#if he told me to take a long walk off a short pier...

[howlingdemon13]

i'm just stupid confident enough to think that i can fix kars

[loveharlow]

SEVEN [THE INBETWEEN] - IN LOVING MEMORY

PAIRING ‧₊˚ JJ Maybank x Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚[2.9k] A week after John B and Sarah were lost at sea, you and JJ navigate a new living situation and unsuccessfully avoid the inevitable grief process, leading to a private memorial as you honor a fallen brother.

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, mentions of death, grief avoidance

NOW PLAYING‧₊˚

A/N‧₊˚ I think these little 3-chapter pauses between each season are gonna be my favorite things because it focuses sooo much more on just TR and JJ <3 but this first one really focuses on their grief over John B

˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗

IT’D BEEN A WEEK SINCE JOHN B AND SARAH DISAPPEARED. Shoupe said that the department wasn’t calling the search off just yet but you knew they weren’t looking. There’d been no updates, no boats out on the water — it was as if the entire station had retired. 

Metal clanked against wood as JJ set the wrench down on the work table — music playing lowly in the background as the blonde worked on your car. The two of you were in John B’s Surf Shack at The Chateau, the car halfway pulled in so JJ could work outside of the heat, but the sun was relentless. The hood was flipped up as the boy inspected and toyed with the parts — sweat dripping down his forehead from his damp strands of hair, shirt long abandoned as he stood only in a pair of army green cargo shorts and his signature worn-down, unlaced combat boots, shark tooth dangling from his neck.

“Are you gonna keep staring or do you wanna help?” JJ asked, leaning his hands on the exterior of the car, eyes squinting from the sun as he looked up at your figure that was sitting on top of the worktable, feet swinging as you watched him.

“When I tried to help, you told me to, and I quote, ‘sit my unhelpful ass down somewhere’.” You reminded the boy, cocking your head as you took a sip of the beer you’d retrieved from the house. 

“Maybe because when I asked you to hand me the box end wrench and you handed me a pair of pliers?” He sassed back, standing from his leaned over position and walking closer to you, snatching up his own beer and taking a long swig. 

You shrugged. “Same difference.”

“Hate to break it to you, princess, but no it's not.” JJ chuckled, leaning against the work table. His eyes drifted down to where you were scratching your ankle as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. “I told you like ten times to stop scratchin’ it. It ain’t gonna help.” He reprimanded, setting the beer down and taking your ankle in his hands, leveling it in front of him.

You groaned as he swatted your hand away. “But it itches, so bad.” You whined. “Probably because you did it with a needle and pen ink.” You pouted, both of you inspecting the small, scraggly ‘P4L’ tattoo on your ankle. “How come yours doesn’t itch?” You asked, referring to the matching tattoo the blonde had done on himself.

“It does.” He told you, pulling out a small thing of vaseline from his shorts and scooping some up on one of his fingers. “I’m just not a pussy.” He joked, side-eyeing you as he gently applied the jelly over the artwork. 

Just then, Marley came running into the shack, almost knocking JJ off of his feet. You bursted out into a fit of laughter as the blonde steadied himself, staring down the dog. “You fuckin’ mutt…” He muttered, letting your leg swing back towards you gently. 

“Hey,” You warned, plucking his arm. “Watch it, or I’ll have her piss on your pillows.”

“Yeah, yeah…” He waved off, walking out of the shack and into the afternoon sun. "I'm takin' a breather from your piece of shit on wheels. That thing needs way more than TLC..." He told you over his shoulder. You quickly hopped off the table and followed after him, whistling for Marley to follow your lead.

"Don't blame my car because you have the skills of a mechanic from Craigslist." You defended as JJ led you all the way down to the boat pier behind The Chateau, both of you sitting down on the wood, kicking off your shoes to let your toes hit the water. Marley laid down behind you two.

He chuckled lightly before you fell into silence. That’d been happening a lot lately. It wasn’t uncomfortable, though. In the week you and JJ had been learning to live together at The Chateau, you’d grown to just sit in silence with him. Quiet mornings, lazy nights. Neither of you had to speak or force a conversation — just bask in the company of one another, knowing you still had someone. 

There were days like this — where things seemed almost normal, but only for a moment. But then it was as if you’d both simultaneously realize that nothing was normal and it probably never would be ever again, that realization never failed to cast a cloud over the atmosphere.

John B was gone. He wasn’t on another marathon from DCS, he wasn’t out cleaning boats to keep the lights on at The Chateau — he was just gone. And something inside of you felt so empty. Ever since you were kids, toddlers, it was always you, John B, and JJ. And even when you made each other mad or sad, you always came back together in the end.

Now, it was just the two of you. Sure, you had Kie and Pope but that was different. John B was their friend too but there was a deeper grief that they couldn’t understand. But JJ could.

“You remember, in third grade, when John B asked out that girl and she told him no ‘cause he had cooties?” JJ asked, a small smile on his features as he stared down at the water. You laughed, shaking your head.

“And when he tried to hug her she screamed and the teacher gave him a lecture about consent.” You laughed, looking up at the sun. “But maybe he needed it. I remember after, he apologized and shook her hand instead.”

“She still wouldn’t go out with him, though.”

“You wanna know something funny?” You asked, turning to face him as he looked at you. “I ran into her when I moved to Figure Eight. She lives on the lower end now. It’s so crazy because she ended up getting chlamydia from some guy and then passed it to his best friend.”

“Holy shit.” JJ laughed loudly, his bright smile on full display. You wished to see his smile like that more often. JJ usually tried to seem happy and carefree, but it was a sight to see when it was genuine. As his laughter died out, he had a look of contemplation on his face.

You nudged his shoulder to gain his attention. “What're you thinkin' about?”

He bit the inside of his cheek for a moment, eyes scanning your face. You didn’t know what for. Then he reached into the pocket of his shorts, hand fishing around for a moment before he pulled out something — a pastel green dog collar with a heart shaped named tag. He laid the object out in his grease covered palm and extended it over for you to see.

Your eyes fleeted between the collar and his face, a look of nervousness as he avoided your eyes. Taking it from his hand to hold in both of yours, you huffed out a laugh. There were ridges on the edges, as if the fabric of the collar had been hand-cut. “...Did you make this yourself?”

“Yeah, it’s nothing.” He dismissed, scratching the back of his neck and attempting to seem nonchalant about the gesture. “I wasn't doing shit, got bored. If you, uh, if you turn it over-” You wasted no time, flipping the name tag to the other side, eyes landing first on the ‘if lost, please call…” note then drifting lower to see ‘P4L’ engraved in the metal beneath your phone number.

“Um, yeah that.” JJ finished. “It’s honestly nothing. It's fine if you think its stupid, I just figured-”

He never got to finish his nervous rambling as you pulled the boy into a hug. His arms staggered before hugging you back, going around your waist and almost pulling you into him. “Thank you.” You mumbled into his neck. "And it's not stupid. I love it." You could feel small tears leaving your eyes and making home on his sweaty skin, you just hoped he didn’t notice.

“Are you crying?” He asked, pulling back from the embrace and taking your face in his hands. “Oh, shit. Please, don’t cry.” He panicked, using his thumbs to wipe the tears from your cheeks, leaving grease trails behind in their wake, the gesture making you chuckle sadly.

You don’t know what made you cry. You hadn’t cried in a full week. “Sorry, sorry...it's just that everything is so messed up.” You sniffed. “I wish I could go back to last year. Before my dad died, before all that shit with Rafe, before my mom became someone else, before John B...” You choked out, trying to remove your face from his hands but he wouldn’t let you. “If finding the gold means losing the only people I have left one by one, then fuck it.”

“We don’t know if he’s, y'know.. they’re still looking-”

“No, they’re not.” You scoffed. “They just don’t want to tell us that. Because if they do, they know we’ll start looking for ourselves and they’ll have four more dead kids on their hands.” You doubted, struggling to hold back more tears. JJ simply used his hold on your face to pull your head into him. Something about the gesture made you burst out into sobs, muffled by his chest. Most people would find such a genuine, serious gesture from JJ Maybank odd or rare. But in all your years of knowing him, JJ understood emotions better than most people, he just lacked the ability to show them sometimes.

He was there when they found your dad’s body, all of your friends were. The police only let you through because you were his daughter but when the wind blew the tarp off of his bloated, pale body, JJ was the only one who threw all caution to the wind and ducked under the caution tape, weaved through like ten police officers and caught you before you fell to your knees in the sand.

JJ was one of the most empathetic people you knew, but he’d never cater to his own needs as much as he did for others.

“I miss him, too.” He said solemnly, taking a shaky deep breath. “Believe me, man.” He scoffed, but his voice wavered prompting you to lift your head to look up at him, sniffling. “Bree was my brother. I can’t even tell you how many times he was just there for me. He got me out of a lot of shit and I always gave him shit for it. He would always tell me he just didn’t want me to end up like my piece of shit father and I was always such a dick about it. I knew it was because he cared but I…” He sighed, wiping the stray tear that had fallen from his eye with the butt of his palm. “I just wish I had been a better friend. I know I get us into a lot of shit and I’m impulsive and-”

“You were a good friend.” You cut off his monologue of martyrdom, sitting up straighter to look at him directly, using one hand to cup the back of his neck as you spoke. “John B loved you. Yeah, he might’ve gotten a little pissed whenever you got all trigger happy-” You joked, eliciting a small laugh from JJ. “-But he always understood that’s just who you are. He always cared about you all the same. He would’ve done anything for you.”

“And now he’s…shit, he’s gone.” He sniffed, wiping under his nose as he avoided your eyes, a frown on his face. “And I don’t have anyone like that anymore.”

“You have me.” You smiled pitifully. “I may not be a six-foot, brunette male who's oddly obsessed with bandanas but I think I can fill his spot. Make it work, somehow.” You joked playfully.

JJ scoffed, shaking his head. “Nah, you have your own spot.” He told you, his blue eyes finally finding the courage to meet yours again. “No one could replace Bree. Or you. You were the two people I never wanted to lose in life. And now he’s gone and I don’t know what I’m feeling or what the fuck to do about it because I’ve never felt it before. And sure, I want to fight for him and get the gold back but now I’m scared that that might mean we lose someone else and I don't know what I’ll do if the person we lose is you.”

You shook your head, pressing your forehead against his. “You’ll never lose me. Even if I’m not here.” You reminded, fingers scratching at the hair on the nape of his neck. “And even if John B is gone gone, he’s still here. Probably telling us to grow a pair, right now.” You chuckled despondently, both of you somewhere between laughing and crying.

All of a sudden, a wet, rough tongue hit the side of both of your faces — Marley apparently feeling left out from the exchange. The action had the two of you pulling apart, shielding your faces from the attack of dog kisses. She was like a light, her typical high energy making you feel just a little less sad inside. “Alright, alright…” You said, lightly pushing the dog back as she panted and wagged her tail so fast it made her whole body wiggle.

Just then, you realized you still had JJ’s gift clutched in your palm, peering at the object before beckoning Marley to come closer and commanding her to sit. She was still panting, mouth open and tongue out as you buckled the collar around her neck, adjusting it to fit and spinning it so the heart tag sat where it was supposed to, her name engraved in JJ’s handwriting.

As soon as your hands were off of her, she turned her attention to JJ, burying her head in his lap and rolling over on her back, wanting the blonde to rub her stomach. It was like she knew he’d made it for her.

“She must like you.” You said, voice a bit scratchy now. 

JJ shrugged, caressing the animal’s stomach with a small smile on his face. “I guess she’s alright.” He trailed off playfully. You admired them for a moment, the sight making your nerves settle in a way they hadn’t been able to in the last seven days.

For a moment, everything was calm. This was peace.

“Hey, JJ?” You piped up, the boy’s eyes leaving the dog as he looked at you in a questioning manner. “I know we’re waiting on Kie and Pope to actually memorialize JB but would you want to do something, just me and you? Not to leave them out or anything, I just thought we could, I don’t know, mourn him differently. He was a part of us.”

He pondered on the idea for a moment before nodding. “Yeah… yeah, I think he’d like that.”

You simply nodded in response, getting up from the dock to go into The Chateau, not even bothering to put your shoes back on. Entering the house, you looked around for something that sparked an idea on how you could honor John B. You spotted an empty glass bottle — write a note and send it out to sea? No. That didn’t seem right. 

Still looking around, your eyes found two tealight candles on the coffee table, untouched and never lit. You hadn’t recalled them being there before. Picking up the two candles in one hand, you headed back outside, the sun beginning to set and casting an orange hue over the water in front of you the closer you got to JJ and Marley.

Sitting back down, you handed one of the candles to JJ. “Just something small.” You told him, the blonde taking the small candle from you and reaching into his pocket to retrieve the lighter he typically carried with him. Marley had her head in his lap, less energetic than she was just minutes prior. Her big, puppy eyes just watched the two of you light the candles as the sun got lower in the sky by the minute.

“Should we, like, say something before we let them go?” JJ asked, eyes on you. 

“It’s up to you.” You shrugged. Just then, Marley got up from his lap, running through the grass and to the trees. You didn’t bother to chase her, she always came back.

JJ’s fingers of his free hand drummed on his thigh as he thought. When he finally had something, he shifted his weight and held the candle carefully in his hand. “To Bree.” He started, voice shaking. “My best friend, my brother, and the unluckiest guy I’ve ever met. I promise to not pimp your shortboard.” He said, looking at the flame swaying from side to side, before looking at you, waiting for you to say something.

Your nerves jumped a bit, not really knowing what to say. You figured something was better than nothing. “To John B. One of my greatest friends, my trauma twin, and the best DCS fugitive I’ve ever met.” You spoke, looking out at the sunset. 

“Love you, man.” JJ finished, reaching his long arm down to gently set the candle on top of the water, watching it slowly drift away. You followed his lead, having to bend down a bit further to let the candle hit the water safely. Both of you sat silently, watching the two miniscule flames drift further out with the waves. You wondered how far they would make it before they went out.

Suddenly, the patter of paws came running back, Marley wedging her way between the two of you with a stick between her teeth. The dog got dangerously close to the edge of the pier you were sitting on before letting the stick drop from her jaws and hit the water, sitting down between you and JJ as she panted.

You heard about cats leaving gifts for people of significance, maybe this was her version of a candle. The action made you and JJ look at each other before laughing and hugging the dog in sync. She reveled in the attention, tail wagging ferociously.

You and your friends had a long way to go before anything would feel okay again. But just having each other was enough, right now. You couldn’t rush grief. You’d just have to let things take their course and hopefully one day, John B wouldn’t be such a sad memory.

next chapter>

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading.

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©loveharlow.

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

🫧 ━━ JOHNNY UTAH X CHUBBY F READER IMAGINE𓈒

𓈒part I 𓈒cheeky Johnny

𓈒inspo: @tedsbogusworld’s 🤖

━━ you are bodhi’s little sister

━━ just trying to make it through college while working part-time at the aquarium

━━ your parents aren’t around anymore, so you’ve been taking care of your older brother (paying the bills and rent with tuition money, stocking the fridge, dragging him in from the yard where he’s passed out in a puddle of beer and vomit in the cool waking sunset)

━━ your big brother throws the wildest parties ; you avoid them at all costs, shut yourself in your room, hide away at the beach, stay late at work. it’s just not your scene

━━ plus, his friends aren’t nice, especially not when they’ve been drinking, and being surrounded by tall, athletic bodies in tight swimsuits is detrimental to your baggy clothed, short, chubby self esteem

one night, you get home super late, but the party is still raging. Spilled cans of liquor on your floor, an unattended bonfire that you have to put out with the hose - we’re in a drought for chist’s sake, have some common decency, bodhi.

bodhi catches you in the kitchen, much to your scowling dismay, and has someone he wants you to meet. you’re really not in the mood for his antics tonight - he’s so drunk and high he can barely keep two feet parallel with the ground - so you basically tell him to fuck off

but, bodhi is super bad at respecting boundaries. it inflates when he’s under influence. he’s got you face to face with a brand new partygoer before you have a chance to run

“hey.” big white grin, tawny skin, heavy dark eyes. you have to crane your neck to look at his face.

the music is almost too loud for you to catch bodhi’s next infuriating line. “told ya she was cute, johnny. she’s all yours.”

you basically freak out on him, shove his shoulder and start yelling and cursing and drawing attention.

you’ve spent years taking care of him, not asking for a cent from his party fund, putting up with his bullshit, and you’re so fucking tired of him making fun of you just because you’re not a skinny surfing meat head. after you rip him a new asshole, you storm off.

you could go to your room, but that would mean shouldering through a crowd, so you opt for a long walk on the pier instead.

as you’re watching the dark ocean waves crash and spray against support beams, you feel a hand on your shoulder. you turn around, ready to fight, but it’s just bodhi’s new friend.

lowering your fist and replacing it with a scowl, you turn back around to face the open sea and ignore mr. tall dark and handsome.

“hey.” he leans on the railing beside you, accidentally scrapes his forearm on a barnacle and starts bleeding. “ah, fuck.”

“you’ve never been to a beach town, huh?” his arm is in your hand and you’re using your old tshirt to wipe the trickling red from his skin.

he smiles at you, boyishly, gives this coy bat of thick lashes that makes your tummy uneasy. you hope he doesn’t notice the abrupt way you let his arm flop. little tickly crabs crawl over your skin as you turn away.

“got a bandaid?”

“you’ll live.”

“ouch. hey, I think we got off on the wrong foot. i’m johnny, just moved here.”

“hullo, johnny just moved here, i’m not interested in company.”

he seems way too amused by your venom, lets loose a little chuckle. “you’re not very friendly, are you?”

“not to bodhi’s cult, no.”

“man, what is your problem?” he shakes his head and kicks dried salt. “you have the hots for me or something?”

stiffened shoulders, shrinking posture, eyes unable to hold his own. it’s all the info he needs. he gets a big grin that makes you want to jump right off the pier and let the angry water swallow you up.

“oh, yeah?” he tugs his bottom lip into the toothy smile, nudges your shoulder. “listen, just cuz i’m pretty doesn’t mean i’m a dickwad.”

“yeah, it does.” you think you’re insulting him, but really what you’ve just done is confirmed that you do think he’s pretty - the quiet, thick quiver in your voice doesn’t help your case.

“thanks, sweetheart.”

now you have a better idea - push him off the pier. instead, you walk away.

“oh, she’s adorable.”

[bakugoushotwife]

Okay, so here it is: I'm all about worshipping cock, tbh. I can't stop thinking about kissing Keigo though his boxers, sniffing his pretty cock and slapping it on my face. I want him to hold it on my throat as if he's chocking me with it.

But I really, really can't stop thinking about Keigo almost cumming in his pants bc I'm eagerly waiting for him to come home so I can jump on his pants and sniff his sweaty, glistening and pristine balls, like... I dream with him being into me sucking his cock after a hard day of work (I'm actually a clean freak so it's really bc I think he would try to keep it clean although I'm not sure, but the thing is really about the wooden smell of Keigo wearing pants all day). Not only I think he has perfect round and giants balls that I'd use as a pacifier but the thought of that man, a little sweaty taking all of his stress on my mouth, or even throat- gets my toes curling

And again, I've been silenced for too long!!! Wish he would use my head as fleshlight... Sorry! In all positions! Even holding the throat to tighten even more, massaging, humping it SORRY! Not only do I fantasize about things beyond what my body is capable of I fantasize about him being all fucked out, body limp, moving on it's own and eyes rolling after cumming so many times straight on my stomach sORRY on some days I'd ask for him to cum on my face untill it's a bukkakke of a single man SORRY SORRY SORRY

(the last thing is that he probably wouldn't bottom out, no, he'd probably be way too attentive while he uses my mouth to his own pleasure 😔)

a/n: this was the wildest ask i've gotten in a long time...i love it! had me wide eyed and giggling while i was reading sjhjkdfkgj but it got me thinking...also this is a lil snack while i recover from kinktober and work on some projects :)) this is absolute filth but nonnie didn't give me a choice LMAO

when you told keigo about your fantasies, he was a little shocked to say the least. not in a bad way, god, of course not. what kinda guy would he be if he didn't celebrate his shy little clean freak of a girlfriend's profession of obsession with his dick. it's just that, well. you are a clean freak and keigo knows that he smells like sweaty fabric and dirt and sometimes a little blood after he comes home from work. you hardly let his boots hit the tile of the mud room before you're ushering him off to the shower every day. to think that you've been having such naughty dreams of worshiping his cock has him dumbfounded. not to mention that he's always considered himself what one would call a service dom. he's the most turned on by your pleasure and knowing that he's the man behind it, reaching his satisfaction from watching his pillow princess make sweet sounds and pretty faces until you coat his cock, but seeing that sparkle in your eye at the idea made him eager to try it out.

cut to keigo being bewildered at how much he loves it. you strip him down to his underwear after work, for once not crinkling your nose up at the aromatic mix of dirt and his own natural musk--but burying your face in it. today was the perfect day for this too. it was a miserable day at the agency, one of sidekicks got hurt and the cops were especially dickish about it and now he has an ass-ton of paperwork to fill out on the matter. the hpsc's breathing down his neck for more information on the villains and he's all but ready to take a long walk off a short pier, but you kiss your way down his torso, letting your wet tongue drag along the crevices of his abs to taste the sweat that's gathered there over his day. you hum pleasantly at the flavor, and that's when he knows he's in for it. that alone felt so good, you were showing him that you'd do anything for him, and it made his heart and his dick swell with affection. he certainly wasn't used to being the receiver, usually taking his time in working you up and then spending even longer making you cum on his fingers and in his mouth until your body could only handle one more orgasm on his cock. but this, it was different. it was nice, your ass perched up in the air as you sit on your knees between his legs, face pressed against the bulge of his underwear. you're so seductive, eyes of a siren, really. you blink up at him so sweetly, watching his pupils expand at the sight of you nuzzling the growing shaft of his cock, smelling his natural aroma with a hint of the soap he used this morning when he left. your dainty hand fondles his balls, cupping and massaging them in ways he hasn't experienced before, making his breath catch in his throat and his dick twitch like he was going to cum already.

"i know today was hard...let me make it all go away." you hum, tucking your fingers under the waistband of his briefs, tugging them down his muscular thighs at the same time you pull your lip between your teeth. he nods approvingly, cock springing past the elastic to greet you, pretty pink tip glossing over with his excitement from your treatment. you hum happily at the sight, looking up at him in reminder of your conversation a few days prior. "wan' you to be as rough as you want, keigs." you nod, giving him permission all over again.

so he does what you wanted, what you practically pleaded for if we're honest. he lets you work your way around him, gripping his thick cock in your small hand in favor of lapping at his balls, tight and full of pent up frustration that he can't wait to release. he definitely keeps everything well trimmed for you, even though he never imagined you sucking on his balls so deliciously you're both drooling. he's growing impatient with your teasing though. your little kitten licks to his tip and the tight squeezes of your palm around his base; the way you flutter your lashes and grin up at him like you're daring him to take over finally does it and he's moving you both into a better position. one that will give him control and access to your throat for optimal relief of this stress and this now carnal desire to ruin you. he get to his knees, lifting you into a proper all fours stance by your throat, not nearly as gentle as he usually is, but you wanted that, didn't you? he shoves his way into your mouth, not caring about what you're ready for or not. you told him no limits, so he won't let you chicken out now. luckily, you're relaxed enough to let him slide right in, changing his grip to the sides of your face as he sets a wicked combination of moving your face and his hips. spit is flying, tears sliding out of your eyes at his brutality, and he couldn't love this more. he can see your eyes roll back, the need to cum already washing over him.

and sure, the first time he paints your slutty face with it, because no, you aren't his pillow princess right now. you're his cock hungry whore, and you begged to be. but every time after that, because yes, this feeling was too good to only feel once; he's shoving his mushroom tip past your uvula and spending it all down your throat until you tap out. it's automatic for him at some point. you've made yourself his stress toy, letting him forget the trouble that waits for him tomorrow in favor of watching his cum dribble past your lips as you sleepily swallow him for the fourth or fifth time tonight.

[vodika-vibes]

Requesting some more love for Boss please!

Wanted

Summary: You and Boss are on the run from the Empire.

Pairing: Clone Commando Boss x Reader

Word Count: 944

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni

A/N: I'm not sure I'm happy with this, but I have a migraine forming, so this is all I have. Sorry.

“Rules are meant to be broken,” You proclaim, as you wave your wrench towards Boss, who stares at you with a single raised brow.

“That thought, cyare, is why you’re wanted on 13 planets.”

“Wrong!” Your wrench slips out of your hand and clatters to the floor of the ship loudly, “That’s because the Empire ain’t shit!”

He rolls his eyes, “Anyway,” Boss says, “Since we can no longer hide on Daiyu-”

“-that isn’t my fault-” You interrupt.

“Since we can’t hide out on Daiyu anymore,” Boss continues as if you hadn’t spoken, “Where should we go next?”

You stoop to pick up your wrench and shove it into its place, “Outer Rim, maybe? Or Wild Space is an option.”

“I was kind of hoping that you would offer a name,” Boss says with a sigh, “But sure, let’s start with Outer Rim worlds, they’re not likely to bend to the Empire.”

You grin at him, and enthusiastically fling your arms around his neck. He sighs but wraps his arms around your waist, “How about Tatooine?”

“Mm. Sand, sun, slaves, and Hutts. My four most favorite things in the galaxy.” Boss says sarcastically. 

You laugh, “No one will look for us there.” You tempt.

“Right. Until you somehow piss off the Hutt Cartel and we have to run from both the Empire and the Hutts.”

“You make it sound like I go around insulting people all the time.” You say with a pout.

“You told the Grand Moff to take a long walk off a short pier and then broke his nose, and frankly I’m surprised that you lived to meet me in the first place.”

“I take issue with fascists.” You sniff.

He lightly squeezes your hips, “I need you to chill the fuck out, cyare. I’m looking for my brothers, which I can’t do when we’re being chased from Imperial worlds.”

“So you want me to behave?”

“That would be a nice change from normal.” Boss counters.

You rest your forehead against his chest plate, and then sigh, “Fine. We can hide out on Tatooine, just long enough for the heat to die down, and then we’ll go back to Imperial space and look for Fixer, Scorch, and Sev.”

“Thank you, cyare.” He kisses your forehead and then releases you to head towards the cockpit, “The ship isn’t going to fall apart on me when I try to jump to hyperspace, is it?”

“No! Er…probably not.”

“Try to keep the ship from blowing up on us, please cyare.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll do my best.” You turn back to the engines, and open the net to run a quick google search.

While you know how you ended up in this situation (a comedy of errors that started with you getting into a fist fight with someone who used to be part of the 501st and ended with you on the run from the Empire with a former Clone Commando), sometimes you have a hard time comparing what your life used to be to what it’s become.

You were an art student, once. Sure, an art student with anarchist tendencies who was anti government and anti war and went to protests and organized riots from time to time, but you were still an art student. 

And now here you are, slowly working your way up the Empires shit list.

Honestly, the best thing that’s happened to you in the last year is meeting Boss.

You glance towards the cockpit, where Boss is removing some of the bulkier pieces of his armor for comfort, and a small smile crosses your face.

Boss just appeared on your doorstep about a year ago. He had been beaten half to death and needed help, and you’re still not sure how he found you, but you’re glad that he did.

You managed to patch him up, and when he admitted that there was something rotten in the former Republic and that he was looking for his brother, you jumped at the chance to help him.

Anything was better than sitting around and watching as Palpatine destroyed everything good and honest and true in the galaxy.

And six months after that, when you were hiding from Imperial soldiers on Dantooine, you kissed him. And he kissed you back. And then he kissed you again and again.

And now here you are, six months later, in a relationship with a man who you never would have met if the Empire hadn’t taken over. 

Silver linings, right?

“Cyare? How are we looking?” Boss calls from the cockpit.

“I think we’re good. At least, according to the schematics I’m looking at online.” You say as you step out of the engine room and shut the door behind you.

He glances at you, “Alright. Then grab your seat, and we’ll see if we can’t make it to Tatooine.” You grin and climb into the co-pilot’s seat, tucking your feet under you, you turn your attention on him, and smile adoringly.

“What?”

“Just thinking about how we met.” You reply.

He glances at you, and a small smile crosses his face, “Smartest thing I’ve ever done. Right up there with kissing you on Dantooine and that night on Rishi.”

“You really liked that night on Rishi.” You say with a laugh.

“I liked the outfit you were wearing, and the way you looked under the moonlight,” Boss says easily, “And I really liked the way that you looked at me.”

You laugh and stretch out, “I really liked that night on Rishi too. We should do that more often.”

“Once we’re safe.” Boss promises, he focuses on the navigation computer, “Ready to go, cyare?”

“Ready.”

[revolutionale]

Revolution Tale Ch 4 con.

 

“Frisk please hold still, I don’t want to accidentally prick you.” Nanny Obedience begged, trying to pin the day pass to Frisks' coat. The child, who was bouncing excitedly, ready to go on more adventures, did their best to hold still for a moment. Around them monsters and humans alike were giving them curious glances, wondering why a child was going to be set free into the monster reservation. 

“Are you sure this is a good idea, miss?” One of the soldiers whispered to the nanny, “They are just a child.”

“It is what the general wishes. Plus this child is stronger than they look” She straightened Frisks collar, “Alright, you remember what the professor told you right?” 

Frisk nodded, looking around at all the monsters walking past. 

“Good. You be careful, okay? And please try to-Frisk!” The child ran off as the nanny was talking, having caught sight of a familiar face. Obedience shook her head, climbing back into the carriage. “Take me home please. 

Frisk didn’t even look back as the carriage drove off, their delight at spotting Toriel giving them tunnel vision. 

“Oh my!” Toriel laughed, looking down at the child who had just wrapped their arms around her skirts. “If it isn’t my new friend.” She looked around, “What are you doing here? Didn’t Sans take you home yesterday, as he promised?” 

Frisk nodded energetically then showed Toriel the day pass. At first she was confused, looking around again, as if someone was going to pop out and yell ‘Haha! We got you!’ And arrest her. But no, there was no danger, only human hating monsters. Dirty looks came from every side, but when they saw who the human was with they nodded respectfully, and scurried away. It wasn’t a secret that MayorAsgore’s wife was a human sympathizer, but if you wanted to stay out of trouble you wouldn’t bother her about it. 

Such action would lead to a cup of tea with the Mayor, he never yelled, but the disappointment in his big doe eyes was enough to dust a person, makeing you feel guilty about your behavior without ever raising his voice. And if that weren’t bad enough, if Sans found out you had been disrespectful, you would feel that guilt running up and down your spine for weeks. No, it was best to say nothing and hurry past. 

“Would you like to come over for some pie? I’m sure Flowie would love to see you again.”

Frisk fidgeted, obviously wanting to say yes, but then pointing to their pass again.

“I see, you are here to visit Sans. Well, lucky for you I just saw him a moment ago at Muffet’s Connivance, I’ll take you there.” She took the Child’s hand and started back the way she had come. “I’ll have to drop you off outside and then make my escape. Sans and I have a habit of talking for too long, and I have to get  back to my laundry.” She smiled

                                                        oO0Oo

“How about I trade you something instead?” Muffet waved one of her hands around, motioning to the shelves of products behind her. The store was empty but for her and Sans, who was leaning against the counter. 

“temptin’, but i need the g.” He smiled. 

“Come on Sans. OH! I know, I can set you up at Grillby’s with one of my girls.”

“no”

“Boys?”

“the g, muffet.” 

“Fine!” She opened the cash register with a ring and angrily picked out five gold coins. “Take. My. G. You. Jerk.” She snapped each gold pice on the counter individually. 

“thank you.” He swiped the coins off the counter. “swindler wants more cider. offering one bag of flour for every two cases.”  

“One for two? Hardly seems fair.” 

“i talked him down from one for five.”

Muffet pulled a face, annoyed. 

“i could tell him to take a long walk off a short pier.”

“No, no. I need the flour. Fine. I’ll have it by tonight. The usual place.” She sighed, closing the cash drawer. “Oh by the way, did you get the note to Papyrus?” 

Sans placed the coins in his pocket, “i was meanin’ to ask you about that.” He leaned back over the counter. “what in the world does ‘skeleton underground’ mean?” 

“I thought you weren’t interested in the ‘you know what’.” She teased.

“i ain’t, and if anything happens to pap because you and him are passing notes i’ll raise this store to the ground.” He shrugged, “but the humans seemed to know what it meant, so if i’m gonna’ protect pap i gotta know what it meant.” 

Muffet pouted, “you don’t have to threaten me.” She looked around to make sure no one was listening, and whispered, “As for the note, I was hoping you would know. My spy was only able to send out the two words, and I haven’t herd from him since.”  

“where did he go missing?” Sans leaned in closer, if he could just figure out what it meant, then he could know if it was a threat or not. 

Behind him the door opened wide with the tinkle of bells and the exited babbling of a toddler. Sans stiffened and cursed under his breath. 

“Is that yours?” Muffet asked. Frisk ran up to the skeleton, hopping and waving their hands about. 

“unfortunately,” Sans looked at the kid, wondering how they had found him, then out the window he spotted Toriel waving to him. He sighed and waved back. Next to him Frisk had noticed the pastry case and was pressing their face up against the glass, admiring the doughnuts. Muffet retrieved one of the pastries for the child. “How did that happen?”

“it's a long story, and i ain’t got time. i’ll be seeing you around.” He pushed off the counter and headed to the door, but Muffet caught him by the collar, pointing down to the little sign in the case. ‘Doughnuts 2G’. Sans grumbled and dropped two coins into the spiders outreached palm. 

“Pleasure doing business with you,” She cackled, the cash register chiming.

oO0Oo

Outside the streets were bustling. Monsters going every witch way, crammed together in the space. Sans weaved easily through the crowed, Frisk hot on his heals.  

He looked down at the smiling child. “now what?” He mumbled to himself, as someone bumped into him.

“Pardon me.” They said.

“no problem fella.” Sans responded, then opened his previously empty hand. In it was  a folded up pice of paper and three G. He placed the coins in his pocket and unfolded the paper, stepping out of the flow of traffic, pulling Frisk along with him. Then he broke off a pice of their doughnut and chewed it as he read. “easy enough,” he said to himself again, crumpling up the paper and adding it to his pocket. 

“so. what to do about you then?” He leaned back against the store front they were stood in front of, contemplating the best corse of action. “alright,” He clapped his hands,  “you go visit tori.” He pushed Frisk in the direction of Toriel’s house. “walk straight down this road till you hit the wall, then turn right. it’s her laundry day today, so she will probably be in the front. anyway you know what her house looks like.” 

Frisk grabbed his hand, shaking their head. 

“listen kid. i know you don’t understand this, but you’re bad for business and i gotta work. no ones gonna wanna hire me of your hangin around. plus i gotta go see a friend and she…doesn’t like visitors. so go on, go.” He pushed them off again and turned to walk down the street. “hope tori wont mind” He mumbled, preparing  to take a short cut. Frisk, unwilling to let him get away so easily, tackled him from behind. 

“what the he-” Sans managed to yelp, before the two of them disappeared from the street. 

oO0Oo

The city of New Home sat on the knees of Mount Ebott. A tall proud mountain, covered in trees and other thick foliage. It wasn’t a place to go for a nice hike, since people were known to go completely missing with no warning in the dense forest. Monsters said humans were hiding in the trees to kill unsuspecting monsters. Humans said it was monsters waiting to eat hapless humans. Both said it was very much hunted. So no one ever stepped foot up the mountain, it was more trouble than it was worth. 

In actuality the forest was a very nice place to be. A place where animals lived happily. Small streams wove through the land scape to eventually come to gather into a river, that then led into a great waterfall that seemed to have no end. The sun shone brightly and the sky was blue. Despite all the rumors it was a perfectly peaceful place. That is until Sans and Frisk burst into existence, tumbling a few feet before finally coming to a stop. 

Sans moaned, sitting up slowly, checking his bones for any major injuries. “kid?” He slowly tilted his head from side to side, it was a little sore, but not too bad. “kid, if you died, don’t tell me. i don’t wanna know.”  

Frisk popped up from where they had landed, waving to Sans to let him know they were okay. 

“wonderful.” He signed.  “look kid, you can’t jump me when i’m takin’ a short cut. i know i make it look easy, but it takes some concentratin’.”  Sans got to his feet and dusted his pants off, Frisk copying him. “wheres my hat?” 

The two of them began searching for the hat, Frisk dug in fallen leaves, looked under rocks, and behind trees. Behind one particular tree, just beyond Sans, Frisk saw something strange. Something white, and floaty. Something that was looking back. A ghost. Without so much as a shout, Frisk took off into the forest. 

“there it is” Sans put his hat back on, “now where are we.” He looked around himself, at the sky, at the nearby stream. “right, okay. kid come here, i’m takin’ you baaaaa-aaand their gone.” Sans watched as Frisk disappeared behind a standing of trees. “papyrus was never this much work.” 

“Sans?” 

“oh, hey blooks, whatcha’ doin’ so far down the mountain?” 

“Alphys needed a specific plant. Golden root. It doesn’t grow up near the mill.” Napstablook floated out from around the tree,

“right, too cold. i think i saw some just over here.” Sans waltzed over and pointed at a cluster of golden flowers growing in direct sunlight.

“Alphys is going to be so happy we found this.”

“is she out here too?”

“Yah, she’s just over-”

A scream cut through the air. Napstablook jumped and hid behind Sans, who sighed. 

oO0Oo

Frisk hadn't gone very far before getting control of themselves. It was silly to be running away from Sans in a forest where they didn’t know where they were. Even if there was a ghost. They turned around to head back. 

A little yellow monster was watching them, standing statue still, eyes wide. They stared at each other for a few moments. Then Frisk waved, and the monster screamed.

“Wh-what! H-how did you get up here!?” The Monster dashed behind a tree. “G-go away!” 

For some reason Frisk felt a twinge of accomplishment at the sight of the yellow monster, but they pushed it out of the way and walked over to her. Trying to calm the monster down, making “It’s okay I won't hurt you” sounds.  

“No. no. Go away! P-please!” She walked backwards around the tree, “stop fallow-ah!” She tripped on a root and fell over backwards. 

“alphys?” Sans walked into the clearing, Napstablook right behind. 

“Sans, t-thank g-goodness. You have t-to help me! Theres a-a human here!” 

Sans helped her to her feet. “uh, yah. i can explain that actually.” 

At that moment Frisk saw Napstablook again and panicked. Running over to hide behind Sans. This in turn frightened Alphys, who ran around to be on the other side of Sans.

“Here Alphys, we found the golden root.” Napstablook floated forward, holding out the flowers. Frisk, scooted around Sans to be further away from the ghost, making Alphys squeak in fear, and scoot around to be further away from the human.

“thats enough ring around the skeleton.” Sans laughed, grabbing them both, setting them on opposite sides of himself.  

“How did a human get here?” Alphys asked, keeping her distance from Frisk, apprehensive.

“that’s sort of my fault actually. i was coming here and they, well…jumped me.” Sans looked down at Frisk who was still cowering behind him.”kid, what are you doing?” 

Frisk pointed a shaky finger at Napstablook. 

“what? blook? you telln’ me you’ll willingly run into a slum full of monsters, but ghosts are where you draw the line?” 

Frisk shook their head and buried their face into Sans’ shirt. “come on, whats one more monster?”

“Technically I’m not a monster though. I’m a dead human.”

“still.” Sans pushes Frisk toward Napstablook. “kid this is napstablook. blook this is frisk.” Frisk walked forward tentatively. 

“Oh, um, hello,” Napstablook waved. “It’s nice to meet you”

Frisk waved back. 

“there see. you stop beein’ scared, and you got to meet a real live ghost.” 

Napstablook paused, repeating Sans’ words to himself, then realized the pun. “S-sans! Thats not funny!” 

“heh heh, sorry couldn’t help it.” he shrugged. “al we found your golden root.” He looked around but she wasn’t next to him any more, instead she was standing some ways off. “alphys? don’t tell me your suddenly scared of the blooks too?”

“N-no. of corse not, it’s the…them.” She points at frisk. 

“really? i know you don't like humans, but this is just a kid. they can't hurt you.”

“B-but they can tell other humans where I am. And b-besides y-you said you wouldn’t bring anyone here u-unless you ask first.” She pouted. 

“i didn’t bring them here on purpose, they jumped me.”

“Oh…w-well, t-they can still bring more humans here!”

“nah, like i said we took a short cut. even if the kid intended on tellin’ someone where you are, they couldn’t.” 

Alphys stepped out from behind the tree. “Are you sure its safe?”

“mostly.”

“Promise?” “never.”

“Sans! Come on be serious!”

“Did I hear someone say Sans?” Came a voice from behind a grouping of trees. A tall pale man stepped into view. He was dressed in the latest French fashion. His long legs were made of ceramic and jointed like a dolls. 

“Oh my dear, there you are.” He simpered, gracefully walking over to Sans. “You did have me worried, you know you were supposed to be here yesterday. You do remember that, don’t you?”

“yah, sorry, i got a little tied up.”

“Mmhmm? Well I’m glad you finally came by. My readers would be devastated if they were deprived of my wisdom. One woman wrote asking me about what she should ware to a ball this evening. I guess she will have to just decide on her own. Come come, lets go to the mill. They can put the rest of my response in the morning run.” 

Without question the group fallowed behind Mettaton, except for Alphys. “Wh-whait!” She stammered, fidgeting with the joints on her prosthetic claw. “I think maybe y-you should, um, take the human away?” 

Mettaton spun around gracefully, “Human?” He spotted Frisk, and sauntered over. “Forgive me, I didn’t see you. Are you a rogue fan come to see Auntie Mettaton in person?” 

“don’t think the kid can read yet, ton.” 

“Nonsense, your never too young for my advice.” 

“s’not what I meant.”

“Let me see. You probably want a bit of help with your colors, yes? Lucky for you I happen to have some swatches at the mill. Come now little star, I shall guide you on the path to fashionableness.” Mettaton took Frisk by the hand and led them away toward the mill. 

“B-but! drat.” Alphys mumbled. Sans put a hand on her shoulder, the two of them fallowed behind the group. 

He was about ninety percent sure that the kid was nothing to worry about, just a bit of a nuisance really. But that other ten percent, that nagging feeling that something wasn’t quite right. He tried to look at the kids stats again, and as before they were normal. But for just a split second he thought he saw something, something hiding behind the normal. Then his socket began to ache so he closed it, running  a finger over the cracks. It was hurting a lot more lately, maybe he wasn’t getting enough sleep, or maybe the wether was changing. 

“storms rollin in.” He mumbled, looking at the perfectly blue sky. 

oO0Oo

The rest of the day passed rather pleasantly. After about an hour, Alphys seemed to warm up to the presence of the child. Her mind turning from agitation to more important things. She struck up a conversation with Sans about her current experiment, taking him into the back room to ask his advice. He fallowed happily, always glad to be back in the apothecary. 

Mettaton went about helping Frisk become a more fashionable young human. How to walk, how to stand, how to hold a tea cup in a way that told everyone else in the room that you were important and should be noticed. As for colors, Frisk was instructed to were more warm colors, such as red, and warned away from green in any form. 

Napstablook was convinced into playing something on his fiddle so Mettaton could instruct Frisk in the ways of dance, which the child picked up rather quickly. “a star pupal” Mettaton had commented, after barley tweaking the Childs posture.  

“There you go, one two three, one two three. You are a natural, little star.” Mettaton praised Frisk who giggled in happy response. “I haven’t had a decent dance partner since before the accident.” He sighed wistfully “ Ah but that was the past. Now is now. And now I have you little star.” He twirled Frisk. 

When the sun began to set over the mountain Mettaton gave Sans his replies for the paper, baying him to take them quickly to the press to be printed. Sans assured him they would be on time, and that he would bring a copy as soon as it was available. Frisk said goodby to their new friends, and then took Sans’ hand.

Sans surprised himself by not being bothered by this, as he had been. Remembering back to a time when he and his brother would go everywhere hand in hand. It was hard not to get nostalgic with this kid around, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. He shrugged it off, quickly doing the calculations in his head to teleport them to the entrance to the slum. 

“alright kiddo.,there’s your nanny. get going before she starts another witch hunt. oh and uh, don’t mention alphys, i think she would faint dead away if she thought you were tellin’ people about her. kay?” 

Frisk didn’t respond to this, rubbing their eyes and yawning. Leaning heavily against Sans arm. 

“right. okay go on.” He give Frisk a little nudge. Frisk began to run over to Nanny, but turned around, running back to Sans to give him a hug.

“alright, alright.” He mumbled patting the kid on the head. “your nanny’s watin’”  Frisk cooed at the pat, then let go, ready to go home and sleep. Sans tipped his hat to Obedience, who nodded curtly. 

“Let’s head home.” Nanny opened the door to the carriage. The professor was waiting inside, Frisk, stoped getting in the carriage, nervous at her sudden appearance.

“Hello Frisk. Have a seat.” She waved to the bench across from here. Nanny helped Frisk inside and sat them down. “I’m very exited to here about your day.” The professor said,  pulling something, out of her pocket. “Why don’t you tell me all about it?” She ran her finger over the polished surface of a small brass bell.

The door of the carriage closed and it took off. Sans found himself waving at it as it drove away, a soft ringing drifting to him on the twilight breeze. He slowly put his hand in his pocket, and looked around, a little embarrassed. There was no one around however. Just the guards at the gate who were paying him no mind. With a yawn he stepped back behind the walls of the slum. First he would take Mettaton’s replies to the paper, then he would head over to Grillby’s. Just a small brake before he had to head down to the docks for the Muffet job, he thought to himself, whistling the tune that Napstablook had played earlier that day.  

[xxnashiraxx]

With Stars to Fill My Dream (11) - Try to Keep the Truth From Showing Up

Hi!! Sorry for the delay!!! I've been having fun learning how to make gifs and things for this fic! It's been a blast, but that's why it's taken so long!

✧˖ Please remember, the update schedule has been adjusted to every other week - Chapter 12 will come out on 10/20! ˖✧

Summary: A street-smart, musically inclined human girl with a tragic past gets abducted by a nautiloid after her painfully average shift at a retro singing diner. What's worse- putting your all into Olivia Newton-John and Travolta for lousy tips, or getting your guts ripped out by a gnoll? Or worse- getting turned into a hideous humanoid squid? Ofelia Montez will have to see if she can survive long enough to find out.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Mentions of past abuse and trauma. Canon-typical violence and gore.

Word Count: 9,535

I have some screenshots below, as well as the non-spoiler version of the art at the end of the chapter on AO3! Please enjoy and happy October!!!

Behold! The spoiler-free version of this artwork! Just in time for spooky season!

+Blighted Village shenanigans and sucky, angsty stuff.

✧˖Tag List: @khywren

Opening under the cut!

“Won’t you try? She likes you.” Astarion scowls at their annoying half-elf cleric, going back to sewing.

“While it feels good to hear you say it, Shadowheart dear, I’m afraid she isn’t taking visitors. She didn’t even bat an eye when young Wyll’s patron turned him into a devil. I’m sure seeing my face wouldn’t cheer her up much.”

“Ugh, you’re such a prick, you know that? Imagine just trying,” She turns heel, complaining the entire way back to the fire. He snickers, finishing up the filigree near the edges of the piece. It’s adequate, hardly his best work, but it’ll do. It’d surprised him that he’d even started the project, to begin with. He’s hardly ever been one for sentimentality but… well, he’d never been given the choice before, had he? She may think it’s shit craftsmanship, anyhow. Either emotional reaction would be satisfying.

“Knock, knock, darling.”

“Go away.”

“Please let me in, everyone’s worried about you and expects me to do something about it. Nonsense, I know, I told them you hate my guts and wish I’d die.” She flings the flap open, her hair a wild mess winding around her head. Furious eyes glare daggers at him, dark kohl smeared beneath them.

Quite a sight.

“What? I never said that!” Her high-pitched voice makes him snicker and she rolls her eyes. “Right, a joke. Very funny. Look, I told Wyll I was sorry about what happened to him. I gave Karlach an air hug. I told that blue-winged bitch to take a long walk off a short pier. Not that it’d work, she can fucking fly...” Her expletives make him smirk, watching her wave her arms around her head as she turns back to look inside her tent. “Now can’t I just brood in here about what stupid Raphael said, in peace, without everyone trying to butt in?” He smiles, thinking she looks rather ridiculous, before stepping inside and making himself at home atop the little stool she keeps in there. She doesn’t protest further, meaning she’s begrudgingly happy he’s here, and won’t shoo him out.

“You know, when a devil tries to get me to take a deal by dangling things in front of me they’ll know I would want to hear, I don’t take it too seriously. He was only offering it to see if you’d take the bait.”

“Gee, you don’t think I didn’t know that?” She grimaces after she says it, eyeing him apologetically as she sinks down onto her messy bedroll. “Sorry… I just… how else would he have known those things to even offer that?” Astarion waves a hand dismissively.

“They know all, but it’s only to get you to accept their offer. They’ll provide, but once that’s done you’re indebted to them for eternity. Never forget that.” She looks down into her lap, gaze troubled. When she looks back up at him it’s with those wet round eyes that he abhors.

Perhaps they’re starting to grow on him, however…

[zegrvshvghes]

Request-AF19

Someone requested af19 and lf63 vacation fic but i cannot find the request for the life of me. had the entire fic written in my notes and boom that bitch disappeared

You had been looking forward to this vacation with Adam for months. A whole week by the beach, just the two of you. That is, until he told you his brother Luca was coming along. At first, you were a bit disappointed, but you tried to brush it off. You knew how important family was to Adam, and you respected that.

The three of you arrived at the beach house late at night. It was a cute, cozy little place, just a short walk away from the beach. You were excited to explore the town and soak up some sun the next day. But first, you were all exhausted from the long drive and went straight to bed.

The next morning, you woke up to the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. You got dressed and wandered outside to the living room, where Adam and Luca were already sitting at the kitchen table, sipping on coffee.

Luca was an older, less reserved version of Adam. You said good morning and poured yourself a cup of coffee, excited to start the day.

The three of you walked down to the beach, wearing your bathing suits and carrying towels and sunscreen. As soon as you saw the white sand and the crystal clear water, you felt all your worries slip away. You ran towards the ocean, feeling the waves wash over your feet and the sun on your skin.

Adam and Luca set up their towels next to yours, and you all spent the day basking in the sun, swimming in the ocean, and lounging under the shade of an umbrella. You even played a game of beach volleyball, which Adam and Luca were surprisingly good at.

It was nice spending time with both of them, but you couldn't help but feel a bit left out sometimes. They had a strong brotherly bond that was hard to break through. You tried to engage in conversation with Luca as much as you could, but he was more interested in talking to Adam.

You didn't want to be the third wheel in their dynamic, but at the same time, you wished Adam would pay more attention to you. You tried to talk to him about it later that night, but he dismissed it, saying that he was just catching up with Luca after not seeing him for a while.

The next few days went by pretty much the same way. You all spent most of your time at the beach, occasionally going out for dinner or drinks at night. It was fun, but it wasn't exactly what you had envisioned for your romantic getaway with Adam.

One day, you decided to take matters into your own hands. You woke up early and jogged to a nearby town to explore on your own. You saw cute little shops and cafes, and even stumbled upon a pier with a breathtaking view of the ocean.

When you came back to the beach house later that afternoon, Adam and Luca were surprised to see you alone. You explained where you had been and showed them some of the pictures you had taken.

Luca seemed genuinely interested and asked you questions about the town. Adam, on the other hand, seemed a bit annoyed. He said he wished you had invited him to come along, as if he had forgotten that this was supposed to be your vacation together.

That night, after Luca went to bed, you finally got to talk to Adam about your concerns. You told him how you felt left out at times and how you wished he would pay more attention to you.

At first, he seemed defensive and said he didn't see anything wrong with their dynamic. But eventually, he realized that he needed to make an effort to include you more in their conversations and activities.

The rest of the vacation was a lot more enjoyable after that. Adam made an effort to spend more one-on-one time with you, taking you out on romantic walks and planning a surprise dinner on the beach.

You still enjoyed spending time with Luca, but it was nice to know that Adam was putting your relationship first. The vacation ended up being a lesson in compromise and communication, and it made your bond with Adam even stronger.

[drops-of-june]

CHAPTER I : "Highway to Hell"

• I don’t own the characters, this fanfic is based on the TV-Show Stranger Things (second season) from a Hargrove!Reader POV.

• Quick reminder to readers, I'm not a english native speaker, so I'm sorry if there are any mistakes. Hope you understand.

• You are not allowed to translate/repost inside or outside tumblr this fanfic.

• TRIGGER WARNINGS: Mentions of violence.

Summary: Neal Hargrove and his new wife want a fresh start, so they decide to move from California. Y/n says goodbye to her friends to begin the journey to a new home in Indiana.

Word Count: 2.2K

CHAPTER I: 'Highway to Hell'

The sun was slowly descending, bathing the city in a golden light that reflected off the buildings and the waters of the bay. The sky, tinged with oranges and pinks, promised a spectacular sunset. 

Near the bay, the ocean breeze was fresh and salty, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of the sea. Families strolled along the pier, children ate cotton candy and gazed in awe at the boats bobbing gently in the waves. Some teenagers skateboarded, and from a car radio with the window open, music played. 

Sitting on the beach in San Diego, a girl watched the sea water with a mixture of nostalgia and melancholy. Her long, wavy blonde hair caught the light and swayed gently in the ocean breeze.

Her blue eyes, normally full of defiance and confidence, reflected a deep sadness as they followed the coming and going of the waves. She was sitting cross-legged on the warm sand, barefoot, her fingers absently playing with the grains of sand. She wore a tank top with the faded logo of a rock band and worn denim shorts, showing off her tanned legs from the californian sun.

At her side, rested her leather jacket and combat boots, contrasting with the serene atmosphere of the beach. On her wrist, several leather and metal bracelets jingled softly, and a small fresh tattoo on her ankle peeked out every time she moved her foot. It was a star, a reminder of days spent under the California sun.

The girl looked out at the ocean, her thoughts filled with memories of sunny days, shared laughter and moments of freedom. Each wave breaking on the shore seemed to take a piece of her heart, while the sky was tinged with shades of orange and pink. The beach, her refuge and home, slowly faded into the distance, leaving behind an emptiness that the new town she was going to could hardly fill.

The salty sea breeze caressed her face, wiping away a lone tear that slid down her cheek. She stood up slowly, shaking the sand out of her shorts and sliding her leather jacket over her shoulders. With one last glance at the ocean, she stored every detail in her memory before turning and walking to her car, where a group of boys were waiting for her. 

‘I told you she'd be here.’ said one of them. ‘You weren't thinking of leaving without saying goodbye properly, were you, y/n/n?’ He joked, wrapping a quick hug around her. The girl let out a giggle, and looked at the tallest of them pleadingly. He shook his head, as he raised both hands in the air.

‘I couldn't stop them, I told them you wouldn't want too much fuss. But… here we are’. He apologized. Then the other girl in the group, who had definitely been crying judging by her puffy eyes, pouted.

‘I'm going to miss you, babe.’ She muttered shuffling towards her, looking at the ground. ‘And I hate you for leaving me alone with these two morons.’ She complained as she hugged her friend. The two boys pretended to be offended, but she ignored them. Y/n let herself be hugged and blinked rapidly to keep from crying. Sam, the taller one, pretended not to have seen anything. All three knew the Hargrove girl didn't like to be seen vulnerable. Sam stood idly by for a moment. 

‘Can I have one hug too?’ He asked, timidly. She laughed, and stretched out her arms so he could say goodbye too. The boy dug his nose into her hair and murmured softly, just enough so that only she could hear him, ‘I'll take care of them, you don't worry, okay?’ He blinked rapidly as well, but couldn't stop a tear from falling down his cheek, so he quickly brushed it away with the back of his hand. He handed her a book, and she looked at it curiously. As she paid closer attention to the object, she noticed that it was a notebook. ‘I've also written down our mailing addresses and phone numbers in there, so you have no excuse for not communicating from time to time.’ 

She quickly flipped through the notebook and glimpsed that it was filled with photos of them and encouraging messages for her new adventure. She closed it, knowing that if she saw it there she would end up crying right there. Y/n looked at her friends one last time.

Molly was the bass player in the band. With her short red hair, always neatly styled in a carefree style that framed her freckled face, she stood out wherever she went. Her green eyes, bright and always filled with a spark of enthusiasm, caught everyone's attention with their friendly and understanding gaze.

Her style reflected a mix of casual and bohemian, in keeping with her sensitive and cheerful personality. She tended to dress in distressed jeans and band t-shirts, but always added her own touch with colorful accessories such as beaded bracelets, long necklaces, and printed scarves. On her feet, she almost always wore Converse sneakers decorated with drawings and phrases she had written herself.

Of slim build and average height, Molly had an infectious energy that made everyone around her feel more alive. When she played the bass, she gave herself completely to the music, her fingers moving deftly over the strings, and her body swaying to the beat, showcasing her passion and talent. Her smile was constant, a genuine expression of her giggly and optimistic nature.

Molly was the most sensitive of the group, always ready to listen and offer words of encouragement. Her friends appreciated her ability to empathize and her ability to find the positive in any situation. Her laugh, light and melodious, was a frequent sound that filled the band's rehearsals and shared moments, creating a welcoming and happy atmosphere around her.

Adam, the band's drummer and quintessential jokester, was an unstoppable force of energy and good humor. With his short dark hair, often tousled as if he had just come out of a concert, he had a mischievous smile that never disappeared from his face. His brown eyes sparkled with a playful sparkle, always ready for a joke or a sarcastic comment to make everyone laugh.

His casual, laid-back style was reflected in the way he dressed: punk band t-shirts, ripped jeans and worn Converse sneakers. He always wore leather bracelets and flashy rings, giving him a rebellious and distinctive touch. Although he wasn't the tallest of the group, his presence was magnetic and his energy infectious.

When he was behind the drums, Adam became the engine of the band. His beats were powerful and precise, setting the rhythm with a skill that showed his passion for the music. Off stage, he was the one who always found a way to lift the band's spirits when they were tired or discouraged. Whether it was with a funny quip, an exaggerated story or simply his positive presence, Adam ensured that everyone was ready to face any challenge with a smile on their face.

And then there was big Sam. The band's lead singer and the most focused figure in the group, he was a young man with a serene presence and a wisdom that transcended his youth. With an athletic build and imposing stature, his broad shoulders and confident posture inspired confidence. Although his appearance could appear somewhat unkempt, with slightly tousled dark brown hair and the shadow of a stubble, his calm, deep gaze revealed a mind that was always alert and reflective.

As a vocalist, Sam had a powerful voice that captured the attention of everyone on stage. Together with y/n, they formed a guitar duo that seemed to be in sync on every note and chord, displaying a musical connection that only years of friendship and collaboration could forge. Despite being the oldest of the group, Sam was not only a natural leader but also y/n's closest confidant, with whom he shared a deep understanding and a special connection.

Responsible and attentive, Sam was always willing to listen and offer wise counsel when his friends needed it. His kindness and understanding nature made him easy to approach, even if his reserved appearance could sometimes give a different impression. Although Sam and y/n had dated in the past, their friendship was the cornerstone that held them together, proving that their relationship was much deeper than any passing romance.

Sam was the anchor of the group, the friend they all trusted and the leader who guided the band with firmness and affection. So the girl knew they'd be ok. 

Y/n was the embodiment of the band's rebellious soul, a force of nature both on and off stage. With her tousled blonde hair and blue eyes full of intensity, she radiated a magnetic energy that instantly captured the attention of everyone around her. 

As lead guitarist, y/n was a performer with an exceptional command of the instrument. On stage, her presence was electrifying; her power chords and fiery solos not only elevated the audience's energy, but also conveyed deep emotion and defiance. 

Offstage, y/n was equally impressive. She was known for her unwavering determination and willingness to defy convention. She was unafraid to voice her opinions and fight for what she believed in, inspiring her bandmates and fans to follow suit. Her presence in the group was more than just musical; she was a beacon of authenticity and passion that had united them as a band from the beginning.

Y/n smiled at them. Those people were like her brothers and sister, the kind you choose and you don't get just by blood. 

‘I'm going to miss you, guys. Misbehave and make me proud.’ she joked, causing them to burst out laughing. Then she got into her vehicle, and watched them in the rearview mirror. They were with their arms around each other's shoulders, side by side. She started the engine and shifted into gear to head one last time toward the place she had considered home until now. 

When she arrived, she found that almost everything was loaded into the cars. Max, her adoptive sister, was waiting for her so she could stow things in her Impala, which she did as soon as she parked. Then she quietly climbed into the vehicle as if seeking shelter in a storm.

Not to lose the habit, Neil was in a bad mood. 

Consequently, Billy was in a bad mood too. 

Y/n watched her twin, leaning over his camaro with a serious expression. When he saw that she was watching him, his gesture eased gently, almost imperceptibly, one that only she could notice. 

Y/n entered the house for the last time, and made her way to her room. It was amazing how her life could fit into three boxes and a guitar case. Without the furniture, and her things, the empty place looked sad. She carried the guitar on her back and stacked the three boxes before lifting them. They were heavy, but she still managed to walk out of the room with them. 

Without any need for her to have asked for help, or for anyone to ask him, Billy appeared out of nowhere and picked up the topmost one, freeing it a bit from the weight and clearing her view a bit. When they reached the Impala, he set the box down on the ground beside the car and retreated to his own, to climb in and start the engine. Although she didn't need the help, his sister appreciated the gesture.

Y/n/n was the only one who fully understood Billy. While to everyone else, Billy was rough and gruff, he had always assumed a protective role toward y/n. Although he often displayed a harsh and rebellious attitude towards the outside world, with her he was softer and more understanding, showing a more tender and caring side to his personality. Something he clearly only showed when they were alone. 

Since their mother had disappeared from their lives, the Hargrove twins' world seemed to be turned upside down. Not that their life before had been perfect, but after her departure, the violence in the home had worsened. While they suffered the loss of a mother, Neal seemed to blame everything on his children. Insults, beatings and punishments were commonplace in the home. 

Although Billy was physically stronger than his twin, it was she who had the courage to put a stop to her father's abuse. And while the violence did not end, the siblings learned to protect and cover for each other, to avoid punishment and beatings when Neal came back drunk to the house.

With Susan's arrival, things didn't change much, and they only added two more people for Neal to assault. Once, y/n tried to convince Susan to leave, but she insisted that she was in love with her father, and that she hoped that someday she would end up changing for the better. 

And Max, being the youngest in the house, ended up being protected by y/n/n, and consequently, although it wasn't much to his liking, by Billy. 

After stowing everything in the trunk of the car, she placed her guitar case in the back seat, next to Max's skateboard, and climbed into the driver's seat. The girl was looking through the notebook Sam had given her, and stopped on a page. On it was a picture of y/n and her friends, all smiling at the camera. 

Underneath the picture, the Hargrove girl was able to distinguish Sam's neat handwriting.

‘Hey princess, don't hold back. The rest of the world deserves to know how wonderful you are’.

[barkspawn]

Girl I saw the first kiss prompts and you know we gotta see shane and the farmer with the drunk first kisss

I'm still obsessed with him calling her Oats

Shane and Amelia sat on the dock, celebrating Amelia’s birthday with three six-packs. A few weeks back, Shane told her he’d be her company on her birthday. She had spent the last few alone, and Shane couldn’t have that. 

She was always fairly shy but grew close to Shane quickly. He had pushed her away, but she saw something in him. It helped that Jas loved her immensely. 

Amelia cracked open another beer from the cooler, passing one to Shane, who laughed. 

“Fuck, Oats. You’re like half a beer ahead of me,” he watched her as she took another long drink. She hummed and pulled off her sneakers and socks before sitting on the edge of the pier, her toes barely reaching the water. Shane laughed before following suit, his feet able to sink into the water a few inches. 

“You’re,” he teased, reaching over to tap her nose, which she scrunched up, “short as fuck.”

She smacked at him, her lower lip pushed out in a pout, “it's my birthday, don't be mean.”

He laughed, the pillar holding him up, “speakin’ of which,” he took another swig, “whaddya want?”

She blinked over at him, not sure if she was too drunk to understand or if he was too drunk to make sense. 

“I… Don't know what you're asking me.”

Shane rolled his eyes, kicking his feet so the water splashed with them, “for your birthday. Whaddya want?”

She gestured around them, “this is about all I need, Shane. Don't you dare buy me anything or I'll shove–”

“Yoba, okay, damn,” he held his hands up in defeat, “nothing extra, got it.”

“It's already pretty sweet of you to do this much for me.”

He laughed, the sound making her jump and echoing through the woods, “now that's something I don't get called every day.”

She blinked over at him, like he was a madman, “sweet?”

He nodded, chuckling through his last drink of the can. 

“But you are sweet. Like really sweet,” she hummed, shifting so she was leaning against him, “I don't see anyone else rushing to hang out with me. Or setting up our own little party. And definitely not asking if I'd want a gift on top of it!” 

She reached over and poked his stomach, expecting a lot more give. Then, she felt bad for expecting a lot more give.

Quietly she added, “you're sweet. At least you are to me. Don't think you're not.”

“Or what?” he joked, his voice soft, “you'll kick my ass, pipsqueak?”

She huffed and shoved him, “I take it back. You're a dick.”

She laughed as he nearly fell into the water, shooting her a glare. It's not like it would be super cold. It's the middle of summer.  And it only came up to, what, their waists? Well, probably her chest. 

Still, she rolled her eyes, “don't be a baby. It's just water.”

“That you can't even reach from here,” he shot back, not expecting the shove he got in return, “ah, fuck!” he managed before falling into the small lake, submerging for a moment before standing, his eyes a strange mix of surprised, mad, and devious. 

Amelia held her sides, the laughing feeling uncontrollable, “oh my Yoba… You should see your face right now…” she watched as he walked over, assuming he was coming to climb out. She pulled a leg up so she could stand and help, but his hand caught her ankle, “not so fast, sunshine,” her eyes widened as she realized what was happening, letting out a scream as he grabbed her legs and fell backward, bringing her with him into the water. They came up, Amelia clinging to his shirt for dear life as he laughed.

“You are so fucking dead,” she glared up at him, the water colder than she thought it would be. She let go, running her fingers through her hair to get it off of her face, “when I'm done with you,” she just glared, her threats lost in the beer and chill of the water. 

“You're kinda cute when you get all mad,” he teased, her mouth falling open in surprise. 

“I'm so not cute. I'm terrifying, I'll have you know,” she huffed as she started to climb back up the dock. Shane caught her around the waist in an attempt to toss her back underwater, but as she gasped, she clung to his shirt, pulling him down with her. 

This time, they both laughed as they stood, his arm still around her waist while her fists remained balled in his shirt.

“You're such an asshole,” she laughed, starting to pull back before yelping and clinging to him, her arms around his neck to keep her as far from the ground as possible. 

“What–” Shane started, looking around where he could, her arms tightening enough so he could feel her shaking, “what the fuck happened?” He held her there, carrying her to the edge of the lake. 

She seemed to come to her senses, pulling back a little before offering a sheepish smile, “I uh, something touched my foot…”

He looked at her for a long moment before laughing, neither of them quite letting go. 

“You're serious?” he teased, mocking her tone from earlier, “I'm terrifying.” 

As he laughed more, she pouted, wiggling from his grasp and climbing out of the water and heading toward the dock and grabbing his hoodie he removed earlier in the night. She pulled it on, relishing in the warmth of it as his laughter died down. 

He watched her for a long moment, trying to figure out why her wrapped in his hoodie made him a weird mix of sad and happy. After a moment, she noticed the look on his face, feeling very small wrapped in the oversized hoodie. She bit down on her lower lip, arms wrapped around herself. 

“What? I'm cold and you had a jacket.” 

He walked over to her, a smirk finally playing on his lips.

“It's massive on you.”

She pouted, “that makes it comfy. It's big on you to begin with.”

It took them a moment to realize just how close to one another they were, just staring at each other for a long moment before she continued. 

“So, are you gonna make fun of me for being small again?” 

She was going to continue but was stopped by his hands on her shoulders. 

“Oats, I like small.”

She looked up at him, trying to read his expression. In reality, she really wasn't that small. She was shorter than most people in town at around 5’5” but it's not like she couldn't reach anything. 

Shane had always picked on her for it. It annoyed her at first, but it grew on her. She enjoyed their banter and how they made fun of one another. She watched over his face for a moment, subconsciously reaching up to push a wet strand of hair from his face. 

She knew he was drunk. 

She knew she was drunk. 

She didn't care. 

She stood on her toes and pulled him down to her, finding his lips in what was meant to be a far more graceful way. It didn't take him long to respond, his surprised hum shifting into one of need and desire. She ran her fingers back through his hair, her mind fuzzy from the alcohol and kiss. Their tongues met for a brief moment before she stepped back, her hand over her mouth as her eyes grew wide. 

“Shane, I… fuck, I don't know where that came from… I'm so sorry…”

He looked over her face, his heart still racing as he chose his words as carefully as his mind would allow. 

“I'm not.”

She stopped, blinking up at him before nodding slowly, “okay… but you might be when–”

“Nope,” he cut her off, “can promise you I won't be.”

She just looked over at him, “Shane, I…”

“I'm not trying to make you feel bad or whatever, if you're sorry, that’s fine. But you've got a right to know that I'm not.” he finished, staring past her toward the beer. 

She bit her lower lip, concentrating hard on how she felt about Shane. She knew he was sweet and funny and genuine. He's also gruff and rude at times. But he hasn't been lately. She preferred his company over anyone... It's a kiss. They're not fucking or running away together. It's just… Kissing. 

“Shane?”

He crouched, digging through the cooler as she knelt behind him, nearly scaring the life out of him. 

“I'm not sorry.”

He shifted, sitting against the pole of the pier. He looked confused, finally looking over her face. His expression softened as he understood hers. 

“I… It seemed like…”

“I'm not. It just happened fast, ya know?” she started, “I just… Did it. Without thinking. But now I did the thinking.”

His face shifted to confusion for a moment before she pursed her lips, deciding to be blunt, “I want to do it again.”

“What?” 

“I want to kiss you. Again.”

He couldn't help but laugh at the resolve on her face, her eyes narrowing. He started to shift so he could stand, “you're too tall. Sit.”

He blinked, steadying herself as she knelt in front of him. 

“Do you even want me to or am I…?”

“For fucks’ sake, Oats, you think too much,” he leaned forward and pulled her down to him. It wasn't graceful or even completely accurate, but it was enough for them. She had her fingers tangled in his hair as the kiss continued, quiet hums building from their chests as they moved. They broke for air, though she continued pressing sloppy kisses along his jaw and down his neck. 

Reluctantly, he pulled back, looking her in the eye, “can't be doing that. Kissin’ is one thing. Nothing else is happening unless we're sober.”

She couldn't help but smile, moving so her thumb could brush his cheek, leaning in so she could steal a too-soft kiss, “I told you that you're sweet.”

He smiled, stealing one firmer kiss, “only ‘cause I like ya.”

[puddingsdiary]

Sailing into the Unknown

Hi guys. I know I have been pretty quiet with my own works. Inspiration is a fickle thing 😅

The following AU story is inspired by this increadible fanart:

https://weibo.com/1266321474/4748793638029005

Please enjoy!

~~~~~~

The harbor bustled with energy and movement. Sailors and dock workers hurried from one end to the other, loading and unloading the ships. Crates, barrels and sacks filled to the brim with all kinds of wares stacked at the pier or on carriages. 

Like an island within the stormy sea MC stood and gaped. Next to her was Kiki, best friend and future maid, as well as four huge trunks and a couple of smaller containers. Harboring all what was left from her old life.

MC looked up her new home for the next eight weeks, if not more, Souvenir, the biggest and fastest ship crossing the Atlantic.

~~~~~~~

[Flashback]

MC knocked at her father's study.

"Come in!"

"You wanted to see me, father?"

"Ah… yes!" Putting the documents down he was just reading her father scrutinized her from head to toe. Satisfied with what he was seeing he slightly nodded.

"You remember Lucien?"

MC furrowed her brows searching in her memory for such a name. A man with brown hair styled with a bowl cut and strange unreadable eyes wearing a doctor's coat popped up.

"Professor Lucien from the University?"

"Yes. You'll marry him in spring next year."

"Marry him? I don't even know that man!" MC couldn't believe her ears.

"MC, I introduced him to you this summer and I know you talked with him for some time. That's more than enough."

She stared at her father in utter disbelief, her hands trembling.

"Yes you did, father. But talking to a man for a couple of minutes and knowing him enough to marry him are two totally different things."

"You're 22 now, other women your age are already settled with a family on their own." 

MC's father was not wrong, she was fairly old for not being married, and Professor Lucien wasn't too bad to look at, still MC had worked hard to be an asset in her father's merchant business aiming to inherit it one day. She highly doubted to be able to continue that path once married.

"I want to meet him!" Maybe if she talked to Lucien…

"That will be impossible in the short run. He resettled into the Caribbean shortly after your meeting."

"You're shipping me off not only into a life with a stranger but also into the unknown?"

"It's for your best."

"My best? My best would be staying by your side, leading the company!"

"I've indulged your antics long enough! As if you, a woman, could ever become a merchant, ha. Four weeks from now the Souvenir will take you down to Lucien. The passage is already paid. You may choose a maid to go with you. I have nothing more to say about the matter."

[Flashback end]

~~~~~~~

"MC? … MC!"

"What? Sorry, Kiki, I spaced out." 

"Thinking again about that discussion?" MC sighed, Kiki knew her well. 

"If it had been a discussion we wouldn't be standing here." As she said that a tall handsome man wearing all black except a red bandana walked over to them.

"MC?"

"That's me, yes."

"I'm Victor, captain of the Souvenir." 

And hell of a merchant. MC, as anybody with respective ties, knew the name Victor Li. She expected him to be way older.

"My ship, my rules. As long as you remember we will come along."

"Yes, Sir."

"capt'n."

"Pardon?"

"Capt'n, not Sir."

"Oh, ok." MC tried to read his face but she couldn't see anything in this poker face. Just like the rumors said.

Victor turned towards the pile next to them.

"Your personal belongings?"

"Yes, Si …capt'n. I was told we can only bring one piece for each of us into the cabin."

"That's right. We're a merchant ship, not a luxury cruiser. Space is sparse"

"Of course. Then that would be those."  MC pointed at one of the big trunks and a smaller suitcase. Victor nodded, then waved two sailors over and gave them orders to load in her stuff. He himself lifted up the heavy trunk onto his right shoulder as if it weighed nothing and carried the suitcase with his left hand.

"Follow me." With large strides he got on board.

Kiki elbowed MC as soon as he turned his back to them.

"Doesn't he look good? And how strong he is!"

At the glimmer in the eyes of her best friend MC herself could only chuckle.

"I'm an engaged woman on her way to her future husband."

"That doesn't mean you can look at other dishes on the menu." Kiki wiggled her brows. "And at the end you'll know everyone on this ship better than this Lucien. It's just not fair."

No it wasn't but they couldn't change it.

Victor showed them their cabins, the smallest closet at home was bigger, and advised them to stay inside until they left the harbor, to not get in the crew's way.

~~~~~~~~~~

The ship was in motion for some time when there was a knocking on her door.

"The capt'n wants to see you."

An older sailor stood in front of the cabin's door. As soon as MC and Kiki left the cabin he jogged up the stairs towards the deck. Not used to the swaying floor they had trouble following him.

Victor was talking to one of his crew when they arrived. When he saw the two women his brows shot up to vanish beneath his bangs.

"Not the usual getup." Victor was right. They still wore both the same coats but beneath MC as well as Kiki had changed their travel dresses into solid boots, pants and shirts.

"I think it might be disadvantageous running around a ship in a skirt and dress shoes."

A light smile grazed Victor's lips.

"So there is actually some brain behind your … eyes."

"Of course! And what's with that break?"

"What break?"

"You just said 'So there is actually some brain behind your … eyes.' This break."

"Nothing, just coincidence." MC would have bet his cheeks were slightly more flushed than before.

"Anyway, the rules I mentioned. You stay here on deck or the level of your cabin, anything else is taboo. You'll obey the orders of my men without questions. You can take your meals with the crew, if you're late you have to fix a meal for yourself. If there are any problems, come to me or my first mate Goldman." Victor indicated towards the man manning the helm.

"Question. With orders you mean any order?"

"I don't like what you're indicating." Victor narrowed his eyes in anger.

"And I don't like indicating it either. But as we're the only women on this ship for at least eight weeks. So you might understand my concern."

Even for a man like Victor with a reputation to out-wit anybody it was hard to argue against MC now.

"My men are all solid. But under the influence of alcohol you might get an invitation, handle it as you see fit. And as I said, if there's a problem, come to me. Otherwise I'm not going to babysit you."

Knowing that would be as best as it gets MC showed him a sincere smile.

"Thank you capt'n. Rest assured we can handle ourselves."

"We'll see." Victor wanted to walk away but stopped. "One more thing. You'll dine with me today, just this once." Leaving the two women behind Victor finally walked away giving out orders to his men.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dinner was more pleasant than expected. Next to MC, Kiki and Victor Goldman attended. He entertained them with some interesting stories about their journeys. With Victor throwing in comments on how exaggerating Goldman pictured his captain or straightening facts here and there.

Inevitably the question on why MC was there came up.

"I was sold off to my future husband by my father like some crates of wool." She wanted to say it light hearted with a smile but failed miserably.

"You don't like him, your fiance?"

"I don't know, Goldman. I've met him only once. My conversations with each of you were longer." The wine served with dinner loosened MC's tongue. "How would you like to be removed from everything you know and thrown into a life with someone you don't know at a place you've never seen. I'd rather marry Victor and live on this ship forever and he has shown me nothing more than how overbearing and commanding he is."

Dead silence followed her eruption. Goldman looked at her with big eyes. Kiki pressed both hands on her mouth, her whole body shaking until she couldn't hold any longer and laughed out loud. And Victor was just being him, nothing showed on his poker face. Realizing what she said, MC's face went red and she made several attempts to excuse herself but nothing came out of her mouth. Victor's gaze never left MC and finally he asked the question that may change her life again.

"If you don't like the situation, why don't you change it?"

"Change it?"

"Yes, change it." Victor's expression clearly showed now annoyance. "This morning you said so brazenly that there is some brain inside your cute head. Use it! What else can you do for the next few weeks?" For a few seconds MC was dumbfounded but the meaning of Victor's words finally settled in.

"You're right! Thank you."

"Mm." Victor picked up his wine. "But marrying me is not an option." And hid a small smile behind it.

~~~~~~~

After two weeks they arrived at the Canary islands slightly ahead of time thanks to good winds. MC had more time to think than she ever thought but hadn't made much progress.

Currently she stood at the reeling and watched the hustle and bustle down at the pier.

The crew was busy unloading cargo and loading new ones as well as stocking supplies. Victor had apologized as he didn't allow MC and Kiki to leave the ship. He planned to continue the journey as soon as possible.

MC heard quiet footsteps coming towards her but didn't bother to turn, she knew it was Victor. That man moved like a cat.

After that dinner on their first day, contrary to Victor’s initial declaration, more followed but no one ever opened the topic of MC getting married, or not, again. Until now.

"Have you made any progress?" MC sighed.

"Besides deciding to sell most of my clothes and jewelry currently stored in the depths of this ship? Not really. I don't know where to start, always thought I'll take over father's business one day. Why else would he let me assist anyway?"

"Come with me." Victor grabbed her hand and left the ship.

"Wait, what are you doing? I thought we shouldn't leave the ship!"

Instead of an answer, Victor moved towards one of the heavy loaded transport carriages and exchanged a few words with the coachman in Spanish. He then dragged MC to its back and simply lifted her up, sat her on the edge before joining her.

"Are you at least telling me where we are going?"

"You'll see."

He was right, not long after they left the harbor the carriage stopped at a market. Even more busy and lively than the harbor and way more colorful. Those working the stalls shouted out their wares trying to get more customers than their neighbors. The scent of spices and fresh fruits lay heavy in the air.

MC looked left and right but Victor didn't leave her much time, dragging her through the crowd with her small hand tight in his. He aimed at a tavern with seats outside in the sun. As if on cue one table vacated as they arrived.

"Victor!" Before MC could ask again about his actions an older woman wearing an apron hurried over. She embraced Victor enthusiastically, pressing his body into her voluminous chest. MC could only gape. But soon MC found out she wouldn't be spared from a similar fierce hug.

"So, Victor, you finally found someone to heat up all that ice in your veins?"

""No. …"" Victor and MC denied at the same time, he calm as ever, MC with flushed cheeks.

"Hahaha. Just kidding." The woman winked at MC.

"Marcia, I'd like you to tell MC your story."

"Huh? I don't mind, but not on an empty stomach. Be right back."

Over a hearty salad with fresh garlic bread MC learned that Marcia was once in an even worse situation. 

Her father, a carpenter, married Marcia off to a customer when she was 17. Shortly after the wedding the husband sold everything they couldn't take with them, booked a passage on a merchant ship and within days she left everything she knew behind. Hadn't even time to say goodbye to her friends and family. 

On sea he changed drastically. Before he was demanding but still kind and gentle, now he had become accusatory and abusive.

One evening with too much rum and too little success with the cards, he staked a night with her to win everything back. Before her husband passed out from the alcohol he handed her over with the words 'That's all you wanted anyway.' 

The sailor didn't do anything except two things. He asked her if she wanted to continue that life and ordered her to sleep. 

Later the same sailor gave her some money and helped her to get off the ship when it anchored at the harbor. Marcia couldn't speak the language but the previous owner of the tavern gave her work, first to wash the dishes later on as waitress. When he grew ill only three years after she arrived, he gave her the tavern.

They walked back to the ship holding hands. When MC protested Victor just said he couldn't afford her getting lost. But if she was honest to herself, she didn't mind. It just felt right.

"Do you understand why I brought you here?"

"Not to help me escape, that's for sure." MC smiled happily at his sour expression.

"Dummy. I want you to know that …"

"I don't need a solid plan with all kinds of fail safes. Compared to Marcia I also have responsibility for Kiki so I can't just vanish with nothing more on me then my clothes. Oh, I have no doubt she would come with me if I decided to. Maybe I can get a certain merchant to give me a job."

"Pfft, what do you want to do on a ship?"

MC pouted at Victor giving him a slight jab into the ribs.

"Oh, come on. Have you forgotten, I'm a merchant's daughter. Of course I know there is more to Victor Li than just a ship."

"And how do you intend to prove your worth?" 

MC blocked his path just before Victor hit the plank leading on the ship.

"You'll see." Leaving him standing on the pier, MC returned to the ship where Kiki was already shouting, throwing back the same words he had given her earlier. 

"You're back! How could he just kidnap you like that!"

~~~~~~

The first opportunity to show her worth came sooner than expected. Two days after they've left the islands Victor invited MC to dinner again. The sea became rough and Kiki felt ill from it. After the girl finally fell asleep MC went to Victor early with hope to have a conversation just to kill time.

The door to his cabin was open and inside she heard Victor and Goldman discussing business.

"Then why don't you cut him loose?"

The heads of the two men turned around.

"Sorry, the door was open and I couldn't help but hear you." Realizing her tongue was faster than her brain. MC apologized for the disruption.

"I'll come back later."

"Wait." Remembering their conversation in the harbor. Victor was curious what she thought with her suggestion. "Elaborate what you just said."

"Well, I don't know the whole deal but from what I just heard. Cutting that supplier loose will save you from more losses and may open alternative opportunities with his competitors. I get the impression he got too comfortable with your backing. This will also serve as a warning towards others."

Victor gave a few more information, asked questions. Until they finished their meal MC and Victor had moved on from the initial topic and were caught in a deeper discussion regarding sales and price adjustments. They didn't even realize when Goldman excused himself and left for the night.

"Now you're talking nonsense."

MC yawned.

"Whhaat?"

Victor chuckled.

"I don't repeat myself. But it's late. We can continue next time. Go to sleep."

"I guess it is late. Good night, Victor."

Victor opened his door for her. 

"Sleep well, MC." And looked after her as she walked down the aisle towards her own bed.

The rough sea morphed into a storm by the next day. Due to the fact that it was very late when she went to bed, MC overslept causing the sea sick  Kiki to burst into her cabin.

"MC, time to get up!"

"Victor…" MC was sleep talking.

"I can't believe it! I puke my dinner from last year and she is dreaming about Victor." Another wave hit the ship and Kiki slapped her hands to her mouth but unfortunately her stomach was already empty and despite every effort her body took, nothing came out. "Uoooh. Please stop it." Kiki shook MC's shoulder. "Come on, wake up. How can you sleep with that much movement?" Finally MC opened her eyes slowly.

"Kiki, what's wrong?"

"What's wrong!?" The next wave interrupted Kiki.

"Woha! I see. What time is it?" 

"I think it's almost noon."

"Noon!? Why didn't you wake me earlier?"

"I was too busy puking my meal from last year…" Kiki was shaken by several attempts of her body to vomit more during this short conversation.

"I want to die…"

"Nonsense, Kiki. Lay down, I'll go over to the kitchen and get you some tea and bread." MC got up and urged her friend to lay down, then dressed herself and went to the kitchen.

One of the sailors was cooking.

"Aye, Missy. Finally woke up? Haven't seen a landlubber who can sleep through that for a while."

"Thanks. I guess… Can I get some tea and bread for Kiki. She doesn't cope well."

"Sure."

Back at her cabin MC fed Kiki not only tea and bread, the cook gave her some broth from his lunch preparation.

"How are you feeling, now?"

"Surprisingly good. Ok, now, tell me about the dream."

"What dream?"

"Your dream about Victor!"

"I haven't dreamt about him!"

Kiki had way too much fun to let MC off the hook.

"Victor…" Kiki imitated the moan she had heard earlier. MC's cheeks became hot like actual flames.

"I-I didn't say that."

"Oh yes, you did. Exactly like this. And look, your cheeks are red like a tomato."

"Your eyes must be compromised from all that vomiting. My cheeks aren't red." MC wished to run, far away. Unfortunately as big as the ship was, to escape Kiki it wouldn't be big enough. Plus if she ran, others would hear and if she had learned something since she came on board, sailors liked to gossip. That would be mortifying. So she endured the teasing of her best friend. At least Kiki finally forgot to be sick.

Later both women helped where they could, mostly kitchen duty and offering dry or mostly dry towels to those who came under deck for a break. Until evening MC had seen everyone at least twice for a break, some warm tea and soup but never Victor. Worried that he might overwork himself she was currently arguing with Goldman.

"You aren't allowed on deck at this time, MC. It's too dangerous."

"If he doesn't want me to go up there then he should come down. If it's so dangerous out there, why doesn't he take a break? What if he slips because he is exhausted?" 

Before Goldman could answer Victor's deep voice came from behind MC.

"It's a matter of knowing your own limits."

"Victor…" MC was dumbstruck. Victor stood there, his shirt carelessly stuffed halfway into a pocket of his pants. He always wore his shirts only half closed, so she got a good estimation on what he might look like but actually seeing that well trained upper body in all its glory made her speechless.

"So what did I hear you want to break my rules?" Victor pulled her ruthlessly out of the daze. MC looked at his face and saw his fatigue.

"I thought about it, but I didn't, didn't I? If you can't take care of yourself, someone else needs to do it."

"And you think running out there like this will do it?"

"Threatening with it."

"Ha, you want to threaten me?" The warm atmosphere from last night's conversation wasn't anywhere, instead MC felt like Victor could freeze hell right now. "If you're so concerned about my wellbeing shouldn't you be offering a towel and some warm soup?" His voice was overly calm and so friendly even a dead person would know it's better to run, fast.

"Just a second." Before MC could run off Victor grabbed her arm.

"Bring those to my cabin." 

In his cabin, Victor threw the wet shirt on the floor and rubbed his hands over his face. The moment he heard MC saying that she will go on deck Victor had never felt more dread in his life before. He had to touch her just to make sure she was there.

MC came with a towel, soup and some tea.

"I'm sorry, really sorry. I didn't mean to anger you." Victor took the towel from her. After drying his upper body he sat on a chest, pulling his boots off his feet.

"Why? Why would you do something so obviously stupid? If you want to commit suicide, I won't stop you. But dare you use me as an excuse!"

"That's not…" At his accusation MC whirled around and saw that he was about to get rid of his pants. MC turned her back to him as fast as she could, the face red.

"I should come back later."

"Stay and answer my question. That's an order." There it was again, his domineering, overbearing style. With clenched fists to neither turn around and slap his face nor leave the room, MC took a few deep breaths.

"I do not want to commit suicide! Despite its ups and downs I like to live. I admit I didn't think properly. Seeing the fatigue growing in every man and knowing you had only little sleep, if any at all, because of me, I was worried sick. Telling myself you know what you're doing, that this is not your first storm did only help so much." She could feel his warmth behind her before his shadow threw itself over MC. Victor turned her towards him and pulled MC in a tight embrace.

"I'm sorry." Mumbling an apology, Victor buried his face into the crook of her neck.

"Why should you be sorry? I was the reckless one." MC may have never admitted towards Kiki but over the past days she dreamed about a situation like this and more. Now actually a dream come true, her heart was running a marathon and MC felt her cheeks burning. Yet she had never felt better.

"It's good that you see that but I made you worry enough to be reckless. So it's partly my fault."

"Are we good then?"

"We are good. But if you attempt to do something like this again, I'll throw you in the brig for the reminder of this journey."

"I'll keep that in mind." To MC's disappointment Victor let her go and sat at the table to eat his soup. He offered her the cup of tea, which she took.

"You're right this wasn't my first storm, actually it was a pretty mediocre one."

"Tell that Kiki." MC answered dryly. 

They talked a while longer about their experiences with storms. Of course MC's couldn't hold a candle against Victor's and his stories sent more then once shivers down her spine.

~~~~~~

A week later they arrived at Kap Verde for their last stop in between.

Victor took MC to another market this time for her to actually enjoy. Holding her hand tight so she wouldn't run off he strolled after her when she went from one stall to another. Tasting unknown fruits like ananas and coconut or going into raptures over some good fabrics. When she found a dress like the women all around were wearing she haggled for herself with Victor only providing some translation service. 

When they returned in the evening the ship was quiet, most crew members went to one of the numerous pubs, Kiki convinced them to take her with them because she was curious what it would be like.

Those on guard greeted them and gave Victor a report on what happened during his absence. MC used the opportunity and changed into her new dress and accessories. When she returned on deck Victor was nowhere to see. The other men whistled and complimented her. She whirled around the deck laughing at the flattering comments. Still no Victor in sight, he must have gone into his cabin. MC walked towards the steps leading down when a shadow fell over her. Holding on to the rigging from where he had just descended with one hand, Victor grabbed MC by her waist and lifted her into his arm.

"Victor!?" MC giggled his name, over excited because of the compliments as well as the decision she had made over the course of the day.

"What do you think you're doing?" The low growl in his voice sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. Her arms tightly wrapped around his neck she boldly wrapped her legs around his waist without a second thought. Eyes locked onto his.

"I was looking for you."

"And why that?"

"I wanted to know your opinion."

"You just got plenty of opinions."

"They are nice but don't matter. Yours is the only one."

"If it's that important, let's make a deal. If you accept my terms regarding your payment for my opinion as they are, no negotiation possible, I'll tell you."

"Those are harsh conditions. What if I would have terms regarding my payment myself?"

"Take my offer or leave it."

"At least name your terms first!"

Victor smiled and said nothing for a few seconds.

"Stay with me."

"That's only one term."

"But the most crucial one."

"Do I have time to think?" Victor knew she was only playing with him, he could see the glint in her eyes.

"3 seconds from now. 1..2.."

"YES!" MC beamed the most beautiful smile Victor had ever seen. "I'll stay with you and don't care about any other terms." 

When Victor's lips met hers the world stopped turning. MC didn't hear the watchmen hoot at the sight of their captain passionately kissing his woman while still hanging in the rigging. Nothing was more important at that moment than Victor and the explosion of feelings his kiss produced within her body.

The engagement to Lucien, what's going to happen with Kiki? Problems they will solve, just not tonight.

~~~~~~~

EPILOGUE

"Sir, the representative from Li Trading is here."

"Send him in."

Before the assistant at the door could act he was pushed aside and MC, clad in a simple yet high quality dress, walked in.

"Good morning, father." It was 20 months ago when the man in front of her told her at exactly the same place that she had to sail into the unknown to marry a stranger. Now she was back with a couple surprises.

"How dare you, to walk in here like that after all you have done! Get out! I have an appointment."

With grace she sat down in the chair in front of the desk folding her hands on top of a leather briefcase.

"I know." She smiled at her father with her business smile. The man behind the desk looked at his daughter, the briefcase and back at her face, realization hitting him hard. With eyes wide open he couldn't help but ask.

"You are…?"

"Yes, I'm what your assistant just called the representative of Li Trading. Do you still want me to leave?" She held up a hand to prevent her father from speaking. "I might say if you sent me out without further ado, you won't get a second chance. I have full authority to negotiate buying your company. Whatever personal feelings I have won't matter, I'll guarantee my objectivity. Now it's your choice." MC and Victor had several discussions on the matter. During those she realized she had come to terms with what her father had done. So now she was confident to guarantee the necessary objectivity.

"Let's get this over with."

MC lay down a quill and handed her father a piece of paper.

"If you would confirm that everything is as discussed."

He read over the notes and nodded with a heavy sigh.

"Yes, that's all correct."

"Good. Tomorrow at 3pm, does that suit you to come over and sign the contract?"

"It does. I know the address."

Putting her tools and the notes back into the briefcase, MC stood up and held out her hand.

"It was a pleasure to do business with you."

He took it then looked at her with sad eyes.

"You've become a fearsome opponent." MC shook her head.

"I already was when you made me leave. You were simply unable to see it. Victor just gave me some fine tuning. See you tomorrow."

Goldman knocked and opened the door enough to stick his head through. A bit taken aback at the sight in front of him he didn't act immediately. The sight on its own wasn't new to him, he had three months to get used to walking into Victor's office and find MC sitting on his lap while holding their daughter. It was their way to get as much family time as possible while still being busy in charge of the company. The crib next to Victor's desk was another thing added to it. What was so surprising for Goldman was the fact they knew of the appointment and acted normally more professional.

"What is Goldman?"

"Sorry, capt'n, Mr Kiseki is here." When Victor retired from his post as Souvenir's captain Goldman followed him on land to stay as his assistant, he still called him captain and Victor didn't mind.

"Send him in."

"Aye."

The small bundle in MC's arm whined upon the loss of her father's attention. 

"Ssshh. Daddy has to work now." 

The man announced by Goldman walked in at that exact moment. He stopped as if thunderstruck at this overly intimate sight.

"Mr. Kiseki, welcome."

"Father."

Goldman followed Mr. Kiseki and came in with some documents and didn't flinch as MC revealed their relationship. He knew she had met her father in business matter, but had missed the connection to today's appointment.

Being a well known businessman, MC's father had heard the news of Victor Li finally settling down and starting a family. But it was difficult to get details if Victor didn't want one to know them, so the details around his wife were sparse. The only thing known was that he became the father of a daughter. With disbelief he stared at his daughter.

MC slipped out of Victor's embrace and walked over to her father.

"Before we start with official matters. I'd like to introduce you to Abby, your granddaughter. Do you want to hold her?"

He was touched and didn't know what to say.

"Can I?"

"Sure." Gently handed MC her daughter to her father. "See Abby, that's your grandpa."

"You aren't angry any more?"

"No. When I arrived in Kingston I asked Lucien to dissolve the engagement. At that time I had already calmed down but after Lucien told me why you did what you did I got angry again because you hadn't told me. Now I'm just grateful." Her father didn't expect that. So he looked up from the small child in his arms to his daughter in front of him. 

"Grateful? After all I've done?"

"Yes, because otherwise I probably never would have met Victor the way I have." On that que Victor joined them, laying his hand around MC's waist. "When you sent me away all I cared about was becoming a successful businesswoman, starting a family wasn't important. Now I can do what I love together with the man I love. So yes, I'm grateful."

[ivansergeyevichturgenev]

and for the record if i didn't enjoy being personable i wouldn't have stayed in this job very long. but i do enjoy it. last night i had a man who wanted to humiliate me by acting smarter than i was, acting like nobody had ever heard of a fucking gin and tonic before, and berated me the whole time i was opening his wine bottle, claiming i wasn't doing it right (???) and he grabbed it out of my hands to serve it. and then he was like you're not sociable enough. his wife was clearly embarrassed and told him to stop being pretentious. they took over an hour to order entrees on a friday night. he came before his other party and demanded i WAIT until they arrive before they get appetizers. and then he was pissed when i gave him time to wait after he asked for it 😑 every fucking time i tried to do my job you tried to make me feel stupid but at least i'm not a stupid little man who gets off on trying to make random servers feel bad. he asked me for wine recommendations and then ignored me. like go take a long walk off of a short pier dude

[devouringghoststhatfloat]

My Mother's Love Wavers

Inspired by Milk by Allie X

Mom used to tell Andy and me that when we were babies, she would hold us for so long that her arms became numb. She had to reluctantly  hand us off to Dad until her arms regained feeling and then she would do it all over again. I was an easier baby than Andy, but to both of our credit, we never really caused too much grief when we were younger. I was fussy when she left my crib for too long and I didn't like the prune juice they used to feed me, but that was it. Mom loved to brag about how lovely of a baby I was. 

She and Dad would get compliments from my teachers in elementary school gushing about how smart and sweet I was. Middle school was similar. I did my schoolwork, hung out with my friends, and stayed out of trouble. 

I had a good relationship with my parents. I remember one time I came home five minutes past curfew when I was 14, running into the house heaving from sprinting back from a friend's place after losing track of time. Mom was sitting at the kitchen counter in her robe and pajama pants typing away on her laptop. The second I saw her I began to spew apologies and promises of "never again" through short breaths. She looked at me with a stern face before breaking out into laughter. She stood up and wrapped her arms around me and kissed my head and told me not to worry so much. She had no reason not to trust me. When I walked up the stairs, she patted my head and told me to get some sleep. 

I started lying when I was 16. Realistically, I'd lied before, but never on a scale like that. In Mom's eyes, the two of us were friends. When the sun went down, we would take my car to the pier and smoke cigarettes and drink gross indie beer I stole from the fridge in our garage. We would kiss. It never went farther than that. When we returned to my house, we would hop in the shower and scrub our bodies raw to rid ourselves of the smell of cigarettes. I would brush my teeth and scrub my tongue until it bled so there would be no evidence of my sins. 

It was my senior year of high school when Mom found out. It was mid-April and I had just turned 18. Andy was back in town for the week and Mom decided that she would bring him and surprise me after school. 

I didn't see Mom and Andy standing near us. It was only a kiss goodbye. No cigarettes. No beer. No shared showers. The color on my face drained when I turned around to walk the other way and Mom was standing there. I thought I would vomit, and looking back, if someone had looked into that very moment it would be funny. Our expressions were probably the same and Andy just stood next to her knowing I made a grave mistake. That night was rough, she told Dad, and he had reacted the same way as Mom. Bloodless faces and two mouths pressed in a hard line. 

It was never really the same after that. 

We managed to be civil through graduation and the subsequent summer, and by the time August rolled around I had flown halfway across the country for college. We didn't talk much after that. Maybe the occasional "do you need more money in your account for groceries?" But besides that, it was radio silence. 

It's amazing how quickly something can become conditional. Maybe her love was always conditional and I was just none the wiser. I don't think I'll ever know. 

Dad passed away after my first semester of college. His kidneys had been giving him problems for years. I was booked the first flight home. I had never felt more alone. Andy's flight didn't get in until the next afternoon, and I had just lost my father. Mom picked me up from the airport in tears, put my suitcase in the car, and silently drove home. 

The second we walked into the house I broke down into sobs that wracked through my entire body. For almost an entire year I was a child sucking on their thumb for comfort so hard that the skin puckered and pruned. The kind of kid who soothes their wounds by licking them and lapping up the blood until their knee stops bleeding. At night I would attempt to rock myself asleep to feel a semblance of maternal warmth. Now I was back in the presence of my mother and all I needed was her love. 

She stared at me for a second when I started to cry before sitting down on the couch. I walked over to her like you'd walk towards a frightened animal and slowly sank down into her lap. Between sobs I promised her I wouldn't push her away or do anything wrong ever again. I would be her golden child.

She pulled me closer to her and rocked me until I was so exhausted from crying that I fell asleep. And as I drifted off, I vaguely remember grabbing the hem of her shirt so tightly that my fingers turned white and prayed that she wouldn't let go of me again.

[taegularities]

a/n: Colour Me In: Palette cont. (next scene)!!

Your sigh blends out the bickering behind you by a fragment but just enough.

“It could happen to anyone.”

“To get out at the wrong bus station when I told you? No, only to you.”

“Okay, first off, that’s so untrue.”

There’s no second off, because Jimin shrinks under Eun’s gaze.

She’s been scolding him; repeating that she urged him to skip the stop he deemed the right one, but he, ever-so-suspicious, wouldn’t believe it. That the bus only ever drives by every ten-ish minutes didn’t help, and you had a reservation for this noon.

Odd, a reservation for the beach. Then again, it’s not just the beach, is it?

It’s this… gigantic floating soccer field. Okay, maybe it’s not that gigantic but rather the size of a humble tennis field. On each end, there’s a goal, the entire levitating thing surrounded by a net, so you don’t splash into the water.

Even though, you have to admit that it’d be a quite amusing addition, watching those who fail and fall wade back to the pier and then up to the field. The long pier you crossed, ending right here where the ocean’s ground becomes invisible, farther away from the surface. 

“I’m just happy you organised all of this,” Taehyung says, attempting to defuse the situation.

It silences Eun for a bit, calms Jimin enough to rub the back of his neck with a thankful grin. But as she turns away, he side-eyes her with a cocky laugh; he’s shameless and it makes you chuckle.

“I’d been looking forward to this. This was close, Park,” Eun warns, shaking her head, though still digging her tongue into her inner cheek with a hint of entertainment in her eyes.

“Alright, I’m sorry,” Jimin voices, “but yeah, you know, at least we’re here. Look at her… she’s taking it with optimism?”

It’s more of a question than a statement, scampering to divert everybody’s attention. And it takes you a second to understand once again that you’re the only other woman here; that he’s referring to you.

You turn towards his voice, your shorts halfway across your knees, giving way to your swimsuit. “Me?”

He nods; doesn’t elaborate. But you understand — you’re already undressing, a loose, thin shirt over your bikini top, just to be more comfortable throughout the whole ordeal soon to start. He’s right — in fact, you could barely sleep last night.

Jungkook felt the excitement, trying to keep you composed, laughing when you’d squeak out of joy. Partly because you wanted to destroy whoever you’ll play against; partly because he held you so close.

The others follow your example right away, the banter coming to an end, thoughts occupied and eyes constantly veering to the water. It’s not too hot; the summer is wrapping up in the southern part of your country, too — yet warm enough to take a plunge for a couple minutes.

The ocean always intrigues you, no matter what.

It doesn’t take more than a minute until your group is prudently, gingerly advancing towards the field, trying not to slip. As you claw your fingers into the net around you, stepping forwards, you wonder, “How are we even going to play? This is so… it’s so wet.”

“That’s what she said,” you hear from somewhere; sounded like Taehyung.

But it’s true — wet and soapy. Walking is challenging, but you can’t suppress your laugh, feeling yourself and hearing the others struggle; groaning, cursing, giggling. The rubber feels funny under your feet.

“That’s why it’s called slippery soccer. Guess that’s what makes it fun,” Jungkook says, right behind you, holding an open palm in the air to catch you if needed.

“Right. So…” you start, hands on your hips as you come to a collective halt in the middle of the field. “How do we split this?”

But your question sets off an immediate dissonance of voice arguing over each other.

“We said it’d be our group,” Jungkook reminds you, pointing to Taehyung and Yoongi, “and your group.”

Then Eun: “We’re all the same group here! No yours and ours. We’re all in this together.”

Taehyung: “First of all, just for today, we’re not in this together. And secondly, stop quoting High School Musical all morning!”

Eun again: “Stop me, Kim.”

Jungkook laughs immediately, Jimin’s head moving to the side, lips in a line with a pleased shake of his head. You catch Taehyung running his tongue over his lower lip, cocking an eyebrow in what you assume must render your friend weak.

And then, it continues.

“I think it’s unfair to have all the good soccer players in your team,” you say.

“Jimin is good, too,” Yoongi defends.

“Hey, I am good, too,” Eun rebukes.

It’s Jimin who brings the quarrel to a final end, bellowing into the round, “Okay, stop! Enough. We’re using the easy method.” Silence drops, expectant eyes rushing to him. He shrugs a shoulder. “We’ll spin the virtual wheel. Red and blue team. Pointer chooses the first three for Team Red.”

“How do we know you’re not cheating, though?” Jungkook wants to know, approving hums accompanying his question.

“Just come with me, then.”

“Okay, but then, how do we know the two of you aren’t cheating?” you follow up, Yoongi’s arms moving up to cross, a silent gesture challenging the two men.

“Okay,” Jimin sighs, “I’m taking the phone with me and showing y’all.”

And he tries, slipping at the very first step back to the pier; some of you gasp, the others quietly laugh. Yoongi moves more cautiously than Jimin did, telling his lover, “Just stay here, yeah? Rest a little.”

The wheel soon decides the entire opposite of what the boys first suggested, forming a mostly new constellation of your crew. It seems you’ll be entering the warzone with Yoongi and Taehyung by your side, taking down Jungkook, Eun and Jimin as the stubborn soldiers you know them as.

But. You might just be worse.

You get into position; you don’t know a whole lot about soccer, but you did enough research to understand the basic rules, strategies and terms. And having Taehyung by your side, one to indulge in spring afternoons playing with Jungkook, inspirits you.

You choose Yoongi as the goalie with ease, just to be sure, keeping him from overworking his leg just yet. He claims it’s healed enough, but you guess only the upcoming two hours will tell.

And with the helmets soon on, you finally howl your war cry, preparing to slip and trip.

The game seems impossible at first. Your struggling feet kick the ball criss-cross through the field; it hits the net, bounces back, lands at spots nobody stands. Getting there is a nuisance because the four of you on the field rush for it at the same time. And in the process, your arms play more than your feet do, flailing around, keeping the balance.

You only raise your leg carefully when the ball comes shooting at you. Taehyung is much taller than you, can’t quite calculate the distance and height as he’s used to with Jungkook.

Your bodies wind like snakes, reminiscent of the first time ice skating; sometimes, you slide much farther than you plan to, skidding straight to the net instead of where the ball rolls to. You’re breathless before it even properly begins; the first five minutes feel like practice.

“Okay, seriously,” you speak to yourself, puffing your cheeks before you let out a deep breath. “This gotta be possible somehow.”

And it is. It takes you a moment to understand how to handle this sport. Taehyung gets a grip faster than you, instructing the movements to you confidently whenever you slip on the bouncy mattress and land against his feet.

“Like this,” he says, digging his toes into the ground, demonstrating how advancing like this apparently keeps you solidly upright and stable. “Keep doing this, c’mon, we got this.”

Gosh, he’s… a calm yet competitive comrade-in-arms. He doesn’t show too many hints of craving victory, but he does theorise about how to proceed all the time. And it soon seems his effort is worth it, because oddly enough and much to your bafflement, you’re the one to obtain the first point.

Jungkook is good, Eun not any less; so your eyes naturally extend to an unimaginable size, pupils dilating in joy. And while Jungkook isn’t quite a sore loser, he does seem surprised, too. Looking at Eun speechlessly; she only raises her shoulders in response.

Taehyung hoots in pride, both fists in the air, legs unsteady. Eun huffs with a strangely affectionate roll of her eyes, accompanied by a smile you recognise. It’s the same that dances around your lips whenever Jungkook teases yet enchants you.

And you see her true emotions of joviality when she slithers to her boyfriend, making him believe she’s about to strike — he already walks a step back — but startled when she reaches out instead. Lets her hand fall on his ass; the sound of the slap echoes in the makeshift field.

The group chuckles or blows a raspberry, and once Taehyung has understood her intentions, he only exclaims a tempted, “Ohhhh, okayyyy.”

Love is similar everywhere. You’ve heard Jungkook sound like this, too.

Speaking of your man. Is he trying harder now? He must be.

Because as you find yourself facing him not long after your first goal, he’s shielding the background with his body. You attempt to escape, carefully weighing your options. You could shoot the ball to the side or try to manoeuvre it between his legs until Taehyung catches up on the other side.

Hm…

Kind of unfair, how broad the deities made this man. It’s different to kiss the skin of his wide back at night, but it’s yet again another issue to be standing here, risking loss and defeat because he can’t—

“You can’t let me win, huh?” you try, batting your eyelashes, a fake attempt at friendly manipulation.

“I can. I often do,” he breathes, keeping your movements in focus, “but I won’t let you now. Waited too long, babe, sorry.”

“Okay, ignoring the fact that you actually let me win… often — I wanna say that if we end up in the same team later, you’ll change your demeanour entirely.”

“No, I’ll just work with you,” his words are rushed in the middle of the game, as if he could attack you with all his might any moment now. “We work well, huh?”

“Not right now, Jeon.”

Alright. Between his legs. Taehyung is right there now, across from you, behind his friend. It should work, right?

But instead of executing your master shot, right through the desired space, and dodging him, something else happens.

You gasp when Jungkook reflexively reacts to your slightest motion, ambushing you and crashing against you. Your head immediately moves to the side in order to protect your nose. You hit his chest hard, breathless; yet, you still notice when his arms wrap around you in another reflexive sense of protection.

To no avail, however, because in the next moment, you’re slipping and landing right on your back, fingers digging into his wet shirt and pulling him with you.

Eyes squinted shut, you wait for some injury, but nothing happens. You don’t know how the two of you did it, but you landed safely on the big air mattress, with him on top of you like a shield rather than a menace.

As you regain your thoughts, you blink your eyes open, surprised when his face floats just an inch over yours, barely any space in between. One of his legs rests between both of yours, the other angled next to your hip. And he’s still holding you; looking at you.

His breaths are as heavy as yours, and for a moment, you allow yourself to bask in his eyes; in the way his head serves as a barrier between the sun and you, his face hiding in the shadow. He’s pretty; pretty enough for you to almost forget that he’s your current rival.

But he reminds you, whispering as he asks, “Won’t you tell me to get off of you?”

You gulp, and then agree, “Get off of me.”

He keeps staring, breaking into a knowing grin. Distracted until Taehyung shouts in your direction, and you flinch, “Get a room or get up! We have a game to win.”

So you push Jungkook off your body, slapping his ass, following Eun’s prior example before he gets up with an endlessly ecstatic laugh. But neither he nor his attempts of distraction will faze you anymore.

No — you keep your eyes and mind open, gaze sharp. You’re almost there, after all. And it seems to work; because it takes no more than two minutes for you and Taehyung to land another goal.

From afar, you see Jimin giving Jungkook a playful head tilt and cocked eyebrow. But his smug and wordless judging soon embarrasses him when he intends to kick off the ball to pass it to Eun, but lets it fly back into his goal instead, scoring for your team.

Taehyung falls to his knees like some real soccer athlete; and it’s sweet to watch him drown in his glory, getting up for a triumphant dance. Fists up, smile bright, eyes nearly closed. His joy motivates you; you haven’t had as much fun as you’re having with these people.

Who wouldn’t? How could you not laugh till the point of tummy ache when there’s this amount of adrenaline pumping through your veins? Sheer happiness when you still keep going, even when out of breath.

When you pull at Eun’s top until she roars, “Bitch, let go of me!”

Or when Jungkook hurries for her rescue, failing as the three of you slip, plummeting into different directions. Or when he gets on his feet, wanting to help the two of you up, yet falling onto the same spot the very next second.

And when you kick the ball into the enemy’s goal again, hearing a proud Yoongi shout, “Y’all are shit at this!”

At some later point, Jungkook shoots to the side, a demonstration going wrong when the ball bounces off the wall and back to him, hitting him right in his sensitive spot. You titter at first, hands on your knees, but when the man curls into a foetal position, you waddle to him.

He’s groaning out a strained, “My fucking nuts,” when you ask, “You okay?”

“Uh-huh, magni— ficent—”

“Oh no,” you whisper dramatically, shaking him with a laugh, “tell me, babe, are we still going to have kids?”

“Huh?” he breathes out, moving to look up at you. His eyebrows still suggest slight pain, but there’s something so loving in his worn voice when he says, “You want kids with m—”

Your body heats up before he’s finished the sentence. You don’t quite realise what you just babbled until his eyes change, yours following; but his words are cut before he can utter them to the end or wait for your answer.

Jimin, presumably haven’t heard any of your conversation, hastens to Jungkook. You’re pleased to see his worry as he asks, “Dude… you good?” He helps Jungkook up, dragging him back to their side, patting his shoulder as he adds, “You’ve been doing well. Let’s get it now.”

Jungkook limps for a moment, nodding; though you recognise that he’s out of concept. That you threw him off his balance. Heart eyes shoot towards you as he looks at you, winking before he says, “Yeah, angel. Get it.”

Only, you don’t get it just yet. Because Eun soon calls for a short meeting, arms hooking around each other’s shoulders as the three of them strategise. So you mimic their position, calling your team members, heads together until Yoongi asks, “Okay. What are we discussing?”

“Nothing,” you mumble, “we’re doing awesome. Just did this because they did.”

And when they pat each other’s shoulders, yelling an, “Okay!” you do the same, offering comic relief — because apparently, it’s funny enough for Yoongi and Taehyung to laugh.

But the laughter soon ceases. Oh, it ceases fatally; because Team Blue — not you — catches up quickly. Suddenly, they’re full of tactics to deceive you, like: making it look like they’re sending the ball forwards, but passing it to the side instead.

You’re well aware they could fool you without a second thought; thinking back, you remember Eun sometimes playing with the boys, way back in middle school. You can’t assign this trick a term, but you do know that Jungkook, Jimin and Eun understand these strategies better.

And once the time for the first round is up, you’re head to head, faced with penalties, settling on three. One for each of you. And you and Taehyung don’t miss — but Yoongi does.

Team Blue keeps you similarly on your toes. Eun misses. Then, Jungkook doesn’t. And when Jimin prepares to step in front of the ball, huffing out a breath, both hands pushing back his hair… you hold your breath.

Your eyes shift to Jungkook, throwing a competitive look, and then back to Taehyung’s right next to you. He nudges your shoulder, leaning in to say, “Whether we lose or not… this was so much fun.”

“Wasn’t it?” you whisper with a smile. “Even though I should apologise for…” You nod towards Jungkook. “This one. Almost had me there.”

“I saved your ass, do remember. You owe me double sushi now,” he jests, but it takes you a moment to understand what he’s talking about. 

You watch Jimin shake out his legs, and then observe as Eun walks to him, whispering something into his ear. Probably another one of their tactics. And then, it dawns on you — Taehyung was the one to once help you find a potential apartment that you then turned down to live with Jungkook.

He was the one to guide you towards forgiveness, to Jungkook’s exhibition. And when you rejected the flat and forwarded the offer to Yoongi instead, giving all of you organisational trouble, he joked about sushi, right?

How times have advanced. You owe him way more than just food.

“Don’t tell me Eun didn’t distract you. Come on,” you tell him — and you expect a snarky answer; expect for him to put on his badass mask to hide what she does to him.

Instead, he looks away and back to the game, only concurring, “Hella.”

Your eyes instantly move to Eun; her mouth stands open in anticipation, fingers entangled, as if she’s praying. She looks so cute. And then, just in time, you catch Jimin’s final move, sending the ball flying until you see that he—

Misses.

Immediate cheers and whines. You howl, moving in circles, but then stop as the soapy, slippery ground nearly forces your legs into a split. Taehyung, Yoongi and you come together for a trio hug, overdramatic, as if you won the Olympics.

The crowd scatters on the field, laying down, leaning against the net a little or holding onto the goal’s post. Jungkook is on the far end, and you tease from your spot, “Beat me at Tekken as much as you want, but you’ve got nothing on this! I once played in kindergarten for a month, you can’t bea— uh-oh.”

Of course you know that you’re wrong — he could beat your ass easily. You wanted to rile him up — and it seems you have. Because you move backwards when he smirks, an eyebrow twitching.

He takes off his helmet with a clenched jaw, trying to look tough, but never able to disguise his mirth. He throws the helmet to the side, charging for you dangerously. Immediately reminds of the pool scene playing out last night; and just like yesterday, you run away.

Only to fall. You’d think you’d have learned from the last thirty minutes, or at least understood to control your body better; but you’re flat on your back, and the man chasing you soon above you. Not very different from a while ago, but this time, with intent… with absolute purpose.

The others must be occupied otherwise, because they don’t groan or laugh or tease when Jungkook straddles you, hands on either side of your head until you give up. Stop moving. Smile innocently, with a purity so tender that he nearly melts.

And you know… you know about this effect. You’re simultaneously relieved and bummed when he gets off, laying down like you. Uncaring about the dampness, looking into the wide sky and the still graceful sun.

You remain on your spot like a starfish until you feel him move beside you. You look at him as he shifts to his side, balancing his head on his hand; pushes your lower lip down with his thumb before releasing it and telling you, “You’re too fucking good, munchkin. If I’d known, I’d have prepared.”

“It’s okay. You were good enough… But you can still lose for once.”

“Ah, yeah?” he laughs. “Am I not always losing with you?”

“What?”

Is he? You don’t consider yourself that much of a nuisance to assume he’s losing with you. With how he circles around you, like a planet orbiting the star above, you thought you were a treasure he found.

No matter how vain it sounds, you like to think you’re a beacon in the dark to him, as he is for you.

You are. You are.

Because no matter how schmaltzy, he finds a way to make your heart race, stating, “Yeah. My sanity, don’t you know?”

“Ugh. Cheesy,” you say, trying to push him into his previous position, “go away.”

But he doesn’t budge, instead humming, eyes moving in thought until he says, “Like when the receptionist flirted with you. You told me not to kill him, so I’ll just let out my frustration here.”

Of course he’s joking, but you still roll your eyes. The guy in your new hotel had his eyes on you this morning.

He answered your questions, smiled at you in the most telling way, offered, “I usually don’t do this, but I could totally let them prepare a breakfast in advance if you need to leave quickly,” when you asked if you could still profit from the breakfast-included-option when you’d leave for Jungkook’s hometown early in the morning.

Safe to say that Jungkook didn’t enjoy the way the guy beamed at you. And sure, he knows you’re funny; but the constant chuckles at each of your words were irksome.

Then again, who could blame the poor guy? It’s you after all.

“Oh, shut up,” you tell him, though not swatting away the hand caressing your cheek.

“I always tell you you’re desirable.”

“Yeah, it’s… hard being me.”

“Aw, poor baby,” another roll of your eyes makes him breathe out a laugh in felicity, “but seriously. He better not check you out anymore. Shameless… I was right there.”

“I think you made that clear to him today.”

Yes, he did. Abundantly so when he shattered the guy, telling him, “Sorry for intruding. My girlfriend and I would be beyond thankful if you could arrange that. You guys have a top notch service here, truly. We’re loving the queen size bed, too.”

Like the guy had peeled a perilla leaf for you. Yet, you did your hardest to not combust into uncontrolled laughter… and it seemed, the others did, too.

You push at him again, just a little, playing around, but he doesn’t stir an inch. What he does, however, is draw nearer, catching you off guard as he kisses you for a second. Moves his lips against yours, just satisfying the itch to kiss you for the briefest moments.

But you’re different; something in you snaps. Because you push your tongue through, and he, defenceless when it comes to you, joins. Inhaling. Moving in. Holding you tighter. And then, practising utmost, nearly impossible control over himself, he pulls back.

Stops just when his hips move, clarifying, “There are two more rounds left. Don’t give me a boner here.”

“…Shame,” you say, “but I’ll try my best.”

Your group readies itself, stretching and moving in place; preparing to mix your teams anew. And this second round changes the entire course of the game — introduces the new trios, consisting of Eun, Yoongi and you and Jungkook, Jimin and Taehyung.

The upcoming thirty minutes belong to your newly diced group; but you soon notice that dynamics make a main difference. Because this time, the round passes much slower for you; Yoongi decides to try and play in the field, which does work for a while — and Eun is a magnificent goalie.

But no matter how gentle the boys play against you, they’re still somehow better. You don’t reckon you have ever witnessed a team with such confidence and strength, and from here, they remind you of the Mean Girls… well, without being weird or mean.

Just… a plain evil soccer team. Flames in their eyes. Winning with ease.

Then again, while the first round boosted your ego, their win doesn’t come as a surprise. What does amaze you, however, is the third and final grouping that your virtual wheel settles on.

Jungkook, Eun, you — Taehyung, Yoongi, Jimin.

Somehow yet, this very coincidence works. Eun and Taehyung initially complain about the odds of being the only couple to be separated, but are soon humbled when you remind them that they were the only couple to spend the first nights together.

But it doesn’t take too long for Eun to accept her team gratefully, understanding very early into the game that your age-old bond even translates into this situation. You know to communicate with her as well as Jungkook blindly.

They know your every move like you know theirs; and you come up with a strategy, assigning certain moves to certain players. Jungkook and you handle each other every single day; you could recognise the sound of his steps among many.

So it’s easy, moving through this round with one success after the other. Taehyung knows Yoongi, but the latter isn’t too big on physical games. And Jimin and Taehyung don’t share the telepathy you do with your best friend.

Lucky.

When you finally win, Jungkook pulls the two of you close, nearly heaving you into the air before realising he’d just fall again, with you in tow. Eun and you chest bump merely a moment later, your friend yelling fiercely, “This is how it’s done! Put the girl out of the goal and she’ll thrive!”

Taehyung walks up to where Jungkook stands, still confused by the unexpected move between her and you, asking him, “Were we supposed to see this?”

Eun and you dance around each other as you once would when you played stupid games at stupid house parties. Back in middle and high school when you’d power through challenges and ground your male classmates’ ego.

You know how to work together. So you keep cheering, happy while the men do it their own way, high fiving each other with a small and crisp, “GG.”

You catch your breaths on the pier; the ground underneath your feet still moves as you stand there, as if floating over waves instead of stepping onto wood. Jungkook’s arm sneaks around your hip as you thank the organiser for the existence of this game.

Guess the excitement was worth it, all right. Another core memory right there.

Tired and in need for the sun, you walk the way back to the beach before seeking out a good, pleasant spot. It’s where you spread your blankets and whip out your sunglasses. Covering your skin with sunscreen, even though your country cools down in October, even down here.

Good enough for now, at least. It’s still well over 25 degrees; you can afford an hour on the sand. So you do.

You appreciate the water and the hues of blue, playing with the inflatable ball you brought. Diving with Jimin; letting the waves carry you. Gaping up into the azure blue sky with tattooed fingers entangled with yours, steadily by your side.

As cliché as it gets, you think… that life feels real damn good right now.

Yet, a couple hours later, your head falls towards your chest, heavy.

Exhaustion is a term too small to describe your frail mind, hanging onto the last thread of sanity and alertness. You forgot how tiresome swimming can be; and if it was up to you, you’d drag Jungkook back into your room, nestling into his arms instead of your blanket.

But they wanted to hang out; understandably so. It’s your last day here. The others will stay to wallow in the luxuries of the world, but you’re leaving — better spend the last minutes with them before the opportunity fades.

The carpet you sit on is comfortable. It’s right in front of a bed, here in Yoongi and Jimin’s spacious room. It’s undoubtedly the biggest of the three; considering the distance the two of you handled in the car as well as in the hostel, you think they deserve this.

You play and lose several rounds of UNO and cards, extensively out of focus. Maybe they notice; because you’re still sure Taehyung let you win once, picking up the four cards Yoongi condemned him with instead of throwing another drawing card for you.

“When’s the wedding again?” he asks, eyes flitting between you and Jungkook.

But as you yawn, it’s your boyfriend who responds, “In three days. But they need some time with us and for some preparation, so we thought we’d just get there earlier. Make her familiar with my people, too.”

“Anything special planned?” Jimin asks; your ears perk up. You know he knows something; maybe he’s doing that on purpose.

“A few things,” Jungkook confirms. You look at him in anticipation, hoping he’ll spill, but he remains as steadily secretive as ever. “I can’t tell any of you, though, because that means I’d have to tell you, too.”

He’s talking to you at the end, and you, already giving up on unveiling his thoughts before he executes them, joke, “The only thing that’s not a secret is the wedding, I suppose.”

“Eeeeh,” Jimin then voices, and you bump his knee, only for him to smile.

Jungkook nudges him, a gaze of warning towards Jimin’s way, and then says, “It’s nothing huge, but like… it’ll be fun.”

Trying to downplay whatever it is, ah-ha. But okay, Jeon… we’ll see.

“I wish I could go home, too,” Yoongi then declares.

For a second, you suppose he’s talking about your city; a question already lies on your tongue, wondering if he’s had enough of the vacation. But you only understand that Yoongi might not originally be from your town after all when he adds—

“Introduce Jimin to my parents.”

Still harmless. Still okay as Eun jests, “Oh wait. Did you just finally make it official?”

Still joyous when everyone cheers, Yoongi arguing that, “It’s not really a surprise to you, right?” and she answers, “Of course not! It’s just nice to hear it, you know?”

But the mood dims far more than you could foresee, never predicting for your shoulders to drop when Yoongi continues, “Yeah, it’s just. It’s easy here. But it’s harder to make them wrap their heads around it.”

I wish I could go home, too.

Thinking about his calm situation, you guess there’s only one thing preventing him from doing so.

You feel bad instantly; even if you’re not at fault. Nobody in this room is. But dealing with a family life as complicated as this… You’ll never get used to it. Never accustom to the fact that a million people feel this way, too.

Jimin has never spoken about this to you, but you think you knew. He mentioned not long ago how he’d gone to lunch with his mother, dragging Yoongi with him. In return, you’ve never heard much about Yoongi’s personal life.

And Jimin had it easier when he told his parents, too. They were supportive, tender, understanding. Yoongi apparently hasn’t enjoyed as much support yet. You get parts of it.

“It takes parents to come around sometimes,” you encourage him, your voice quiet, soft, “but I think they need a clear picture of how happy you really are. Much easier said than done, but this is what’s supposed to count.”

Supposed to. You know it’s never as easy as that. You know, you know.

“And you know you have another family if that doesn’t work out,” Taehyung says, starting a comfortable silence, watching gentle smiles emerge. Yoongi doesn’t say much; only mouths a Thank you. And soon, Taehyung drops another card, declaring, “I won, by the way.”

“Wait, did you say UNO?” Eun immediately asks.

“I, in fact, did, my baby,” he says, pressing a dramatic kiss onto her cheek before leaning back again.

“You got lucky. You usually lose all games that don’t require a strategy and brains.”

“And deceiving,” Jimin recalls, remembering the last twenty minutes when Taehyung bluffed his way through Werewolf.

“You’re too good to me. I’ll blush.”

Eun taps your knee, shifting her attention from her man to you. Her face is coloured in a rosy dust, and she’s tickled pink, voice optimistic as she asks, “And how are you two doing? Did you uhm… talk to your parents again?”

But you can’t say the thought of them renders you too positive; because you narrate curtly, “My dad called… not too long ago. But I haven’t spoken to mom.”

“And… and you?” Yoongi asks, eyes set on Jungkook. “I didn’t want to be nosy, but… about the wedd—”

“Yeah, no,” Jungkook interrupts, his answer painfully similar to yours, “just mom.”

If there was a way to turn off the ache, you would. If you could change your reality or go back into a time when you barely understood the world, with the knowledge of finally understanding the world, you would. Prevent the pain before it could occur.

You wish you could build a portal to the little You, telling her that fighting for your happiness is worth it in the long run. That you shouldn’t have to wait until you break.

And then you’d float over to where a small Jungkook cried, patting his back, promising him he wasn’t at fault, never had been. That he’d be okay. Because how is it that you’re sitting here now, having to answer in the way you are?

If you weren’t so drained, you’d feel… a sting of regret.

You go silent, your mind unable to form another sentence to keep this talk going. In some way, you don’t want to. At ease when Eun starts a different game to swerve the conversation into another direction. Pulling everybody in again.

But maybe, maybe you’re not done after all. Aside from your own situation, you hate to see your friends suffer injustice when they don’t deserve a sliver of it. Yoongi doesn’t expect it when you take his hand in yours, looking up in surprise as you say, “As they said though. You’ve got a family if the other one doesn’t work out.”

You’ve heard that Yoongi doesn’t cry much. You’ve heard he’s emotional, sensitive, loving and gentle. But his expression does shatter something in you. He might not shed any tears, but his eyes are telling, the smile piercing your heart.

And his voice, deeper than before, quieter than usual, mutters, “I just… I’m hoping for the best when we get there.”

You’ll get there, right? All of you. In whichever way.

“It’ll be okay. And if not,” you lower your gaze, your stare angry in a playful manner, “I’m gonna have a talk with them myself. How dare they.”

“And we’ll join. Torches and everything,” Eun vows.

It really is a connection unmatched, isn’t it? Chosen family, they say. They sure as hell feel like it; act like it, too. Cheerful, supportive, one back covering the other.

The conversation reverberates in your mind as the night proceeds. You remember the wedding. The fact you’ll meet his father. The truth that you’ll actually witness the distance; you want to help so desperately.

It’s what roams your head when you get up and excuse yourself to the bed, only laying on the edge to keep them in your sight; horizontally. Still listening to their convos until you’re nodding off, bit by bit.

You don’t quite understand what you’re actually hearing and what you’re imagining, but it does feel real when Jimin coos upon seeing you, whispering, “Awh. She’s already asleep.”

“Yeah. Maybe we should go then?” Jungkook’s voice, undoubtedly. You dream of it all the time, though, hear it in your daydreams so vividly — his is the most difficult to distinguish from imagination. “Got a long day ahead of us, too, and she,” he groans and you assume he’s stood up, “wants to drive this time. Insisted.”

“Then do sleep. Get a good night’s sleep.” Yoongi, right?

“Okay, my love,” Jungkook’s voice grows louder, closer to you, “c’mon.”

There’s a commotion. Your half asleep state dwindles when they gasp, and you move. Jungkook instantly shushes them, brushing your hair before making you sit up. Laughs when they say, “Love?!”

Then, Jimin, “Have you used the L-word or?!”

“Of course they did. They live together. Right?” Eun mentions. Waits. And then, ”Right?”

This idiot. She knows he told you. Of course she does; who would the two of you be if you didn’t rush to her the very next day after he confessed to you? But she doesn’t know from your side yet; doesn’t know if the feeling is mutual just yet. She doesn’t prod like that.

Jungkook doesn’t answer; teases the crowd, only clicking his tongue before he whispers to you — well aware that you’re awake, “Hear that? I dare you to love me, too.”

You hear that it’s a joke; hear it in the frisky, sweet voice. The tone of it. But his words grip your heart and shake it; increase its heartbeat; rip it out of your ribcage. They make you want to crawl into his embrace, to sit on his lap, wrap your arms around his neck and remain just like that and tell him that—

“Baby,” he starts, rubbing your arm as your eyelids flutter open. “Stand on the bed for a sec? Let’s go back.”

And you do; you don’t understand why you need to step on it until he comes to a stand in front of you, back facing you. He pulls your arms in and around his neck, softly ordering you to hop on.

Heaving you up and letting you piggyback when you oblige, he provides you with such an oddly specific reason to fall in love so much harder. You could cry; in a world full of wicked people, what did you do to deserve such a seraphic being?

You wave the others goodbye weakly, hearing Jungkook tell them good night, and then carries you the short way directly to your room. It’s on the other side of the hallway, and despite the couple steps, you groan when he pushes you back up again, holding onto him.

The bed feels like heaven on Earth when you fall into it; the mattress must be a cloud from those cartoons, you’re sure. A collection of light cotton. Soft with a fresh scent, blending with his own.

When he tucks you in, he does so with utmost care. You didn’t know you could tuck anybody in like this. And when he kisses your nose, you think it’s a feather. He keeps you close, sighing in relief when he feels you against him. Strokes your face like it’s vulnerable.

He melts your skin and liquifies your heart. Wraps a bandage around it and your overthinking mind. Replaces the thoughts. And you might be tired, but you’re not gone enough to not whisper the inaudible statement that you do.

Jungkook hears; he must’ve, because barely a second later, he mutters back, “I know, baby… I do know.”

And then, you fall asleep, slowly, gently; the way a poem ends. Awaiting new stars at another place, but in the same eyes.

DAY 4

You decide to not skip breakfast after all; perhaps you need it for the weirdly down mood this morning anyway.

Possibly due to the fact that you woke up in the middle of the night to a dream — no, nightmare of your mother marching into your hotel room, dragging you back into town because, Why the hell are you wasting your time? Charmante needs you.

Fuck, you don’t even work for Charmante anymore.

You woke up on the wrong side of the bed, is all, feeling very different from yesterday.

And as a cherry on top and adding to your nervousness, Jungkook’s mother informs him about a crisis at home, urging him to leave a little later to a) not have the two of you arrive in the middle of chaos and b) not give you a bad first impression, whatever it may mean.

He won’t tell you, so you don’t force him.

Hence, breakfast.

You prepare to leave just before noon, spending the time before in your room, zoning in and out of your dozy state. You’re groggier today than the days before. Jungkook threw on his denim jacket and a cap; the weather has cooled down, matching your drowsy state. 

And it doesn’t help that the others are so much livelier than you. Somehow, Jimin still has the energy to joke around in the morning, which is not a bad thing on its own; but you know your friend. As gentle and protective as he is, he sometimes gets carried away involuntarily.

Which you notice immediately when you step into the foyer and then walk down to the lobby, waiting for Jungkook to check out. Jimin pats your back, says something like, “Winning sure does tire one out, huh?”

“You have no idea,” you tell him, wanting the pats to stop, but not ready to let out your fatigue on him, “why do they say vacation is relaxing when you sleep like a zombie?”

“Isn’t that right. Cheer up, though. Good days ahead.”

He’s right. Of course he’s right.

You want to take his advice to heart, and you know you will. You’re not feeling bad per se; it’s just the stupid dream and the guess about what might be happening at Jungkook’s house, right before his arrival. It leaves a sour and bitter taste on your tongue simultaneously.

And then, the fact that you barely slept due to the possibly unfounded anxiety. You’re excited, you are, but you can’t deny the whisper of fear of how the next days may go, and what mark you’ll leave on his family.

In the middle of the night, another thought crossed your already overthinking mind: Will you need to compete with Nara? His parents knew her. What stupid worries.

Maybe Jungkook noticed. Because as he groaned in his half sleep, possibly noticing that your breathing didn’t match his — too fast and too unsteady — he pulled you in. Barely at his senses as he spoke in an undertone, “All good? It’s okay, just a few hours. Let’s sleep, baby.”

He didn’t make much sense, but he gave his all, and you appreciated it with a delicate smile. Only now, all of you are awake, and Jimin knows as well as the next person what’s appropriate to say — and while you can take a good joke, you don’t quite vibe with him when he jests—

“No use in whining, right?”

“I… did not whine,” you tell him.

“I don’t know,” he shrugs his shoulders; you hear Jungkook finish his conversation with the receptionist, a different one today. “You were being weird at breakfast.”

“Yeah, because a bug was crawling through my fruit.”

“Well, we ate outside today.” Meaning, the breakfast hall extended to a garden outside where you were prone to have something flying into your food. Not the hotel’s fault, you know. “It happens.”

Yeah, you get it. But you didn’t whine that much, did you? You just didn’t want the extra protein, who can blame you? And besides, you fully understand that you don’t usually indulge in such a mood. It’s just the nerves.

Yet, in the end, why do you worry? And why do you concern yourself with such things regarding your boyfriend when he, it seems, joins the idiocy your best friend started?

Because when Jungkook walks back, he kisses your temple, seemingly softening the words he lets out next, “True. You were a little whiny this morning.”

“Shut up.”

“See? Even he agrees,” Jimin says, and something about this galls you. It shouldn’t; you hate the thought, but you can’t shake it off — that the two closest to you are rallying up against you.

They really aren’t. That’s just you and your current mood, the little voice in your brain argues. Yeah, yeah, you know. But you still can’t help the agitation bubbling in your stomach like erupting lava.

“Don’t be annoying, for real,” you try once more, but the boys are in a mood, taking your warnings as a game. As permission to keep miffing you.

Jimin nudges your shoulder, telling you, “I’m just mimicking you.”

And Jungkook adds, “Happens at home, too. Sometimes it’s too hot, sometimes too cold, and then I wake up because she keeps whimpering and—”

The rambling continues until he sees your enraged eyes, alerting him to stop which he finally does. Jungkook is never insensitive, but you gather his newly found friendship with Jimin makes him a little less careful.

And you don’t want to be angry. Out of all these months you’ve known and fallen for him, he’s treated you the most human you’ve ever known. You didn’t understand how to feel like a person until you became cognisant of the fact that somebody had learned to love you.

But that doesn’t mean your pique is any less valid.

You bid your friends goodbye, one embrace after another, and then, in the flattest tone, tell Jungkook, “Let’s go.”

He doesn’t notice at first. As you drive, he does conversation as he does on any other day. You’re trying to shake off your vexation, wanting to focus on the journey instead, wishing to pose questions on his town, his people, all their family traditions.

Instead, you stay quiet. Unsatisfied with your own behaviour, but even less so with his. You know it was a joke, and a bad, not quite harmful one at that. And you also know nobody is perfect; that even your softie of a boyfriend makes mistakes sometimes.

You don’t doubt his heart. You just woke up in a foul mood, and that didn’t help.

You focus on the road with all your might, even though you hate how it blurs when he finally seems to realise that his failed attempts at conversation must mean something. Because half an hour later, he says, “My angel radar tells me you’re mad.”

“Shut up.”

“Come on. Talk to me. I’m bored.”

Unbelievable. You blink, jaw hardening as you mock, “Ah, you want me to talk to you just because you’re bored, yeah? What if I start whining again?”

“Well, I love it when you whine.”

If you could, you’d slap your own forehead. Instead, you only shake your head, clutching the wheel, feeling like a bull puffing smoke out of your nostrils as you state, “Men sometimes really don’t know what to say.”

“Babe… I do, I swear,” he argues, “I love it when you’re pouty and sulking or a little irritated. You know, as long as I know it’s nothing too serious, I love listening to you. Don’t you know what I always do when you sulk?”

Yes, you do know. He pampers you; next-level coddling. But you don’t answer.

“Come on…” he tries, moving closer, pinching your cheek lightly. You move your head away. “The joke was so stupid, baby, I know. I’m sorry. Super duper sorry. Look how sorry I am.” You do for a second, just as he takes out a plastic package from his bag, telling you, “I’m even eating the licorice snack you bought.”

You hold back the smile. No. You’re mad.

You say, “You hate licorice. And this one was for the others.”

“But you bought it. And you tried to feed me with it on our way to the hostel, remember?”

“Kook,” you say, the nickname slipping out, “you don’t need to prove anything. God.”

You pause, finding it almost impossible to be mean. The distance irritates you; you hate being annoyed, but your ego won’t let you give in just yet. You’re an idiot, what can you do. You pause before speaking on, pressing your lips into a line, and then turn the wheel until the vehicle stops at the side of the road.

He looks around, hears the motor die, and asks, “What are you doing?”

“Well, I can’t focus on the road and on your rubbish at the same time.”

He can’t help himself but chuckle a little, immediately stopping when you throw him a look. He attempts again, “Okay. Come on, then. Let’s get some fresh air and talk it out.”

You follow the suggestion silently; mostly because it doesn’t sound too bad. You could fill your lungs with something else than stubborn indignation right now. So you get out of the car and take a stand at the edge, where a sunflower field begins.

You remember Jungkook once saying he has a few of those in his town; that he enjoyed taking walks there when he was little. You wonder…

“Angel?” he tries when you don’t speak. Grazes your fingers with his; you let him.

“Hm?”

“Don’t be mad at me. It feels so ugly.”

“Don’t be mean then.”

“You know I never am,” he says, repeating, “I’m sorry? I’m really sorry, sweetheart.”

He doesn’t say this word too often. Sweetheart. All his affection usually resides in angel and munchkin and baby. It’s in moments like these, sentimental and running deep, when everything else comes out.

“Alright…” you mumble.

Even from the side eye, you see him light up. His stance straightens, his face inching closer. And he asks, “…You forgive me?”

“Sure.”

And that’s enough for him to close the distance, to press a kiss to your head. You take a deep breath.

Your stupid ego wants you to be angry a little longer; wants him to fully feel that you didn’t like his behaviour before. Then again, you understand the sincerity of his apologies. Know his heart inside and out. Accept that people get drawn into jokes sometimes, that this happens.

And your heart is too down bad for him to resist.

You can’t fight his kisses, or how he embraces you, and then, how he sways you side to side. How he sing-songs, “My pretty baby. Kinda sexy when angry.” You break; laugh. “Look at that… so cute.”

Another pinch of your cheeks before he presses his own into your hair. Silences. You use the moment to wait, to watch. To take in the view in front of you. It’s wide, green. And somewhere in the back, you see kids cycling, laughing, free like birds.

Then, far behind them, houses. A church. Cosy and small, suggesting a community like you’ve never seen. You question, “Is this your town over there? Are we close?”

“Ah… no and no. But also, yes.”

Your eyebrows furrow. It’s his town, but it’s not. You don’t grasp the meaning until you say, “What,” only realising the possibly metaphoric intention before he clarifies it.

“My town looks like this one. But it’s not. We still have a way to go.”

“Hm… it’s so pretty.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m so curious, you know? About just… everything,” you tell him.

“I’m curious, too.”

Guess it makes sense. In a way, Jungkook knows as little as you what to expect. It’s a wedding — how many of those do they have in his town? And one so close in his family, too. You guess he’s tapping in the dark, too, just as nervous about it as you.

Perhaps more. After all, this is his life. His relatives. His past, and his joys as well as his pains. You know you’re part of them; he’s told you before. But you haven’t seen all of it just yet.

“Jungkook,” you say, moving the topic, “this feels like a core memory in the making.”

He chuckles, not passing an opportunity to squeeze your heart when he says, “Yeah… but you know. For me all the last few days were. The last months.”

“I… I kinda don’t wanna go home. I want to stay in this moment.”

If there was a machine or power to freeze the world and remain just here, you’d acquire it. If you could cling to this, never go back again, him standing next to you, in front of you, behind you… you would.

But the world demands productivity, and productivity feeds you. It’s how the human species evolved and what society expects. And you’ll keep growing; your age will advance. There’s no infinity on this Earth because you’ll be gone one day.

Grim thoughts, but isn’t it true? Time is your only enemy.

But it’s odd, see? It doesn’t feel finite with him. It’s like you’re destined to stay young and in love for eternity; here to never grow old. Like there’s a gift the two of you are lucky to have, that’ll keep you in this moment the way you want to.

Time doesn’t even exist; suddenly, it holds still after all.

You look up. The sun is hidden behind clouds, but the weather is still pleasant. Not too hot, not too cold; enough for a thin jacket, but not enough to shiver. And you think it might rain later.

Shit. The town is gorgeous. Domestic. You wonder what it’s like, living there. Knowing everyone and each corner; to go to school and grow; to fall in love and spend nights in movie theatres and on calm streets. To kiss in the car.

For some reason, the thought hurts your heart, so you move on from it.

And then, you wonder what it’s like to see these people again after moving out. What it feels like to come home. How a brain changes when welcomed back.

You wonder, wonder, wonder…

If Jungkook will be different there. A different dialect, different skills to show, a different self. Which of his smiles will you see the most? And how will it feel to become part of his and his loved one’s lives once and for all?

Introduced as his girlfriend. As the person residing in his mind. Being the one grabbing his attention when a dozen people are around. You feel weirdly giddy, and giddily weird.

Want to know what it’s like to be loved in every corner of the world. And it reminds you… of something that you don’t need a reminder for.

That… in all those corners, you’ll feel the same. As you did when he first told you he loved you. When he waited for a second until you gathered yourself, in the middle of your living room, and then…

And then told him that you loved him, that of course you loved him, too.

He’s known since then, yet staying true to his tiger lily. Still pleading for you to keep loving him. To not stop.

Like he did in the hostel, on the narrow bunk bed, a moment before you muttered an, “I love you,” back. Or when he whispered it on the mountain, and you mouthed it into his direction in return.

When he dared you to love him just last night, and you, half asleep, desperately clutching his cotton shirt, breathed out an, “I love you, too, Kook. You know, right? So much.” Vividly remembering him susurrating in response, “I know, baby. I do know.”

You look at him, his face sunlit. Tell him once more, “I love you, Jungkook. I don’t care how much we need to endure and who we need to fight.”

He stops his movements; lips close to your temple. You don’t think he ever gets used to your confessions; just like you don’t ever do to his. He murmurs, “Baby…”

“I know… I— I was just mad a minute ago, and yes — before you ask, you do convince me easily,” you laugh when he does, “but. No matter what happens and what hurts us and whatever issues we have to handle… I want us to be a team.”

You turn in his arms; he doesn’t let go and neither do you.

“I know there's a lot of pain ahead… because there always is,” you say. “But through it all, I love you, Kook. And I'll stick to that.”

“My angel… I love you, too. I’m fucking crazy about you, you know?” A rhetorical question; you know because he tells you often. You don’t grow sick of it; the butterflies feel new every day. He kisses your lips, then your hand, your knuckles. “Be mad at me as much as you want. I’ll just love you more.”

“If that’s a challenge…” You stop mid-sentence with an oddly damp waterline, only for him to snicker, soon continuing with, “Let’s go. Still a way ahead of us.”

Yes. You sniffle, blinking the tears away.

You master the remaining time peacefully, blissfully.

You sing and talk and sit in comfortable silence as you advance towards the town. The roads are busy sometimes, empty other times. You drive a distance you feel good enough about, but when the roads narrow and the road traffic regulations seem to change, you switch.

As he conquers the rest of the journey, you fall into a nap, merely aware when. You don’t awake until he shakes you gently, informing you that you’ve arrived.

Your eyes open to a pretty porch, and when you look around, you find yourself at a place that you’ve only seen on TV or at the very edge of your town.

Even then, none of it compares to this. The streets are different. The atmosphere is different. And the person standing on the stairs of the porch; the sentiment she elicits is different.

It’s his mother, waiting, a bright smile on her face as she looks between him and you, to and fro. He takes your hand; and when you look at him, you notice his expression has changed. To something better, to something worse. Much swimming in his eyes as he asks, “Ready?”

You understand where the ambiguity comes from.

Next to his mother is another man, probably not a lot older than Jungkook — and then behind him, someone you assume as his father. Neutral expression, nodding when Jungkook does with a smile; they look similar when they do it.

Yet, their nature differs thoroughly. When he perceives you, you shiver.

Shit. Shit. Shit…

Your heart thumps a hundred miles a minute. Goddamn… you’re here. You can’t believe you’re here; a sense of excitement but also anxiety grows in your chest. You could throw up.

But…

It’ll be okay, right? Does it really matter what bad moods anybody might want to cause? Maybe you can dodge them all as long as you’re together. Maybe his father isn’t the concern you deem him to be. Right?

And Jungkook said… What did he say?

I’m fucking crazy about you, you know?

In the end, that’s probably enough, isn’t it? You’ve combatted so much… maybe you can fight this, too. And there’s this quote you know… what was it? Fitting the moment, no?

Edgar Allan Poe, once saying I was never insane except upon occasions when my heart was touched.

Maybe you’ve touched his enough to throw him into a permanent craze.

And you guess that you, too, are insane all the damn time.

okayyy 🥺 somehow writing for them after so long made me feel even closer to them :') it was a difficult journey, and i struggled, but we got there!! there's heavy-ish angst ahead, so please enjoy the fluff thoroughly – i really really hope you guys enjoyed the chapter <3 and thank you for always always pushing me forwards and encouraging me to keep going, y'all make this series even possible.

that's also why it'd be super cool to hear what y'all think – please don't be a silent reader 🥺 it's super important in order to keep the story going and to know the wait was worth it 🥺 likes, comments, reblogs (!!) and asks always go a long way. let out all your thoughts: questions, statements, theories, or just general screaming haha i love talking to y'all 🤍

colour me in: palette | jjk (m)

Summary: Breezy mountaintops and turquoise oceans are even more enchanting with Jungkook by your side. Yet, throughout your vacation, you realise — even once you've left the lofty peaks and liberating waves behind, you'll still elevate each other to new heights every day.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating; tiny hints of angst, crazy much fluff, smut ➳ warnings: okayyy. a shit ton of fluff. vacation with their friends!!!, kissing, singing, sexual tension, slippery soccer lolll, bit of acrophobia, someone flirts with oc, bit of jealousy, lots of taeun and yoonmin moments, new dynamics!!!, mountains and beaches, jimin/jk moments :'), deep talks, some insecurities, bunk beeeeds lol, mention of homophobia, small arguments, anger, talk about passing of time; explicit sexual content: hotel room sex :O, light spanking/ass stuff, kissing and making out, teasing, neck kisses!!, jk never gets enough, bit of manhandling, pussy slapping, big dick!jk, soft dom!jk, oc is soaked, they're both wearing their shirts/naked downstairs tho (impatience sigh), oral (f. & m. receiving), bit of mouthfucking, soft and rough sex, mention of sex toys, slapping with his dick ig, masturbation, spit, edging?, choking, he likes her bewbs and a$$, squirting, they ruin the hotel room bed lol, showering together; the ending 🥺 ➳ word count: 32.6k ➳ a/n: gosh, it's been mooonths. did y'all miss them as much as i did :') the distance really brought me closer to them. some more of my soul in this chapter <3 there'll be angst ahead, so enjoy this one thoroughly and with all your heart. thank you for all the support, too <3 i can't wait to hear what you guys think 🤍 ➳ listen to: can't help falling in love by haley reinhart (alt. version) | full collaborative playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

DAY 1

“Bunk beds… Fu. Cking. Bunk. Beds.”

Jimin scarcely seems impressed with the change in plans that the hostel is forcing your group into. You haven’t quite yet deciphered what’s going on; you’ve been waiting in the lobby with pursed lips and tired eyes, Jimin at the front desk, discussing details that he’s now groaning about.

“Wait… what?” Eun asks, eyes scanning the group members, all equally confused.

Jimin, as agitated as you haven’t seen him in a while, plumps into one of the lobby’s upholstered sofa chairs, massaging his forehead, seemingly preparing to narrate a tale without a happy ending. He sighs, raising his hand as if to teach calculation to a child, and starts explaining.

“We’d booked three rooms, right? But one of them has a leak.” Short pause; Taehyung clicks his tongue. “So now they offered to keep one with the queen size bed and then get another room with two bunk beds. We’d pay less. Or. We keep the other two rooms with the beds, and still pay for the bunk bed room since one couple will still need it.”

“Same price?” Yoongi inquires, aside from Jungkook, the calmest in the room.

“Oh my god,” Eun whispers, matching Jimin’s drama-loving freak, “this is… we’re being robbed.”

“So,” Yoongi tries again, a deep voice interrupting your best friends’ growing hysteria, “we just pay less and get the bunk bed room for four people, no?”

Eun and Jimin stare at the man as if he’s uttered sheer nonsense; Eun’s eyes squint, questioning how he’d dare separate her from her boyfriend. And Jimin, his expression equal to Eun’s, directs the disbelief between his eyebrows directly at his lover speaking.

But as the options start to waver, Eun sighs, leaning back in defeat as she mumbles, “I guess…”

“Yeah, and then, who’s getting the queen sized bed?” you ask carefully, likely initiating another feud; but what else can you do? You need to resolve the issue on hand and you’re dog tired; you need to nap for an hour at least. “How do we decide that?”

“That’s the question,” Jimin declares, rubbing his hands before he announces, “I think we’ll have to fight for it, folks.”

“…How?”

Multiple pairs of eyes drift to the ceiling in thought, attempting to come up with a fair idea or some game. But their schemes are probably too intricate, building scenarios that aren’t feasible in this very situation; you can already tell.

That is, until Taehyung speaks up, slapping his thigh as he finally answers, “We’ll just go the easiest way we know.”

The fact that Jungkook and Yoongi puff out a breath of air is understandable; as Kim Taehyung’s closest pals, they’re bound to know which thought lit up his brain. But by now, even you understand the man’s tactics well enough, and before you can verbalise them, Yoongi does.

“…Wait. You want to rock paper scissors this out?”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“We just pull names? Or spin the wheel? There are plenty of sites on the Internet.”

“No,” Jimin again, “I don’t trust any of you to not manipulate this.”

Voices soon mingle, offended by Jimin’s distrust, retorts flying around such as, “Oh, thanks for this,” or “Why would we manipula—”

“Come on!” Jimin defends, cutting through the cacophony of arguments. “We’re all a bunch of newlyweds! Nobody wants to sleep without the other.”

Well… maybe he’s not wrong there. Over the last several weeks, you’ve grown accustomed to your boyfriend’s warmth next to you; under your head; beneath your palm. His breath against your cheeks and the chin in your mane.

Which is why you tilt your head in slight, approaching worry, leaning into Jungkook’s embrace, his arm over your shoulders. You look at him until he stares back, telling him as the others argue, “This is terrible. I just got used to sleeping with you and…”

But he shakes his head in reassurance, blinking slowly. Gently grabs your hand off his chest and intertwines your fingers, promising that, “It’s okay, babe. Whatever game they want to play, we’ve got this.”

If he says it, you must believe it. Losing would be counterproductive for this trip; you required this time-out with him for the sake of your sanity, considering the weight of the past months.

And thinking about it, you’ve gotten used to his presence too much to sleep without it. You reminisce about the nights he hit the gym late, barely finding time throughout the day as he worked on his exhibit pieces, permanent smudged hues colouring the sides of his hands.

And you, exhausted from work, grazed the other side of the bed with a half sleeping, half restless mind, waking up time and time again to find the mattress empty. Whenever he did come back, sliding into the sheets, you’d notice.

Notice everything.

How he’d kiss your forehead or your temple, whispering your name or a soft, “Hi, angel,” without really expecting a response back. He’d pull you half on top of his body, chest rising with your head atop as he sighed and then, eventually, drifted off.

You think that once or twice, you even heard him breathe a nearly inaudible confession, starting with your new favourite letter L.

But…

It seems that today, luck isn’t quite on your side; different from what he foretold, you haven’t got this. Because mere five minutes later, you’re staring into a group of shaking heads and devastated faces.

Jimin and Yoongi have lost already; and when it’s time to decide between the remaining of you four, it’s not you who breaks into cheerful laughter but the couple you’ve decided to regard with a pout for the rest of the trip.

Unnecessary to mention that Tae and Eun dash into their room once they’ve received the key, quick enough for their suitcases to collide with their soles as they roll behind them. The two remaining duos, among them a sighing Jungkook and a disappointed you, trudge to the bunk bed room without any rush.

Jimin and you sulk your way through the hallways, but Yoongi and Jungkook, you soon notice, remain familiarly posed. You don’t get it; aren’t they upset about the separation?

Your boyfriend at least is still sporting an encouraging smile when you open the door to the frustratingly compact room. The two pairs of bunk beds have a sufficient distance between them, but the beds themselves barely fit a person. You’ve been played so bad.

“And what if we do take the second double room and let fate decide between us?” Jimin suddenly suggests, and you nearly buckle, ready to get into position and lift your fist for another game.

But Yoongi pushes between the two of you, clicking his tongue, “Nah. It’s just two nights, we’ll be moving on after that anyway. Besides,” he sets his suitcase against the left bunk bed, claiming it, and ruffles through his long, dark hair, “we can’t leave the last couple all alone here.”

You smirk in mock, tilting your head, “Ha-ha. You’re way too sure of victory. You wanna try right now, Min—”

“Come on,” Jungkook tries, two heavy hands settling on your shoulders before he moves them down and rubs your shoulders in affection, “solidarity, baby. It’ll be fun.” He moves in, close to your face, kisses your cheek and then whispers into your ear, “We’ll have our room at the beach. And then a whole week just for us, remember?”

Oh, as if you could forget.

Jungkook’s hometown will be the third and last stop of your vacation, a wedding and a childhood bedroom awaiting you. You can’t predict what those days in the countryside will bring, but you refuse to think about them; not because you’re reluctant to go, but because you want the place to surprise you.

Nevermind that the thoughts still seep through all the time; the pure elation.

Your face warms at the thought; you’ve communicated it a million times and will say it a billion times more — you don’t think you’ve ever been this pumped in your life.

No — do not think about it. Let it come to you… carpe diem and all that.

You jump back into the moment, right into the banter, placing your suitcase on the floor and opening it to rummage for today’s outfit. As you shamelessly lay open your entire wardrobe, including some of your best lingerie, you tease, “Okay. I’ll save up my energy. More tonight, boys.”

Jimin blows a raspberry at you; Yoongi waves you off with a grin; and Jungkook barely reacts to you. You assume he’s tired from all the driving, requiring rest more than you, eyes half-lidded.

But if you were in his head, you’d know that he’s long dissociated from the conversation, blending out words, movements, reactions; rather, he merely observes your smile. The playful crease between your eyebrows. The curve of your lips as you speak.

Blinking slowly; lucky for the force of nature wafting into his life like a brisk autumn wind.

Lucky, knowing that somebody could actually care so much.

The pullover doesn’t feel as soft and smooth between your fingertips as it looked from afar. You don’t think you’ll take it. But the beige cardigan felt like a shawl made of accumulated feathers against your body; and Jungkook approved of it, too.

You’re liking the village; maybe it’s the overall dreamy and magical vibe it emanates. It’s redolent of cosy nights spent in front of a fireplace, a hot tea cup warming your palms as you study the view out of a small window, the far-reaching blankets of snow.

And the scent of wooden houses and cinnamon travels through this place — you can’t describe it, but you urge to take all the earthy colours with you.

The pink dress, however, hugging your body like second skin, is bright, the opposite of the cardigan you’ve already settled on buying. It’s a fall dress, comfortable and adaptable to any situation.

You turn in front of the mirror, inspecting your ass, your curves, checking the length and the material for possible flaws. And once you’ve convinced yourself, you push the curtain aside, seeking a second opinion from the man patiently sitting in front of the changing room.

Upon seeing you, his eyes brighten the way they did the last couple of times. Even when he didn’t quite like the item you chose, he seemed happy to just see you. But this time, his pupils flit from button to top, the sparkle in them already obvious as he says, “Damn.”

“I take it you like it as much as I do.”

“Do one of your three sixty spins.”

He loves those. Enjoys it when you present yourself with that treacly smile of yours, arms angled and slightly in the air. And when you come to a stand again, the dress still sways, your eyes questioning, sweet, pure. Jungkook finds joy in this; he could look at you doing this all day.

You keep asking, “Are you bored? Wanna go somewhere else?”

And he always responds, “No. Show me another one of the dresses.”

But no matter how boundless his enthusiasm, he can’t control his occasionally occurring ticks — you know they’re a sign of a nervous mind, watching his fidgety self card through his hair or move his leg or cross and uncross his arms.

So you ask, “You okay?”

“Hm? Yeah. Yeah, I think I’m just tired,” he explains, “driving all day made me drowsy.”

Well, okay, that could be a reason. He does get restless when he craves his bed. Kudos to him for still enduring your slow ass at shopping. You hum before you remind him, “I told you to let me drive.”

“Yes, but…. I like driving,” he shrugs his shoulders, pouting a little, “and you were having fun.”

Honestly—

Fun is a way to call it. You pluck at the hem of the fall dress, recalling the morning with a fond but slightly guilty smile.

“Okay. Lean back now.”

The road was challenging, Jungkook’s voice too quiet to prevail over the music, and you too reckless. Despite the chaos, his grin was telling — though the crinkles and dimples disappeared when half your body turned towards the backseat; right when the car approached a sharp curve.

A harsh hand pushed your beaming self back into your seat, and he spat a single warning, “Angel!”

You’d separated the large group — Jimin was driving the other car, alternating with Taehyung. The journey wasn’t awfully long, but you still went the fair route and split your circle in three versus three, Yoongi residing in the back of your car.

Your car because you’d be driving on to the wedding anyway, and Yoongi would then proceed the vacation in Taehyung’s vehicle. But while your excitement for Jungkook’s hometown didn’t dim a single bit, you were a little sad that you’d be leaving earlier, not getting more time with Yoongi.

Because he vibed. With the right people, you heard, and now witnessed, he vibed.

He sang along with the music in confidence, flashing gummy smirks, DJ-ing with you. Sharing the same taste in music as you, the moments were never dull, 80s classics chiming before modern hip hop took their place. Yoongi likes J. Cole particularly.

The two of you were exhausting, but you did pamper the driver enough to not let your annoying self become too obvious. As in, feeding Jungkook snacks whenever you could, indulging in his favourite music when your tracks ended, offering to drive.

Jungkook remained in a good mood most of the way, but nearing the end, he got edgy, tired, even disregarding Yoongi’s sarcastic suggestion to drive wordlessly.

It took you a moment to understand — Yoongi isn’t a bad driver at all, as you’ve been told by himself, but he’s still not fully healed yet. None of you would make him and he wouldn’t risk it.

Mad respect to Jungkook for suffering through your shenanigans and then still being your anchor as the trouble about the rooms began at the hostel.

You’re a handful — but he has confessed a hundred times before that he’d rather have that than an empty palm.

“No wonder you’re tired,” you tell him, flattening the already crinkle-free dress before you add, “Poor Jimin and Yoongi. Were separated in the cars and now in the hostel, too.”

“I mean,” Jungkook starts, “they both seemed to have a good time on the way, though. Other than that, have they even made stuff official yet?”

Good question. Barely occurred to you yet. You think back to the last couple of weeks, to each of the weekend meetings that you’d summon everybody to in order to discuss the trip. Nothing was said then. Nothing has been said since this morning, either.

So you say, “Kind of by just being with each other the way they are, right? To be honest, I didn’t even think about it. For me, it was already official… didn’t think it’d need an announcement.”

“Maybe you’re right? It’s as much of a secret as we are.”

You break into a grin. “Right?” And then, you straighten your stance, once more turning to show off your ass, too, just for good measure. “What do you think?”

“Oh, you should buy it.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, it’d be good to look at and then fun to rip off.”

You roll your eyes so hard, they nearly disappear from his sight; partly to hide the effect his words practise on you — face hot, chest tight, legs crossed to ease the physical feeling that emerges.

And then, partly to remind him of where he’s sitting right now — not far from an elderly lady who’s currently side-eying you. Weird; just a minute ago she was smiling at you. Ah, decency.

“Ugh, can you only think about that?” you joke, right before wiggling a finger. “This one’s expensive. You’re not ripping off shit.”

“Hey, don’t scold me. You’re just as bad!”

“I’m not! In case you don’t remember, I totally resisted when you offered to come into the changing room with me.”

“Ah, ahhh,” he teases, cocking an eyebrow, “in case you don’t remember, only very reluctantly.” You can’t suppress the laugh, and he joins, familiar creases around his stellar eyes. “But seriously, you look gorgeous.”

“Right! I’ll wear it to your next exhibition, okay? Or the party you’ll definitely host once you’ve established yourself as the nation’s biggest artist.”

And that’s when he finally gets up, groaning a tiny bit before he slaps your ass and rubs it, delighted at your yelp. Challenges you, “Decide whether you want to be cute or sexy. I can’t handle both.”

“But you do every day,” you say, sulking. But your expression returns to normal when he pinches your butt, and you click your tongue, “Okay, okay. We’ll see what you can handle once we get to our next destination.”

Where you’ll finally have your own bedrooms. Your peace. Your mattress to be demolished.

Excited doesn’t do this feeling justice.

Jungkook must be thinking something similar; at least that’s what you ascertain from the way he tongues his inner cheek, shaking his head. You don’t provoke him further — only blow a kiss before you saunter back into the changing room.

You purchase the dress, stepping into the fall air, and move your head left and right in search of the rest of you. You ask, “Have you seen the others? I think we lost them at the souvenir shop, but they might be nearby.”

“Yeah, they went into another souvenir sho— wait, that’s Eun, isn’t it?”

You squint into the distance.

God, this place is like a Christmas market straight from 90s movies. Traditional and homely, domestic and gentle. Oozes some type of warmth that defeats the slightly chill breeze by miles.

And you’re so loving the shops. They’re small, their owners as hospitable as you haven’t met in ages. They talk to you, treat you like one of their own, never attempting awkward conversation and always providing their honest opinion. The lady you just bought the dress from even told you to visit again.

Shit, and the stalls! They’re popular spots; the backbone of the tourism in this area. Sell all kinds of snacks — candied fruits, hot drinks, gingerbread. October hasn’t ended yet, but you crave your golden Christmas lights.

Somewhere not too far, you finally recognise Eun and Yoongi, too, standing at the punch stall, ordering. Thinking about it, it’s been a while since you ate or drank — and just imagining the fruity flavour, you can’t help but suggest, “Ohhh, I should get some, too. Wanna come?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer right away. Your suspicion from before somewhat returns; his thoughts don’t seem to align with yours right now. In fact, you guess them far away, pondering about anything but punch.

You’re moved to ask again, but before you can utter a word, he answers, “Hmm, no, I think I’ll get a coffee a bit later. I’ll go find Jimin and Taehyung in the meantime, though? You go get your punch.”

You blink at him, not sure if you should try again. But when you can’t find a reason for any deviation in mood, you give him the free space he might need, telling him, “Okay. You know where to find us if you need to.”

“Got it,” he says, leaning in to kiss your forehead, and then walks away when you do.

Just once more, you turn, gaping over your shoulder in confusion; but he seems okay. Occupied by the view, craning his neck to look at the mountain nearby, at the very peak you’ll reach tomorrow.

So you turn away, only for him to regard you a moment later.

Jungkook watches as you reach your friend, Eun’s arm cheerfully wrapping around your shoulders, welcoming you in. You give the stall owner a knockout smile, and once distracted enough, Jungkook directly charges for the shop the two of you walked past earlier.

It’s still mostly empty when he reaches it. One young man, much like him, is standing inside, discussing an object lying on the pult between him and the seller. Jungkook glances through the store window, spying the object of his desire, and then walks in.

Enduringly, he waits for the other man to finish. Seems he is a customer, too, buying his grandmother a gift for her birthday. And it looks like he’s more or less firm on his decision, because not even two minutes later, he has thanked the woman behind the counter and left.

Jungkook, equally determined, points to the purchase he’d like to make, making small-talk with the woman now and then before she disappears in a small room at the back and packs the object.

And Jungkook waits… waits calmly until a voice breathes a, “What you doing?” into his ears, scaring him to death. The woman leans back, peeking, alarmed as she asks in an accent, “Everything good?”

Jungkook waves her concerns off. Lets her work. Turns to Jimin as he says, “Goddamn, dude. Don’t do that.”

“You look like you saw a ghost. Are you hiding something?” he asks, right before the lady walks out and presents the pretty packaging and small bag to Jungkook. “Oh! Is this for me?”

Jungkook pays with a scoff, carefully placing it in his bag and then laughs, “C’mon.” And once the rucksack is back on his shoulders, he bids his goodbyes to the seller, leading Jimin outside and whispering as if you could hear, “Alright. It’s for her. I’ll give it to her at the wedding.”

“Damn, a little present for the date at a wedding? You’re down bad.”

“How did you guess that?” Jimin chuckles, patting Jungkook’s back as the younger one smirtles. Soon telling Jimin, “Not a word to her, though. Or anyone. Okay?”

“My lips are sealed.”

That’s it. At least for a while. Both pairs of hands pushing into their jeans’ pockets at once, they trek side by side in silence, head moving left, right, up and down. It’s awkward until it isn’t — until Jimin collects some courage and then spits, “Listen.”

Another pause. Just for a moment. Enough for Jungkook’s tremendous eyes to look up, a finger scratching his temple as he hears Jimin articulate words he never expected, “I know I said my piece that night already, but…” A grimace, kissing his lips, then, “I’m really sorry for doubting you so much at first. I should’ve given you a chance much sooner.”

Well, fuck. 

For weeks and months, Jimin refused to trust him with a steadfast resolution. Didn’t waver even when you attempted to convince him otherwise. There was a prickly dislike in the man’s eyes that irked Jungkook, and frankly, saddened him a little.

But the night you drunk-called him, begging to come back, minutes before he chauffeured all of you home, something shifted. Jimin’s stance towards Jungkook had seemed to change, at least. Actually a grateful occurrence to think back to, considering how much Jungkook fucked up at that time…

“But you have given me a chance now,” Jungkook defends, Jimin nodding, “and I appreciate that just as much.”

“You remember what I said to you back then?”

Of course… he might remember each detail of that night forever.

“Of course,” Jungkook echoes, “you said you were growing fond of me. Trusted me.”

“And I meant it.”

“She said you said it because you knew she was fond of me.”

Jimin chuckles, the sound high-pitched and pleasant, melodic. “Well, I guess that’s true to some extent. But it’s definitely not just that.” He reviews his thoughts; then, “It’s more so the fact that you came back.”

That he came back.

Jimin doesn’t mention that he came back because you called. Because somewhere within, he must know as well as the man beside him that Jungkook was going to come back anyway.

Nobody here doubts his feelings for you. And in some way, this is a reassurance of trust he didn’t think he needed.

“And in hindsight,” Jimin speaks on, “while I disagree with what you did before that,” a sting in Jungkook’s beating heart, “I think your reasons were selfless. Lack of communication here and there, but… you want her happy, right?”

There’s no debate about this.

“So much,” Jungkook immediately agrees, “it just doesn’t make sense, you know? That someone like her should be sad.”

“I agree. And you came back, that’s what it is. You’re here. I think I was fond of you because you gave her a sense of… safety.” He shrugs his shoulders, hands still buried in his pockets. Gives a glance to the variety of passersby. “Making her feel protected and like she was worth something when others didn’t. And in turn, you gave her something to fight for, too.”

Something to fight for… someone to fight for.

How hard is it to wrap your head around the fact that somebody thinks you worthy enough to combat the world for?

Jungkook’s heart stirs. A sudden affection for your friend awakens. No. His friend, too.

“You’re just half as bad, huh?” he says, urging another laugh out of Jimin.

“No, you.” More snicker. “But seriously. Since we were teenagers and she was first confronted with… all the issues around her, she’s repeated to me everybody has demons to fight. A couple weeks ago she said it again… added that you do, too. No details, no worries!”

He raises his hand in defence, and Jungkook shakes his concerns off, mumbling that it’s okay, that it’s true.

So Jimin continues, “But just… whenever you might feel like you’re not doing enough — because let’s be real, we all do sometimes — remember that you make at least one person happy.”

Crazy. This is crazy. An alternate reality, for sure.

“I never expected to hear this from you, but… I really am thankful, Jimin.”

Jimin nods before he stops, as if remembering something. “And if it helps. I’m really glad you joined us here. I mean you know Tae and Yoongi better, but Eun loves you.”

Jungkook titters, shy as Jimin nudges his arm, but silencing when he looks ahead, not early enough to stop Jimin’s addition, “And by the way, she’ll love that. Will feel like the bride, probably—”

Jungkook grits his teeth at the very last word, as if staggered by another ghost appearing in front. Jimin’s eyes follow Jungkook’s, eyes widening a couple inches as he realises his mistake; met with your bright gaze as you near the men with Eun and question, “What are you guys talking about?”

You’re so cheerful and curious, impossible to resist. Jimin’s lie nearly doesn’t come out, but when it does, it happens smoothly enough, “He was just gushing about your dress. Told me how he already knows you’ll be the talk of the night.”

“Come onnnn,” you urge, your smile falling, replaced by a scowl, “this is so weak. I know you, Park. That’s not what you were talking about.”

“It is!” Jungkook chimes in as shamelessly as he can. Guilt floods him — but there are certain sacrifices that are necessary for love, aren’t there? “I told you many times how hot you look in it. I did, you can’t contradict that.”

Jungkook’s acting might be getting better, but you still squint your eyes, still pulling a face. But it seems they are conspiring against you; Jungkook clearly sees you give up. Understand that you won’t get anything out of them.

Besides, you love surprises. You won’t ruin it for yourself.

So you wave the white flag, only saying, “I don’t really believe you, but okay,” before turning, gripping Jungkook’s hand and adding, “Listen. You don’t get to drink a good punch every day. Screw the coffee, try it for me. Yoongi is still there.”

And as the two of you walk away, Jimin follows, ignoring Eun’s curious look. Focuses on how Jungkook turns to him just a little, smiling in mischief but also in something like…

Friendship.

Jungkook has been babbling his mouth dry. You know of his temporary hyperfixations; alternating between cooking twice a day, karaoke-ing his way through a lazy weekend or playing Overwatch for four hours straight and of course, you.

Tonight, it’s gimbap.

You’ve heard a ton about it today; from his favourite kind to how it’s made to failures in his past as he first attempted them. Anecdotes and urges.

When you went to the restaurant earlier, he inhaled a gigantic portion of jjajangmyeon, followed by kimchi-bokkeumbap that he partly shared with your still hungry self. His idea was to order some gimbap as another course, but his grunts and groans revealed that he was done for the night.

Or so you thought.

Because hours and a trip to the old town and its popular fountain later, he’s still craving them, restless on the hostel lobby couch as he says, “Do they have room service or something? Do they sell gimbap?”

His attention is directed towards Jimin, the main organiser of your trip; everybody’s been posing questions today as if he’s studied the town and journey to the tiniest detail. Jimin rubs a palm over his tired eyes, sighing before he speaks.

“No, this isn’t a very luxurious place anyway,” he explains, “and besides. You’re making me hungry, too.”

Jungkook leans into him as he asks, “Aren’t you quite close with the receptionist?” Pause. “Do you think they’d let us take a couple things from the kitchen and make it ourselves?”

“Wow, you really are craving it,” Taehyung mocks, but Jungkook skillfully ignores him.

“Jungkook, this is a lot of special treatment to ask for,” Jimin then claims, waiting for a response, but nothing comes back.

You lean forwards when your friend shakes his head, trying to understand what’s going on. And when you find Jungkook’s big, twinkling eyes staring longingly, you know he’s gotten to Jimin, too. Because the latter sighs again, adding, “If you charm them, maybe.”

“Come on. I know how to charm people,” he says, regarding you with a wink, a flick of your chin and a click of his tongue, all at once. You whisper a playfully indignant Damn, watching him get to a stand.

He’s brave, you must say; for an initial and past introvert, good food certainly makes him courageous. Jimin first gestures towards the reception, mumbling a, “Go ahead,” but barely a second later, he’s on his feet with a deep exhale, hearing Jungkook say, “Decided to help me?”

“Only because I’m hungry, too. Can make them together.”

Whatever scenario you just witnessed, it could’ve been one from a sitcom. Those little filler scenes, there for comic relief. But what strikes you the most of all is the dynamic you just watched emerge.

You’re surprised to the core; these two, doing something together? Peacefully? Voluntarily?

As your eyes bolt from the duo to the hanging guitar at the wall and then to your friends, you let out a tiny laugh, delivering a short head tilt before you deduce, “That’s new.”

It’s quite a show, the one you observe from here. Your friends are already too groggy to converse, instead indulging in the scene: Jungkook and Jimin as they converse with the receptionist, leaning in, telling the young man about their day.

Then, the quiet plea, as sweetly uttered as possible; you know these two. You know they’re pulling out the biggest, brownest eyes the world shall ever see, the mellowest voices outing their plea — and to your utter surprise, the receptionist gives in.

Leads them to another room, probably the breakfast hall, and around five minutes later, they reemerge.

Your group giggles when they come out with a wink, Jungkook forming a tiny ‘Oh’ with his mouth, as if to whistle without ever doing it. They don’t come back to you yet; settle on another table at the back instead, hands full of ingredients. There’s more room there for sure.

They spread the stuff across the table, rolling up their sleeves. You can’t really hear their conversation from here, but Jungkook says something and Jimin smirks back with a slight shake of his shoulders. Then, they start, but not before choosing a playlist to play quietly as they attempt the gimbap journey.

You can’t believe it. What an odd sight — but good for them.

“That’s rare indeed,” Eun lets slip before she turns back to you and the group, falling back into the couch.

You nod, looking through the round. Different from the two across the room, the atmosphere here is dead. So you wait; wait for an opportunity until Yoongi, opposite from you, gives you one. His eyes roam the room, soon stopping at the guitar from before. He regards it entirely, like a piece in a museum.

You ask, “Hey. Do you play?”

“Hm?” Yoongi looks back at you, puppy eyes in full effect, and then switches between you and the instrument. “Ah. Yeah, I play sometimes.”

“He plays all the time,” Taehyung corrects.

Yoongi raises a hand in something like defence, humble as ever as he says, “I’ve been learning. But I think I have gotten better, though there’s still a long way to go.”

“Any song you enjoy playing the most?” you ask, leaning in.

“Ohh, you’ll like this.” His eyes are widening, waking, sobering up. As you see new stars being born in his dark eyes, you know you’ve introduced the right topic. “You like oldies, don’t you?”

“I do, actually! How do you know?”

Taehyung chimes in, “Jungkook told us. Like literal months ago.”

Perhaps it’s the new sentiments you’re still accommodating yourself to, but you feel the heat filling up your entire chest, moving up to your cheeks and providing warmth in the eye of this autumn.

You peek at your boyfriend and your friend, catching them falling into a goofy cooking session. Jimin grabs the dark soy sauce bottle, attempting to pour the liquid on his plate with the most dramatic expression you have ever witnessed, only to realise a moment later that he hasn’t even opened it yet.

Both of them break into an embarrassed and amused chuckle, Jimin shaking his head, and before you can melt into the leather couch, you look away with a smile.

“Wait,” you say, “in which context? I’m nosy, and now I want to know.”

“He said Yoongi would like you because your favourite song is… what was it again?”

Taehyung directs his gaze imploringly to Yoongi, but it’s Eun who answers fondly, “It’s Can’t Take My Eyes off You. Ever since… always.”

You cock an eyebrow at Yoongi, teasing, “So is it true? Do you like me then?”

“I adore you.”

Your face heats up more. “You didn’t tell me what you like playing the most.”

“I would say I enjoy…”

“Or wait. Don’t tell me. What if you played it?”

“Now hold on—”

Energised, you take a stand, throwing a look at the receptionist who locks eyes with you at just the right moment. You point to the guitar, and he lifts his hand to gesture, “Go ahead, please.”

You take the guitar off its hook, grazing over the smooth, wooden surface and skimming the strings for a tiny moment. Relishing the familiar feeling. And then, encouragingly, you hand it to the man of the hour, telling him, “I know you want to.”

Yoongi is uncaring and unapologetically him, but he’s just as shy when met with attention. Yet, you know him enough to understand he often does whatever somebody asks of him, so you’re barely surprised when he flashes a thin-lipped smile and agrees, “Yeah. Alright.”

He situates the guitar on his lap carefully, treating it like a newborn as he mutters at the same time, “What should I play? Maybe this?”

His fingers strum a few chords that you don’t recognise, tough ceasing when he starts working on tuning the guitar. It takes a moment; a time you spend in silence, watching Taehyung for a second as he props up his head, eyelids half closed.

You shrug your shoulders, telling Yoongi, “Whatever crosses your mind first.”

He doesn’t answer, handling the instrument. He’s focused, his lips slightly apart, his expression impossibly composed. He murmurs another, “This should do,” and when he plays just the first three chords, you already know what he’s chosen.

Sounds like an acoustic version of the song. Like it could be played at a wedding, plucking the strings in the background as the bride marches to her groom, fitting the theme of the song.

“Which one’s this?” Eun asks, leaning into Taehyung who’s barely alive at this point. The music probably doesn’t help.

But apart from him, most of the heads turn, even if just very few present. There’s a quiet couple near Jimin and Jungkook’s table, smiling at the pleasant intrusion. The receptionist puts his lower arms onto the counter, listening in.

And then, eyes still fixated on the fingers skillfully mastering each note, you clarify, “Dance Me to the End of Love. Leonard Cohen originally, but this seems like a very… calm version of it.”

Yoongi nods a little, never stopping the music, but adds, “The Civil Wars. Covered it.”

“Right.”

The ambiance changes immediately. You wish you could lower the lights, embrace all that you hear, save it in your eardrums like a memory stick could. From afar, you notice luminous eyes directed at you, blinking slowly, hands still working, but giving you some momentary attention.

Is Jungkook thinking the same as you? If he stood now, gently pulling you into the middle of the room, would you care who watches as you dance? Could this be the magical moment that soon awaits you in a very near future? Swaying at the wedding…

You break the longing gaze when Jimin nudges Jungkook’s elbow, chin nodding towards your group as if the latter isn’t already watching. It seems they have advanced, nearly done with their endeavours. Not too long until they can join you again.

Another minute passes until Yoongi proceeds to the bridge and the peak of the song, and then another until he’s reached the end. Calm, soft thrums. Fading slowly, snapping you out of something you didn’t know just yet.

Heavy affection crowds your chest, lifting all sorrows off your heart. You’re filled with fondness. Empty of pain. Weighing everything and nothing.

Yoongi looks up at you with another awkward smile, still humble, his lips a straight line. The few people in the room applaud quietly, and as he puts the guitar down, you ask, “And how did that feel?”

“Surprisingly…” Yoongi angles his head, and then changes the movement into a nod. “Comforting.”

“Isn’t that special? Feeling something through the very music you put your soul into?”

It’s how you feel when you write. Probably how Jungkook feels when he draws. To possess something, be it creative or not, that floods you with joy like this is priceless. You think back to when you wrote your first poem. Or when you crafted your very first short story.

The memories are blurred, but you remember the feeling. Putting the dot at the end of the very last sentence. And then, you remember more than just this.

Remember when your father taught you how to play the piano, too, and remember when he—

“You play?” Yoongi suddenly asks, and you look up in surprise.

Oh. What? Your eyes widen, eyebrows lifting, mouth wanting to ask what he said, even though you know exactly which question he posed. But you soon break into a satisfied grin.

“How do you know?” you wonder.

“You talk like you do.”

“I didn’t want to give any spoilers,” Eun confesses from the side, comfortably closing into Taehyung, “so I didn’t say anything. But I’ve heard her play.”

“Ah,” you voice, “not often. Was I any good?”

“As much as I remember.”

Your eyes wander back to Yoongi, the man already working on handing you the guitar over the table between the two of you. You puff out a breath, nearly declining, but then recall that he did this for you, too.

So you grab it for the moment, explaining, “I… I play a little. Dad taught me the guitar and a bit of the piano when I was younger.” You mimic Yoongi’s gestures from before, making yourself comfortable with the bottom of the guitar on top of one leg. “Always enjoyed the guitar more, though. Felt productive, feeling the cornea on my fingertips.”

“Damn…” Taehyung makes, and you smile at him, nodding as if to say, “You’re alive, too!”

“Then you should definitely play something,” Eun says.

“You’re all okay with that?”

“Please,” Yoongi confirms, gesturing for you to start, “you don’t need our permission at all.”

So you nod. Getting used to the steely feeling, preparing mentally as you don’t need to tune the guitar anymore. You start the song in mind, an equally important oldie as Yoongi’s piece; and then you go another brave step further as you start humming.

You wish Taehyung, Jungkook or Jimin could do that for you. They’re better singers. You’re alright, certainly not a pro, singing your words rather quietly when you do start. But it provides you with deep relaxation, and you inwardly hope your voice does the same for the others.

“Wise men say, only fools rush in…”

You don’t know why you chose this song. You don’t know why you didn’t settle with your usual choice. Something about the moment and the starry night urged you to pick out this very melody, holding onto the charm and spark tingling in the air.

Yoongi, an introvert among so many extroverts in your circle, is the one who chimes in soon, singing the chorus and then moving to the third verse. You entrust him with the latter, giving you time to open your eyes that you didn’t realise were shut.

You see the two boys at the end of the room finally emerge, slowly treading towards you with full plates. They plump onto the free seats right under the wall where the guitar previously hung, placing the gimbap in the middle of the table.

Taehyung helps himself to one portion, Eun soon following, but Jungkook…

Jungkook seems to have forgotten about it. He walked to you from one spot to where you sit, but as he looks at you now, you wonder how he moved at all. So mesmerised, like a flawless statue, bambi eyes filled with a tenderness you thought only exists on TV.

If you could guess, you’d say he’s looking at you like… like he’d die for you.

Love. Yearning. Affection uncurbed.

He cradles his cheek, putting his elbow on the arm of the couch, lost as if he’s dreaming. He could fully throw you out of balance just now. If you hadn’t played this song with your father a dozen times, committing each movement to memory, you probably would’ve long failed.

You shut your eyes for a moment enough to catch yourself, hearing Yoongi finish another chorus when you suddenly hear another switch in voices. Jungkook, singing the outro, so effortlessly and tenderly; the tone so angelic without even trying.

You could fall asleep. You could fall deeper.

You never knew you could.

Jungkook is the living proof that, despite not being the biggest sap to walk the Earth, you’ve grown fond of his little gestures. You didn’t think you could feel so shy over the way he kisses the air in your direction, expression so hazy.

A couple months ago, you would’ve never expected not to roll your eyes over his little, gentle antics.

But you’re not. Instead, you’re trying not to let show how much he affects you, nodding towards the applause before you ask, “So I take it, it was good?”

“Good?!” Eun blurts in disbelief, leaving it at that with a shake of her head.

“You keep surprising me, angel,” Jungkook admits, “I don’t know what to do with this anymore.”

“With what?”

He’s close enough for his mouth to kiss your cheek, an eyebrow lifting in tease as he puts a hand on his heart. This time, you do roll your eyes, albeit still going in when he gives your lips the tiniest peck.

Your heart is still in the process of accelerating when he asks, “You chose the right song, didn’t you?”

Yeah. A little dose of Elvis’s Can’t Help Falling in Love fits the situation quite well, doesn’t it?

You merely answer with a flattered smile, nearly going in for another, longer kiss; another touch in your own little bubble, suspending time and the world. But your manners demand differently, so you resist, leaning back.

Only taking his hand until the group comes alive a little more, feasting on the midnight snack that the men handled pretty well. The group changes up with time, seats abandoned and taken, switched with another, the guitar cautiously passed on to Yoongi again.

And then they sing some more. You listen, head on Jungkook’s shoulder, dozing in and out of sleep, in and out of his embrace.

Taehyung is soon encouraged to sing a couple, gorgeous snippets of Fly Me to the Moon, a signature song for him and his baritone voice, as Yoongi and Jungkook assure you. You don’t know when this became a session of nostalgic karaoke, remembering a time you never experienced.

It’s how you pictured these nights to end. Nearly falling into a slumber before the day concludes.

Surrounded by a warmth incomparable to a bonfire; one you’ve been yearning for your entire life.

The end of the night begins with an argument.

Yoongi and Jimin are busy preparing themselves for bed, surprisingly cool-headed after the tumult this morning. They don’t struggle with choosing their comfort in the room, while you pull at Jungkook’s leg as it dangles off the upper bed.

“I’m going to come up,” you warn, trying to tickle the bottom of his foot before he crosses his legs, smirking down at you. “And I will be so annoying.”

“Is that news?” he wonders, and you open your mouth wide in surprise, hearing a chuckle from the couple behind you.

“Babe. I called shots on the upper bunk.”

“You did not.”

“It’s a lot more fun up there. And I thought you’d like sleeping down there.”

Jungkook’s eyebrows kiss, his expression questioning as he asks, “What made you think that?”

Well, now that you think of it, your presumptions were flawed. You assumed he wasn’t too picky, always a deep and peaceful sleeper at home. Defeated, you shrug your shoulders, telling him, “You had a mattress on the floor when you moved into the apartment.”

“That’s… an impeccable argument. I can’t even respond to it.”

The sarcasm drips out of his voice like a damaged tap, and once he shifts to the wall, pressing his back against it, you understand your half childlike, half playful pleading won’t work. So you only tilt your head, squinting his eyes at him, and then drop onto the bed below him.

“Don’t you fart, though,” you tell him, registering a goofy laugh with a fond smile. It’s okay. Maybe tomorrow. Either way, it’s worse than not having him beside you at all.

Yoongi switches off the light, ready to sleep as he falls into his bed with a groan. It was a long day and you walked miles, so you understand his fatigue. You expect for them to snore within a moment, but to your astonishment, Jimin starts a conversation not a minute later.

“We were lucky with the weather. I bet it’s raining back at home.”

Oh… have you finally grown into the type of adults who smalltalk about the sun and the clouds? The precipitation and humidity?

Jungkook answers, “Closer to the equator. The weather is best over here in the fall.”

Then, Yoongi, “Hopefully it’s as nice at the beach, too.”

“It better be,” Jimin chimes in, “I’ve been looking forward to our game for ages. I’ll play in the rain if need be.”

“Oh god, can you imagine?” you add, switching to your left side, hands under your temple. You’ve been thinking about the game just as much — chaos with a big fat portion of craze. “We wouldn’t even be able to get up if it rained.”

“We’d get nowhere,” Jungkook confirms, and you imagine him nodding towards the ceiling, arms under his head.

“That’s what. Doesn’t it sound fun? Wouldn’t matter anyway… the rain would at least kill my competitive side, you know?” Jimin jests, and you already send a prayer above. Not for rain, but for bright sunshine; you cannot miss the ruthless, cut-throat battle that will emerge.

And as if you predicted it, knowing very well who strives for a win and who doesn’t, Jungkook challenges, “Your competitive side means nothing if you’re gonna lose anyway.”

“Dude. Be careful. There’ll be nothing but regret if we end up being on the same team,” Jimin says.

“True, true,” you hear Jungkook respond, just as Yoongi lets out an amused snicker, aligning with your muttered, “Now, that, I wanna see.”

The banter and chatter proceeds for another couple minutes, up to the point where Yoongi needs to shush the quartet. Your laughter ebbs down after his reprimands, morphing into content and tired sighs.

And once the conversation has more or less died, you wonder, “Do we need to sleep? We could just stay awake and talk all night.”

But your suggestion proves redundant — because barely two minutes later, your breathing evens out, calm as you finally drift away. Not a single word anymore. Jungkook rolls over his bed, casting a brief look at you, not quite seeing your face in the dark, but understanding that you’ve fallen asleep.

You can’t stay silent for this long; and you’re not moving. Jungkook clicks his tongue, fond but a tease as he jokes, “I drove all day and still she falls asleep first.”

Yoongi and Jimin’s laughs are cautiously quiet, exhausted, soon giving way to deep breaths like yours until they’ve fallen asleep, too.

Weirdly, it takes some time until Jungkook can join your land of dreams. There’s a strange yearning in his chest that he’s well used to by now; it thoroughly sucks to not have you by his side. And… is this too much?

The affection poured into and onto you, is he doing too much? Feeling too much? Why are his fingers itching and his chest not warm enough, despite the pleasant weather?

You’ve really done a number on him.

The minutes prove long, soon stretching to what he perceives as hours. Jungkook doesn’t know how much time has passed and he refuses to fish out his phone again; the light of the device will only postpone sleep, and he cannot use that for the trip tomorrow.

“Man…” Jungkook quietly complains, letting his left arm swing between the bed rails.

Sleep isn’t an entity to grace him just yet anyway; because as around an hour passes, he hears a sound from below. Sheets shifting, a light groan from you. You sigh audibly, soon going silent, and when he thinks you’re off again, he hears a couple seconds later—

“Kook?”

No, he must be insane. It must be insane how his heart stirs at your tiny, wispy voice. You wash over him like… relief.

“Baby,” he calls out in a whisper, once more moving to look at you — or the darkness below. “You’re awake?”

“Can’t sleep properly. I really hate sleeping in other beds…”

“Right? Me too.” He reaches out for you, hoping you’ll notice the movement, and when your soft fingers get ahold of two of his digits, he breathes out in gratification. “And… I miss you here.”

You hum, rubbing your thumb over his palm, mumbling, “Isn’t it ridiculous? How we can’t go a night like this.”

“Hmm…”

“I miss you, too.”

Patience is a virtue he hasn’t learned yet when it comes to you.

He could wait hours for a hall in the museum to fill. For a visitor to comment on his pieces. He could sit in a room with his father, attempting a conversation; could attempt his whole life to sway your mother’s thoughts. All possible.

But you… distanced from your touch and your lips, not feeling your breath as he does every night is…

Pretty damn shit.

“Wait,” he murmurs, pulling his fingers out of your grip. He hears you mutter a small, “Huh?” as he moves, careful to not hurt himself in the dark.

For the smallest moments, he uses the light of his display to navigate through the limited space, never daring to turn on the flashlight to not wake the entire room. And once he’s touching the ground, agile as a cat, you understand what he’s trying to do.

Quietly, but inefficiently, you protest with just half a heart when he climbs into your bed, telling you to scoot. You say, “Uhm, I… Baby, I don’t know if it’s a good idea—”

But you don’t seem to have much of a say in this matter — because you’re soon outnumbered by Jungkook and his obsession with you, shifting on the bed until you’re nearly pressed against the wall.

He wraps an arm around your waist before the tight space can suffocate you, soon leaning back a little — close to rolling off the mattress? — and pulling you close. The embrace catches your breath more than the cramped area, but it stops your complaints, too.

Winding a little more, you soon find yourself breathing against his chest, a heartbeat right underneath. Your arm reflexively sneaks around him, hugging him close before he laughs and teases, “You were saying?”

“I… I was saying you feel so warm.”

“Mmmh,” he hums, towing you in impossibly close, planting a kiss on your head before resting his cheek against it, “you are, too.”

“Do I feel better than your bed up there?”

“A lot better.” His palm flattens over your back; the scent of his shampoo, his fabric softener and him dizzies you. “Makes me feel a bit less sorry about keeping you awake.”

“Don’t worry,” you sigh into his soft cotton shirt, feeling the lines of his pecs against your lips, “Am exhausted. I’ll fall asleep fast. Especially like this…”

“Oh… glad to be of service then.”

You nod, rubbing his shirt between your fingertips as he moves his hand up and down your lower back, just a little. He yawns against your hair; you know the telltale signs of a drifting mind.

The two of you have gotten used to this. It’s said that pressing something comforting against your chest, such as a pillow or stuffed toy, works wonders on an insomniac mind. You guess that’s what you are for each other.

Even when you’re not home. Even when the space barely suffices for one body.

Which, as you brood over his sudden presence next to you, reminds you—

“You wanted the upper bunk bed,” you tell him. Nothing more; he understands without you needing to elaborate.

He chuckles as quietly as possible to not wake your friends, his hand slipping under your shirt and feather lightly pinching your sides. Not enough to hurt, but enough to tickle you. You nearly yelp, muffling it against his clothes in time.

“Shut up,” he says, thumb running over where he nipped you. “Okay. Do you know why I wanted you to sleep down here?”

You smile. You’re not stupid. As your vision became blurry, your mind shutting just a while ago, the realisation dawned upon you as the seemingly last thought of the night.

“I think I do…” you admit. “I think I figured it out.”

Because.

Because you’ve fallen out of bed one too many times. Because of some days, when you weren’t nestled in his arms as you are now, not caged in solidly, overworked and stressed. Or when you let go of each other in the middle of the night.

And that’s when you rattled down the bed. Just once or twice!

You never got injured or anything, getting away with perhaps a tiny bruise. What was worse was the fond laughter you tolerated when you told him about it, or when he was there and realised. Worried sick, inspecting your body, but still shaking his head in amusement.

Chuckling as he pushed back your hair, but relieved when he found nothing out of the ordinary.

“I’m not gonna risk your clumsy ass to fall off a bunk bed,” he says.

“There’s a raili—”

“Still. One never knows with you. In any case… you’re not getting hurt on vacation, okay?”

You could coo right here, right now. Whisper his name a million times in disbelief and absolute gratitude, melt into him, dampen his shirt. Jungkook is a thoughtful being, alright, but it’s insane that with you, he thinks half a dozen steps ahead.

Mind empty of a response as worthy as his, you settle on a joke, “Is that right? We’ll see about that once we play the game.”

You finish your sentence dramatically, and he answers with a breathy, “Yeah, yeah,” as he kisses your temple. Careful to keep his back off the ladder leading up to his bed, you keep him in your hug, soon detecting in a whisper, “I really mean so much to you.”

“Mhm… So very much.”

It’s too dark to see his expressions clearly; you see him move, see the white of his eyes a little. But even without it, you know he’s blended out the world when you look up at him. You know he’s staring back quietly.

You know what he’s feeling as the tip of his nose touches yours, the bangs of his growing hair grazing your forehead. And when the finger under your shirt draws circles on your skin, touching you so gently, you feel your heart in your throat, hear it in your ears.

Pumping, pumping hard when you see the silhouette’s mouth part before it arrives at yours. Kisses you tenderly. Doesn’t rush or force his tongue in, just lazily moving. 

He cradles your face a moment later, raising your head some more, tilting it as much as possible. The kiss is more like a sequence of innocent pecks, but maybe that’s why the moment feels so intimate.

Because there’s no impatience. No other sentiment but adoration.

As he moves back again, he doesn’t talk right away. Takes a deep breath. Then—

He brushes your tresses aside, away from your temple as his thumb rubs against it gently. His lips hover close to yours, and much like the ever-blooming tiger lily on his golden skin conveys, he whispers, “Love me?”

Your heart.

This treacherous thing — cries and flutters, punctured and whole at once. You’re constantly breathless and speechless, so you wonder how he manages to say, “Please love me, too.”

Doesn’t he know how easy that is? Doesn’t he know who he truly is, what his stardust of a soul is made of? That he was born to be loved. That he’s not responsible for those who do not, rather a ray of serene moonlight who doesn’t need to show anyone that he’s just that.

“No need to beg,” you tell him, “you’ll never need to beg.”

Another beat of silence. He’s smiling, you know. Keeping his heart at bay as much as you are guarding yours. Does he think the same way about you as you do about him?

Of course. Probably. In some sense, you were in the same sinking boat, surrounded by an overwhelming, troubled ocean of doubt; waves of self-hatred drowning you. You know exactly what it’s like to get used to being unloved by everyone; and then to learn to be loved again.

You clear your throat, feeling his body relax; your head returns to his chest, and you say, “You know. It might be a bit uncomfortable, but we could make it work. It’s not that tight—”

“In theory. But we wouldn’t sleep well, right?” he ponders.

Wrong. You soon prove him wrong, unpredictable as you are half of the time when you’re not being familiar to him like the back of his hand.

Because your words soon become slurred, silent not much after, your breathing calm and warm against his chest. Your tiny fist still holds onto his shirt, the blanket alternatively slipping either off him or you.

So he waits until your grip around him loosens. Then, presses a light kiss to your lips, carefully moving away and out of your bed. Ignoring how you hold onto him until the last moment, scared you might awaken again; murmuring in your sleep as you tend to do.

He gently rubs your fist until you uncurl your fingers around his shirt; if he doesn’t do this, he’ll stay here all night. Instead, he furrows his eyebrows in chagrin and yearning; and when your hands move back under your head, he finally bids the first day goodbye and climbs back up.

Eventually descending into dreams of you, too.

DAY 2

The air is much colder up here than you thought.

You can’t recall ever having been on a mountain before; considering your country’s geography, a very ordinary thing that you never really got to experience. Your parents were fans of beaches all over the nation and the globe; didn’t enjoy heights, but depths.

You knew that early on.

Satisfied, however, you hide your mouth in your jacket. You’re glad Eun talked you into packing a thicker jacket and gloves, giving half a dozen logical arguments like the amazing lawyer that she could be. It was fun, packing suitcases together via video calls.

But the wind still hits your ears harshly, and you curse as you get off the cable railway, “Damn it.”

Jimin rubs your arms from behind, the ecstasy clear as day as he cheers, “Come on, no pauses now! We finally made it.”

That you did. No turning back. You’ve wanted this for so long. So you follow the others, walking beside Eun. Her legs are slightly longer than yours, and her steps wider. She proceeds a little faster, so you soon hook your arm with hers, urging yourself to catch up.

You’re relieved when you reach a small platform overlooking not much but the mountain lift and all the stops till the ground. Down below, you recognise the entrance you bought your tickets at. 

Sometimes, along the descent of the mountain, you spot people hiking. They don’t take the lift; they trek up and down, with these cool hiking sticks of theirs.

Jungkook and Taehyung didn’t come with you. Or rather, they’ll arrive a bit after you. Namjoon rang up Jungkook just before you got ready to leave, asking for his apprentice’s time. Something about the gallery and the exhibit.

Yet, extremely sorry, Namjoon told him he could call back later, but Jungkook insisted on listening to what his mentor had to say, presuming it was urgent enough for an interruption in his vacation. And Taehyung stayed with him — partly to not leave him alone, and partly because he’s always dreamed of making an acquaintance with an art connoisseur like Namjoon.

Taehyung apparently has a big thing for art. The only reason Jungkook let him stay at all.

Because when you suggested the same, he rejected your idea without flinching once, prompting you to enjoy these valuable days instead of hanging around at the quiet hostel with him. It took some persuasion and a tender, “Angel, as much as I want you here, I won’t be able to talk to you anyway. I’ll be there in no time.”

So here you are now, content when cold but pleasant air caresses your face. You take in the high trees and the picturesque mountain range; somewhere in the far back, at the horizon, there’s another higher, snow-capped mountain.

And you look for a while, arms wrapped around your knees. Eun remains in a similar position, enjoying the moment; Yoongi and Jimin decide to bask in their joy by capturing the experience in snapped pictures.

Ten minutes later, your group decides to walk on, tramping up a short distance to a bridge Yoongi mentioned earlier. And you guess that’s where your serenity ends.

Because the bridge isn’t as short as you thought. Moves a little, mostly solid, but… holy shit, were you this high up all the time? They say don’t look down in moments like these, but you can’t help, and God, there’s an immeasurable distance between you and the ground and—

It’s not immeasurable. No, you’re an idiot. But you still can’t help it; stare down, gulp.

You reach to the railing with a careful hand. Why do they… how do they…

The others are doing it so easily. The other tourists. And Jimin; moving over it effortlessly, swaying a bit, but airing a sweet laugh. And then even Eun and Yoongi, initially struggling, make their way over, slower than Jimin but courageous nevertheless.

Okay… okay.

You push your phone extra deep into your bag, blinking before you take a deep breathe, repeating a mantra three or four times before you—

Scream.

The surprise of a new voice directly behind you is unwelcome, absolute horror in a moment like this. You flinch hard, reacting, barely hearing the “See?” over the wind before you slap the sudden hands off your shoulders. Your knees are shaking and you’re uncertain who the fingers belong to, but you’re still ready to fight.

The voice isn’t; the startled gasp reveals as much.

You turn, only to find your boyfriend’s eyes ripped open, lips parted. He puffs out a breath, equally frightened at your reaction before his expression turns apologetic. Baffled. Both at once as he exclaims, “Sorry! Sorry, baby.”

“Kook! Timing,” you blurt, scowling in distress, yet immediately holding onto his waist once you’ve grasped the reality enough.

“Angel…” he starts, looking into the hell below. “Are you scared of heights?”

No time to be sarcastic; you don’t have the breath to. So you admit, “A little.”

“I didn’t know,” he breathes, another apology in his words. He kisses your hair to soothe your worries; in some way, it works, even if not enough right now. “I’m sorry. Do you want to go or just stay here? We can stay here.”

His gaze is worried now, and he nods to reassure you, holding onto you. Behind him, Taehyung emerges, comprehending the situation and studying your countenances within the next three seconds until he asks, “All good?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook promises, “you can go ahead if you want.”

“Mmmh,” Taehyung hums; doesn’t sound too sure about leaving the two of you here. “You need a hand? I can go ahead, Jungkook follows.”

Uhh…

“Is that a good idea?” you mumble.

“It could be.”

Could be? And if it isn’t?

Then again. You’re here for a reason. You’d be disappointed with yourself if you just stood here, ruining the chance not only for yourself, but Jungkook, too. You look at him, and he shrugs his shoulders, signalling that it’s up to you.

So you decide, “No, I’ll go. I came here for this, and I don’t know when the next opportunity will arise. Fears exist to be conquered!”

“Hear, hear!” Taehyung cheers, just as Jungkook praises, “See? That’s my girl!”

It helps you, their way to motivate. Cautiously, you place a hand in each of their palms, moving one step after another. They’re determined to take care of you, constantly checking if you’re okay. And it works at first. But.

The bridge seems endless, and the fright yearns to return to you bit by bit. Halfway through, your surroundings look scary enough to put you off balance; you hate that you’re not holding onto anything solid, basically standing freely.

If one falls, all of you do — which, in truth, is sheer impossible. The railing is high enough. But your brain isn’t quite computing properly right now. You let go of Taehyung’s hand, grabbing the railing, but still clutching Jungkook’s grip.

“Go ahead,” your shaky voice commands; and Taehyung nods this time, no other choice left. “It’s okay.”

“I’m right here if you need me,” he vows before walking on.

Jungkook puts an arm around your waist, a human safety rope. His voice is so insanely steady as he spurs you on, “Imagine it’s the amusement park, yeah? Wanna guess the remaining steps? I think it’s… uh… thirty more till the end.”

You exhale, then inhale. Look in front of you instead of down, blinking rapidly before you let out a trembling laugh and counter, “Are you kidding… Looks like a hundred.”

He chuckles with you as you suck in another breath, straightening your back, fixing your gaze on a big rock on the other side. Thinking about how such a vast number of people take these steps every day offers you some courage. Leaves you brave.

So this must be safe, right? Logically seen. You gulp, and then, with your full chest, estimate, “Forty-five! I say forty-five steps.”

And then, you count together. You’re amused when Jungkook curses as you reach twenty without the end anyhow approaching. And just when you take your thirtieth step, he shakes his head in defeat, telling you, “Should know better than to compete with a munchkin.”

You guffaw awkwardly, howling over the wind, “This is actually fun,” not noticing that he’s barely holding you anymore when you jump over to the mainland again.

“What a journey, huh?” Jungkook praises, patting your back. “I’m proud of you. It’ll only get easier from here.”

And it does. As you move on, you soon reach another platform, spiral stairs leading up to the top. It looks a little like the remainder of an old stone tower, half broken, not too high. The stairs were clearly broken; lighter, fresher patches indicate that they were evened out.

Okay, you can do this much, at least.

In fact, you’re the first to climb up, Jungkook treading on your heels, fingers still entwined with yours. And up there, your mouth drops — the view stuns you, frozen in place. The wind blows more fiercely here, but the moment is worth the strong, cold pull of the gust.

Jimin, having reached much before you, must have seen you, because you hear him say, “I know, right?”

Everyone is scattered up here, leaning against the stone wall protecting you from falling. Other tourists are eternalising the moments in pictures, through talking and kissing. Tae and Eun are pointing into the distance, Jimin and Yoongi going around, laughing.

Holy shit. The euphoria filling each one of you is inevitable. Poignant somehow.

You’re above the foggy clouds.

In the far-flung distance, you see the turquoise ocean, merely a day away from wading through its waves; levitating on the sparkling water; thinking back to now and how numerous the miles between are.

And the forests — they’re thick, vast. You wonder what animals inhabit them. Bears? Wolves? Birds you’ve never seen before? Deers and does that have the same eyes as him?

Even the mountain range looks like the sea from here. Is this odd to say? Like high waves, green and dark blue and white and cloudy. So many valleys and so many peaks. Some of them hidden behind the clouds like before.

The birds are flying so close to your heads. And the sun isn’t at its highest point anymore either. You see the horizon coloured in a yellow-ish, orange-ish hue, indicating the nearing sunset.

This was your goal anyway. You wanted to come here late because of these very colours, occupying yourselves with other sights in the morning and the early afternoon. Because you wanted to see what nature bestows upon you.

The mountain will soon be closed for tourists, and in less than an hour, you’ll be heading back down. But you don’t feel any hurry. Nothing matters.

“This…” you finally whisper as you catch yourself, “makes me wanna cry.”

You put your hands on the chest-high stone wall. Jungkook’s arms make themselves home around your body, pulling you in, pushing him close, telling you, “Then cry. Isn’t that what catharsis is about?”

“It’s just so pretty.”

“It is.”

“Like… is this really our world, Jungkook?” You shake your head against him, ruining your hair as his chin moves against your scalp. “The same we saw a few days ago. Those cars and the pressure and the rushing people. All the stress we endure. Or even, our cosy apartment.”

You fill your lungs with the crisp air, more thankful for it than ever. “There’s so much more.”

“There is, right? A lot more,” he confirms.

“Look at this,” you say, chin gesturing towards no particular spot ahead, “wherever there aren’t people to fuck things up, there’s peace like this.” You sniffle; whether due to the temperature or sentiments, you can’t say. “What if we became nomads?”

His laugh is as sudden as your statement, differing so vastly from the rest of the poetry you spat.

He concludes, “I think you’ll really like it back home.” You’re confused until you understand he means his hometown; to that, you nod enthusiastically. “There are so many wonders out there like this one. I want to show you the prettiest places and the prettiest things.”

“…Do you already have something in mind?”

“Of course I do,” he responds matter-of-factly, tapping his finger against your stomach. “I just won’t tell you yet.”

“Ha. I wouldn’t want you to.”

You swallow when he moves in, kissing your cheek, his breath pleasantly warm against your ear. You wait for a second, indulge in the feeling, permitting yourself to believe you’ve transcended this realm and entered another.

But as you hear everyone else’s voices again, laughing and joking and teasing, you remember you’re still very much here, on the same Earth you know. With your everyday thoughts and lives. Which reminds you…

You turn to the side to look at him, his face in immediate proximity to yours. You ask, “What did Namjoon want?”

“Oh, just needed to discuss a couple things. Exhibition.”

“Sounded super urgent, though.”

“I mean, it kinda was,” he answers, catching the strands of hair that the breeze blows into your face, tucking them back, “he needed a status update. We also spoke about the style the gallery collector likes and—”

“Wait. You’re still sticking to your own style, though, right?”

His heart thumps, violently enough to nearly drop out of his chest. When trailblazing artists, already enjoying a remarkable reputation, preach about the relevance of support, this is what they must mean.

Behind someone who does something significant for the world in any way, there’s somebody soothingly rubbing their backs in bad times. Embracing them in success. Pushing them forward, lending them bravery.

You.

You’re who they must be talking about. Unshakably by his side.

“Of course, angel,” he says, “I think having your signature style is always the most important aspect.”

“Good. You’re the coolest, Kook. Just so you know.” His smile is telling, rendering the humble click of his tongue that follows ineffective. He holds you tight, lips close to your temple as you say, “I still don’t know what you’re painting.”

“I will never show you my paintings until an exhibit rolls around. Mostly because you’re my muse. My girl.”

He must think that this doesn’t wreck you inside out. Puts you back together, pieces of puzzles reunited that you didn’t know were lost. You feel something new all the time; is this possible? Surely, there can’t be this many emotions anyway, right?

If you didn’t feel it with your own heart, you wouldn’t believe it…

“But…” you begin, “you’ll let me see those that I don’t inspire, right?”

“Of course. Always.”

Breathing comes easy to you up here. So you do it again. And again. Taking in the oxygen, so entirely different from the one in the city; and soon, you mutter, more to yourself than to anyone else, “This really is pretty.”

He doesn’t answer. There’s no answer to this. Whatever his mind is conjuring and his heart trying to convey doesn’t just have to do with the nature stretching in front of you. Of course it’s gorgeous. Of course, your world’s unique.

Of course, it’s home, and home feels warm, pleasant, familiar.

There’s no doubt that the sight and the moment evoke something rare in him. But he’s seen these things before; when he was younger, he was used to this. What he’s never been used to is people like you.

Those who match nature's fierce, distinctive personality. Those who grow carefully and selflessly; like the trees offering shelter to birds. Or the bees serving as pollinators to provide nourishment for so many creatures out there.

Jungkook doesn’t answer right away because the right response doesn’t come to him immediately. But when he does, he collects his breath, and then voices—

“I love you, angel.”

Your heart skips one or two or three beats. You look at him again.

“People climb mountains, watch the world from above, need to see forests to figure out how good life can be. And that it can be worth living,” he says, his voice velvety soft. “But I feel that way with you every day, you know? I do… I do love you so much.”

You want to say something. You want to pour your heart out. Keep staring at his gentle eyes, serving all confessions at once. But interruptions are expected; so you’re briefly displeased but not surprised when you’re pulled out of your daydream.

Taehyung is gathering the crew behind you, asking for a group picture. You’re soon caught in a short, harmless commotion until everyone has collected at a spot, and you stand in position, yet not before gracing Jungkook one more look.

Mouthing something.

And he sees. In this split moment, he sees and smiles.

If he could be honest… whatever, those mountains. Whatever, them and the adrenaline that comes with them. All the natural phenomena. You’re enough, too — a force of nature, too.

He doesn’t need any mountain peaks when you bring a new high every day.

The lift is crowded as you make your way down again. They stuffed it to the brim, much until a stranger urged staff to stop pushing people in. You’re moved to one end of the cabin while you watch Eun and Jungkook forced into the opposite corner.

Yoongi, Jimin and Taehyung will step into the next, and you’ll wait at the exit.

Since it takes barely five minutes to reach the bottom, you don’t fight for a spot next to Jungkook and Eun. Instead, you look down into the depths, waiting until the vehicle finally finishes its dive.

The chatter in the booth is peaceful, but plenty enough for you to blend out any words the other two utter to each other. In that sense, you don’t hear it when Eun says, “You’re both glued to each other, huh?”

Jungkook’s wide, wondering eyes ogle into hers, surprised as he asks, “Is that… bad? Too much?”

“Well, definitely much,” Eun laughs, “but very sweet, too. By all means, don’t change.”

“Ah. Ahhh, that answers one of my questions at least.”

Eun looks at him in curiosity, though entertained and maybe even a little baffled that she’s ever been the object of his attention in any way. So she voices, “Oh? Which one’s that?”

“Just confirms that I have your blessings.”

Eun catches his admission as a popular line from a million movies before, immediately puffing out a laugh. She didn’t anticipate this, out of all things; blinking, somewhat flattered even.

“My blessings?” she repeats. Her smile, combined with the appearing crease between her eyebrows, dips her expression in something that reveals, “Are you joking?”

Which is presumably why Jungkook’s thought shrinks the very next moment, pupils shaking just a little as he mutters, “Well… yeah?”

“Okay. And what if I didn’t give them to you?”

She raises her chin as if in arrogance, but the immediate giggle reveals the playful joke. She shakes her head again, patting his bicep, smitten when his speechless self voices, “Uhm…”

“I’m just messing with you,” she clarifies, watching one corner of his lips rise. “But also, why is it needed, you know? Would you leave her if I didn’t bless you two? Or stop loving her?”

Jungkook’s surprised about the L-drop; of all people, Eun must have known from the very beginning that he loved you. There’s no bewilderment in her voice; she emits the word casually.

He blinks, albeit discarding all preceding hesitation immediately as he admits, “No.”

“Exactly,” Eun agrees, wiggling a finger with a wise, subtle nod on the side, “you don’t need my blessings. If you’re sure about her, you don’t need anyone’s. I’ll trust the process.”

That’s it.

No ominous warnings, no playful best-friend-threats. She trusts in his certainty as much as he does; and where would the two of you be, what would all of this be if he didn’t? No. Not a trace of doubt.

Not if every smile matching yours expresses a silent I adore you. Or if every exhale against your shoulder reveals a promising I want you.

Not if everything he’s still about to do breathes a whisper of a soft I’ve been thinking of you all this time.

“But,” Eun continues; Jungkook’s ears perk up, “if you need to know. I do adore you two together. I know I tease you and stuff, but I’ve never seen a cuter couple.”

“Ah. Even cuter than you and Tae?”

“Much. We’re not the sappy kind. Or well, he is, but… you’re straight up sugar. Makes me sick.”

Jungkook laughs, spying over his shoulder, seeing a glimpse of you as you look out of the window in wonder. “Well, she makes up most of that sweetness.”

“Maybe. God,” Eun exclaims as if agitated, and when he looks at her again, her teeth are gritted, eyes squinting hard before she opens them again. Adding, “Sometimes I wanna grab her face and squish her.”

“The most precious, right?”

“Isn’t she?”

Somebody to kill for. Somebody with a face that doesn’t fit tears. The world did you wrong, but you exist to be happy. You’re deserving of it; you could be the most enthusiastic soul if the universe allowed you.

No, fuck it. Fuck the universe.

He’s here, right? He can do it, too. Guard you from harm; keep your smile plastered there.

And as if reading his mind, Eun continues, “I’ve always hated seeing her sad. She deserves the world, and shit always hit the fan when she was so close to finding the joy I always wanted her to have. Does this sound dumb?”

No, it doesn’t. In fact, Eun’s very truth pricks his heart like a fine needle. Because in a sense, he was also once a reason for stripping you off that happiness; but he’s made up for it. He so deeply hopes he made up for it.

“It sounds just right,” he says.

“I don’t know if you already know, but you won’t meet anyone purer. Not saying this as her best friend… it’s true.” She shrugs a shoulder, as if to dismiss the corny statements; she truly isn’t a mawkish one. “So it’s a big deal to say I want you close to her.”

Her eyes shift away from him and straight to you; there’s a gap between all the people, allowing a glance at you. And when Jungkook follows Eun’s gaze, you seem to feel it somehow, his eyes like Cupid’s arrows in your back until you meet their attention.

Your lips promptly form the most saccharine smile, an unsure hand lifting; somebody next to you immerses themselves in the brief interaction, looking to and fro between Jungkook and you.

And Jungkook waves back, watching your chest rise and fall in satisfaction rooted in nothing but the untroubled moment. Right there, you hold not one but two hearts hidden. His bleeding organ thumps, but it’s as if he hears it from where you stand.

Slowly, stare dropping to his feet, he nods, love clumping up his throat, a barrier for the words wanting to escape. Instead, he basks in the things Eun said, repeating them over and over in his head until he merely susurrates—

“Thank you, Eun.”

“Here you are.”

Jungkook is soft-spoken, his voice mellow; a textbook definition of a lullaby. Which is possibly why you’re so surprised when it breaks the fall air so loudly, echoing through the empty space.

You flinch before you reflexively turn, watching his body tower on the other side. The lights of the swimming pool illuminate his face, and even from here, you recognise the bright, gorgeous, twinkling eyes immediately. They’re not hidden behind his bangs this time; his damp hair is pushed back.

Maybe you could focus on that unusual sight of his forehead if there wasn’t the entire rest of him. Hands in the pockets of the open bathrobe he’s sporting, mere boxers hiding his most important parts, but the rest of him naked. Tits out, abs sharp.

You flash him a smile from where you’re floating, pushing yourself off the edge and swimming towards him. You see his reflection in the water, blurry, moving, somewhat funny. As you near him, he drops to his knees, crouching for a second before dipping his legs into the pool. Sitting down, remaining there, waiting for you.

Getting ahold of his calf, you pull yourself in for the last few feet. He reaches out without hesitation as your shoulders collide with his legs underwater; gentle fingers tuck your soaked hair behind your ears.

“I was looking for you,” he says.

“Oh, I just got here a couple minutes ago. Making the best out of the remaining time.”

“Yeah. I just showered for a few minutes, too.” He pauses. Looks around the vacant pool save from the two of you, humming before he asks, “Hey, do you need a moment to yourself?”

Your eyes widen as you look up, his expression suddenly cautious, as if he’s intruding your personal space. Curiously, you merely voice, “What?”

“Just. I know there’s been a lot of interaction these days, so I get it if you need a break.” His finger moves to his temple, drawing circles in the air. “My battery almost ran out, too.”

Oh. Oh…

If there was a way to hide your flattered smile, you still wouldn’t. God, if he knew how rare of a person he is. How uniquely humane. If he knew that not everybody’s ready to offer space despite knowing that somebody requires it at times.

You know enough people who put the blame on themselves; deem themselves victims. If you can’t be there for them, it’s something they have done wrong. Not the fact that you need peace, a moment to yourself.

Jungkook knows. Jungkook understands.

Has seen you run out of energy and crave a quiet evening. But you immediately shake your head, touched, “Oh, no. I actually knew you’d find me here. Hoped for it.”

“Is that right?” he says, relieved, grazing your cheek as you put your chin onto his leg. Muscly, thick thighs, yet like a pillow.

You nod. Look up to him properly, a little distracted, very mesmerised. It’s outrageously insane, how he’s perched there like he’s allowed to. As if it doesn’t clearly state in your book that it’s illegal to look this way, that it should be retaliated somehow.

“It’s been a while since we were alone,” you tell him, “feels like we didn’t have many moments to ourselves.”

“Then, this is convenient, isn’t it? An empty pool in the evening. Very cliché.”

You laugh a little, tilting your head and ignoring the goosebumps that arise when he touches the sweet spot behind your ear. Hands exploring. You respond, “Others are probably too tired to be here. Or too cold. We’re the only crazy ones here.”

“It’s warm enough, though,” he argues, sniffling, as if to contradict his point — there’s something funny about it. “I bet it’s wet and grey back home.” A click of his tongue, watching you nod in agreement; after a beat of silence, he wonders, “Are you looking forward to tomorrow?”

Exhilaration inundates your chest without a warning, as is common with this very conversation topic. You can barely fathom that you talked about this for weeks straight, and now you have only a few hours left until the awaited day finally breaks in.

Jungkook must be seeing the change in your pupils, because he smiles when you do, nodding with an open mouth as you cheer jubilantly, “A lot! It’ll be a long day, we’ll be exhausted, but… got a feeling it’ll be worth it all.”

“Yeah, but like. I think we can rest a lot after that, though,” he explains, flashing a wink to your astonishment. “My childhood bedroom is cosy.”

“I’d hope so. We won’t be leaving it.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes in jest before he agrees, “Of course not. Duh. Except for the wedding.”

“Except for the wedding… sure,” you repeat, as if reluctantly.

As you put both your arms on top of his thighs, Jungkook uses the moment to let his stare dawdle; right there where yours lingered two minutes ago. His head moves slowly, taking in the wide, endless view behind you.

The sky above and the stars attached to it. The tiny mountains far away and the forests next to them. The world looks as wide as it truly is, stunningly bedazzling; infinite from where he sits here with your touch so close.

There’s a sense of disbelief in the fact that, despite the crazy vastness of the world, it’s you who found your way to him, inches away. If luck exists, this must be it, right?

But he doesn’t say any of it — don’t you already know? What if he lovebombs too much, frightens you away. So instead, his fingers shift to your face, much cooler to the touch than before, and he queries, “Aren’t you cold?”

You shake your head, however, stating, “Not yet. Or… maybe a little. You can help me warm up?”

Jungkook cocks an eyebrow in disbelief; something about the way he looks down at you with such power lets something in you loose that floods your entire body. You wouldn’t mind if he…

“Isn’t this another cliché?” he asks.

“How so?”

“You’ll make me jump in, huh? Or no, wait. You’re a brat,” he establishes as if remembering just now, rethinking his choice of words. “No… you’ll pull me in.”

“What? I won’t.”

“How do I know that, though?”

“I mean, technically, you don’t, and yes, I realise that doesn’t help,” you blabber, tone shifting when he shakes his head with a laugh, “but, you did just shower. I wouldn’t want you to waste more time showering afterwards.”

He looks sceptical to no end; squinting his eyes, biting his lower lip, furrowing his eyebrows — the whole package. Leaning in, he lets you know, “I don’t trust you this once, but…”

And that’s where his sentence ends. The words unspoken are replaced by another movement closing the gap between the two of you. He grabs your chin, moving your head up, bending his back enough to draw closer to your lips.

The phantom touch and his warm breath cause a strange, crackling sound somewhere in your brain — a bulb going out, your mind breaking. Shutting down. But your body lights up as he cradles your face, every single inch of your skin craving his all.

The knowledge about his affection and that he yearns for you like no other man on Earth blurs your reality, as if you don’t belong into a utopian world like this. As if you’re from another corner of the multiverse, incredibly lucky by accident.

Weird, weird how all of these thoughts trigger disbelief and thorough rapture in you, but how empty-headed you are at the same. Almost enough to fully lose yourself until—

The man leans back, intentionally teasing you, just a little but enough for you to fall out of your immersion. You chase his lips for a second, long enough to make him laugh. But as you find your composure, looking at the shit-eating grin, you land a decision.

“Unfair,” you say, pouting, predicting for him to coo, which occurs just a moment later.

You remain at your spot, not a lot of options either way as he still holds your face. Then wait. See him get a hold of himself before he mutters, “My pretty angel. Pouty little sweetheart of mine, hm?” twice, then thrice and then closes in again.

Thumbs skim the apples of your cheek, nose rubbing against yours, his own scrunched. He looks so happy with himself, but so charmed by you, too, squishing your face as if handling cuteness-aggression.

Calls you plenty of pet names as he kisses your nose, your cheek, your earlobe and then moves in for an actual kiss.

Only this time, no matter how much you yearn for his lips, rosy and wet and sweet and tender — you can’t let him beat you. So you prepare for the retaliation you considered before, and just as new goosebumps arise on your arms, wanting the kiss, you suppress the desire and—

“Fu—”

The curse falls out of him suddenly, just a second after he closes his eyes and you use the moment of weakness to put your hands at the back of his neck. Pulling him in without a warning, watching him lose balance and splash into the pool.

He struggles a little underwater before he breaks the surface; hands reach for you with an intent to revenge, but you dodge him. He gasps, shaking his head, going through the trouble of wiping the water off his eyes before opening them.

You swim away a little, carefully, just to be sure; watching him cough a bit before he laughs. He can’t help but scoff, more curses falling out of him, but never towards you. Only a reprimanding, “Angel, you’re— you brat." Another cough. "You’re too much.”

And as his eyes finally land on you, he immediately charges for you, jaw clenched, teeth gritted, but pure amusement gracing his features. You try to get away, but he’s faster. Moves in the water as he strips himself off the bathrobe.

The image makes you choke.

How ethereal yet sinful of a moment. Tempting as he pulls it off his strong shoulders, revealing the bulging bicep, throwing the bathrobe to the side with an absolute indescribable, fiery aura.

Teeth pull at his lower lip before they instantly release it. Then the tongue, running over glistening lips, eyes hooded, the bathrobe sitting where he did without him even regarding it. Like a villain who sets a house on fire and then walks away without looking, badass to the core.

Fuck, he’s broad. And fuck, he’s coming right for you.

You try to flee, hysterically laughing, probably too loud; but he’s a fast swimmer, arms soon around your waist, wrapping around you, tugging you in. He whispers into your ear, “Talking about clichés, baby, huh?”

As he holds you there, you swallow some water, spitting it out right away before you answer, “Well… there’s a reason why they’re clichés.”

“Not wanting to waste my time showering, my ass.”

“You’re saying it sounds like a bad idea?” you whisper, breathless as he kisses your shoulder, his soft voice muttering a little, “What?” before you clarify, “Showering with me?”

“Nah. Stop planting this thought in my head,” he says, lips continuing at your neck, kissing it gently first before he morphs the touch into a wet, open-mouthed kiss.

You try to stay afloat, but god, you’ll drown if he keeps that up. But then he adds, much to your already existing misery, “Stop or I swear, we won’t even make it to the damn shower. Understood?”

“Beast—”

“You say as if you don’t know me already. Don’t you know?” he asks, pausing, kiss moving to your jaw. “That I get like this with you?”

“I… I do, so well. Not even this is surprising to me.”

You press yourself into him harder, feeling the bulge hardening below, right against your thigh. Your hand drops from his shoulder to his slim waist, further down until it gives his hard-on the slightest of touches. He groans; gives you a head tilt as a warning.

Then kisses your cheek. The corner of your lips; tickles you, pinches your waist. You engulf him a bit more, trying not to pull the two of you underwater, swimming and floating. It’s hard, though, and harder even when he tickles you again.

He must understand, because as you push him away, swimming away a couple feet, he doesn’t tow you back in. Lets you go as your vision blurs, the movements of your arms hectic enough to push more water into your eyes.

You dip below the surface for a second, regaining control, and when you’re up again, you hear his voice farther away, urging, “Come on.”

And once you see him again clearly, he’s already wading to the edge where you stood when he scared you. Right where the view to the town is the best, the pool and roof separated from the depths by a high glass wall.

You follow slowly, stroking for a moment — but it doesn’t take you long to pause again halfway through. Gliding, you watch his arms coming up and settling on the edge, muscular and mountainous like the range far away. Hair wet, water drops drip onto his already doused back.

And in front of him, a lake you couldn’t see from the other side of the pool.

Then, the mountains, like the one you went on. A village and fields and up above, a painting of stars. Millions and millions of them. Sparkling, alive, dead, moving, closer, farther… burning and bright. Reflecting in the lake, along with the moon.

His head moves to the side, probably looking for you; but you don’t move yet, just admiring the side profile for a little longer. Gorgeous, lips formed as if drawn, a clean-cut, razor sharp jaw. Golden back, broad.

As he peeks over his shoulder again, doe eyes searching for you, you finally swim towards him the moment he pleads, “Come, baby.”

And you do. Put your hands on his shoulders again, kissing his back, his neck, his shoulder blade before you settle right next to him. Imitating his position.

He says, “One could almost forget that we’re leaving in two hours. Ahh, I want to stay here.”

Right. Your group decided to check out in the late evening tonight — an exception at this hostel — to make the most of the day on the mountain and at dinner. But in a while, you’ll set out for your new destination. The beach calls for you.

You’ll check in late at night over there, and then remain at the new hotel — no hostel this time — until the day after tomorrow.

“Yeah. Just a bit more,” you say, sighing before you let him know, “By the way… I do feel a lot warmer now.”

“Good,” he says, although you don’t miss the beguiled smile he flashes as he looks away, “anything for you to not get sick.” He nudges your elbow with his. “Not before the big day.”

No, not the big day. If anything, you’re even more overjoyed over it than tomorrow. And nervous — oh, so nervous. You don’t think you’ll feel any different until the day rolls around.

What will happen at the wedding? What’s the atmosphere like in a smaller gathering? What does the magic of such a place elicit? It must be so different from any event in the city.

Could it make you fall in love with him with further desperate urgency? Seeing him standing there, admiring you in your dress, thoughts whirling as the couple of the night promises each other eternity. Does the romantic serenity of a wedding make hearts of those in love burst more?

No. You don’t think it’ll make you fall for him harder — because you don’t need a wedding for that.

A moment like this suffices.

Yet. As you stare ahead, fixing your eyes on the clouds, you remember something. Curious as you think back to the first day and ask, “Hey. What did Jimin mean when he said I should be excited for the wedding? What does he know?”

Jungkook sighs, shaking his head at your friend’s slip-up. He smirks, and then says, “Well, you’ll see at the wedding, right?”

“…Jungkook,” you challenge, and he looks at you so innocently, hiding whatever secret he shares with Jimin. But you don’t fall for it, ideas already brewing in your mind; one blurted as you ask, “Did you get me something?”

But he’s unfazed — a good actor. “Wait up,” he says, “if you’ve got any theories, keep them to yourself, though! You’re too smart for me.”

“C’mon, as if.” You wait. Wait a bit more, pupils shaking, just slightly distracted when he frees your cheek off your hair again, giving you a chaste peck. “Wait. Oh.”

He chuckles, a little lost in you as he copies, “Oh?”

“Jeon Jungkook… are you proposing?”

And that’s when he breaks into a laugh. A loud one, Jungkook-esque, sweet and genuine, with his eyes nearly closed, mouth open wide. So, so enchanting as he says, “I did not expect that. But sure, that’s what it is.”

“Well, that cancels it out.”

“Oh, baby…” He pinches your chin between his thumb and forefinger, moving your head to look at him, kisses you again, just for a fleeting second. “You’re so cute. So, so cute. I love your cute ass so much.”

Butterflies, butterflies, butterflies.

They never cease. You don’t think you’ll ever get over this word. You don’t think there’s a way to get used to Jeon Jungkook confessing his love — his love — for you.

Ugh, he drives you mad. Into absolute insanity.

Sucks you out of breath, your heart palpitations reasoned in him. Your body craves him; not cold anymore at all. Tingling and wanting.

Starved for him, you look into his dark eyes, intrigued by the wet bangs, and with all the patience you can muster, you finally whisper, “Let’s go and hurry to that damn hotel. Hm?”

DAY 3

You love packing your bags, but you hate reorganising them. Like, stuffing back dirty clothes because there’s nowhere else for them to go, changing your initial order. 

You won’t empty your suitcase for that one remaining day anymore; you’ll only be here for another night anyway.

But you want to separate the worn stuff from the clean one. Thankfully, your suitcase is spacious enough; after all, there’s no chance in hell you’re having your soon-to-be-messy swimsuit reside right next to your resplendent dress.

Yawning as you rummage through your things, you shoot a fleeting glance at the ticking clock at the wall. It’s only 8 o’clock in the morning. Breakfast has already started, but you and the others longed to sleep in, agreeing on a 9 AM meal.

But for some reason, the two of you already awoke about half an hour ago; nevermind that today’s schedule doesn’t begin before noon.

For some time, you merely lay on your sides of the bed, enjoying each other’s company, brief kisses here, modest touches there — until you decided to make yourselves useful. Still tired, yet unable to fall back into sleep, being productive was all you could do.

Albeit, you’re distracted. Your mind keeps drifting, your heart still pounding thinking about the shower last night, taken right as you checked in and found your room. Not as tired from the busy day and the two-hours-drive to the hotel anymore when he touched you.

You still feel the ghost touch of his palm around your neck; glistening lips exploring your cheek and your jaw.

And… there are bruises on your leg somewhere, reminiscent of when he dragged you into bed, keeping your thighs apart with a grip passionately aggressive. Loving yet brutal. Uttering admissions that still coat your flesh with goosebumps.

Shit, are you grateful for the proper room. All to yourselves at last.

You cover your naked thigh. The oversized shirt barely hides his effect on you, but he seems rather distracted anyway. Of course he is — whenever he spies the baby pink dress, like now, he becomes one hell of a goner.

He fishes it out by ruining some of your tidiness, the folded top and two shorts falling out as he pulls the dress from underneath them. You complain, “Hey!”

But he’s still examining the gown, shaking his head once again as he did the last few days whenever he caught a glimpse of it. You still remember his reaction when you first brought it home, presenting it to him but not yet putting it on.

You assured him you looked hot in it beyond hell, but that he’d have to wait to actually see you wrapped in it.

His eyes were still wide, alright. Mouth drooling. And you understand — when you first laid eyes on it, you knew it was made to be yours: soft, pastel pink hue. Dreamy and ethereal. Shit, you can’t wait to wear it.

Apparently, he can’t either.

Because he declares, “You’re gonna be so fucking pretty in this.”

“You told me.”

“And I’ll keep doing so. My god, I’ll need to keep an eye on you all night!”

You laugh. “Ah? Why?”

He shrugs a shoulder, explaining matter-of-factly, “Some of my friends there are still single. Gotta shield you from their shit. I mean, they loyally respect me, but then again… it’s you.”

“Oh, oh,” you voice, tutting, “and the girls? Are some of them single, too?”

“Well, I guess so, but—”

“Nothing but. I’ve seen you in a suit before, mister. What if some of them are girls from your high school? What if they had a crush on you? Fuck it, they all probably did,” you ramble, and he listens, lips twitching; he forces the laugh back. “No, you’re sticking by my side that night, Jeon.”

You raise a finger, wiggling it like a warning, blabbing the most ridiculous, “No running away with other chicks.”

“As if, you idiot,” he jests, “even if I got shitfaced as heck and you carried me home and I didn’t realise it was you? And you pretended to be somebody else — I’d still tell you that I need to go fetch my girlfriend.”

You cover your mouth as laughter fills the air; you’re sure your eyes are sparkling at the fantasy, and your voice changes, euphoric to an unknown extent as you say, “Oh my god. I so want to witness that one day. I’m gonna try to get there.”

“I believe you. What else will you be wearing? This? Wait,” he asks, picking out a silk and lace lingerie from the side; baby pink. But you snatch it out of his hands as he adds, “Is this part of your attire?”

“Well, now you ruined a perfect surprise.”

“What! I don’t think I did, though? Wait for my reaction. It won’t be any less than you expect.”

You smack your lips in faux disappointment, but in truth, you get it very well. Seeing him always feels new to you, too.

You brush your hand across the fluffy carpet as he eyes the dress once more, waiting until he’s folded it neatly again, putting it into your suitcase. Then, he leans against the bed, observing as you get back to work.

Your lips open, pouting a bit. You give the sweetest, most genuine reactions; how you form an Oh with your mouth when you like something you brought. Or how disgusted you look when you’re reminded of your two-days-old clothes again.

You mutter, “Gonna have to ask your mom if she’s okay with me using your washing machine.”

“She will be, for sure.”

“I’ll even hang them to dry myself.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm! Shit, Jungkook. I’m so excited!” you exclaim, fingers moving fast over your stuff, and he keeps watching. “I wanna tattle about you with your mom! And I can’t wait to meet Ria, either. She sounds so cool and—” You peer up at him, and when you catch him smiling, you wonder, “What?”

“Nothing, just…”

He shrugs another shoulder, already moving to close your suitcase. You watch with an innocent curiosity in your eyes, hands on your knees as he pushes it away. He reaches for your wrists to pull you closer until you’re between his legs, your own crossed, obliging wordlessly.

Then, he speaks again, “Can you kiss me? Really wanna kiss you.”

He always wants to kiss you. And staring at these rosy, pretty lips of his, arched so prettily, you don’t think you fare any better.

So you’re walking on air when his hands settle on your waist to tickle you, forcing you to relocate them down to your hips. You ask, “Do you ever get enough?”

“Hmm… Do I look like I do?"

“I mean. Do you really just want to kiss me, baby?” you inquire, but he’s already onto pecking your lips, pulling at them. You place your arms around his neck. “Your eyes look just like they did yesterday.”

“Ah, really?” A featherlight kiss on your neck. “So I won’t have my wish granted?”

“You… You’re stupid,” is all you say before you prove him wrong — diving in, locking your lips, moving them slowly against his, in unison.

You tilt your head immediately. Kiss him deeper, seeking his hair. His hands wander to your back, and you arch it when he hauls you closer. Your tongues come into motion at the very same time, a touch intense enough for him to breathe a sigh that you feel, that you hear.

And before you know it, you’re moving further; straddling him. He pushes your shirt up, only to the small of your back; the other hand moves down to your ass, nothing on you but your underwear. And considering it’s a string, not even that matters.

He has free reign to your rear, squeezing and slapping lightly. At which you lean back, breathless, giggling a little as you watch him move back in — trying to catch another kiss, eyes drooping and lips parted.

But when he realises you’re pausing, not granting him what he needs, he looks up into your eyes. You say, “Thought so. That’s,” you touch his hand over your ass, “what your eyes said. Even after you wrecked me just last night, huh?”

“Sorry,” he mutters with a grin — but his expression soon changes. Back once more against the bed, he promises, “I… if you don’t want to, we don’t have to though. I’m okay with just organising our stuff or chilling.”

Oh, the way he touches your heart…

You blink, affection in your pupils reflecting in his. You coo, and then call, “Oh, baby…”

“No, seriously. Whatever you’re comfortable with, my love.”

“I’m… I’m comfortable with you, you know? If I ever feel like not doing something or disagreeing with you… I’ll be honest with you.”

He silences for a moment. Keeps gaping at you. Then, “Do you feel like you can?”

But no matter how deep his insecurities are, your answer is immediate, “Always.” Swift pause. “Kook, I— I know you still fear I could distance myself from you. I see it, but… I won’t. As long as you’re willing to stay, I will, too.”

“I will. I promise. And I’ll never ever do anything to hurt you again. Not on purpose… okay?”

Hmm… you wish these moments were rare. It does happen ever so often that he seeks reassurance and vows; your companionship, regardless of what lies in your pasts. To know you’re here despite all the despites.

But if you need to, you’ll keep dispeling his fears all your life.

So you say, “I know. I know.” Brushing through his hair. “And I want this.”

“It won’t hurt? We just did last night—”

“If it does, we can stop. I always want you. Besides…” You circle over his lap, your hips a tease. You feel the bulge stir. “I can’t blueball you.”

Jungkook smirks in the way only he’s able to, clutching your butt again, and you catch your lower lip with your teeth. He states, “Brat, acting like it’d be the first time.”

“You’re just… so hard already. Can’t do this to you. Or me. Not today.”

“Babe… you being so sweet makes it worse. And this isn’t even its final state, you know?”

“Of course I know.”

Oh, of course you do. Whenever you think it can’t get crazier, he negates your beliefs. Well equipped as he is, your man, the thought suddenly makes you want to unwrap him again, like a gift crafted just for you.

He’s in a black tank top; tattoos reach up to his shoulder, muscles flexing as he holds you. You touch them, sneaking further to his wrist, and then take the plunge and lead his forefinger into your mouth. Then, you suck.

Upon which his eyes immediately shut. He draws a deep, shaky breath, barely exhaling much of it when you twirl your tongue around the tip of his finger. Absent-minded yet fully aware, he shakes his head, taking a moment to compute before he pulls his digit out again.

His cock twitches beneath you, much as a last warning.

And a second later, out of the blue, there’s a hand on the nape of your neck while the other shifts to your buttbone, pushing you to the ground with his body in tow. You fall flat on your back, his face right above you. Lips crash against yours again, strong hands pinning your arms down.

“You’re so brave,” he deduces, “like you forgot yesterday.”

“I could never. Maybe… maybe I’m just trying to repeat it.”

“Oh… smart, smart. If that’s your wish.”

Cocky, how he tilts his head and winks. How he pushes your thong aside without a warning, already damp, freeing your pussy before his touch collides with it. Fondling with it; making you release a pleased sigh. Gaze still set on you firmly, fingers running up and down. To the clit.

You’re already out of your good mind; but you attempt a fair approach; a mutual effort in which you try your best to push his shorts down. He’s not wearing anything underneath… you know because he threw them on last night after the chaos that ensued, wanting to rush to you. To sleep in peace.

And he’s well aware of it, because as it slides down to his knees, he dares a step further. Fists his cock and replaces his fingers when he drags the tip up and down your heat. You sigh again before it contorts into a moan, gripping him, pleading, “Kiss me again?”

“Not yet. I wanna see you wind.”

“Why…? You’re so mean—”

“Just now. Come on. Look at me.”

You do. You’re met with a hungry beast who’s yearning for you, simultaneously so soft — easing you into this, not dipping his fingers in just yet. Discovering how you feel; how soaked you get; how far he can already proceed.

He might be craving you, but he’s not stupid; he’s cautious. Gauging your reaction.

This man… this man…

“Want me to push it in?” Jungkook then questions, making your eyes rip open; you didn’t expect the inquiry this soon, but you’re not opposed to it at all.

You nod, eyebrows furrowed. Your voice is feeble when you agree, “Please.”

“Please, yeah?” he repeats, just the head prodding your entrance — but then, he chuckles. “Baby. Take care of yourself when I can’t. I can’t fucking think, you know? But even I know you’re not ready yet.”

“I…”

“Just a bit more, okay?” He slaps your pussy; you wince. “Wanna get up and undress?”

“No,” you instantly blurt, “want you like this. Right now. I don’t care about the shirt.”

“Right… so that’s how it is.”

He leaves the two of you just the way you are, except kicking off the bothersome shorts. Pushes your shirt up to your tits, too, stopping right underneath the mounds, still covering them. He leaves it there, dizzy about how your nipples perk against the white shirt, just above the Kakashi Hatake print.

Huh.

“Is this my shirt, by the way? You stole it, didn’t you?” he gathers.

You pretend, playing the innocent lamb, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I can’t believe you. Stealing my clothes… and my perfumes,” he recollects, his voice going up and down. He’s referring to the time you used his cologne just to keep his scent close; once. He was very amused by it. “What’s next? My heart?”

Only that you already exchanged both of yours. He knows, because he can’t really feel his own heart beat, but yours. After all, your chest houses his thumps, not his.

But he still clicks his tongue; kisses down your body, caressing your sides, and then shoves your panties aside. He spits on your pussy so indecently, in a manner so filthy that it affects your entire body.

The sharp tip of his tongue is the first to taste you. The first to intrude. Lightly and softly, he attempts a touch, anticipating a reaction that he barely needs to wait longer for than a nano-second. Because your body blooms immediately, your pussy constricting.

There’s never a single reason for him to react with surprise; if anybody in this world understands your body as well as you, it’s him. He knows you to the tiniest detail; so why the astonished, “Oh? Oh, oh…”

Then again, maybe that’s all that’s necessary to set the mood further; he doesn’t elaborate on it, nor does he ask any questions. Instead, he French kisses your cunt with the techniques he’s mastered to the core. With each time you spend with him like this, he gets better.

Because he knows when to draw back, when to return. When to kiss you again, when to pull at the nether lips. Or when to nibble just lightly, when to use his tongue. It’s obvious in the twitches of your legs, and how he needs to keep them in place each time — hence, the bruises.

Your head lifts when he angles your right leg on the side, enabling better access to where he wants to drown. And when he comes back, he seems starved; maybe he needs that promised breakfast soon to come. Or maybe not; maybe he’ll feast on you enough.

Because he’s thorough; does enough work on you to divulge, “Maybe I was wrong and you are ready after all.”

“…M-maybe.”

“Wish we’d brought the sex toys. Man, I want to…” He touches your clit, painting patterns, a steady and diligent artist’s hand; and you can’t help but imagine it’s the vibrator he often handles. “Wouldn’t that be good?”

“Don’t… do this to me.”

A smug chuckle. “Sorry, bae.”

Ever since he gave you the damn toys months ago, he’s teased you about them constantly. And ever since you started inhabiting the same walls as him, he’s prompted orgasm after orgasm. God, the last few weeks alone, he’d revel in your whines.

Overstimulating, keeping you awake on weekends, battering your cunt and your nub. Nerves on fire. Tears of pleasure and sobs of exhilaration.

“Jungkook…” you start. He hums, but your brain blanks; you think about whatever you were going to say until you remember and jabber, “We’d never get t-to breakfast then.”

“So? I’d still be having mine.”

Thought so.

“But…” you argue, no clue why at all. “They’d be waiting.”

“I think they’re just as bad as we are. C’mon.”

You laugh before you mewl; insane when he buries himself in your sex, tongue in a whirl, plump lips operating so agonisingly skilled. He heaves your legs onto his shoulders; everything feels wet and warm and dirty.

Nerves burning again; your entire neural system is alight like a torch, buzzing like electricity.

And you want to close your legs but you can’t.

The motion only covers his ears, much to his disdain as he says, “Stop… I can’t hear you like this,” before dragging his tongue down again. Pushing your body up, he grips your ass, pulling the cheeks apart before he licks over the string just for a moment. Then suggests, “What if we added something to our collection one day? Hmm?”

His thumb toys right over your clenching hole; you grasp for a breath, airheaded as you admit, “I… don’t know yet.”

“Fine. There’s time.”

There is, but you want it to pass faster. Want him over you, around you. And maybe he can read your thoughts after all, because a second later, he’s uprighting himself; once again slapping his dick against your drenched mess. Hiding it between your folds as he rubs it up and down.

Then moves it side to side rapidly, helping himself, pumping until he’s grown impossibly solid. On his knees, he shifts on the mattress until he’s kneeling right over your face, and you raise your head, mouth ready and open without a single command necessary.

He’s chuffed about your keenness; breathes out a laugh as he drags his cock between your lips and onto your tongue. You’re rigorous, his good girl, sucking right away.

Fuck, he savours the moment much like you are; watching the saliva drip down your cheek obscenely. It covers his dick, much of it enveloped by your mouth; the picture of you barely being able to take half of him in this position yet trying sends him into pure madness.

And when your tongue teases his slit and the head, he thinks he’s dying and being reborn.

“I’m dying and being reborn, babe. What the fuck,” he repeats, immediately regretting it when he realises he spoke it out loud; because you’re right beneath him, eyes foggy but the sudden giggle entirely contrary.

“Glad to hear.”

Jungkook uses the separation from your lips to back away already; any longer and he’ll have to help you rinse out your eyes. He leans down again, kissing you, hips aligning with yours as he prepares for the next step.

He’s gentle as he places your hands on his shoulders, and you already understand why. Already make yourself comfortable, getting into position as if for war, already realising that you need him to kiss you or your scream will shatter the building—

“Careful now,” he still warns, right before he reads your wish off your eyes and dives back in for more making out. You nod; you know. Your neighbours don’t need to—

Fuck.

Fuck, how big he feels when he digs in, not even fully inside yet.

Isn’t it just a bit more than the head so far? You bite your lip when you hear yourself whine, suppressing it, eyes watery. Your mouth transforms into a thin line, but Jungkook opens it with his finger; telling you, “I don’t care who hears.”

Okay. Okay. Then… you’ll stop holding back, right? You moan and call his name, hearing in his tender sounds and overjoyed, endlessly breathy and quiet laugh that he’s loving it. He asks, “Can I go farther in?”

“Thought you’d never ask…” Yet, it doesn’t happen. He refuses for some reason; which is why you work towards him instead, your hips upthrusting. Pushing at his ass, knowing how much he’s enjoying your helplessness. You say, “You are mean.”

“Mhm… especially to you, right?”

“Especially to me,” you laugh. “You say you love me and then edge me? Prove it, won’t you?”

“Ohhhh no.” He drags out the syllable, a sudden change in his tone, as if you’ve purposely teased him to a challenge. A you did not just say that kind of vibe. “You will not doubt that I love you. Fuck no.”

He buries his face in your clothed tits, kisses the spot between them; one hand envelops your left side before he lets go and gets serious. Kicks his shorts away and then— bottoms out. His balls clash against your ass, your eyes rolling back. His words ring in your ears.

And then, he’s already dragging himself out before plunging back in. Hard. Remains like this. Then out again; all the way in again, harder. Repeating it with a hand on your neck; but the moment, much to your irritation, doesn’t prolong at all.

Jungkook must have been quick to make a decision to torment you today when you first kissed him ten minutes ago. Because he fully draws back, leaving you empty, a hand on the back of your head as he mutters his thoughts to you, “Am craving this mouth… Get up.”

You, like his personal doll with a sudden lack of feminism in your body, get on your knees without hesitation. Your hands remain between your legs, as if waiting for him to put a leash on you; rubbing yourself against the soft carpet until he stops your antics and grips your cheeks.

He urges you to open up, pressing in, and when you do, he doesn’t wait to shove his cock in again. This time, he helps you out: goes back and forth, fucking your wet tongue, and then moving his length until the tip prods your inner cheek. He angles it like a fishing hook, bringing it out of your mouth and then back in again.

And you’re careful to suck diligently. You taste yourself, fighting for breaths. Look up at him, take him like your last meal on Earth; touch his balls as he relishes in your gaze. When your hand encases his dick, that’s when he stops moving, glancing up to the ceiling as if praying.

You slow down; wait as he catches his breath, and then ask, “What do you want me to do?”

You’re not always this forlorn. Sometimes you take matters into your own hands, no questions or permission necessary. You often knock him back onto the mattress, straddling him, riding him into the sunset.

But you want to submit today; that’s the mood you perceived. That’s what his eyes reveal and what your body itches for. Something he wants, too: to destroy you, to fuck you senseless.

And he notices the shift. “My god, would you look at that,” he drags, hardly believing that you’re looking at him like this. “Bed. Lean over it.”

You listen; of course you do. Your knees press into the carpet, upper body flat on the bed. Ass out, arms on the mattress. 

He touches you gently; first your back, then your hair, and then your arms. Finds the right position, and then rams himself into you. You barely expect it — the intrusion is sudden, happens in one fell swoop.

His legs cage in yours, and he soon pushes yours together, dying for further friction and for you to feel it more intensely. Your eyes flutter shut, and your previously lifted head falls, your cheek against the sheets.

You move with them as he thrusts into you, and you hold onto the fabric to remain in place. Perhaps he sees your efforts, because he’s soon determined to help — or to rile you up further, you can’t say. He catches your arm, just one, pinning it to your back.

A heavy hand falls onto the soft flesh of your ass once. And then, he raises your upper body until it’s glued to his chest. An arm wraps around your tits, two fingers pinching your nipple as he drills into you from behind.

As you yelp and heave breaths, you hear him say, “You wanna know, huh?”

“I…”

You’re not sure what he’s talking about, but you allow him to air his rage. He leans in, kisses your neck, wants to know, “What’s that like? You okay, baby?”

“I’m okay… I’m so okay—”

“And so pretty like this. You’re always… so pretty. I’m so fucking lucky.”

“I want to see you.”

“How did I…”

“Kook—”

“I know. I know you want to,” he says, but he takes another minute to fuck you hard, fast, revved up, and you don’t complain. Not even when two of his fingers slap your cunt, multiple times, rapidly until he repeats, “I know. Would you turn around for me? Sit here?”

How couldn’t you if he asks so nicely, right?

Your legs are shaky and trembling as you take a seat on the edge of the bed, much as he commanded. It’s high enough for him to fuck you standing here; but he doesn’t go in right away as you thought. Instead, he kneels in front of you, forehead to forehead, sentimental all of a sudden.

Did you wanting to actually see him change something? Did it remind him once again that you’re not just what you used to be? A way of passing time, a company to quench each other’s thirst?

Then again, you know Jungkook. He never forgets. Never forgets what you are to him.

Repeats each time just as he is now, “How did I end up with you?” Every time. Tells you every time that he cannot fathom his luck, that you’re more than he’ll ever deserve. He adds, “You want me to prove it to you?”

Oh…

That’s what he—

This time, the kiss is short-lived, albeit urgent. His hand cradles your face when he moves up and slides back home. He fucks you softer first, not as beastly as before. But you guess the distance is as irksome to him as to you, because he soon bends down.

Puts his hands on your ass and shifts your body on the mattress until you’re on your back, laying in front of him. Just the same position as before on the ground, but cosier; it’s easier to hover above you now, scanning your face like you’re the only star in the vast, expanding universe.

The only source of light in this darkened room.

“Hey,” he calls, even though you’re already looking at him.

He grazes your temple, tender as a flower petal. His eyes are a melting, dark brown, almost black; you think you see yourself in the reflection, even though it’s impossible in a setting like this — maybe that’s what he means when he says you reside in him.

Your existence in his chest, your eyes in his.

“I love you,” he then proclaims, “and I’ll show you all the fucking time if you need me to.”

“I… I want you to…”

“Good. Good, baby. You know I’ll do anything, right? Not just this and not just now. I’ll do anything for you.”

You half-smile as he says it, as much as possible between your moans; you don’t know what else to do, because nothing else suffices. Not an I would, too and not an I know.

So you say nothing; only raise your eyebrows and widen your eyes, showcasing every shred of affection you harbour. You keep looking at him until the thrusts force your eyes shut again. And this time, you don’t need long to fall into a series of gasps and outright craze.

You understand you’re close when he pleads, “Can you touch yourself? Please?”

And it helps — considering that you’re already riled up like not once in the past days, the next minutes pass fast, and the end is immediate. The familiar stars soon block your vision, your body quivering; you barely realise what happens and when it happens.

Nothing, but bliss bliss bliss…

Until you very clearly feel the liquid underneath your ass, the sheets soaked, all of it wet. You hear Jungkook laugh, absolutely satisfied. Your eyes rip open and you ask, “What happened?”

But the question is redundant — because as your mind clears, you gather what it could be.

You ruined the sheets. You’ll have to come up with a good ass excuse and ask the receptionist for a new blanket for your room. Fuck. A hell of a guest you are.

“You squirted all over my dick,” Jungkook still clarifies.

“I’m sorry…”

“What? No. It looks… it feels so…”

He doesn’t need to finish his sentence; it seems that the thought alone hardens his cock and balls impossibly. Enough for him to follow your example, letting go. He shakes his head, silences, and then moves in to kiss you hard; to fuck you harder.

He shoves you into the mattress repeatedly, navigating in and out of you so easily that you think he might slip out. But he doesn’t; instead, he spills. Spills hotly, abundantly. You know the bed is soiled forever.

Somehow, you’re even sorry for anyone who might book this room next; but somehow, as guilty as you might feel about it, you feel better for yourself. Then again — it’s fine, right? You’re probably not the first to make a mess of a room like this.

Making out with you one last time, Jungkook remains like thi, not wanting to move as his dick still pulsates and twitches, softening just slowly. Doesn’t want the liquid to leak if he moves out. Maybe thinking the same about the room as you.

His next question, however, is an entirely different one, “Do you believe me now?”

You titter. Even now, even after witnessing each of your reactions, your boyfriend won’t let the thought go. Set on what he feels for you, he’ll probably prove it to you an entire lifetime long.

You promise, “I always will. From anyone in this world, I’ll believe it the most from you.”

“My baby,” he coos. Waits. Then sighs before he says, “Okay, enough of that distraction. We have breakfast to catch. I bet you, five more minutes and they’ll knock.”

“Oh… uh-oh. Quick shower and then hurry?”

“…Great idea.”

Only, the shower isn’t as quick as you anticipated — the two of you are silly, reforming your shampoo hair, giggling until the knocks occur and you bolt to the breakfast hall. The others are already eating; by the looks of it, they’ve just started, though.

Yoongi is the first to speak after you’ve exchanged your polite Good mornings. In fact, he scolds rather gently, “You guys are late. We need to be at the beach by noon, don’t forget.”

“Yeah, we just…” You shrug. “We were organising our suitcases.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook nonchalantly confirms. “Forgot the time.”

Your excuses are so casual, so careful, your eyes busy as they watch your hands smear butter and jam on your toast. Only, you’re not as casual. Your friends fall silent. Their stares alternate between Jungkook and you as the two of you pass a knife or comment on the food.

No word until you hear Jimin gasp and look up at him. His expression seems amused, and you know he’s about to say something bold before he actually does—

“Oh, you fucked… You had the time to?!”

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

1k block limit, beloved. you can read the remaining 10k of the chapter in this reblog!! (refresh if you can't see the link yet) the reblog begins with a new scene <3

[theunpublishedwriter]

                 Not In My Loch

                              

     Salty McTaggert stood at the end of his short homemade pier,  with his arms folded across his chest, and stared out at the water. He shook his head slowly and cursed. He turned to his left and looked at his sailboat tied to the pier. Like the pier and the shack Salty lived in the boat was badly in need of repair. It was difficult to tell whether the sail had more patches than the boat.

     Another wasted morning fishing on the lake. Salty hadn't caught anything for weeks, and he was never more worried than he was now. The folks in the nearby village regularly traded goods for fish, but they stopped coming. The last time anyone stopped at his shack to inquire, he  told them to leave him alone. He had watched as they walked down  to the only other shack on the beach, the home of his hated albatross, his sworn enemy, his lifelong foe, Seymour Tallantine. It made Salty smile to watch the folks leave his despised neighbor with no fish. It would have killed him, so to speak, if Seymour did have fish, and then he would have had to kill Seymour.

     "What the devil!" he yelled and jumped back as a hand came out of the water to grab the edge of the dock. Another hand did the same, and then a head came above the water. "Tallantine!" Salty bellowed.

     The newcomer climbed onto the pier and stared at Salty. "McTaggert, " he replied.

     Salty clenched his fists but kept his arms at his side as he growled, "Get off my pier, ya blasted idiot. Do you  want to die today?"

     The two sun-bronzed elves stood staring at each other for long seconds. They were nearly identical in attitude as well as appearance.  Both were foul-mouthed, hard drinking old elves who loved to sail and fish. Both had skin that was dark and tough from the sun, and they needed haircuts and shaves desperately. They wore similar leather vests and shorts that had seen better days. Both went barefoot.

     "I almost died once today, you old sea turtle.  You don't scare me," Seymour said while continuing to stare at Salty. "And I know why there ain't no fish."

     Salty spit and smiled. He continued to clench his fists and sneered, "There ain't no fish because your stinky body scared them away. You need a boat to fish out there, stupid. Where is your boat now? Did it sink again?" He laughed until he coughed.

     While Salty laughed, Seymour continued to stare quietly at him . It was taking immense willpower not to punch the laughing elf in the face, but what he had to tell him was important to their livelihood. When the laughter was over, Seymour said, "It didn't sink. It was sunk. Sunk by the thing that's been eating all the fish. There's a giant snake or eel, something like that rammed my boat and sunk it. If somebody doesn't do something about that thing, there won't be any more fish for anyone."

     Salty started to laugh again. He clapped his hands and said, "If that ain't the stupidest thing I ever heard out of your mouth. A sea serpent sunk your boat!" Salty couldn't control his laughter and nearly fell over. Seymour watched him quietly, and it was killing him not to punch the fool. Salty rubbed the tears from his eyes and became serious. "Get off my pier while you still have legs to walk on."

     "Listen, you old fool. There's something out there that's eating the fish. We need to stop feuding long enough..."

     "Get off my pier, Tallantine! The only serpent around here is you, you snake." Salty spit on Tallantine's foot and glared at him.

     For a long tension filled moment, the two stood staring menacingly at each other. The slow lapping of the small waves against the pier was the only sound heard.

     "Idiot," Seymour said with a wave of his hand and pushed by Salty. "I'll find someone in the Village to help. Someone with a brain," he finished as he started up the beach in the direction of the Village.

     "You're the idiot, Tallantine," Salty yelled to no one because Seymour Tallantine was already out of sight. He turned back to stare at the lake. "Sea serpent," he laughed and shook his head.

     It was late the next morning when Salty returned without one single fish. He eased his rundown craft alongside the pier and cursed as bits of wood broke off from the pier as the boat slid along it. There was no wood for repair, and if the fish were gone, so was his livelihood. Salty jumped on the pier, careful to avoid the rotting planks that seemed to make up most of the wooden structure,  and tied the boat to the only post that was still stable.

     At the end of the pier, he stood with arms folded across his chest and stared at the lake. He couldn't understand why there were no fish. For decades, he had made a living with the bounty he was able to bring in daily.  No one except Salty and Seymour Tallantine went out on the lake to fish, so it couldn't be that all the fish had been caught. At one point, Salty thought that Tallantine had done something (he didn't know what that something was, but he was sure Tallantine did it), but that couldn't be because Tallantine wasn't getting any fish either. Salty didn't like to think if he didn't need to, and it made him angry to have to do it now.

     Fortunately for Salty, he didn't need to furrow his brows and concentrate as a voice called out from behind him, " Ahoy, Salty!"

     With an angry scowl on his face, he turned and shouted, "Who the devil is the smart-ass who needs his mouth shut! Oh no. I warned you, Tallantine." In a rage, Salty headed for the beach.

     "Hold on a moment, Salty, " said the one who had first called out. "Seymour said there's something in the water that's eating all the fish, and I believe him. We need....."

     "We hell,  Mirand," Salty said as he stepped off the pier and stared at the two who dared to interrupt him. "You might be some big deal in the Village,  but don't come out here with him," he pointed to Tallantine, "and think you're gonna tell me what to do. Now get off my beach."

     Mirand actually was a big deal in the Village.    He was young and handsome,  big for a fairy and a favorite of the mayor and her chief investigator. His love for adventure was well-known, as was his ability to talk folks into doing things they might not do otherwise. It was to Mirand that Seymour Tallantine had gone for help, and once the fairy heard it might be a sea serpent, he couldn't wait to help. "Just listen, Salty,  and if you don't like what I have to say, I'll leave."

     Salty glared again at Seymour, who hadn't said a word since he arrived. Mirand had practically begged him not to say a word. The feud between the two elves was well-known, and Mirand knew he was going to have his hands full, getting them to work together. Turning back to the fairy, Salty growled, "Soon as you say something stupid, I'm done listening." He put his hands on his hips and finished, "Say your piece, Mirand."

     "Let's start with what we know," Mirand began. There may or may not be a sea serpent, " Salty groaned and rolled his eyes while Seymour fought an urge to respond to his enemy, "but we do know something is happening out there. I talked with the mayor, and she agreed to fix your boat, Salty."

     "Wait a minute, " Salty said. "My boat don't need fixing. And I'm sure as hell not paying for it. We're done, fairy." He turned to go back on the pier.

     "They're gonna fix it for free, you moron," Seymour called out.

     Salty spun back around and looked at Seymour.  "Free?"

     Mirand smiled and answered, "Yes. We need fish.  The only people who can get fish are the two of you. Seymour lost his boat, and we don't have the time to build him a new one. But we can fix yours."

     "I heard the word free," Salty said with a smile as he rubbed his hands together.

     Mirand sighed. "The mayor said we need to get this problem solved and that I should do whatever it takes to end it. To that end...."

     "Is it free or not?!"

     "Yes, yes, it's free, but only because we need a vessel worthy of whatever we're going to encounter.  And," Mirand paused, "There can be no fighting between you two until we end this problem."

     "No!" Salty shouted and started waving his arms and stamping his feet. "That swine is not going on my boat. He's worse than a damn albatross. I won't have it."

     Before Mirand could respond, a voice called out from behind him, "Hey there, Mirand! You ready for us?" Coming down the beach was a group of dwarves, led by Gimble, the chief architect and carpenter of the Village. Two of the dwarves were pulling a wooden cart full of wood and canvas. "Let's get boat fixing," Gimble said with a smile as he joined Mirand.

     Turning to Salty, Mirand asked, "Well? Are we doing this?"

     Salty looked from Mirand to Gimble to the cart full of supplies.  Then he looked at Seymour Tallantine. "Am I in charge?" He quietly asked Mirand.

     "No one is in charge, Salty.  This will be a team effort. Well?"

     "I'm in," Salty answered.

     The moment Salty agreed, Gimble and the others went to work. "We need to fix this pier first," Gimble ordered as he put his crew to work. "Get busy, lads, and I'll see what needs doin' on the boat." The burly dwarf carefully made his way along the loose and rotting planks of the pier. Within moments sounds of sawing, hammering, and a lot of cursing filled the air.

     "We need to make a plan," Mirand said to the two elves who had been watching the rapid progress the dwarves were making. "Gimble assures me he will have that boat ready by morning. Seymour, what did you see?"

     Seymour scowled and said, "I already told you. Can't you remember?"

     "Tell me again because I want Salty to listen and," Salty opened his mouth to say something, but Mirand raised his hand, "not say a word," Mirand finished.

     Seymour Tallantine rubbed his chin, his fingers tangling in his beard and making him curse as he pulled them free. "Didn't really see much. Mostly a shadow until it rammed my boat. Might have been fifteen, twenty feet long, and maybe four feet around."

     "That's some nonsense," Salty laughed and pointed at the other elf. "I been sailing this lake for decades, and I ain't never seen anything like that. I know somethin' is wrong, and I want it to stop. I'm gonna help, but don't expect me to believe there's a sea serpent. Not in my loch. Make your plans without me. If my boat is ready, we leave at first light." Salty McTaggert pushed past the two and went into his shack.

     "Told ya he was gonna be stubborn about it,"  Seymour said as he turned back to watch the dwarves work.

     "At least he's with us, Seymour. And you did great by not fighting with him," Mirand responded as he too watched the workers quickly rebuilding the pier under Gimble's curse-filled directions. "The two of us can try to come up with something. Whatever we plan, we can explain it to him tomorrow. "  With hammering, sawing, sometimes singing, but always cursing the dwarves carried on their work while Mirand and Seymour Tallantine planned for the next day

     It was still dark the next morning when Salty stepped onto his rebuilt pier. He walked its length a number of times, stopping here and there to squat down and inspect the wood. The dwarves had done an incredible job, and the pier had never looked this good. The old elf couldn't help but smile.

     Light was just beginning to show on the horizon as Salty went to check his boat. Without realizing it was happening, Salty's smile became so large it nearly hurt. The small sailboat looked new, and there was a huge canvas sail in place just waiting to be raised. With a laugh, he jumped into the boat and inspected everything, laughing and clapping his hands. It had been a very long time since he had been happy, so happy that he forgot to curse.

     His happiness evaporated as a voice called out, "Morning, Salty. Looks like a fine morning to sail." Mirand stood on the pier and smiled. Behind him stood Seymour holding a number of thin poles.

     Salty cursed and leaned over the boat to spit. "What would you know about a fine morning to sail, landlubber?" Before Mirand could answer, Salty looked at Seymour and said, "What the devil are you holdin',Tallantine?"

     "Spears. So we can kill the damn thing and get back to fishing." He dropped the bundle of spears that Gimble had made during the night and stepped onto the boat, followed by Mirand.

     Salty released the ropes from the new pilings and with a large oar he pushed off from the pier. "Get that sail up, Tallantine!" he barked.

     "Don't tell me what to do, walrus breath. I know how to sail a damn boat," Tallantine bellowed.

     "If you knew how to sail a damn boat, then why did yours sink?"

     "I told you why, you miserable dog! There's a damn sea serpent. "

     "Yer daft, Tallantine.  Touched in the head is what you are."

     "Yer gonna be touched when this is over, McTaggert."

     The bickering continued for hours as the boat traversed the lake, a warm breeze filling the sail.

Mirand sat in the middle of the boat after giving up on trying to get his companions to stop arguing. This was his first time on the lake and his first time ever in a boat. It was fine in the beginning, but as the wind increased, so did the waves, and Mirand thought more than once that he should have stayed behind.

     Seymour noticed the look on the fairy's face and laughed. He shouted something to Salty, who looked at Mirand, and both elves broke into laughter. "He's gonna puke," Salty laughed.

     "I heard he likes adventure. He won't forget this one. Look! He's gettin' sick," Seymour pointed. The two elves laughed together for a minute before the bickering began again. Mirand barely heard the laughter as le leaned over the boat and gave up his breakfast.

     It was at that moment that a green and blue scaled massive head rose above the water inches from Mirand. "Shit shit shit!" Mirand exclaimed as he scrambled backward.

     "There's the fekkin' beastie!" Seymour shouted as he ran to grab a spear, with Salty behind him. Two huge yellow eyes watched the activity on the boat, and just as both elves threw their spears in unison, the head disappeared beneath the water. A second later, the boat heaved upward as the serpent went under it. "Well, McTaggert?" Seymour said.

     Salty looked at the other elf and shook his head but said nothing. Not even a curse.

     Mirand, completely over being seasick thanks to the serpent asked, "Will it come back?"

     "Don't know," Seymour answered. "The beastie rammed me, and then it was gone. Just glad the damn thing didn't eat me."

     "Grab a spear. Here comes your answer, fairy," Salty said and pointed off to the right. Something large and fast was churning through the water in their direction. Three very sharp and pointed spears flew from the boat. Two bounced off the scaly hide, but one hit the serpent in its eye and stayed there. Enraged by pain and partially blinded, the creature continued toward them, it's course altered enough by its poor vision that it rammed the boat in the rear instead of the center. The impact rocked the boat and spun it around, knocking the three off their feet.

     "The boat held!" Salty shouted.

     "Gimble used dwarf wood. He said it can withstand a battering ram. I'm sure...." The boat heaved again before Mirand could finish his sentence. Once again, the massive head rose above the boat, water pouring from its body as it rose high above the small craft. The head lunged toward the three, and they scrambled to avoid the long tongue that lashed out. Mirand rolled and grabbed a spear. When the tongue darted his way, he stabbed it with the spear. With a terrifying roar the creature dove under the water, a large wave splashed onto the boat, soaking the trio. "Where did it go?" he yelled as he stood up

     Both elves frantically looked around, and Seymour shouted, "Starboard! Here it comes!" He pointed to the right, and the three watched as the serpent sped toward them and then seemed to leap out of the water. Its momentum took it into the sail, and the pole snapped off, taking sail, pole, and beast into the water. The impact knocked the trio off their feet, and the boat rocked madly for long seconds.

     "Hope that bump hurt the beastie," Salty mumbled as he stood and picked up a spear. The others followed his lead and armed themselves. "Where the devil is it now?"

     The question was immediately answered as they felt the serpent hit the boat from under it. The boat rocked hard again, and then the front began to rise out of the water. "Hold on. It's trying to capsize us," Seymour shouted. Holding on was impossible as the serpent rose up with the boat on its back. It rose high enough for the small boat to fall back into the water upside down, the three passengers falling into the lake and disappearing.

     Salty was the first to appear, and he swam for the overturned boat and scrambled onto the hull. A second later, Seymour appeared pulling Mirand like a rag doll. "Dumbass can't swim," he said to Salty as he tried getting Mirand up onto the boat. "Want to give me a hand, McTaggert?"

     "Something's gonna die here today, " Salty scowled as he pulled the half-conscious fairy while Seymour pushed. "That beastie or us," he finished and looked at Mirand.

     "For once in your life you're right, McTaggert, " Seymour agreed as he remained in the water still holding the edge of the boat. "Sure don't look so good right...."  Salty was cut off as a long tongue wrapped around his leg and began pulling him. "McTaggert!" he screamed as he was pulled under the water.

     Without a thought, Salty grabbed the spear and dove after his companion. He could see Seymour struggling as he tried to reach the tongue to free himself. Without a weapon, all he could do was hit it with his fists, to no effect.  How the hell long is that tongue, Salty thought as he pushed himself faster.

     Not fifteen feet away, the serpent waited, its massive mouth open and waiting for the meal trapped by its tongue. The spear had remained fixed in its eye this entire time, and it gave Seymour a do or die idea. He stopped resisting and instead turned his body and began swimming toward the serpent. Salty thought the other elf had gone mad and had no idea what he was doing, but he too headed for the serpent.

     With powerful strokes, Salty came directly toward the mouth while Salty came at it from the side. Just before he would enter the huge mouth, Salty shot up and grabbed the end of the spear. With his remaining strength, he plunged the spear into the beast's brain. At that same instant, Salty came from the side and drove his spear into the beast's other eye. The serpent died instantly as the two spears went deep into its small brain.

     Hours later found the trio slowly heading home. There was only one long oar, the boat was still upside down, and they were exhausted. "Since I saved everything, my boat gets fixed again, right, Mirand?"

     "You saved everything?" Seymour sneered.

     "Killed the beastie, didn't i?" Salty snapped.

     "You? I killed the fekkin thing, you pile of unicorn dung!"

     "In yer dreams, ya daft bastard!"

     "Soon as we land, I'll show you who's daft!"

     "Any time, fool!"

     And so it went for the remainder of the trip, with Mirand vowing to himself to never again go anywhere with this pair of loons.

[birdsandlonging-blog]

untitled/4am/venice beach

I don’t even feel like a person anymore

I feel like a prop or one of those wax figurines

An SVU body double

Petchieal bruising 

Rubbing my eyes, palpebral conjunctiva 

My eyes gooey in love for you 

Oozing, dripping, the wound is still wet

It hasn’t healed yet.

You’re my band aid 

But healing is so hard 

I feel the impact 

Your hands are so heavy now 

Blunt force trauma

Multiple stab wounds to the abdomen and genitals

Ligature marks on the wrist and ankles

Victim shows signs of chronic abuse

Habitual. 

I wish it was a tv show

I wish it really was pretend

I want to fake it for real

Then it cant hurt me

You’re the only one who can tell when I’m faking anyways

I’m not making it all about me

Cant you see i don’t ever want it to be about me

I’m so sorry.

I’m fixating on fixing you all

So i don’t ever have to focus on it

I like all of them 

Thats the problem

I like the scientific process 

Of the chemicals

And yet i would never donate my body to science.

My body is already claimed 

And not my own. 

It belongs to you and you only.

I would let you murder me 

Just to never have another thought 

Ever again.

In my mind 

I’m always sixteen

My mom is gonna kill me.

They made me a dud

I came out of the box with missing pieces 

Faulty parts 

“were not seeing what we would expect to see by  7 weeks”

“see that? That’s the gestational sac there should be something there”

“see its empty”

Everything disposable

You put the little dress in the trash

Cold jelly still on your thighs when you get home

The house has never been so quiet

They never made a noise

It’s just the screaming in your head

Don’t let them hear you

It’s a secret 

You better shut the fuck up.

Bite the pillow, be a good girl 

You’re not the only one who enjoys torture 

“You’re gonna feel a slight pinch”

It’s a knife 

It’s serrated

The cuts are jagged 

See how it leaves a distinctive impression mark on the flesh?

It’s a signature 

An MO

He’s a serial killer

I’m struggling to eat cereal

True crime of passion

Not even, its more like possession

I’m a demon I’m an angel 

You’re an architect 

You don’t even go to this school

You already know everything 

No need for higher education 

You’re already initiated

We just need to take another vial or two

We just need to run another test 

We have to contact the diagnostics department 

They are closed on Wednesdays

I was born on a Wednesday

Mercury day 

“Wednesday’s child is full of woe” 

Sorry, i have a Gemini moon 

It’s not my fault 

Or is it?

This baby is made out of metal and this one is made out of granite 

“I’m so sorry but we didn’t find a heartbeat”

Don’t worry, we will give you morphine,It’s sublingual

It can take 12-24 hours for the induction to start

You have to insert it, Is your partner home?

Do you have someone we can call for you?

Make sure you have enough maxi pads

You can always put some towels underneath your sheets

It’s normal to lose that much blood DON’T WORRY 

I didn’t even know i had that much blood in my body

I thought i was a corpse 

Do something nice for yourself

Go for a walk, a long one 

Off a short pier preferably 

My body is a graveyard

Somebody brought a casserole

He said he’s bringing flowers on Monday

The gravestone is filthy

He hasn’t been maintaining it

The alter is empty

I forgot to bring my offerings 

I have nothing to offer anyways

The universe wants to spite me, a cosmic joke

I cant stop laughing, It’s just a defence mechanism 

When the jokes don’t land 

I know I’m in trouble

I want to be punished

I don’t suffer from mental illness

I’m enjoying every minute of it

My insides are raw

They’re on the outside now

Like that Frida Khalo painting

“Just a little nip”

They need another sample

I have nothing left to give 

Drain me, I’m begging you 

Make me bloodless

Leave me lifeless 

You told me to shut up

That’s what I’m doing

I don’t even know what I’m saying

So I’m singing instead

You can find me on the dance floor

Low to the ground, gravity  pulling me down 

Bending me over, turning me sideways

Into the “recovery position”

Nothing but Acid in my gullet 

Nothing but an apple seed in my belly

It’s arsenic. It’s turpentine you’re toxic

Remember when we used to huff paint in the garage?

Make it quick and painless 

Before my parents get home

I cant i have a headache 

I thought i was your painkiller 

Now you want to kill me

I want to be a victim

Please don’t use that picture

Pick a different adjective when you describe me 

Pick a new poison, this one is getting tiring 

The onset isn’t quick enough.

Bury me in the backyard

Next to my babies

Amongst the peonies

Yet another pony he promised me

One hand on the braid another on the bridle 

The harness is sliding down her hide

Why do horses always smell like dust

Why does my saliva taste like pennies?

Swallowing some batteries, a choking hazard

A warning, i choose to ignore it.