so i’ve thought somewhat about how much of existing kaeya’s lore hoyo would be retconning by making him not know he’s from abyss order bloodline and i think the most logical way i can reconcile all of the existing in game drops and the 3.5 dialogue is that kaeya knew he was from khaenriah, but was raised to believe Alberich clan are the regents of khaenriah, without being told of the abyss order connection. like i don’t think they’re retconning him knowing anything at all

bc like i can understand that things change in long-term projects, so if it was only the starting game lore, it’d be one thing. but hidden strife didn’t happen that long ago and based on the hidden strife alone kaeya’s dad called Alberich bloodline “regents of khaenriah” and casually referred to king Irmin, which implies Kaeya had at least basic grasp of khaenriah’s history and politics. this also tracks with his voice lines about Fischl and being descendant of lost royalty. so like, i believe he still Knows Shit and much more than he lets on, but maybe not very systematically.

but also now that I think about it, if I was dad!Alberich and i was preparing my son to plant him in Mond’s family, I would probs not tell him “hey sweetie, you and daddy are from the long proud line of the founders of the Evil Order. Yeah, you know, the Evil Order, which does Terrible Things, that’s us!” and instead present yourself as the noble regents, who picked up the pieces after royals fucked the country up, which like based on what we’ve seen of Chlothar, they’d probably sincerely see like this. this lets Alberichs to claim Khaenriah as both their legacy and responsibility, and it’s better to tell small kid he has a duty to his country, for which he is the last hope, instead of being like “cutiepie, one day when you grow up, you will be an important part of the Nefarious Crochet of Destiny, which our Evil Order has been planning for generations”

that would explain how he didn’t know about the abyss connection, but still picked up enough of lore and hints, which explains him referencing “sinners” in his voiceline about khaenriah frex. like after what we’ve learned in this archon quest, alberichs probably used “sinners” a lot in reference to themselves and khaenriah, so kaeya could catch a lot of religious shit and ideology, without knowing it’s connected to abyss order, bc like. this whole time we didn’t know shit fuck about sinner too! even Dain didn’t know about it and he was abyss sibling’s boyfriend. it’s a pretty well-hidden shit.

like kaeya obv never was supposed to know what his “mission” was, since even old mona’s voice line says “he thinks he made a clean break with the past”. which would very well lead to his state of anxiety, where he knew he’s planted in mond with *some* purpose, not knowing what that purpose it is and having to keep a secret that he was planted here strategically, but also since he was a smart kid who picked up enough to get Bad Vibes, feel preemptively guilty that MAYBE he’s a living timebomb which will be used against the country he grew to love, including his adopted family, but also not being able to tell so to the said adopted family bc he was raised to believe he has duty to his homeland as it’s last hope. like i think this uncertainty checks out better with his characterization from the start than being certain you’re from the Evil Order the whole time.

[dreamingofaizawa]

Home

Pro Hero! Iida Tenya x Fem! Reader

***18+ Fic***

This fic is rated M for Mature audiences only

Warnings: Smut, light temperature play, sensory play/depravation, light bondage, nipple play if you squint, Daddy kink, DD/LG dynamic, soft Dom Tenya, a little bit of fluff <3

Word Count: 2k

Author’s Note: I have no clue why soft Dom Tenya just popped into my head like a fucking whack-a-mole. All I could think of for hours was his huge hand on the back of my neck, squeezing and comforting me, or pulling me to whisper absolute filth into my ear. Honestly Tenya is slept on, and I for one simp for him heavily. He’s got soft Dom vibes, because he likes rules and regulations, but I don’t think he’s got the attitude of a brat tamer. Idk that’s just me lmao. 

Also, the beginning is a bit weird. You basically fight your family (that you don’t like very much). So yeah, be warned.

Anyway, enjoy the read~

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This wasn’t the first time you’d brought Tenya to a family dinner. In fact, he’d come with you ever since the first time you asked to introduce him to your family. They loved him to pieces, especially considering he was a high ranking hero from a well-known hero family. But this was the first time you’d used your signal around family. 

Your family was unaware of the extent of your relationship with Tenya, so you tried your hardest to keep them from finding out. They wouldn’t take it lightly if they knew about the dynamic the two of you had. The only family that knew was your sister, and she understood the secrecy, she would be in a similar situation if she were in a serious relationship. 

It was only an hour into the night when your family got a bit too politically and religiously aggressive. You were used to this, used to them talking about the workings of the world and their own beliefs. Obviously you didn’t feel the same way as most of your family, but they didn’t know that. You just avoid those conversations as much as possible. 

Of course, your sister was a little more open about her difference in opinion, and you had to defend her and diffuse the situation before things got out of hand. Now things were a bit awkward. She’d left in a bit of a storm and you were left to hopefully explain, in a much more sedated manner, how not everyone will think the same way and people had a right to their own opinions. 

Being the person you are, the elders in the family had overpowered you and you were left to sit and listen to them rambling on in an attempt to change your mind. It was times like these you seriously considered cutting yourself off from them. And it was times like these you were grateful Tenya was there.

Your head was starting to hurt from the stress of the situation, and you were visibly tense, shoulders high, jaw clenched, hands clasped hard in your lap, knee bouncing wildly. You could feel Tenya’s concerned gaze on you. He was worried for you, always so in tune with your emotions. That’s why you trusted him to take care of you.

When you’d finally had enough but had no idea how to get out of the situation, you discreetly reached over and placed your hand on Tenya’s thigh and squeezed twice. That’s the signal you used when you needed to leave as quickly as possible. As he put his mind to work, his hand came up and rested at the back of your neck, thumb rubbing circles into your skin. The motion had you relaxing into his touch, calming your breathing and waiting patiently for him to get you out of the situation.

It only took a few minutes for his phone to start ringing, and he excused himself from the table with a polite smile to take the phone call. Less than a minute later he came back in and explained that there was an emergency at his agency and needed to head into the office. The both of you were on the road within minutes, and the entire ride home his hand was on your thigh, rubbing soothing shapes into your flesh. He explained that no, he didn’t have an emergency at the agency and the call was from Izuku after Tenya had texted him.

Finally home, you let out a heavy sigh. Tenya could tell how exhausted you were, and when the both of you settled into bed he sat up and pulled you into his lap and held you tight, smoothing his large hands over your back. “Are you alright baby?” You nod into his chest, “Yeah. I’m okay.” He hummed, the vibrations running through your body. He knew you were still tense, but he kept quiet, waiting. He always was a patient man.

After a few deep breaths you pulled away and looked up at him. “Can we play?” One of his hands came up and threaded his fingers through your hair. “How do we ask to play?” Your eyes fluttered closed and you took a breath, already settling into subspace, then opened them again as you asked, this time properly. “Can we please play, Daddy?” A soft smile found its way onto his face as he leaned in, leaving a soft kiss on your lips. “Of course baby. We can play.”

With that, it all started. It didn’t take long for you to be tied to the bed on your back, blindfolded with noise-cancelling earbuds in your ears. There was nothing for several long minutes, then the bed dipped between your legs. The excitement was building as you waited for him to touch you, not knowing what you’d feel first. 

Your back arched and you let out a gasp as icy cold enveloped a nipple, warm lips contrasting with a cold tongue as it laved over the quickly perking bud. The other was not neglected, thick fingers working it until it was hard, before switching. That same cold tongue was trailed up to the dip in your collarbone, then down your sternum all the way to your pubic bone, making you shiver.

When the cold began to warm, the sensations stopped as Tenya pulled away. The bed shifted ever so slightly, and the next thing you felt was that icy cold on your clit. You shouted out a moan and your body involuntarily jerked, but his large hands gripped your hips, holding you still as his chilled tongue swirls over the bundle of nerves. One of his hands released you and two thick fingers slipped into your already soaked cunt, immediately curling up to hit that gummy spot inside you.

With only a few pumps of his fingers the knot in your belly snapped, and your walls clenched down on his fingers as you shook with your first orgasm of the night. His fingers didn’t stop moving until you were mewling and whining that it was too much. Then all the stimulation stopped, and the only indication he was still between your legs was the dip in the bed.

After a few moments of catching your breath, his hands gripped onto your hips again, and you felt him push just the tip of his thick cock into you. Even just that had you panting and moaning, attempting to squirm and force more of him inside you, but his hands held you firm. His body heat rolled off him in waves as he leaned down, his chest almost flush with yours. 

Then there was cold on your neck, and he slowly pushed himself into you as he sucked a bruise into your skin, bottoming out fully as he pulled his mouth away. He stilled his hips and pulled the earbuds out of your ears, allowing you to hear what was happening. “How does that feel baby?” For a split second you were confused, but then cold reappeared on your body, rubbing around your nipples and breasts and cold beads of liquid dripping down your skin.

You let out another gasp, and he could feel your pussy clamp down on his length. With a chuckle, he pinched your nipple harshly making you squeal and squirm. “That’s not an answer, babygirl.” Your words were breathy, but you got them out anyway. “F-feels good, Daddy.” A deep satisfied hum rumbled through his chest and he kissed your neck softly, “There we go. Now tell me what you want baby.”

He rolled his hips into you, grinding into you before stilling again. You answered through a lengthy moan, knowing he’d fuck you thoroughly, but only if you asked him to. And that’s exactly what you were going to do. “Please fuck me, Daddy. I want you to fuck me.” He sighed out in your ear and his hand found its way to your neck, but there was almost no pressure on your throat. “Good girl,” he growled into your ear, and the praise made you shudder.

Slowly, he pulled out and thrust back into you, grinding his cock into your walls and dragging the head along your g-spot perfectly. He kept that slow pace, the hand at your throat moving to your hip. The other was rubbing another ice cube over your skin, making you shiver and clench down on his cock. He massaged the ice into your skin, slowly rocking his hips into yours, until it was completely melted and his fingers began to warm you again.

It was almost torture how slow he fucked you, how steady he ground his cock along your wet walls. You were mewling underneath him, whimpering and bucking your hips to get him to move faster. Your limbs tugged at your restraints, wanting nothing more than to tangle your hands in his hair and wrap your legs around his waist, pull him into you faster, harder. He knew what you wanted, you knew he did, but he wanted you to ask for it. He would wait, slowly thrust up into you until you asked him like the good little girl you are. And by god were you his good girl. 

“Daddy~ Please Daddy, more~” Your voice was almost a whine as you begged him for more, begged for him to go harder. Still dragging out his thrusts, a hand came up to your chin, thumb rubbing at your bottom lip. His breath was warm on your face, heavy pants rolling over your skin. “More what sweetheart? What does my baby want?” With a whine you bucked your hips, only barely managing the movement with one of his hands still gripping your hip tight. 

“Use your words baby. You have to tell Daddy what you want.” You nearly sobbed when his cock head dragged harshly against your g-spot. “Please fuck me harder, Daddy! I need it~” He groaned out at your needy state, “Good fucking girl. You’re Daddy’s good girl aren’t you~” It wasn’t phrased as a question, more fact, but you found yourself nodding anyway. His hands gripped your hips and he pulled nearly all the way out before thrusting his hips back to yours.

You moaned out with each snap of his hips, his pace slowly getting faster and heavier. Soon he was pounding into you, and that coil in your stomach tightened, your legs tensing and pulling at the ropes connecting you to the bed. Tenya knew how close you were, pussy fluttering wildly around his cock signaling him of your nearing climax. He pressed two fingers into your mouth, and you suckled on them, coating them in saliva before he pulled them away and rubbed at your clit.

The contact had you gasping for air, panting hard as your orgasm built up even further. Tenya leaned down and kissed you, deep and passionate, tongue twisting with yours. That’s all it took to have you cumming, and he swallowed your sobbed moans as your pussy clamped down around him. He kept pounding into you, dragging out that high just a little before he was pumping hot ropes of cum into you, thrusting a few more times before he stilled completely.

Still inside you, he untied your limbs and blindfold, and pulled you into his chest as he rolled onto his side, peppering kisses onto your face. Your eyes fluttered open and you looked up at Tenya, tired and satisfied, and he kissed you sweetly as you relaxed into him further. “How are you feeling?” You nod softly, “Good. Thank you Tenya.” He pulled you in and hugged you tight. “Of course baby. You did so good for me. Such a good girl.” The praise had you feeling all warm and fuzzy, and you nuzzled into him.

“Let’s go get cleaned up and go to bed okay?” You nodded as he carried you into the bathroom. You washed up and cuddled in bed until you fell asleep, at home in his arms.

[trouvelle]

Emogust 15.08 — Twisted Fairytale

A/N: I don’t know if I twisted this right! As always, its KaiAo and HeiKazu and (mentioned) ShinRan. I’ve been longing to write something about Kaito and someone else aside from Aoko, Saguru, Shinichi, etc. So here ya go, platonic KaiZuha! :D Also idk the thought of him losing his cool is just overall comedic @mintchocolateleaves @sup-poki

"Fear not, for I am here to rescue you from your deadly slumber!" exclaims Kaito in triumph as he stands at the foot of the tower with one foot up on a tree stump, his dashing white cape billowing majestically in the breeze.

He’s not exactly expecting anything, but he certainly isn’t expecting a response. So when a girl with her hair up in a ponytail soon pokes her head out the window while stifling a yawn, he is majorly shocked.

"...Who are you?" shouts the girl in response, staring down at him with an eyebrow raised. 

Kaito flinches as he takes in the sight of his princess, who has been known worldwide as Sleeping Beauty, but is very much awake. "Uh," he says lamely while squinting up at the window, "You're already awake?"

 "Of course—I wake up every morning," she deadpans. "I've been doing that for the past eighteen years, in fact. Is there supposed to be something wrong with that?"

"Oh, good Lord, the spell was broken that early?" Kaito frowns, positively bewildered. "Does this mean… another prince got here earlier than me?"

"Well, I haven’t been getting any visitors at all, but Mother comes to visit once in a while. Actually, I shouldn't even be talking to strangers. Who the hell are you, anyway?" the girl questions warily.

"I should be asking you the same question," Kaito sighs in exasperation. "In fact, I have a lot more to ask. If you don't mind, I'll be coming up now. We need to talk."

Φ

He proceeds to spend the next half hour inching his way up the side of the tower with the help of a grappling hook fashioned from some rope and the metal frame of his father's old parasol, as the ponytailed princess watches rather amusedly from the window. (Wait, why is he even carrying his father's parasol again?) 

Just as Kaito clambers onto the window sill, panting, the girl lunges at him and yanks him inwards into the tower, knocking him to the floor with an impressive martial art-like move and pinning him down with all her body weight.

"What the hell?" Kaito gasps, completely taken aback. "Is that really necessary? I'm here to rescue you!" 

The girl leans down to take a good look at his face, still keeping a strong hold and him. He curses Fate for giving him such a violent princess. 

"Oh, I'm sorry," She finally says after a rather long and awkward stare-down. She lets go of Kaito and stands up, dusting her skirt, looking a little sheepish. "It's just that...I've never had anyone aside from Mother in my tower before, it's a little... intimidating. Had to make sure you weren't going to kill me or anything." She adds, "Plus, I have a lot of spare time up here, so I've been practicing aikido."

Kaito winces as he slowly gets up from the floor, rubbing his elbows and knees. "That was a bit of an overreaction, if you ask me. Anyway, now that you know I'm not out to assassinate you, I'm Kaito, otherwise known as Prince of the Moonlight. And judging by the look on your face right now, you don't like the second name, so just call me Kaito."

"Very well. I'm Kazuha, but you might’ve heard people use my birth name—Rapunzel. Why do you need to rescue me, anyway?"

He vaguely gestures to the room they’re in. And for the first time, he notices her hair. More specifically, the length of her hair. It’s literally in a loop, occupying each corners of the room. "Well, I was sent here to rescue a sleeping princess, but right now, I'm just thoroughly confused by everything. And why the hell is your hair that long anyway? Your head must weigh a ton!”

She wisely chooses to ignore his last remarks. "Oh, Princess Aurora, you mean? Although we don’t call her that here, we call her Ran, because Aurora is a little bit too twisty of a word. She's in the next kingdom. I believe you've come to search in the wrong place." There's amusement written all over Kazuha's face at this point.

“No—wait. Sleeping Beauty is the princess that Prince Shinichi is tasked to find. I’m supposed to rescue the princess from the kingdom of Far Far Away, who like, transform as a human only between sunrise and sunset. If I remember correctly, her birth name is Fiona or something.” exclaims Kaito in desperation.

Kazuha walks to the window—the only window in her whole tower room, and points at the greenery even further away. “Then I think you’re looking for Princess Aoko!”

“What’s up with you princesses and your code names? Honestly you’re confusing me even more.” Kaito shakes his head in despair. Aurora, Ran. Fiona, Aoko. And what was Kazuha’s birth name again?

“That’s kind of the goal here, actually. We have to come up with a plan to throw off the bad guys. It’s worked pretty well so far! People come here bellowing things like ‘We’re here to kidnap you, Rapunzel’ and I simply tell them that I’m Kazuha, not Rapunzel. They’d always leave feeling very confused.” She laughs, obviously proud of her own accomplishment.

“Makes sense. So about Princess Aoko—”

“Right! She’s the only one who becomes an ogress during nighttime.”

“Ogress?!”

Kazuha laughes lightly. She’s having fun teasing this strange prince with his equally strange, messy hair. “Nope, I was joking. It’s just that she has poor eyesight, so she doesn’t really venture out during the night. Also, her tower is two more kingdoms over in that direction.”

"Are you kidding me?!" Kaito continues to talk to himself as he takes out his map to check his location. He proceeds to pull out his monocle from his breast pocket and puts it over his right eye to get a good look at his map. "I must’ve gotten the wrong map. Didn’t even notice it when it got switched. What kingdom are we in anyway? ... This is why I should start wearing my monocle more often."

Kazuha can see how compatible Aoko and Kaito would be. Heck, Kaito even has his own set of monocle. She wonders why Aoko is so adamant about revealing the fact about her eyesight to anyone.

Kaito rubs his temples. "I am so, royally, screwed. How am I supposed to reach there in a week? It took me a whole month to even get here!"

Kazuha honestly doesn't know what to say to this, so she just leans against the windowsill, tapping her foot while Kaito paces back and forth, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he thinks and thinks. 

“The Council of Kings won’t be pleased.” He murmurs to himself, angry at how he could’ve gotten his map switched. And to think that he’s not even a real prince! He’s just a thief with big ambitions, following in his father’s footsteps as the renowned KID. If the Kings find out that he’s failed his mission and the fact that he’s not a prince, he’s doomed to spend the rest of his life in a dungeon.

Kazuha woefully suggests, rubbing her eyes in an act of weariness. “Listen, I have an idea. Why don’t I just go back with you, and when we meet the other prince and your supposed princess, we can switch places. Aoko and I are pretty close, we often send letters to each other. I’m sure she will understand. Hm?”

"That might actually work, provided if Princess Aoko and whoever rescues her don’t get the castle first before we do." He agrees a little reluctantly.

"It’s settled then!" Kazuha cheers adorably, excitement very evident in her voice. “I’ve never been out of this tower before. Mother always says that the outside is full of evil and selfish people, but look at how it’s just so, so beautiful out there.”

Kaito smiles back at her. He’s heard that out of the three Tower Princesses, Rapunzel is the one who has been in the tower the longest, since she was taken away when she’s still a baby. “It is,” He agrees, making his way to the door, “I can guarantee you that you’re gonna love it.”

“Wait, Kaito! This tower doesn't have any stairs, in case you didn't know.”

"Okay. Easy, no worries. I have my most trusty grappling hook for us to use." He says with a dismissive wave of his hand. Years of being a thief gave him experience in climbing and maneuvering. He walks over to the window sill, peering outside. The grappling hook lies on the grass below.

“On second thoughts… you were saying something about no stairs?"

There’s a brief moment of silence as Kaito slumps his shoulders forward, like he’s giving up dealing with his life at this point. Seriously, when he volunteered for the Tower Princesses Rescue Mission, he didn’t think it’s going to be this challenging.

Kazuha sighs. "That’s what my hair is for.”

She joins him by the windowsill and attempts to throw her hair off her right shoulder and down the side of the tower. She’s pulling and pulling, and pulling, then pushing and pushing and pushing. And as Kaito watches in awe, he can’t help but notice how her hair seems to have a life of its own. Her hair is superbly smooth and silky, and he simply slides down with ease.

Far better than using his grappling hook.

“Also, your prince is a total dumbass. Good luck—you’re gonna need it when you finally meet him.” 

For what it’s worth, he thinks, this Princess is quite entertaining. Their journey back will be fun.

Part II

[gukyi]

pen pals | jjk

⇒ summary: to put it simply, pretending to be jungkook’s pen pal when you were both eight just so he wouldn’t be disappointed was a bad idea, because now he’s in love with them. or, well, you, he just doesn’t know it. 

⇒ friends to lovers au

⇒ pairing: jungkook x reader

⇒ word count: 11k

⇒ genre: fluff, light angst, lighter smut

⇒ a/n: no, i don’t have an obsession with writing cute jungkook fics, idk what you’re talking about. this is unedited, as per usual. 

Lies. They’re a pretty damn funny thing, if you’re being honest. Some lies can ruin lives, while others can save them. Some mean the entire world to people, others are about as insignificant as the pebbles that crumble off of the edge of the sidewalk. But one thing is for certain, and it’s that all lies, every single one of them, have the ability to take something as small as a ladybug and turn into something as big as a whale.

It starts when you’re eight, sitting at your desk at school. Actually, you’re not really sitting, you’re doing that thing where you push yourself off of the ground and balance on the chair’s hind legs, which never really works out, because you always fucking fall every time you do it.

Truthfully, the whole thing starts a long time before that, a whopping two years prior to the inciting incident, when you first met Jungkook as little children marching into the first grade together, but who cares about that? The eighth year of your lives is where things really begin to kick off.

“We’re getting pen pals,” your teacher says to the class, making all of the children gasp in excitement. The mere mention of it makes you fall flat on your back, though that would have happened had she not said a word.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m fine, I’m fine,” you reply, rolling off of your chair and pulling it upright, sitting back in your seat like the well-behaved child you should be.

“There’s an organization that connects kids like yourselves to others all over the world, meaning none of you will have a pen pal from the same place. I have the names and locations assigned to each of you, and I will be handing them out, along with a blank sheet of lined paper, for you to write to them.”

You turn to Jungkook, who is bouncing up and down in his seat excitedly as he waits for the slip with his own pen pal’s information on it. When the teacher places it on his desk, he shows you with a rectangular grin on his face.

“Look! Look, they’re from South Korea! Isn’t that neat? I wonder if they know Korean,” he says aloud. “Maybe I can get Jeonghyun to write to them in Korean.”

“But then if they responded in Korean, you wouldn’t know what they’re saying!” You point out.

“Oh, I guess you’re right. I’ll just ask them.”

And then off he was, pulling a pencil the length of a decently-sized ant out of his backpack’s front pocket, and writing away.

Having pen pals is one of those things that you read about in books meant for higher-grade elementary-schoolers, where you think it’s super cool and exotic and special until you actually do it yourself, and it turns out to be none of those things. Your contact with your pen pal dies exactly one week after you receive their letter back, one of those standard ‘Thanks for writing to me! Hope we can continue speaking!’ that you never follow through with. Your pen pal is from somewhere in Europe — Italy, if you’re not mistaken — but it’s not as if the place interests you so much that you desperately want to keep talking.

Jungkook, however, ever the overzealous and over-engaged eight-year-old, finds himself enchanted by the basic information his pen pal provides, avidly writing back everytime he gets a letter from them in the mail.

Eight-year-old Jungkook is a pretty dynamic fellow, if you do say so yourself, the boy involved in nearly every extracurricular on the planet. You feel so bad for his poor mother, who has to drop him off at swim practice only to pick him up and immediately drive to chess club, then to the mathletes, then to his piano lessons, then to dance. Kid only gets home at nine at night, even for an elementary schooler, so it seems pretty typical for him to be equally as intrigued with the concept of pen pals as he is everything else.

And, as his honorary best friend and the only one willing to put up with his ridiculous schedule in order to plan play dates, you hear all about it.

“Y/N!” He shouts, bounding down the hallway as you sit patiently on his couch, let into his house by his mother as you wait for him to leave his room to greet you. He’s holding a torn envelope and an unfolded letter in his hand as he rushes over to you, pulling himself up onto the couch next to you. “Look! She wrote back.”

“What’s her name, again?”

“I told you, it’s Hari,” Jungkook reminds you, like it’s such a big deal that you’ve completely forgotten everything about his pen pal. “Look, look what she said,” he repeats, shoving the letter into your hands.

“Dear Jungkook,” you begin to read. “I can’t believe you’re also Korean! Just my luck. It must be very cool to be Korean but not live in Korea. Can you speak Korean? I can. What’s your favorite color? Mine is purple, but I also really really like pink. Do you have any pets? I want pets, but I can’t because my younger brother is very allergic. Do you have any brothers or sisters? What are their names? Hari.”

“Isn’t she just the coolest?” Jungkook beams as you hand the letter back to him. “She’s so fun to talk to.”

“Isn’t this only your first letter from her?”

“Yes, but she responded very fastly.”

You open your mouth to tell him that that’s not a word, but you close it, deciding that it’s not worth ruining his mood to point out one of his mistakes.

“What are you going to write back to her?”

“I don’t know,” he says, huffing as he looks down at the letter. “Help me?”

“Okay,” you agree, following him to his room as he brainstorms all the answers to Hari’s questions. Once he’s closed the door, you lie on your stomach on his carpet as he sits at his desk and writes, keeping your eyes focused on the way his feet dangle off of the chair, too short to reach the ground.

The letters go back and forth for the next couple of months or so, Jungkook easily being the only kid in your entire class to somehow manage to maintain a relationship with their pen pal past the first few weeks. He talks about Hari like she’s actually there with you, sitting in the same class and listening to the same lesson. Any average person would probably grow to be a bit jealous of his relationship with a girl he’s never met, but considering the fact that you know Jungkook would never drop you, his only friend, you’re pretty unfazed by the whole thing.

“I’m trying to get her to send me a photo of her,” Jungkook admits to you one fine day outside, the two of you sitting under the shade of a thin birch tree as you watch the rest of your grade run around on the field, playing something along the lines of ‘Chase the Girls’. You’re glad you have Jungkook to guard you from being dragged into that mess of a game. “But she won’t. Why?”

“Maybe her mom won’t let her.”

“But my mom let me send a photo of myself to her,” Jungkook whines, throwing his head back in anguish and knocking it right against the bark, an unsettling hollow sound echoing by your ears.

“Maybe her mom is different,” You suggest.

“I’m gonna keep asking her. Maybe she’ll send one eventually,” Jungkook decides firmly, like every other eight-year-old when they make the decision that they want something, and they’re gonna get it.

“You shouldn’t make her feel bad for not showing her face,” you inform him. “That’s rude.”

“I won’t, you sound like my mom.” Jungkook frowns at you, raising a disappointed eyebrow your way.

You choke back a snort. “Maybe she doesn’t want to send you a photo because the one of you was so ugly, that she didn’t want to make you feel bad.”

Jungkook scoffs, as if the scenario is impossible. “That’s dumb. I’m the cutest eight-year-old you’ve ever seen. Don’t you agree?”

“I don’t know, I mean, I’m sitting right here.”

Jungkook places a hand over his chest in mock offense before he pushes you over and into the grass. You retaliate by grabbing the edge of his cobalt blue shirt and pulling him down with you, leaving the both of you in a fit of giggles as the teacher opens the door to signal the end of recess.

Much to your relief, Jungkook receives a glossy photo of Hari by the next week. She’s grinning from ear to ear in the photo, messy bangs covering the top half of her eyes with fairy pink icing all around her mouth and almost none on the chocolate cupcake she’s holding. It’s one of the photos printed from an old camera, you can tell by the orange letters at the top right corner, signalling the date it was taken. You’re just glad you don’t have to hear him whine about it anymore.

The day he receives the photo is the day that Hari officially cuts off all contact with him, only he doesn’t know it yet. He’s too busy gloating in your face about the photo, getting his oily fingerprints all over the nice, shiny paper as he waves it in your face at his home.

“And you said she wouldn’t send me one,” he taunts, marching around with the photo like a damn champion holding a trophy.

“I didn’t think she would,” you reply, squinting your eyes at him. “What are you gonna say back to her?”

“I think those cupcakes look delicious.”

“That’s it?” You say, furrowing your brows.

“Am I supposed to say anything else?”

“Tell her she has nice hair.”

“Do girls like being told they have nice hair?” He questions, scrutinizing the photo.

“Some of them do.”

“But I think she has bad hair.”

You take the nearest throw pillow you can grab and fling it at him from where you stand, throwing it over the couch in between the two of you as it socks him in the jaw.

“Hey!” He shouts from where he’s fallen over.

“Trust me, Jungkook. I know girls, and she’ll like being told she has nice hair, even if you don’t think it’s very nice,” you insist. “No one cares about what you think.”

Jungkook purses his lips in disgust, very obviously not wanting to compliment her hair in the letter he sends back. “Do you like being told you have nice hair?” He asks, turning his attention towards you.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” you state, standing up tall.

“Well, your hair looks ugly today, too.”

This prompts a full-on pillow fight between the two of you, knocking each other over with every pillow in sight, as well as a couple tissue boxes. Hopefully, his mother doesn’t have anything very expensive sitting on wobbly tables in the room, because neither of you will relent until the other surrenders.

Spoiler alert: you win.

Nearly two weeks pass and Jungkook still has no response letter from Hari, him informing you of this as he mopes about having to visit the mailbox every day, only to be let down every time he opens the flap.

“Maybe she’s running late. Maybe Korea is busy and can’t send letters right now because something came up. You know, sometimes, when my mom has a really important letter to send, she waits an extra day just to proofread it like five times. Maybe she’s doing that.”

“But it’s been so long,” Jungkook whines. “I complimented her hair just like you told me. I want to know if she likes it.”

Truth be told, you never find out if she likes his compliment about her hair, because by the third week, you can pretty much tell that she’s given up, just like every other eight-year-old on the planet who ever attempts to maintain a relationship via pen pal. The only thing is, is that Jungkook is still as hopeful as ever, his faith in her not dwindling even the slightest.

You have to admit, it’s a little bit disheartening to see some girl give up on a guy as involved and genuinely interested as Jungkook, but you give Hari the benefit of the doubt anyway, as she likely has much more enjoyable things to do than write letters to a boy who once bragged to you about he could fit his entire foot in his mouth, and then proceeded to show you.

It’s still a shame, because Jungkook truly seemed pumped about his pen pal, and for it to just vanish in front of his eyes can be a punch to the gut to any child.

If anybody asks you, you do it because you can’t bear to hear the kid moan and groan about how the mailman has started to tease him for always waiting for the mail after school, and not, under any circumstances, because you actually care for the boy’s feelings and don’t want him to get hurt. You’re doing this for you, not for him. The greater good. Taking one for the team.

As you sit down to get writing the letter to Jungkook, praying that he’s too stupid to recognize the differences in handwriting, your mother opens the door to the reserved computer room you have, and you get an idea.

There’s no way Jungkook can call you out for handwriting similarities if you type the thing.

Dear Jungkook,

Sorry for the late reply! My family just got a new computer, so I was busy figuring out how it worked instead of writing to you. We even got it connected to the printer, how cool is that?

Thank you for the nice thing you said about my hair. It was kind of a mess that day, but I’m glad that you like mess. Those cupcakes were really good! I wish I could send you some. I’m sorry if I stop replying for a while. I’m getting very busy these days. Korea keeps me occupied. But I hope you are well! Please send my regards to your friends and family.

Hari.

Okay, so you do feel a little bad about lying to the boy, but it’s all for his good. If he gets the message that she’ll stop replying, then he’ll stop feeling the need to send letters to her, and eventually he’ll forget, problem solved. The plan is foolproof.

What isn’t foolproof is how you’ll manage to fake the return address so it seems like the letter is coming from South Korea and not your house, but if you can do anything, it’s come up with a plan.

Jungkook once opened one of the letters from Hari at your house, meaning the envelope was likely strewn somewhere on your absolute disaster zone of a desk. You sift through papers and papers, math worksheets and torn coloring books and arts and crafts from book tutorials, until you finally manage to locate the envelope under a large pile of what appears to be every single thing you worked on in the second grade. How it got there, you haven’t the slightest idea.

The return address on this envelope is handwritten and in English, which is good, because you were not about to copy Korean characters onto the top right corner of the crisp new envelope that sits on your unmade bed. However, getting the right return address is only half the battle, because now you need a way to mail it to him, without worrying about where it will get redirected should the mail folks lose it.

Eventually, through precise timing and a quick Internet search of the local mailman times, you decide that the best time to leave the letter would be when your mother drops Jungkook off at his house after picking the two of you up at the end of the school day. The mailman would have just arrived, the new mail fresh in the mailbox, and Jungkook walks into his house through the garage, meaning he can’t see you once he hits close on the garage door. This leaves you the perfect window to slip the letter in the mail.

The plan follows through with pretty decent success the next day, if you do say so yourself. Not to toot your own horn, but everything went exactly as planned and Jungkook did not notice a single thing. Your mom did ask what you were doing, snooping in the Jeon’s mail, but you merely replied that you had something to send to him, and that was that.

What you did not foresee coming was the excitement the next day at school as Jungkook runs over to you right before class starts, waving the letter frantically in his hands, held high above his head. He nearly falls over as he darts towards his seat to show you the letter as he glows.

“I knew she would respond, I just knew it!” He says, pointing at the letter as if you need reminding that he was right. “It’s so fancy now that it’s typed.”

“Wait, but look here,” you say, pointing to the line where you wrote that you would be busy. “She said she’s gonna be busy, so she won’t be able to talk to you.”

“No worries,” Jungkook says like it’s not a very big deal at all. His reaction frightens you, making you raise an eyebrow in panic. “I’ll just keep sending letters to her. She doesn’t have to respond.”

This was definitely not in the plan. Not at all. Oh no.

“Are you sure? You’re wasting the money your parents spend on stamps,” you say, wracking your brain for any valid reason as to why he should not do that.

“I’m the only one that sends letters in the house,” Jungkook proudly proclaims. “My parents use e-mail, which I’m not allowed to have, and Jeonghyun texts on his phone. He makes fun of me for sending letters, think’s they’re ‘old fashioned’. All the stamps go to me, anyway.”

“But… But…” You say, at a loss for words. There goes your hope that all contact with Hari would cease after what was supposed to be a final letter.

“Why, is something wrong, Y/N?”

Jungkook may be dynamic, but he is a little bit oblivious at times, a quality that saves your ass more often than you’d like to admit.

“Me? I’m fine,” you say, coughing to distract from your stutter.

“Really? You seem stressed,” Jungkook notes.

“I’m stressed these days,” you quickly spit out. “It’s fine, just a little bump in the road. Hey, we should go get ice cream today after school. My mom has a coupon.”

Any mention of food is enough to catch Jungkook off guard and change the topic completely, something you desperately need.

“Sounds good.”

At the ice cream place, Jungkook informs you that he’s too busy to respond to Hari today, so he’ll have to do it tomorrow, when swim practice doesn’t meet. That makes you breathe a sigh of relief, thrilled to hear that you have at least a bit of time to plan how you’re going to go about this.

You try and wean him off the topic of Hari by asking him about the moving truck in front of a house a couple of doors down, the one you saw for the first time yesterday, as you dropped him off.

“Oh! We’re getting new neighbors,” Jungkook says cheerfully. “No one’s lived in that house since before I was born, so it’s nice that they’re moving in. I hope they have a kid my age.”

Jungkook doesn’t suspect a thing, and if it makes him a little bit happier, you suppose there’s really no harm being done.

Is there?

Just as planned, Jungkook leaves a letter for Hari in his mailbox the very next day, and just as planned, you pick it up the following day as you drop him off after school, his new neighbors keeping the mailman stalled for just the right amount of time, so you reach the letter before he does. You don’t know how things are working out so well for you, but you’re glad they are.

“Stop fishing in the Jeon’s mail,” your mother instructs. “It’s rude.”

“Jungkook is giving me letters, though,” you try to explain.

“Then why isn’t he sending them to our house?”

“I’m tricking him.”

You refuse to elaborate further, but your mother merely sighs, probably dropping the topic because it’s just one of those kid things that she won’t understand.

You tear open the letter on the drive to your house, but when you pull out the piece of paper, another falls onto the car floor. When you pick it up, it’s a photo of you and him, one that his mother took at your school’s spring fair. The photo actually makes you feel a little bit nostalgic, looking at your smiling faces as if you were not one of the people in it.

Dear Hari,

I hope Korea does not keep you too busy! Even if it does, I will still send you letters, but you don’t have to respond super fast if you can’t. I still like to talk to you.

I hope you like the photo I’ve sent! It’s from my school’s spring fair. Do you have fairs in Korea? We have them every year, and they’re lots of fun even if the prizes kind of suck. I only go there for the hot dogs, to be honest. The girl in the photo with me is my best friend. Her name is Y/N. We spend a lot of time together! She helps me write my letters to you. I really like playing with her. She’s the best.

I’m going to send you another letter next week, if I can. Don’t feel pressured to answer me. I just want to keep you updated on what’s going on in my life.

Jungkook.

It’s weird to see Jungkook talk about you to a person neither of you have ever met, as you never imagined you’d be present to hear him describe you as a human, let alone his best friend. He speaks to Hari as if she’s just another new friend he’s showing around his house, and it’s reminiscent of when you first met each other and completely new all at once.

“What did he say?” Your mother asks as you begin to fold the paper back up.

“Nice things,” you reply, staring down at the letter in your hand, never meant for you.

In order to conquer the problem that is preventing the mailman from picking up your response letter and whisking it away for it to get inevitably lost in a flurry of envelopes, you leave a note for him on a Post-it attached to the inside of the Jeon’s mailbox as you stuff the letter inside while Jungkook walks into his garage the following week.

On it, in your tilted handwriting, says, ‘The letter in here is already adressed addressed to the Jeons. Please take this Post-it with you but do not remove the letter. This will happen every now and then, so pay no attention to it! Thanks’. You believe that a lime green Post-it won’t be particularly difficult to miss, so you can only hope the mailman follows your request.

You get your answer the next day during recess, when Jungkook gambols over to you, opened letter dangling from his finger tips. You’re more than relieved to see him, especially after finding yourself confronted with a game of ‘Chase the Girls’ without him by your side.

“She mailed me back!” Jungkook says, whistling pleasantly. “I’m glad she did, even if she said she wouldn’t.”

“She probably didn’t want you to be the only one sending things,” you tell him as he plops down in the shade next to you.

“That’s exactly what she said!” Jungkook cries, a surprised look on his face. Your eyes widen, but you say nothing in response and hope that he’ll forget about it as soon as possible. Sure enough, he does. “Wow, you really do know girls.”

You simply beam in response, hands under your chin to display your angelic qualities. “You gonna keep writing things to her?”

“Of course,” Jungkook says, rocking back and forth on the grass contentedly. “She’s so easy to talk to,” he continues, taking the silence between the two of you as a perfect cue to keep speaking. “Like, I feel like I’ve been talking to her for ages. Especially recently, you know? It’s like we’ve already known each other for years. I don’t think I’ll ever want to stop talking to her.”

And for once, under the shade of the tree as you watch the other kids dash around the field, you wish that you were apart of ‘Chase the Girls’, because then, maybe you wouldn’t feel so bad for lying to a boy after hearing about how something that’s not real makes him so happy.

The charade carries on into your higher levels of schooling, the lie only ever snowballing. Jungkook, despite your outward refusal of the fact, has become something of a looker as he’s gotten older, filling out the meat on his bones and growing a good several inches taller in the transition from middle to high school, nearing six feet tall. But, regardless of the self-awareness of his good looks, the only two constants in his life in terms of girls happens to be you and Hari. Well, you and you-but-not-you. His schedule is still as hectic as it’s always been, meaning he hardly ever has time to actually go out and date.

Over the past eight years, you’ve amassed quite the collection of random photos Jungkook decides to include whatever letter he’s sending Hari, the photos ranging from him at one of his swim meets, sopping wet with a Disney branded towel wrapped around his shoulders, to one of him taking a selfie with a fresh head of lettuce. You sometimes wonder if you would ever be able to see such photos if you weren’t posing as his pen pal.

And while your horde of both flattering and unflattering Jungkook photos is quite impressive indeed, it’s been getting increasingly difficult to hide the entire thing from Jungkook every time he stays over at your house after school on the off chance that he’s free for the afternoon. You store all of the extra things he sends you in a shoebox at the bottom of your bed and the letters reside in another shoebox at the back of your closet, behind all of the shirts that you buy on whims but never fucking wear, and you just have to keep Jungkook away from those areas.

By now, the conversations between the two of you as pen pals are just like old friends reconnecting, no basic nonsense like what your favorite colors are and how many pets you have. No, the two of you have started writing to each other about the mindless things, like when Jungkook did a school presentation on anime just to see how many weeaboos he could find in your class, or when you got totally socked in the head by a dodgeball he had thrown during gym.

Admittedly, it’s sort of fun being this ‘Hari’ character, because you’ve been able to fabricate her life into whatever you want, since she’s not physically there to call you out on it. You’ve taken your brief knowledge of her, from what Jungkook told you when you were mere children, and you’ve made a whole new life. She plays tennis, she acts, she loves classic English novels, but hates poetry. She has friends who are twins, she stinks at math, she’s never had a boyfriend before. These are all things you’ve turned her into, and who’s to say you can’t?

One thing that hasn’t changed is the guilt.

Every time you open your laptop to type up another letter, every time you hit print, every time you sneak the envelope into his mailbox when he’s walking up his driveway, you are guilty. Guilty of lying to your best friend, and guilty of letting it catapult into this huge, ridiculous, act that you are too afraid to drop. People always told you that lies only get bigger and never smaller, but you never believed them. Until it happened to you, of course.

What makes the guilt a thousand times worse, however, is how happy Jungkook is every time he gets a letter. He’s already a cheerful boy, always lighting up whatever room he’s in and charming everyone’s pants off with that smile of his, but the happiness he gets when he sees a letter from her is like nothing else. It’s the same excited feeling he had when he was eight, eleven, thirteen, and now, sixteen, and you hate that it’s all fake. You hate that you’re the reason it’s fake.

Jungkook’s over at your house, just after having received a letter from ‘Hari’ the day prior, and he is glowing.

“What’d she say, this time?” You ask as you sit down next to him on the floor, where he leans against the side of your bed, your textbooks and homework strewn all around you, practically untouched.

“She was just telling me about the antics that the twins get up to,” Jungkook tells you, sighing as he lets his head fall back, just making your mattress. His hand is on the floor, a little too close to the shoebox right beside it, and you need to move it, stat. “They’re so funny.”

“You’ve never even met them,” you say, carefully trying to push the shoebox further back with your fingertips.

“But they do such funny things! They break out into song and dance in the middle of class and always make jokes about the teacher,” Jungkook says. He has not noticed the box yet.

“They sound very entertaining,” you say, like a mother talking to her child about something she doesn’t care about, but the child does. “You get along with her well, you know?” Wonder why.

“I know, I just — I feel like I can tell her everything. I could tell her my whole life story and she wouldn’t judge me. She’s so easy to talk to, like you,” Jungkook says, smiling at the mere mention of her. “I never disagree with her on anything. She’s like a fucking dream.”

“Well, dream on, kiddo,” you tell him, patting his back. The shoebox is successfully out of reach of his hand. Crisis averted.

“I can tell you anything, right, Y/N?” He asks out of the blue, turning to you.

You scoff. “Of course. We’ve been best friends for years, I’d never betray you.” The words taste like bile in your mouth. You swallow them down without missing a beat. “Unless you’ve killed someone, Jungkook. Then I’m sorry, but I’m turning you into the police.”

Jungkook laughs at that. It rings through your ears, making you grin at the sound. “No, I haven’t done anything illegal just yet.”

“Then, what’s up?”

“Uh, you know the one girl in our English class?”

You roll your eyes, making wild gesticulations to emphasize the fact that you don’t know which girl he’s talking about. “Oh yes, very specific, I know exactly the girl you’re talking about. The one girl from our English class. Wow.”

He frowns at you, glaring and unimpressed. “She sits right behind you. You know her.”

That you do. Just last week, she asked you if Jungkook had a girlfriend.

You think you know where this conversation is headed.

“Mmm,” you hum in response, letting him continue.

“Yeah, anyway, um—” he begins, scratching at the nape of his neck, “—she asked me out yesterday.”

You figured as much. Jungkook was incredibly easy to read and you were also well aware of the fact that she liked Jungkook anyway, so it was only a matter of time before she made a move.

“And?” You ask, knowing that there’s more to the story than he’s letting on. “Obviously you didn’t say yes, I know you. But you’re hiding something in that tiny brain of yours,” you say, poking him in the noggin as he scrunches up his nose.

“Hey! My brain is not tiny, thanks very much,” he defends. “I think it’s above average, actually.”

“Explains your big head.”

Jungkook sort of walked into that one, if you’re being honest. It looks like he knows he just got played too, because he’s tackled you almost instantly, pinning you down on your hardwood floor with his hands right by your ears. You can see the muscles just barely bulging out of his arms, likely a result of the countless hours he spends at swim practice, and you laugh. This is a compromising position for anybody, especially when dealing with unresolved emotional anguish and sexual tension, but for you, it’s laughable.

“I did not ask for this disrespect,” he tells you, pretending to be incredibly offended as he hovers over you. “Who do you think you are, telling me I have a big head?”

“Your best friend,” you retort. Neither of you are very uncomfortable despite the otherwise incredibly suggestive position you’re both in. “You had something else to tell me?”

“I didn’t say yes because I think I have a crush on someone else,” he admits.

“Oh God, alright,” you say, pushing him off of you and sitting up, rubbing the spot on your lower back that first made contact with the floor when he tackled you. “Lay it on me, who is it? A senior? Another girl from our English class? An artsy emo kid you’ve never spoken to?”

“Hari.”

If you were concerned about the slight bruising at the bottom of your spine before, you most certainly aren’t now.

“Hari?” You ask incredulously. Suddenly, you feel a lot more guilty.

“Yeah,” he admits softly, rubbing the nape of his neck again, an action he does whenever he gets hesitant about something. “I like her.”

You hate to be that friend, but, “You’ve never even met her, Jungkook.”

“I know, I know, I just…” He says, trailing off as he turns away from your perplexed gaze. “I was thinking about all the things we’ve told each other, all the secrets I’ve spilled that only you and she know, and how she just accepts me for who I am and listens to every word I have to say, and I think I like her.”

You’re speechless.

“No, I — I know I like her,” Jungkook decides firmly. A weight lifts off of his shoulders the second the words leave his mouth, and you can see it. “I know it’s weird. I know. I’ve never met her but I wanna kiss her. I know.”

“Jungkook, this is insane,” you say, desperately trying to think of something else to tell him, but your brain comes up empty. “Are you gonna tell her?”

“Should I?”

“Beats me.”

“I don’t know if I should,” he says. “I’m worried she’ll think I’m weird, or stupid. Or if she’ll think that it’s not possible since we’ve never met. I don’t want her to think that.”

You roll your eyes. “No person wants to be outright rejected, you’re the same as all of us. Just do whatever you feel makes you comfortable.”

“I—I don’t think I’ll tell her,” Jungkook says, and it makes you breathe a metaphorical sigh of relief. Thank God. “Not yet, at least. I don’t want to come on too strong.”

“Sounds like a good decision if I’ve ever heard one,” you say, stepping all over your homework as you collapse on your bed. “You sure you’re okay with not telling her?”

“I’m sure,” he tells you, joining you as he climbs onto your bed, sitting up straight and maneuvering your head so that it rests on his thighs.

“So what are you gonna do about all the girls that ask you out on a weekly basis?” You wonder aloud. Surely, it will break their hearts to hear that Jungkook is desperately in the throes of love with a girl he’s never met who lives thousands of miles away.

“I’ll just say I have my eye on someone else,” he says, shooting you a wink. You chuckle, knowing that that ‘someone else’ is you that he’s referring to.

You don’t notice it, or, maybe you just refuse to allow yourself to notice it, but the wink that he sends your way has your heart fluttering just the tiniest amount, a single butterfly taking residence in your stomach.

It’s too bad Jungkook likes no one more than a character you’ve created.

You’re in English, packing up your school stuff five minutes in advance for the end of the day. It’s Friday, and you’re desperate to get out so you can go home and take a nine-hour nap on your couch. Your notebook has just made it into your backpack when you see Jungkook walking over to you, a happy grin on his face.

“Hey, Y/N,” He says, hands in the pockets of his grey jeans (“They’re a faded black, not grey!” “That’s what grey is, Jungkook!”).

“And why am I being graced with the presence of the one and only Jungkook today?” You ask without even glancing towards him.

“I have a free night tonight,” he says. “Wanna go out to get something to eat?”

“Like a date?” You scoff. “What makes you think I also have a free night tonight, huh?”

Jungkook nearly laughs. “When was the last time you stood me up because you already had plans on a Friday?”

“You got me there,” you say, pointing a finger gun at him as you zip up your backpack. You turn your head ever the slightest, and see the girl who asked him out a week ago, pouting. Jungkook truly has absolutely no shame. “Sure. Where to?”

“How about that Greek place downtown?” He suggests.

“You hate Greek food.”

“I’m trying to broaden my horizons, here. Stop calling me out.”

“Alright then, Greek it is. Dress code? Do I have to wear something expensive, Jungkook? A pearl necklace, diamond ring? Six inch heels?”

“You know what you wore for the awards ceremony last year? Wear that. It looked good on you. Your hair looked nice.”

“Is that what you say to all the girls, Jungkook?” You joke, an eyebrow raised.

“You bet,” he says back. “A good friend of mine told me girls like that kind of stuff.”

“They were right.”

It doesn’t really occur to you that you’re going out on an actual date with an actual boy until your mother asks you where the date is, making you stop dead in your tracks as you fix your hair in the mirror in the main living space.

You’re going out on a date. With your best friend. Nothing wrong with that of course, it’s just that this particular date happens to be very romantic, despite your insistence that what you and Jungkook share is strictly platonic. He’s picking you up, taking you to a moderately fancy Greek place downtown, and the both of you are wearing some of your nicer clothes.

The doorbell rings, and when you peek out of the window, Jungkook’s terribly old car sits outside.

“Look at you,” you say, foregoing any sort of greeting as you open the door. Behind it stands a dare you say, dapper looking Jungkook is a pretty decent getup, playing with the collar of the dress shirt he wears. “I don’t think I’ve seen you dress this nice since our elementary school graduation.”

“Hey, you’re wearing the thing,” he says. “It looks good.”

“It looked good last year, it’ll look good this year. Ready to go?” You ask, grabbing your wallet from the coffee table and wrapping the strap around your wrist.

“Let’s do this,” he replies, letting you link arms with him as he leads you to his car.

Sure enough, at the restaurant, Jungkook turns his nose up at every single dish on the menu, muttering to himself that there has to be something better (there never is). He eventually settles for the saddest salad you have ever seen, while you go for a selection of appetizers you’re hoping to coax Jungkook into eating.

“You’re so uncultured,” you comment as his salad arrives, simply a heap of lettuce with some tomatoes decorating the edge of the bowl. “We’re at a nice Greek place and you get a salad.”

“I hate Greek food,” he says, like that makes it any better.

“Then why did you suggest this place?” You ask, taking a large bite of one of the several dolmades in front of you. “Here, eat this.”

Jungkook scrunches his face up as you shove the fork in front of his mouth, hand under it to catch any drips as you force him to take a bite. He doesn’t immediately spit it out, so you call that a win for you.

“I wanted to focus on you instead of the food,” he says, mouth full.

“Oh, stuff it,” You say, though you can feel your cheeks heating up at the comment.

“No, I’m serious. I feel like we’re losing touch,” Jungkook insists. “We don’t talk as much anymore.”

“We text every day.”

“We don’t talk about deep shit anymore,” Jungkook rephrases.

You chuckle. “Did we ever talk about ‘deep shit’? What’s your definition of ‘deep shit’, Jungkook?”

“Why don’t you ever go out on dates?”

“What kind of an asshole question is that, hey?” You frown, stuffing another dolmade into his mouth.

“I’m not kidding, Y/N. You’re funny, pretty, easy to talk to, you could get lots of dates if you wanted to. Why don’t you?”

“I guess everyone just thinks I’m dating you,” you shrug, like it’s no big deal. The compliments he laid on you are making that butterfly in your stomach lose its butterfly mind.

“I guess they do.”

“How’s Hari been?”

“Good, good. She just finished reading Macbeth.”

“Did she like it?”

“She thought Macbeth was kind of an asshole.”

“I agree.”

“I wasn’t joking when I said you were funny and pretty,” Jungkook says randomly.

“I know.”

By the end of the night, the butterfly has friends.

First things first, you do not have a crush on Jungkook. No way.

Okay, so maybe you have a slight crush on him. But it’s manageable, it’s fine. No big deal, you’ll get over it. Maybe you’re just confused after the mess that was your date-not-date with him. Yes, that’s it. Your brain’s just playing games with you.

The main reason as to why you have to get over your crush as soon as physically possible is because Jungkook doesn’t seem to be giving up on Hari anytime soon. Despite not confessing directly to her, he’s definitely made a show of how much he truly likes her when he’s around you, and it’s not helping your case whatsoever. The faster you stop liking Jungkook, the easier it is to clear up this whole mess whenever you decide you need to.

The Hari thing has been going on much, much longer than you wanted it to, but you can’t stop just yet. Imagine how that would break Jungkook’s heart.

You and Jungkook haven’t really discussed your whole date-not-date since it happened, and it’s been several weeks. Neither of you appear very keen to bring it up, pretending like it never happened. You’re not exactly sure why, though, since it’s been pretty damn clear to the both of you that you’re just friends.

So, you’re essentially stuck, trying to worm your way out of having a crush on your best friend, watching him fall in love with another girl, who just so happens to be you posing as someone else, and the cycle endlessly repeats.

You have to admit, you most certainly did not foresee this when you were eight-years-old and writing a letter to Jungkook just to get him to stop his whining.

Having a crush on Jungkook isn’t all that rare, anyway, since you could probably list ten girls off the top of your head that also fancy him. The problem is that you actually talk to him, all the time, which makes falling for him even worse.

“Coach is letting me have the pool to myself on Wednesday, after school,” Jungkook says while you’re over at his house. You’re actually doing your homework this time, but you can’t seem to say the same thing for him. “Wanna come?”

“Am I allowed?” You ask, sort of laughing. You already know you’re not, but Jungkook’s never been very good at following rules.

“What Coach doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Jungkook reasons, and you take those words as a ‘yes’.

“If we get caught, will you take the blame?”

Jungkook sighs, knocking his head back and into a picture frame, making it fall to the floor. “Why do I always have to take the blame?”

“You’re always the one that comes up with the dumbass idea in the first place,” you retort, but you notice that he’s not really listening to you anymore. When you finally look up from the notebook in front of you, you see that he’s looking at the photo, expression soft and fond and regretful all at once. “You good?”

“What?” Jungkook says, spurred out of his trance as he places the picture frame face up on the floor. A closer look, and you see that it’s the one he framed of the photo Hari sent when you were eight.

“You good?”

“Yeah.”

You motion to the picture frame, pointing the end of your pen towards it. “Has she sent any more photos?” You feel terrible just asking the question.

“No,” Jungkook sighs. “But she doesn’t need to, I mean. I’m not gonna force her. I just wish I knew what she looked like now.”

You’re looking at her, you think to yourself.

“You could use one of those age progression websites,” you suggest jokingly.

“Yeah, and come up with a shitty Photoshop job,” Jungkook says, laughing to himself at your recommendation.

“You really like her, don’t you, Jungkook?”

“Of course,” Jungkook replies, eyes crinkling up at the mere mention of her. “I think she’s amazing. A best friend, just like you.” He nudges your shoulder, flashing his pearly-whites towards you in the warmest of smiles. You take it in, letting the memory of his glowing face sink into your mind, and you think that perhaps, crushing on him isn’t so terrible after all.

Jungkook swims like a maniac. You’ve been to his meets, watched his performances, and he’s like a shark, tearing through the water at almost an alarming rate. It’s no wonder he’s his coach’s favorite, the pride and joy of the school’s swim team. There’s no other way he could be hooked up with free time in the pool. But you’ve never seen him swim just for fun, so you wonder how this could be any different.

“Is it cold?” You ask as you leave the locker room, seeing the boy already doing laps around the pool.

He stops mid-freestyle. “No. But that’s probably the swimmer in me talking.”

“So, it is cold?”

“Why don’t you see for yourself?”

What a tempting offer. You tentatively step towards the pool, dipping a single toe in before pulling back sharply, nearly toppling over.

“Holy shit,” you say. “It is so cold. How do you swim in this?”

“You get used to it,” Jungkook says. He swims up to you gracefully, an elegant butterfly from where he stands at the opposite end of the pool. “Come on, jump in.”

“I don’t want to,” you decide. “You said absolutely nothing about the temperature of the pool water.”

“Oh, come on, Y/N,” he says, pouting. “Just jump in. You’ll warm up straight away.”

“No.”

“Please?”

You can’t resist him. Goddamnit. You inhale a deep breath and brace yourself before jumping right in, splashing Jungkook with the force as you pop your head up, drenched.

“I knew you could do it,” he says, shaking his head, water droplets flying every which way.

You thought Jungkook looked pretty good in his swimsuit from afar, but up close he looks practically irresistible. The water rolls down his neck, shoulders, chest, glinting in the fluorescent light of the indoor pool and making his torso shimmer.

“It’s so cold, I hate this,” you say, arms zooming to your sides as you rub them up and down, moving around slowly in the water.

“You’ll warm up in no time, you know,” Jungkook says. “You just have to get used to the water.”

“And how do you expect me to do that?”

Before your mind can even register it, Jungkook splashes you, letting you stand there, mouth gaping wide, as he cackles to himself.

“You’re in for it now, Jeon!” You shout, barrelling towards him as he begins to make his getaway. You already know you’re toast, since Jungkook could probably lap you if he really wanted to, but you chase him down anyway, fuming.

He’s giggling the entire time he’s running away, stepping through the water rather than swimming, splashing behind him as a defense mechanism. You let yourself get soaked, following the path he makes in the water as the two of you laugh your heads off, a full-on splash war on your hands.

Later, when the war comes to a truce — not an end, it’s not an end until one of you surrenders — you find yourselves in the middle of the pool. You’re lying flat on your back as he holds you up, soft hands pushing onto your skin, like a coach helping a child learn to float. It’s strangely intimate for the two of you, though you imagine any sort of conversation you’ll have will ruin the mood instantly.

“Is this how you charm the pants off of all the girls, Jungkook?”

“Oh yeah, this and splashing them until they’re screaming ‘bloody murder’ is a real smooth move,” he responds.

“I can do this myself, you know,” you remind him.

“I know. I just like holding you up.”

“Makes for a nice view,” you joke.

“Oh yeah? My double chin looking good today?”

“Especially handsome.”

The exchange leaves the two of you in giggles, the low rumble spreading from his chest to his fingers as he moves you up and down ever so slightly. It’s certainly a view, where you float to where he stands beside you, drenched hair, gleaming torso, warm smile.

You wonder if he wishes Hari were in your place.

But you savor this, savor the view and savor the feeling, because platonic or not, it’s something worth treasuring.

“You’re cute like this,” he says, removing one hand from under your back to poke your nose.

“Am I?”

“Very. If you want boys to date you, you should get them in the pool like this.”

You actually at the comment. “As if. I don’t need the school’s ugly pool to attract boys. I’m irresistible.”

Besides, you think, the only boy I’d want to date me is you, and you’re already here.

Remember when you said you’d get over that tiny crush you had on Jungkook?

Liar.

You’re nearing the end of high school, the idea of university and moving away looming over your heads, and you can say with too much affirmation that you have fallen, head over your goddamn heels, in love with your best friend. Nice going.

Unfortunately for you, nothing seems to have changed about the relationship between Jungkook and Hari, and if she weren’t thousands of miles away, he probably would have taken her to prom.

But here you are, a collection of photos of your best friend sitting under your bed, growing by the month as he unknowingly adds to it with each letter he sends. You’ve got photos from prom, winter break, sports meets, summer vacations, stacked up in a careless pile in a box, and you’d be lying if you said you don’t look through them on occasion. There are pictures in here that you, as his best friend, haven’t even seen, pictures meant for someone who he likes, not someone who he hangs out with.

Jungkook’s opinion of Hari hasn’t changed in years.

“She’s wonderful,” Jungkook muses as the two of you walk through the nearest mall. “I feel like I can tell her anything and everything, and she’ll always listen, never judge me. She teases me sometimes, like you do, but she’s easygoing and heartwarming. She’s so easy to get along with, even if we don’t have all of the same interests. I feel like I’ve known her my entire life.”

“Haven’t you, though?”

“Not as long as I’ve known you.”

“But you like her?”

“Well, I mean I like you too,” Jungkook says. “But I just feel that—that thing with her, you know? You know that thing?”

“This must be why you’re in an AP Literature class,” you say, “ your descriptions of things are simply outstanding.”

Jungkook frowns, shoving you a little as he fights the smile growing on his face. “I’m serious, Y/N.”

“So am I,” you insist. “But I know what you’re talking about.”

“Have you ever felt that thing?”

“Once or twice.” The with you goes unspoken, and you’re glad.

“With who?”

“It was when we were children, Jungkook. I don’t remember.”

“That’s fake. Surely you remember your first love.”

“Not really, no.” I don’t need to remember you when you’re right in front of me.

“Well, that’s what I feel with her. I don’t know man, I feel like she’s just the person I was waiting for.”

“So, he thinks she’s funny, easy to talk to, and that it feels like he’s known her for a lifetime?”

You nod along to your friend’s words as the two of you sit on a bench in the local park. You’re lamenting your Jungkook troubles to her, since you obviously can’t go straight to him, and she’s providing insight as to what you should do.

“Sounds like he’s in love with you, not her.”

That makes you bolt up from where you were slouching back, like a dog hearing the word ‘squirrel’.

“What?”

“I’m serious,” she says. “If he likes her for all of those reasons, there’s no reason he shouldn’t like you as well. He basically described you.”

You have neglected to tell her about the whole pen pal fiasco, finding it too long of a story worth telling. The less she knows, the better. She’s already told you enough information, anyway.

“You think he’s talking about me?”

“Sounds like it.”

Maybe he is.

You are Hari, after all.

Maybe he likes you, too.

(Jungkook sits in his room, surrounded by college acceptance letters and textbooks he still needs to turn into his teachers. The blank piece of paper stares back at him as he glares at it, twiddling the pen in his hand.

This is what he writes in a letter to Hari that never makes it into the mailbox:

Dear Hari,

This is going to be a weird opening sentence, but I think I like my best friend. Actually, I think I’m in love with her, but I don’t know how to go about it. She’s been getting a bit distant from me, though I suppose that’s my fault as well, since we’re nearing graduation. What do I do? Do I confess?

I think I’ve loved her for a while know, but I didn’t realize it, hung up on another girl.

I think she’s funny, easy to talk to, and pretty.

But I think you are, too.

Jungkook.

Jungkook stares at the finished letter, wishing that it could respond to him. He crinkles it up and tosses it in the trash.)

The last letter Jungkook ever sends Hari includes a photo of him, his family, and you together at graduation, dressed up in your gowns and caps and grinning happily, and a sentence that catches your eye:

Don’t expect any more letters for a while, if that’s alright. I think I’ll be a bit busy.

It’s unusual for him to take a break from writing to her, the letters being weekly for almost ten years, now. You wonder what he might have in store, but you shrug it off. If anything, you’re glad for the respite. The lying has gone on for too long, anyway.

The two of you stroll along the sidewalk, high school graduates with coffee cups in your hands, passing by the local park. He suggests that you sit down with him, pointing to an empty bench in the distance, before making a dash to it in order to prevent anyone else from taking your spot.

“Can’t believe we’re going off to university,” you say, sighing as you sit down. “It feels like just yesterday you were walking up to me on the playground in elementary school, asking me if you thought the shade under the tree was big enough for the both of us.”

“I remember that. You stood out to me because you weren’t playing ‘Chase the Girls’ like everyone else,” he says, the memory popping back into his head.

“I never really liked that game.”

“Neither did I.”

It’s weird, some kind of out-of-body experience to be talking about your relationship with Jungkook over the years. You feel as though you’re watching yourselves grow up from a third-person perspective, watching you fall in love with him the same way he’s falling in love with Hari.

“Are you doing anything this summer?”

“Packing. Crying. Stressing.”

Jungkook chuckles at your response. “No, anything fun?”

“Hanging with you, I guess?”

“How would you feel about taking a vacation with me?”

You look at him, an incredulous expression on your face. “What, to the beach?”

“I was thinking something more along the lines of South Korea.”

Your mouth drops open, like it’s been pressed down by weights. “Korea?”

“Yeah. It’s been something I’ve sort of been keeping a secret from you. I think it’ll be fun,” Jungkook says, grinning.

“Why Korea?”

“I have family there I haven’t seen in awhile. But mostly, I want to meet Hari.”

If your eyes widen, he makes no comment, but you’re totally, one hundred percent, absolutely, without a doubt fucked. To meet Hari?

The charade ends here.

“You were hiding it from me?”

Jungkook shoots you a guilty smile. You bet you could top it in an instant. “I wanted to make sure everything was in order before I asked you.”

“I’ve been hiding something from you, too, Jungkook,” you say, bracing yourself for the worst while foolishly hoping for the best.

“What?” Jungkook asks, more curious than shocked. You hate to wipe that interested smile off of his face.

“Hari—Hari hasn’t spoken to you since you were eight,” you say, shrinking in on yourself as you wait for his reaction.

Jungkook scoffs. “What do you mean? Of course she has. I sent her a letter just a few days ago.”

“No, she hasn’t,” you repeat. “The person writing you those letters, she wasn’t Hari. She was—”

“You,” Jungkook finishes, and sure, you were prepared for anger, sadness, fury, but you weren’t prepared for the look of absolutely betrayal scrawled on his face as your words set in. “You were writing those letters. For ten years, you sent me things under her name.”

“Jungkook—”

“Why did you do it?”

“I care about you, Jungkook,” you insist, grabbing onto his arm so he can’t leave before you explain yourself. “I didn’t want to see you sad.”

“So you kept it up for ten years? You lied to me for ten years? I don’t think that’s better than me being sad for a day,” he says, heartbroken.

“We were eight, Jungkook! I didn’t know it would turn out like this. I didn’t know you’d start to fall for her,” you say desperately, trying to salvage the friendship you already know you’ve knocked down.

“Still, you couldn’t have just told me? What else did you do, huh? What other things are you hiding from me?” He says, eyebrows raised, not angry, just hurt. How can you do this to him?

You wonder the same thing.

“I’m in love with you,” you whisper. The words settle around you like dust, dust he’s about to walk over and forget about.

“You what?”

“I’m in love with you,” you say again, louder. “That’s what I’m hiding from you.”

“Y/N, you don’t—you can’t just go around telling me that,” he says, and for once his expression is unreadable. “You can’t just say these things.”

“Why not, Jungkook? I’ve lied to you enough already,” you reason. “You ought to know I love you.”

“You can’t just—you can’t just—”

“I can’t just what, Jungkook?”

“I love you, too.”

God, if you thought you had the biggest surprise of the afternoon, he has you beat.

“Can we take a break?” You ask, mind swirling. “We need a break.”

“No, Y/N, we have to sort this out,” Jungkook says, grabbing onto your wrist as you stand up. He won’t let you go without a fight, you know that much. “We can’t just let it go.”

“We’ll sort it out another time, okay? I need to clear my mind. I need to think about things.” You try to wriggle out of his grasp, but he refuses to part with you, keeping you firmly planted to your spot. “Please, Jungkook. I can’t do this right now. Please.”

Jungkook relents.

For a week, the thoughts fly in and out of your head, leaving you dazed and confused.

He loves you.

You lied to him.

He likes Hari.

You were Hari.

You love him.

You lied to him.

Jungkook leaves you breathless without even being by your side.

Eventually, as the new week dawns on you, he convinces you to talk. You suppose you kind of need to, anyway.

He meets you back at the park, same bench, same foofy coffee drink in his hand, grinning as you jog towards him.

“Hey stranger,” he says. “I think this week was officially the most boring week in my life.”

“I don’t think we’ve gone a week in ten years without contacting each other,” you say, taking a seat. “It feels like I don’t even know you.”

“How are you feeling? Mind cleared up?”

“I think it’s always gonna be a bit fuzzy, but I’m feeling better. You?”

“Fantastic, now that you’re here.”

You purse your lips, letting the silence fill the air around you as you think about what to say next.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, catching his attention. “I don’t think I ever apologized to you for lying. So, I’m sorry for deceiving you. I shouldn’t have.”

“Apology accepted.” He beams. “I’m sorry, too. Sorry you had to hear me gushing about Hari when really, I was gushing about you.”

“No, it’s fine, I understood,” you assure him.

“You know, I originally thought I started liking you earlier this year, but I realize now it was a long time before that. I just didn’t know it was you.”

“You still love me?”

“How could I stop?”

And then you’re kissing, pressing your lips together in the heat of summer, sitting on a park bench covered in bird poop, kissing. It cools you down and warms you up all at once. Jungkook tastes like chlorine and coffee and happiness.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” he sheepishly admits when you break apart.

“You can do it again, for all I care.”

He leans into you, noses brushing. “I think I might just take you up on that offer.”

And take it he does.

To say that, post-kiss, the two of you part ways calmly and happily and head home is a complete lie. It’s quite apparent that neither of you can resist each other, sneaking kisses onto each other’s skin the entire way back to Jungkook’s, where he presses you against each wall in his house before you stumble into his bedroom, giggling.

“I’ve never done this before,” you say.

“Never been this close to me, hey, Y/N?” He says, winking.

“I’ve been this close to you before,” you say, thinking of the time he tackled you on this very floor. “I’ve just never been kissed while doing it.”

“There’s a first for everything,” Jungkook tells you as he presses you into his mattress, pulling off his shirt in one fluid motion.

If anything, his body’s only gotten better since the last time you saw it, floating in the school’s pool.

“That there is.”

Needless to say, he gets even closer to you. Toying with the hem of your shirt, he takes it off, relishing in the view below him as he presses his lips wherever he can, from your lips to your collarbone to your bellybutton.

“God, I knew I wasn’t kidding when I said you were pretty,” he smiles down at you, and you giggle, slapping his arm. “You’re gorgeous.”

“You’re stating facts, Mister,” you respond. “Get me out of these clothes.”

He is more than willing to follow your orders, ridding you of your bottoms and flinging them to his bedroom floor before moving his lips down even further. His nose is right by your drenched center, and he smirks to himself as his fingers hook onto your underwear.

“Ah, wait,” you say, tugging lightly on his hair to catch his attention. “You too, you know.”

Once the two of you are fully naked, reveling in the glory that is each other, Jungkook presses his body into yours, making you gasp at the feeling.

“Do it again,” you whisper into his ear, begging. He is happy to oblige, letting you grind down on him as you openly moan, brokenly moan.

“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to do this,” Jungkook admits, honest and whole and nervous. 

You grin, letting your eyes rake up and down his body. He’s beautiful. He always has been. “I think I have somewhat of an idea.”

In order to wipe that cheeky grin off your face, he presses a kiss to your lips as he slides home, making you sigh at the feeling.

“I’ll go slow, alright? Neither of us have a very good idea about how to do this,” he promises, and you nod as you feel him pull out, little by little.

He gets a good rhythm going after a while, enough to make you moan with each thrust but not to hard to cause either of you any pain, and it’s not long before the both of you reach your highs, climaxing with gasps and promises escaping from your lips.

Afterwards, when the towel he came in with to clean the two of you up is hanging over his desk chair and you are lying comfortably in his bed, head resting in the space between his arm and his chest as he pulls you in close, he whispers.

“Do you think you would have still fallen for me without Hari?”

“Do you?”

“Can you stop responding to my questions with more questions?”

You giggle into his skin, warming the spot. “I think we were meant for each other.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I think so, too.”

“You know I love you, right?”

“You know I love you, right?”

“And here I was, the one who responds to questions with more questions,” you joke, earning yourself a flick on the forehead, followed by a kiss to the exact place where his fingers met your skin.

“I love you,” he tells you.

You snuggle in closer. “Yeah,” you say, the words feeling like falling asleep after years of being awake. “I love you, too.”

You sit on the airplane as you watch it drive away from the gate, rolling along the tarmac to where it will take off. Next to you sits Jungkook, already dozing off despite having only been on the airplane for less than an hour. He rests his shoulder on your chest, little snores escaping from his lips. You worm your hand into his and he makes a noise of satisfaction as you prepare to head to South Korea.

The butterflies are back. You hope they never leave.

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