#if you’re seeing this a second time it’s because this is the new version :3

[clavalanche]

peep the horror

[taegularities]

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

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

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

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

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

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

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

“Angel? Breathe.”

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

Sighing, you ask, “Are you okay?”

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

“Yes… I know.”

“Let’s go?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes.

Has he been keeping up with stuff?

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

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

“Oh, I’m…”

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

“What’s that mean?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

In some sense, it’s worse.

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

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

You follow.

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

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

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

And in the end, it’s still his dad.

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

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

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

You’re incorrect.

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

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

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

“Mhm,” Jungkook merely responds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The city called and it kept them.

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

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

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

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

“Ah. Is it that pretty?”

“It’s pretty amazing.”

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

“I’m trying to, really.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s unnecessary.”

“Okay.”

Tense. Quiet. Gulping.

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

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

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

“I was.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Damn, Kook.”

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

“Yeah. I really like it here so far.”

“Good.”

“Are you?”

“Yeah. It’s okay.”

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

“Good. I think we cou—”

Pause. 

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

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

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

“Helloooo!”

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

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

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

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

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

You giggle. Goodness.

“Gosh, sure!”

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

Weird.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She’s not going to…

No.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s crazy.”

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

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

“What is?” you ask.

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

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

The weeks of insecurity and then the trials of life.

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

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

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

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

Yeah… yeah, it sounds like him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Some people I knew…”

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

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

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

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

“You say it so… weirdly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She calls, “Ah! You’re finally here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hum, “I’m getting tired, yeah…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yearning.

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

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

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

Reminiscent of a youth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Victoria’s Secret?”

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

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

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

“Never threw it away, though.”

“Never thought of it.”

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

“You okay?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then again…

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

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

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

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

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

“Baby!” he exclaims back.

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

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

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

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

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

“Gureum?” you repeat.

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

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

“Okay. Okay…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This is so pretty,” you say.

“Right?”

“Was this the surprise?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You could take him to the city.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s old?” you wonder.

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

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

He just is… He just is.

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

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

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

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

Jungkook…

He took you strawberry picking.

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

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

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

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

“Oh— Really? How so?”

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Try it, too,” he then instructs.

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

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

“You’ll have to eat mine, then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That too.”

Oh.

“What else?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course. Gotta wash them, though.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Right?”

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

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

“No bullshit berries indeed. So good.”

“You picked good ones!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh… yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You understand.

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

The affection is unfiltered and crystal clear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can wait. Things can wait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I really wanted to help, though.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Offended indeed. You learned this?”

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

Junghyun chuckles. “Even I remember.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nonsense.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jungkook—” Junghyun interrupts.

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

“What are you talking ab—”

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

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

But it’s hard to listen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Watch your mo—”

“Or wha—”

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

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

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

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

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

The fire in his eyes is blue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kook…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know. It’s okay.”

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

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

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

Why can’t he love me?

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

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

But he keeps believing—

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

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

“Your mother doesn’t either…”

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

“Didn’t you… hate me, too?”

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

“Not for a second,” you say.

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

“Yeah. I’m okay. We’re okay.”

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

“I know. I love you, too.”

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

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

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

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

And it does fifteen minutes later.

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

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

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

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

“It’s okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah… yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hmm…

“What did he go down for?” you ask.

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

After a fight.

Like the breakdown last night. You understand.

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

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

“Sure!”

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

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

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

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

You’re thankful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She’s so wrong. Both she and him.

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

You remember…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit…

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

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

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

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

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

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

You walk down the steps to the basement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uhmmm, just looking through old stuff.”

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

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

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

He does this often. Zone off like this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Too much of a fool for you, yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

“Ah. That’s kinda sweet, though.”

“Isn’t it?”

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

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

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

“Yes, I did. Don’t be a brat.”

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

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

Make up, probably.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Does he feel the same about you? Probably.

Because he curses, “What the fuck.”

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

“What are you even?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He chuckles. “They can try.”

“They? Well, shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Damn it. Both of them deceived you.

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

“And I got it for you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’ll suit you.”

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

“Ah… I can try.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A tease here, a flirt there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah.

Ah…

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

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

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

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

Ahhh…

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

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

Come on. Unrealistic.

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

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

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

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

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

What? When?

“When?” you echo.

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

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

For the very first time.

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

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

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

Fuck, what if it happens again?

“I’m going to panic,” you tell Ria.

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

“But now I might keep thinking about it.”

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

“No… no, it’s okay. You should’ve.”

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

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

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

Well. Okay.

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

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

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

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

You smile.

Okay…

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

Okay.

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

Breathe in. Breathe out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You take a deep breath.

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

It’s not too much to ask, you reckon.

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

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

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

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

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

You soon meet the first one of the latter kind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Up and down. Smile telling. Uncomfortable.

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

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

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

“Nice. And wait, sorry, you were…?”

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

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

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

“Lucky. You look pretty together.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook nods. “Christian Yu now. Yup.”

“Right.”

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me neither,” Ria confirms.

Of course he didn’t like it.

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

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

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

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

“Okay.”

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

Ah…

“Hm?”

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

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

“Oh— Kook—”

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

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

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

Well… at least now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve been thinking it all dead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I tell you something mainstream?”

You hum, “Hm?”

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

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

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

I’ll spend my life with you.

Not a question. Not a need.

But a confession. A goal. A plan. 

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

It’s a song.

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

“You probably do.”

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

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

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

“You did? Then she must’ve…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This… this is it.”

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

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

[helaintoloki]

hi can you do a ben hargreeves angst where klaus is still able to see him in season 3 and he sees how close y/n has gotten to ben sparrow you can do whatever you want with it

warnings: language, lots of angst

notes: okay i actually loved writing this you are a genius for coming up with this scenario

summary: Ben is forced to watch you fall for a completely different version of him

Ben once thought having to watch the woman you love live her life without knowing you looked on as a spirit incapable of communicating with her was the worst fate imaginable.

But he was wrong.

Watching the woman you love grow close to another version of you while you can do absolutely nothing to interfere was more torturous than any other possible outcome.

Ben absolutely loathed the Sparrow with his entire being. He couldn’t understand why you would even consider trying to get to know the man- he was a complete jerk, absolutely hostile, and not at all understanding or compassionate to the dilemma your team found yourselves in. Ben also thought his haircut was stupid, and the Sparrow’s demeanor gave the ghost a sense of second-hand embarrassment every time he talked.

And yet you were drawn to the man like a magnet, and how could you not be? He looked and sounded exactly like what you imagined your Ben would have if he had survived the accident and been able to grown into an adult alongside you. Despite his callousness and his blatant lack of trust in you, you were eager to learn more. Did he like the same things your Ben did? Did they share the same interests? Were their mannerisms the same? You desperately needed to know, and the Sparrow did not deny you this. Though he held a certain sense of disdain for your team, he wasn’t prideful enough to turn down the company of a pretty girl who seemed to follow him around like a lost puppy. He took advantage of your kindness and your vulnerability, and your Ben hated that he could do absolutely nothing to stop this.

You sit on a lone bench and watch as the Sparrow completes his workout for the day. He’s allowed you to tag along so long as you don’t get in the way, and you agreed. You’re completely mesmerized by his toned arms and grunts of effort that escape his lips as he lifts weights, and Ben can only roll his eyes.

“Seriously? This guy?” He asks you in exasperation, but of course, you don’t hear him at all. This doesn’t deter him from continuing his attempt to persuade you to stay away from the Sparrow. “You are way too good for an asshole like him. He’s just using you to feed his ego!”

“Do you like to read?” You ask the man as he sets down his weights and reaches for his towel to wipe off the sweat from his brow.

“Read?” He retorts haughtily, almost offended by the notion. “What am I, a nerd?”

Ben knows neither of you can see him, and yet he flips the man off anyway in response to his answer. Your shoulders visibly deflate at his words, and the ghost can only frown and attempt to place a comforting hand on your shoulder. It goes right through you, the coldness prompting you to shiver involuntarily, but it makes him feel better to know you can at least sense him in some way.

“My Ben liked reading, so I just thought maybe you would too,” you offer meekly, prompting the Sparrow to roll his eyes.

“Alright, new rule. You wanna hangout with me? Then don’t bring up ‘your’ Ben. Got it?”

“Right, sorry,” you murmur quietly while awkwardly fidgeting with the rings on your fingers. You hover over the one on your index, the purple gem gleaming in the light. Ben knows that ring because he gave you that ring, and that’s why it nearly kills him all over again when he watches you hurriedly remove it and hide it away in the pocket of your sweater.

“You shouldn’t have to apologize for being you,” he gently reprimands you with a sigh before focusing his harsh gaze on his lookalike. “And you should stop being a dick to quite possibly the nicest girl you’ll ever meet. You don’t deserve her, and I’ll never understand why the universe decided you should get to have her.”

Of course, his lecture is unheard and has no impact on the scene that unfolds before him. He watches in gut wrenching agony as the Sparrow seats himself beside you on the bench, his rough hand coming to rest gently upon your thigh and squeezing to get your attention. Your eyes almost seem to sparkle as you look up at him in search of validation for your efforts to get to know him. There’s a shift in the air that fills Ben with dread, and despite all his efforts to stop it he can do nothing to prevent your lips from meeting the man’s in a purposeful kiss.

Your heart flutters in your chest as the Sparrow pulls away and carefully tucks your hair behind your ear, his voice coming out in a soft whisper as he says, “You’re with me now. Forget about him.”

And to Ben’s absolute horror, you obediently offer a silent nod in agreement to his command.

[letstrip-teamblue]

Treat you like a lady

• Your boyfriend doesn’t pay enough attention to you. Chris doesn’t like that.

• This is extremely cheesy!! That’s just how I am. Contains smut.

• Word count: 2,031

Sunday

Today is a weekend like any other; you’re lounging on the triplets’ couch.

The tv is playing as background noise. Chris is on his laptop working on new Fresh Love designs while you lay next to him scrolling pinterest. You've known each other long enough that you can enjoy each other's company without forcing conversation. Simply being around him allows you to relax, and vice versa. You can’t find that with many people.

A sex scene causes the pair of you to look up. You exchange looks and chuckle like teenagers at it.

Chris breaks the awkward silence.

“Is it actually that good or is she playing it up?”

“Don’t know.” I shrug and go back to my phone.

I can see Chris’s brows furrow from my peripheral vision.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’ve never had a guy go down on me before.”

“What?”

You look up from your phone.

“…What.” You echo.

“No, what do you mean you’ve never had head before? You have a boyfriend. You’ve had a boyfriend for 3 months.”

Your cheeks get warm.

Think of a way to brush this off.

“It’s not a big deal. Not everyone’s into that.”

He seems stunned, gaze focused on his sneakers.

“... Do you do it for him?”

A sigh leaves your lips, “Chris-”

“No, listen to me. If he’s not reciprocating then the problem clearly isn't that he's uncomfortable. It's that he's selfish.”

Who does Chris think he is that he can judge your love life?

“This is none of your business.” You scoff.

“I think I should go.” You stand up and grab your bag.

Chris doesn’t give up yet.

“Okay, forget about that part for a second. When’s the last time he took you out? When's the last time he surprised you?”

You're struggling to swallow down a still-beating heart. You're avoiding eye contact with an angry version of one of your closest friends, and you’re trying to block out the possibility that what he's saying could be true.

“I’ll see you later, Chris.”

7:00 pm

Chris: I'm sorry. I overstepped earlier. just think you deserve better.

You read and reread the message. Typing out a reply and deleting it. Maybe what you need is space. You put your phone on do not disturb and crawl under the covers.

Trying to distance yourself from Chris would prove to be a waste of time because you end up having a dream about him.

“Hey gorgeous” a voice whispers in your ear.

It sounds familiar but there’s no one else with you in this room, so you can’t match the voice with a face. Whoever it’s coming from, their voice sounds like silk.

You're twisting your head around to try and find the source. Whoever’s in here with you finds that amusing because laughter follows.

“I'm over here, goof.”

It’s him. He walks over to you with a smile on his face and those big blue eyes.

“What are you doing here?” you asked

“I just missed you.” he says as he grabs your hand and twirls you around.

1:12 am

Well, that’s a first.

Monday

Chris opened the front door.

“Hey, I’m so glad you wanted to come over.” He said smiling.

Your face however wasn’t as cheerful.

“Yeah about that,”

You cleared your throat and walked inside.

“I think we should spend a little time apart. Like a refresh.”

His expression dropped instantly. You can’t keep eye contact. It’s too hard.

“What?”

“It’s not personal, it’s-”

“Did he put you up to this?”

“Chris , this is my relationship, stay out of it.” You say sternly.

“How can I when you’re all I think about?”

The air in the room gets thick.

“What?”

“I mean,” He scrunched his eyes and rubs his forehead. Flipping through the pages of his brain for the right words.

“I could treat you better than him.”

You laugh, “What are you talking about?”

He slowly brings his hand up and tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

“You know it’s true.”

He takes a step toward me, his breath on my cheeks.

“I can make you feel good.”

You involuntarily gulped, which caused him to smirk. He tries to hide it.

Your mouth moves but no sound emits from it. You feel paralyzed.

He must be bluffing… right?

“Let me show you.” he whispered, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You don’t know exactly when he stepped closer but your noses are now touching.

I need to stop this.

“I have a boyfriend.” You say in a meek voice.

Chris very lightly put his right hand on your stomach. You can feel the warmth of his large hand through your shirt.

“Does he make you nervous like I do?”

Chris' eyes fall to your lips.

“If you want me to stop, I will. Just say the word.”

Shit.

Soft, pink lips touch yours. You don’t kiss back but don’t run away either. Just wanting to take in the dimensions and texture of his lips. He starts to pull back.

Wait, don’t go anywhere.

You press your lips forward, chasing him.

It makes him smile into the kiss, which in turn makes you smile. The weird sensation causes you both to start laughing.

He straightens up.

“I wanna be with you too. Wo don’t know why I was ever with him in the first place.”

Chris can’t contain his smile. He covers his mouth.

“Sorry. I know I should be more… apologetic? I guess? But I’m not. I want you all to myself.”

“Yes, you've made that quite clear.”

You pull Chris back in for a kiss by his hoodie, it makes his insides stir. He places both his hands on the sides of your face, deepening the kiss.

You pull back for air.

“I should go tell him it’s over before things go any further.”

“Ok.”

But Chris goes right back to kissing you. Sliding his thumb across your cheek.

It’s so dreamy. You have to will yourself to stop.

“Ok I’m serious this time!” You chuckle. “Can I come back tonight?”

“I’d really like that.”

4:15 pm

Me: just left his house. whew.

Chris: im proud of u and so grateful.

6:00pm

“How long have you liked me?”

“Almost our entire friendship. I don’t think I realize it until you started dating Andrew.”

Laying on Chris’s chest is the happiest you’ve felt in months. You two have been talking about all the things that made you fall for each other. He’s been rubbing your back for the past 20 minutes but decides to put his hand under your shirt to enhance the feeling.

You sighed and relaxed even more on top of him, closing your eyes.

“Damn, you have some knots right here.”

“Ugh, yeah. That’s where I carry stress.”

“Here, lay on your stomach. I bet I can relieve it.”

Chris moves so you can lay flat. Once you’re comfortable he straddles your hips and brings his hand to the hem of your shirt.

“Is it ok if I bring this up?”

“Mhm.”

He lifts your shirt to where your bra starts ,then gets to work.

Maybe it’s the skin to skin contact, or the fact that your muscles were tense, but his hands feel heavenly. You can’t help but let out a string of sighs.

“That feeling good?”

“Yes, oh my god. Thank you so much.”

He chuckles. “Anything for my girl.”

After a few minutes of the same motions he decides to explore new territory.

He rubs his hands over your hips, your ribs, and now your thighs.

“Seems like there’s a lot of heat coming from your legs, baby.”

“You’re such a good massager it’s hardly my fault.” You tease back.

You try to close your legs together but he doesn’t like that. Keeping a hand right between them.

He brings his mouth right next to your ear. Lowering his voice.

“Do you need relief somewhere else, baby?”

While he talks he maneuvers his hand so it’s nearly flat against your clothed center.

You try to keep it together. You can’t already be at a loss for words.

You nod into his pillow.

“Turn over for me. Let me see that pretty face.”

Your cheeks heat up immediately as you position yourself on your back. The two of you make eye contact and any anxiety you had about intimacy with Chris is gone.

“We can stop whenever you want.” He says before kissing you.

“Let me show you how a real man behaves.”

He smirks and lowers himself to your stomach. Kissing your happy trail. Leaving tiny bites.

Since you’re wearing sweats he slides them off in seconds, taking your underwear with them. He tosses them over his shoulder and they hit some things in his dresser, causing them to fall. It makes you giggle but Chris is entranced by the sight before him.

“Jesus Christ.” He says to himself.

He runs his nose where your leg meets your hip. Kissing further and further. Creating a puddle before he even touches you. He licks your inner thighs. Painting them with purple marks.

Finally, his mouth is where you crave it. He’s apprehensive at first but once you let out your first moan it’s all over for him.

Chris sucks your clit and your mind goes blank. Nothing ever felt like this before.

“I can’t believe you’ve been hiding this from me.”

When he goes back down he licks a stripe from the bottom of your pussy to your clit.

Your back arches off the bed.

“That’s it.” he says into my skin.

He’s lapping at your folds like it’s water and he’s been in a drought. Grabbing onto your thighs to make sure you don’t go anywhere. Not that you'd want to, but his actions do cause quite a bit of squirming.

“God, you’re everything.”

It almost seemed like he was saying it to himself. Like he couldn’t believe youre real.

“Next time you want something done right, come to me.”

“Fuck yes.” You moan.

When he lifts his face up again, your juices are dripping down to his neck. You’re so mesmerized by the sight you don’t register what he's saying. It just sounds like white noise.

Chris tsks.

“Looks like I fucked you dumb, huh? Poor thing.”

“Shut up.”

You push his face back down. He starts fucking you with his tongue.

“Yes ma’am.”

Jesus

Your thighs tighten around his neck, he squeezes them back as a response.

“You taste so sweet, baby. Like syrup.”

You can’t do anything more than whimper and grind into his face.

Chris grabbed the hand that was clenching the bedsheets and guided it to his hair. You happily thread your fingers through.

He touches you like you're all he asked god for. The sounds coming from you are his favorite song. This is the alchemy he does.

“Oh god,” your voice goes up an octave.

“Are you gonna cum for me, pretty girl?”

“Please, so close.”

“Cmon, be a good girl and cum on my face.”

He made you a whimpering mess. Arousal dripping down your legs, down his lips, on the sheets. Chris continues to reach his tongue deep inside you while drawing figure eights on your clit.

In an instant your vision goes black.

The next minute was spent shaking and catching your breath. Goosebumps littered all over my body.

You don’t know when but at some point Chris must’ve turned you so you were laying on your side. He pulled a lightweight blanket over you and was now playing with your hair.

“Hey pretty girl.” He said softly as you opened your eyes.

“Hi”

“You did so well for me.” He kisses your forehead. “I’m so proud of you. Don’t move.”

He quickly wet a washcloth and grabbed a water bottle.

You could drift off to sleep at any moment, but Chris made sure to clean you up first.

It felt nice to be taken care of for once. He made sure you were warm enough. every few minutes he laid kisses on your face. You were too tired to say anything but he could see how happy you were. That was enough for him

[greengoblinswifey]

𝑭𝒂𝒎𝒆’𝒔 𝑬𝒅𝒈𝒆 ・₊✧🩶 Part I

Pairing— Nicholas Chavez x Model!Reader

Warnings— Mentions of drugs and alcohol, Substance Use, Mature Themes.

A/N— Comment to be a part of the tag list, hope you enjoy this series <3

Series Masterlist

The glossy conference room table reflected the headline of the magazine tossed unceremoniously in front of you.

“America’s New Wild Child: From Runways to Rock Bottom”

Below it was a photo of you stumbling into a hotel lobby, visibly intoxicated, mascara smeared, and your once-iconic dress askew. It wasn’t just one headline, it was everywhere. Every blog, tabloid, and gossip page seemed to have some variation of your downfall plastered across their pages.

Your manager, Angela, sighed heavily from across the table, rubbing her temples. “You see this, right? The Shade Room picked it up. TMZ is all over it. Even Vogue is doing a piece on whether or not you’re the next Kate Moss, but not in a good way.” She leaned forward, her voice sharp. “You’re toxic right now. Nobody wants to touch you.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “This isn’t true. My ex-best friend—she’s jealous. She made this all up.”

Angela gave you a pointed look and slid her iPad across the table. On it was a video—paparazzi footage of you from a few nights ago. You were stumbling out of a car, practically being carried by someone, slurring your words as you waved off photographers.

You groaned and pressed your fingers to your temples. “Y’all please, that was one time.”

“It’s never just one time with you!” snapped Melanie, one of the executives at your agency. “This is becoming a pattern. And we’re not here to babysit you.” She stood, exasperated. “You’re one of the highest-paid models in the world, and now look at you. You’re a liability.”

Angela raised a hand to calm the room. “Give me a few days,” she said, her voice firm. “I’ll clean this up. We’ll fix her image. She’ll be the ‘it girl’ again. I just need time.”

Melanie crossed her arms but didn’t argue. “Fix it fast. Otherwise, we’re done.”

As the meeting wrapped up, you sat silently, staring at the incriminating headlines. After years of grueling work, endless runway shows, and clawing your way to the top, it was all unraveling because of your past addictions and your inability to leave it behind.

Angela pulled you aside as the others left. “You need to clean this up. No more excuses. No more scandals. And definitely no more drunken or high paparazzi shots. Got it?”

You nodded numbly. “Got it.”

“Good. Now, start small. Let’s use that mansion of yours. Throw a party. Invite everyone who matters. Show them the glamorous, sophisticated version of yourself. Make them forget the messy headlines.”

Your lips curved into a small, defiant smile. “A party? That, I can do.”

2 Days Later

The house practically glittered under the LA moonlight, perched in the most exclusive part of the city. Your glam team buzzed around you, perfecting every inch of your hair and makeup as you sipped champagne. Outside the window, you noticed the usually dark house next door was now bustling with activity.

“Looks like someone’s moving in,” you said absently, gesturing with your glass. From the corner of your eye, you saw a guy carrying a box inside. He looked young, around your age maybe two years older, and vaguely attractive, though you didn’t pay much attention.

“Maybe he’ll be better than the last neighbors,” you joked to your stylist, smirking. “If he’s cute, I might even invite him to the party.”

As the night fell, the party roared to life. The mansion was packed with models, actors, and influencers. Music pounded through the walls, and laughter echoed in every corner. You danced like you had something to prove, the champagne flowing freely. At one point, you made out with a fellow model on the balcony to the cheers of a crowd. You were chaos incarnate, and you loved every second of it.

Around midnight, you were helping a tipsy friend into a waiting limo when you noticed someone approaching from the house next door.

“Excuse me.”

You turned, your vision slightly blurred, and found yourself face-to-face with the new neighbor. He was dressed casually—jeans and a hoodie—but his sharp jawline and piercing eyes caught your attention.

“I’m Nicholas,” he said, offering a tight smile. “Nicholas Chavez. I just moved in.”

You arched a brow, leaning lazily against the limo. “And?”

“And I have an audition tomorrow,” he continued, his tone calm but firm. “Your music is loud, and I can’t sleep.”

You laughed, the champagne fizzing in your head. “Well, didn’t you know who you were moving in next to?”

His lips twitched, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I found out too late,” he said dryly, a pointed reference to the headlines.

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “Funny. I’ve never seen a single headline about you.”

This time, he chuckled softly, though it was more condescending than amused. “Well, I’ll try to keep it that way.” His gaze flicked down briefly before meeting your eyes again.

You noticed, scoffing. “Nice try, but staring at my chest isn’t going to make me turn the music down.”

“Noted,” he replied smoothly, his tone unreadable. “But seriously, could you tone it down? Just a little?”

You waved him off, turning back toward the house. “Good luck with your audition.”

The door slammed behind you as the party continued to rage on. Whatever Nicholas Chavez wanted, it could wait until tomorrow. Tonight, you were untouchable—or so you thought.

You weren’t worried Nicholas would turn out like your last neighbors, the ones who had gleefully run to the press with tales of your ‘wild, disruptive parties’ adding fuel to your already blazing reputation as a noisy party girl.

The party raged on, and you weren’t exactly innocent in keeping it under control. The music blasted as guests danced, smoked, and drank with abandon. Lines of coke were casually set out on mirrored trays, and you caught more than one person lighting up joints in the corners. Even you, despite promising yourself you were done with that lifestyle, gave in after a few glasses of champagne, doing a line or two when a friend coaxed you into it.

By the time the sun started to rise, people were passed out on your marble floors, the air heavy with the stench of spilled liquor and smoke. You stumbled to bed without bothering to clean up, the haze of the night swirling in your head.

You woke to the sound of chaos downstairs—your housekeepers already hard at work, scrubbing every inch of the aftermath. Your head pounded as sunlight streamed in through your curtains. Groaning, you grabbed your phone from the nightstand and blinked at the time. It was already midday.

Dozens of missed calls and messages from Angela stared back at you. She’d been blowing up your phone about a last-minute shoot, one you had completely missed. You cursed under your breath, knowing she’d be furious.

Dragging yourself out of bed, you shuffled into the bathroom for a long, scalding shower. As the water poured over you, you couldn’t help but rethink the night before. You’d promised to get it together, to clean up your image, but it was getting harder to hold yourself accountable.

After drying off, you wrapped yourself in a silk robe and walked to your window. Across the lawn, you noticed Nicholas pulling into his driveway. He stepped out of his car looking exhausted, a coffee in hand, wearing a nice suit. You figured he must have just returned from his audition. It must’ve been early. For a brief moment, guilt pricked at you. If he hadn’t gotten much sleep last night, it was probably your fault.

Angela didn’t wait for you to sit down when you arrived at her office. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she snapped, slamming her laptop shut as you walked in.

“I’m sorry, A,” you began, your voice hoarse from the night before.

“Sorry?” she cut you off, standing up and pacing the room. “Do you know what I’ve been dealing with all morning?” She grabbed a folder from her desk and threw it onto the coffee table in front of you. A stack of printouts slid out, screenshots of articles and photos from the party.

The headlines were brutal: “A Drug-Fueled Disaster: Is Y/N Destroying the Modeling Industry?”

Photos showed passed-out models, trays of coke, and worst of all, a video of you taking a line.

You froze, your stomach twisting into knots.

Angela slammed her hands on the desk. “This was supposed to be elegant, extravagant, a chance to clean up your image. Instead, you turned it into some rockstar-adjacent drug den!”

“I didn’t know people were recording,” you said weakly, avoiding her glare.

“That’s not the point!” she barked. “You were supposed to set an example. Little black girls look up to you. This is the image you’re giving them?”

You exhaled sharply, frustrated. “Angela, with all due respect, I’m not their mother. I didn’t ask to be anyone’s role model.”

She rolled her eyes, her frustration palpable. “Well, congratulations, because you’re not much of one anyway. This is your last chance. Do you hear me? Last chance.”

You nodded quickly, desperate to make it right. “I’ll fix it. I swear.”

“I already have something cooking up,” she said sharply, leaning against her desk. “But in the meantime, go downtown, look beautiful, and give them something positive to talk about. No booze, no drugs, no nonsense. Just smile, shop, and sign autographs. Sober.”

You groaned inwardly at the thought of dragging yourself out in public, especially hungover, but you didn’t dare push back. “Got it.”

Your driver dropped you off at one of the most exclusive shopping districts in the city. Bodyguards lingered in the background as you strolled from boutique to boutique, taking your time and letting the paparazzi get their shots.

Every time someone asked for an autograph, you smiled warmly and obliged, posing with fans here and there. This was your coping mechanism—shopping your problems away, hoping the public would eat it up.

“Looking good, Y/N!” one of the paparazzi shouted as you exited a store with bags in hand.

You forced another smile, playing your part, and waved at the cameras before ducking into the backseat of your car.

When you arrived home, the guilt from last night gnawed at you. You couldn’t undo the noise and chaos, but maybe you could soften the blow. After all, Nicholas didn’t deserve to suffer because of your mess. Deciding to make amends, you ordered a small cake from a local bakery with “Welcome” scrawled neatly in frosting.

Holding the cake, you made your way next door and rang his doorbell. At first, there was no response, and for a brief moment, you wondered if he was ignoring you. Maybe he had seen the articles and already formed an opinion. The thought annoyed you, but just as you were about to turn away, the door opened.

Nicholas stood there in joggers and a fitted t-shirt, his face a mix of surprise and curiosity. His hair was slightly disheveled, and he looked like he’d just rolled out of bed. His eyes dropped to the cake in your hands.

“Hi, neighbor,” you said with a small, sheepish smile.

He raised an eyebrow, reading the icing. “Welcome?”

“It’s for you,” you explained. “To welcome you to the neighborhood. And, uh, sorry about last night.”

His surprise lingered as he stepped aside to let you in. “Didn’t strike you as the generous, ‘welcome-with-cake’ kind of girl,” he said as you followed him into his sleek, modern kitchen.

The place was immaculate—white marble countertops, stainless steel appliances, and tasteful art on the walls. He set a glass down on the counter and gestured toward a barstool for you to sit.

“Well,” he added with a smirk, “especially not after a night like that. I’m surprised you’re even standing.”

You groaned, slumping into the chair. “Please don’t tell me you’ve seen the articles.”

He grabbed a knife to cut the cake. “The articles, the pictures, the videos, yeah, I’ve seen them.”

You groaned again, covering your face with your hands. “Great. Just what I needed. My new neighbor thinking I’m a train wreck.”

“Not thinking anything,” he said casually, slicing into the cake. His tone was calm, nonchalant. You couldn’t read him, and it annoyed you. Was he judging you? Laughing at you? You couldn’t tell.

You cleared your throat. “Anyway, welcome to the neighborhood. And again, sorry for the noise.”

He placed two plates on the counter, handing one to you. “Thanks. Want to eat this with me? That’s if you’re one of those rare models who actually eat carbs and don’t starve themselves.”

You shot him a pointed look. “Don’t joke about that. And yes, I’ll have a slice. Or two.”

He chuckled softly, taking a seat across from you. As you ate, you studied him a little closer. His face was sharp, striking, he was definitely good-looking, though in a boy-next-door-meets-Hollywood kind of way. Then it hit you where you’d seen him before.

“You’ve been everywhere lately,” you said, setting your fork down. “You were in that Lyle and Erik Menendez show, right?”

He looked up, surprised. “You watched it?”

“I caught the first episode,” you admitted. “It was really good. Intense, but good.”

“Thanks,” he said, his expression softening. “It was a tough project, but worth it.”

You leaned back in your seat. “Hollywood’s a mess. Be careful.”

He nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

The conversation felt easy, almost too easy. Sitting across from him, you couldn’t help but notice how his t-shirt hugged his chest and arms, or the way his jaw tensed when he chewed. You realized, with a twinge of irritation, that you were definitely attracted to him. The idea of tearing his clothes off flashed through your mind, but you quickly shoved it aside.

You had too much going on to add that kind of complication to your life. Besides, sex was supposed to be the last thing on your mind right now.

Standing abruptly, you pushed your chair back. “I should go. Thanks for letting me crash your place. Enjoy the cake.”

He walked you to the door. “If I need anything, should I come knocking?”

You raised an eyebrow. “I don’t plan on babysitting you, but sure, I guess.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Noted, neighbor.”

The moment you stepped through the door, your phone buzzed. Angela’s name flashed across the screen.

“Good,” she said briskly when you answered. “You’re home. I’ll be at your place first thing in the morning.”

“Why?” you asked cautiously.

“There’s a plan,” she said, her tone leaving no room for questions. “I’ll explain everything then, and we’ll put it in motion. Be ready.”

She hung up before you could respond. You stared at the phone, curiosity swirling in your chest. Whatever she was planning, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of excitement. If this was your chance to claw your way back into the spotlight, you’d take it.

For now, you poured yourself a glass of water, settling into the couch as you tried to shake off the day. Tomorrow was a new start—or so you hoped.

[moonriseoverkyoto]

Ghosts in the family

Synopsis - aka all the times The Riley siblings have talked about eachother, and all the times Soap should’ve connected the dots but didn’t see the constellation.

cw/tags - MDNI 18+ making out, grinding, no piv or smut guys sorry, swearing, mentions of female anatomy, military inaccuracies, fanon versions of cod characters, threats, mild violence, mentions of guns, innuendos, etc. you’re dealing with grown men in the military that is your warning

Pairing - Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x Afab!Riley!Reader, John Price x Riley!Reader (Platonic)

Author's note - Soap is about 26, Reader is 24, Tommy is the name of Simon’s canon younger brother who later scares him with masks and anyways, just beware of that background. Pt.2 of this au, just this just shits and giggles background for later bc I dont know how to flesh out that cliffhanger I left in my Drabble, see you at the bottom! - Moon

Requests are open!

© moonriseoverkyoto 2023. please do not steal, copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my works without my permission. do not steal any elements of my theme without permission.

1. Simon knew that Johnny’s intention wasn’t to piss him off, but yet he still managed to feel a migraine pool behind his eyes. All day, every mission just asking question after question. Simon wondered if this is what it was like to have a stable home. All he had was you from day one his baby sister. His lips jerk upward before he cuts off the muscle reflex of what we know as a smile. He’d rather keel over and die than let Johnny see his eyes krinkle.

“I have a sister.” He grumbles. Everyone in the truck goes silent. Johnny’s jokes stop, Gaz smirks to himself, even Price manages to watch through the rearview mirror.

“Really? And you waited so long to tell me. Oh my god what’s the like. Oh is she pretty- wait don’t answer that, that’s weird if you agree…” Simon sighs to himself as he tunes out Johnny again. Oh he wishes holiday would come faster.

2. Holiday was tough. Even worse was being stuck alone over holiday break because your only family was stuck in an operation. Especially since you just got the news after putting up Christmas decoration.

“Really Simon? I got football on the telly, your presents are all wrapped” you whined. Simon grinned under his balaclava, oh how he wished he could be there to receive your annual gag gift.

“I know I know I know, assignment came late and everyone else has families to go home to so I just suggested myself-“ he tried to calm you down knowing this would only add gasoline.

“Dammit Si, I’m your family too! Im gonna give you a new buzz cut when you get home at the rate you’re going with all these sudden plans.” Your voice cracked at his name, you know he didn’t mean to break your heart. But Simon couldn’t bare to see Johnny, Price, or Gaz not go home to their big happy families.

“Yeah I know. Im yer brother. No getting out of that one.” He said. “Why don’t you stay with Price again this year. You know he loves you around”

“Because he is the only friend of yours that I’ve met-“

“Yeah you’ll meet the guys someday. promise.”

“Maybe for this holiday present?”

“Maybe.“

“yeah yeah yeah. I love you Si”

“Love you too, and I hope that second date of yours goes well this Friday” oh if only he knew how well that date went with your mysterious Scottish man.

3. “I thought you said you don’t kiss on the second date” Johnny grinned into your lips. Your hands all in his hair.

“Only if they don’t show promise” you remarked back. You could feel his bulge grinding through your pants in the back of this telephone booth. A soft groan leaving his lips as Johnny responded

“Oh so I show promise.” You could practically hear the grin as his lips trailed down your jaw and neck, the slight friction of his scruff following as he moved aside your dogtags.

“Yeah promise that if you don’t hush up, you won’t be getting anything” you quipped back as equally as smug

“Thought you were gonna call that brother of yers” he slurred back as he smelled your perfume. The man practically drooling as your nails trailed down his neck scratching. If he had a tail it’d be whipping the air. A whimper passing through the air as his bulge caught the right part of your fabric rubbing your clit in a delightful direction

“he can wait, I have something else to call for now” you said as you opened the door of the telephone booth and whistled (or yelled if you can’t) as loud as you could do to call a taxi. Johnny had a light in his eye that he never thought would spark until he met you.

Soon you would find out later that Simon actually COULD wait and he did, 12 whole hours he stayed up staring at your apartment door to be let in - fresh on holiday too. Maybe being motormouth’d by Johnny into the window of a hummer didn’t sound so bad now

4. Simon kept a photo of you and him in his pocket everywhere that you went. I mean everywhere. No matter the place. And a lighter too incase he was captured by enemies so as to not compromise his location. But it was a photo from a holiday in France. You were both pillow fighting in the bed. Messy hair, toothless grins, back when Mummy was alive and Daddy hadn’t shown his true colors. Tommy took that picture,. Simon holds it to remind him what he’s fighting for.

“Oh is that yer little sister, she’s missin a few teeth there” Johnny grins looking over the sniper’s shoulder.

“You’re about to miss some bones if you ask about my sister again” Simon growls. fuck. Johnny is the last person he needs around his sister. It’s not like Johnny was a womanizer - he was the opposite. Johnny was perfection. He was from a happy home, a stable home, a place where you wouldn’t have to remember what happened at that old house. It scared Simon to death imagining you forgetting about him. Then he’d really be alone.

“She must’ve gotten the good genes.” Gaz pipes into the coms, what an instigator.

“Wonder what she looks like in jeans” Soap hummed as he cleaned out his gun.

Ghost hummed to himself as he secretly folded up the photo and put it right back in the pocket over his heart. Maybe you could wait another year before meeting them.

Authors note - I made a part 2, this is unedited. Im so tired. I will flesh more of this out before I take another break I promise!! Xoxo - Moon

[adviceformefromme]

GLOW-UP LIKE NEVER BEFORE SERIES

Ladies, we are here. This is the beginning of your glow-up like never before by 2025. We are not sleeping on ourselves in the remaining four months of this year. There is no more putting yourself second, wishing and wanting to be a better version of yourself, because this is your opportunity to show up for you. I will be providing the steps and guidance so stay tuned, its going to be a journey. One that kicks off today. 

Week 1: CREATING THE VISION

This week is for getting into the energy of how you want to feel come January 2025. The vision should excite you, you want to feel like your wildest dreams are possible and this where you lean into faith, trust and imagination. 

Step 1: On the first page of your new journal script 3 pages in present tense of what your life looks and feels like on January 1st 2025. You want to get into the small details, using all your senses, what you can hear, see, smell, feel, go all in. Write as much as you can to embody the version of you in your highest expression. It might seem crazy to write this, especially in such a short amount of time, but once you start moving correctly timelines can easily be collapsed. I am a walking testimony of this, as I went from sharing a room in the UK to moving into a spacious 2-bed open view apartment overseas, within four weeks. Did I believe? Yes. Had I been doing all the steps I am sharing with you? Yes.  By scripting your life, as crazy and whacky as it may seem you are moving your dreams from thought to reality. A dose of faith is also required for step 1. 

Step 2: Vision board, this is where you get to have fun. Find those images on Pinterest that make you feel ‘omg is this my actual fucking life *screams internally* ‘. Again, no playing small. If you want the G-wagon and you’re driving the Honda, add it to your board, if you’re wanting to write a book, add a New York Times bestseller sticker to your vision board, bring your dreams to life. Save to desktop, screensaver, phone Home Screen. You want to see your vision board at the very least a few times per week. 

Step 3: Write supporting affirmations for your new vision life. I am, I feel, it feels so good to….Lean into the feelings, be creative. As you write your affirmations a minimum of five, you want to record these on your phone and loop them before bed. You can extend these affirmations, and turn it into a rampage - this is where you really speak life into yourself, going into more details. Your recording can be 1 min  - 5 mins. It doesn’t have to be crazy long, the main point is to keep it simple and inspiring. You want to feel inspired when you listen, your own voice, speaking life into your dreams, declaring them. Once you’ve got the recording - LOOP IT. You want this on loop when you’re out on walks this week, when you’re overthinking, but most importantly before you go to bed. Leave it on loop overnight. The goal is to do this every single night for one week. 

Step 4: In the back of your journal in short hand write your 1-3 top goals. It might be earn £10k per month, move into your dream apartment, work for x company. Whatever it is, in very simple words write them, 1-3. And do this EVERY SINGLE DAY. If you skip write it in your phone notes or on the nearest piece of paper. Set a reminder on your phone, because this is such a simple step to manifesting that actually WORKS. 

I know it might seem like some effort to do steps 1-4, but do you want to live the life of your dreams and invest in your expansion and be so proud of who you are come 1st Jan 2025, or do you want to scroll like a cabbage, and watch everyone else live their dream life, and feel like another year, another of unfulfillment ? Your task, put 30mins - 1 hour aside today to do the above. Homework for the rest of the week, read your affirmations, listen to your recording daily before bed and write those goals down! 

Coming next: Week 2: Living by your values + creating space for your dream life… 

[how2loa]

can I change my appearance and genetics completely if yes how do? Recently I’ve experienced a lot of passing events that has caused me to hate what I look like and how I feel and my genetics as a whole i’m starting school this Friday and I want to do anything in my power to look different before school starts and feel comfortable with how I appear I have heard LOA and manifestation can change anything so I’m wondering if it works for this as well

HOW2LOA : manifest an appearance change !

shortened version: create your new desired story and stick to it no matter what. as with any other manifestation. but for those that want a more detailed explanation keep reading :)

manifesting an appearance change is just as easy as manifesting a car or manifesting money. here are some steps i’ve been taking to manifest my desired appearance

# 1 — identify what you would like to look like

find what you would like to change about your appearance. let’s say you want to change the look of your eyes. get detailed. do you want to change your eye shape? your eye color? the size? decide on the details. in the case that you want to change multiple features for example your nose, eyes and height, do the same for all features.

# 2 — think from the end

imagine you got your desire. you look in the mirror and you see that you look exactly as you wanted to. your feature(s) finally changed and now you have your ideal appearance. what would be your initial reaction looking at the feature(s) that changed. “wow, i love my button nose”, “my skin is so smooth”, “i’m in love with my blue eyes”. make affirmations that sound like YOU. there’s no magic affirmation, the best one is the one that actually sounds like an ordinary thought of yours.

# 3 — stick to the end

now that you have figured out how you would react mentally if you saw a reflection that you are satisfied with, stick to that story. mental diet is everything! persist until it materializes. remind yourself constantly about your new look for quick results. embody this new character that looks exactly as you want to. because you are them and they are you. once you make the decision it is done, you have your desired look.

# 4 — avoid the mirror

if you are good at ignoring circumstances and not wavering you can skip this step, but i encourage you to avoid the mirror. do not dwell on the reflection if you catch it as it will bring you back to the old story. it doesn’t matter what you see in the mirror. it can change in an second. if you decided that you look a certain way then that is true now end of story. you have it therefor you know it is yours. checking the mirror for changes and not finding any might discourage you. a good rule of thumb is, if you’re looking for it its probably not there. your manifestation won’t miss you.

# 5 — use placebos

another good way to get your appearance changes fast is to use placebos. you can pick small actions that people often use to glow up like drinking water, brushing your teeth, getting better quality sleep. you can also use habits of yours that you don’t even think about to your advantage like licking your lips or even blinking. “every time i drink water i lose weight”, “every time i sleep i get prettier”, “every time i blink my eyelashes get longer and curlier”.

[wonbriiize]

and with this i wish you all a happy new year <3

new year’s eve; riize

headcanons about how the riize members would spend new year’s eve with you…

「 ✦ shotaro ✦ 」

shotaro is the type of person who is excited about the start of the new year, and he can't believe he gets to do it with you. he keeps telling you all day how excited he is to go out later and watch the fireworks with you. he‘s already picturing how he'll kiss you when the clock strikes 12 a.m. for him, the fact that he starts the first second of the new year with you is already proof enough that the year will be amazing.

「 ✦ eunseok ✦ 」

i feel like eunseok would rather take it slow on new year’s eve. he would much rather cuddle with you while you two watch a comforting movie at home than worry about the fireworks and everything else that goes along with it. however, he would not hesitate to turn around and give you a passionate kiss as soon as the clock reaches midnight, followed by a whispered ‘happy new year, my love.’

「 ✦ sungchan ✦ 」

to be honest, i feel like sungchan would make you sit and write down new year’s resolutions or even visionboards. it’s not because he wants to annoy you, it’s because he wants to motivate you and keep up a good energy from the beginning on. he wants to see what you will write and how he can help you with it. for him, the new year means it‘s another year for the two of you to become the best versions of yourselves, individually and together.

「 ✦ wonbin ✦ 」

wonbin lowkey gives me the same vibes as eunseok, i don’t think he’d do something big on new year’s eve. but he wouldn’t just sit at home either. he would take you out on a walk at midnight so the two of you can watch the fireworks together. wonbin would gently grasp your hands and comfort you, telling you that although this year has come to an end, there are still many more that you two will spend together.

「 ✦ seunghan ✦ 」

seunghan is also a very festive guy, so new year‘s eve is pretty exciting for him too. he‘s the type to buy lots of fireworks himself and invite his closest friends over so you all can spend the night together. as soon as midnight strikes, all of you would go out and launch the firework. every time it lights up, seunghan would look over to you, wishing that your life would shine as brightly as the fireworks, with him as a part of it.

「 ✦ sohee ✦ 」

sohee would want you guys to do something lighthearted as well, but it should still be fun. his idea for the perfect new year’s eve date is: karaoke night. the two of you are singing your souls out until you’re about to lose your voices, laughing and enjoying each others company. once it’s midnight, sohee would dedicate a song to you and end it with a passionate kiss. for him, nothing beats singing a great song to kick off the new year, especially if it's you he's singing it to.

「 ✦ anton ✦ 」

anton would definitely buy fireworks and other items so the two of you can launch it together. although he usually likes quieter atmospheres better, new year’s eve is the exception; it always makes him hyped. he loves whenever you’re stunned by him holding up the firework candle (?) and how your eyes light up everytime these large ‘stars’ shoot out. at midnight, he pulls you in a side hug while watching the fireworks and tells you; ‘the best way to start the new year is with you by my side.’

[alphajocklover]

I'd like to see how my life would have turned out, 20 years ago, had I joined my college football team instead of the college theater group.

Fuck. Fucking hell this fucking sucks. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. It’s not you, you’re not the reason I’m upset. Your request is interesting and I want to help you with it, I really do. It’s just… to do this, we’re going to have to use time travel. It’s not that it’s impossible or anything, I actually own a time machine so that’s not an issue. It’s that… I fucking hate time travel.

I don’t hate the concept of time travel itself. I think it can be a lot of fun in works of fiction. Doctor Who, Back to the Future, and Star Trek are all things that heavily feature time travel that I’m a big fan of. It’s just that, in real life, it gets so stupidly complicated. You know how every work of fiction seems to have different rules for turn travel? In real life time travel follows all these rules and none of them all at once. If that seems confusing, that’s because it is. It’s insane. But it’s the best chance for doing this, so we’re going to give it a try. Now, close your eyes and hold onto me tight. This is going to feel weird.

You can open your eyes now. Be careful though, it’s going to take a second for your eyes to adjust. We’re outside now, on the football field of your old college. You don’t have to worry about anyone seeing us. I may hate time travel but the time machine is pretty useful. Time travel, space travel, and camouflage. But that’s not important right now. See that skinny guy standing on the opposite side of the field? You should recognize him. It’s you, 20 years ago, as a college freshman. You really wanted to join the football team huh? I can see the longing in your eyes… but also some serious nervousness. I’m guessing this is about when you back out and decide to join the school's theater group. Not this time though. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna change anything drastic. I’m just going to give you a little… push in the right direction. Have to get you to join the team somehow. I just have to whisper some things in his, or I guess your ear while we’re in camouflage… and just like that everything is going to change. Welcome to the football team. You’re a little late on becoming a jock, but you’re a hard worker. You’ll catch up. Speaking of which…

We jumped forward in time. I probably should have warned you, I was just excited to see the changes. We’re not all the way back to the present, not yet. It’s been a year since the other you joined the football team, and just like I predicted you caught up real quick. Even when you were in theater you were a hard worker, and now that you’ve dedicated yourself to football instead, you’re an absolute beast. You’ve had a major growth spurt and fit right in with the guys who have been playing football since middle school, a total jock through and through. Looks like this version of you acts a little more jockish too. Probably because you’ve been spending so much time around jocks, they’ve been rubbing off on you. Literally in one very special case. That’s right, the new you managed to do what you never could in college: get a jock boyfriend. In the original timeline he never even looked your way, but now Tim Wire, the most popular jock in school, is head over heels for you. You two seem to have a great relationship… Let's see if it lasts.

Another jump forward, a much bigger one this time. It’s been about 5 years since you joined the football team. You didn’t go professional, not because you couldn’t but because you didn’t want to. A guy like you could have been a superstar, but you and your fiancée Tim agreed you both wanted something more stable. So you opened up a chain of gyms. It’s a small business, but it has a lot of potential for growth, especially with you as the face of the operation. You basically have it made. You own a small, successful business, have a sexy husband, and are about to adopt a 3 year old. Your life is fucking perfect. Let’s see if it gets better.

A final jump forward. We’re 20 years after you joined the football team, back into the present. You’re still the old you, but that’s only because I have to ‘finalize’ the changes. Take a look around. You might not recognize this place, this huge mansion, but it’s your home. You, your husband Tim, and your adopted son all live here together. This must be your home gym, and I believe that’s you and him flexing over there. Looks like the little guy ended up taking after his dads. He’s huge for an 18 year old. He’s smart too, all ready to take over the family business when you retire. Your gyms are a very successful franchise now, if you can’t tell from the sheer size of your house. It’s just my opinion but I think your life really would have been better if you joined the football team back then. And now it can be. All you need to do is press this button, and finalize the changes. It’s your choice-

Ok, that was quick. I guess it was an easy choice. I hope you enjoy your new life. I would if I were you. I mean a muscular sexy husband, a son you can be proud of, a successful business and an incredible amount of muscles and confidence. You’ve got it made. I just hope we didn’t change too much. I didn’t realize you’d start a gym franchise. That could have a big impact.

I’m sure it’s nothing though. I mean, how many lives can a gym really change?

[twilightt-fantasy]

stand up [v. kings]

description: Hey- I have yet to see any of these (kinda?-) But I was hoping if you could do a Poly relationship with the Volturi kings, where the reader is shy as heck and is related to the one and only, Bella swan? Have a great day/afternoon/night <3 :)

requested by: anon

warnings: Bella bashing.

masterlist 

She had always been second to Bella.

Always, didn’t matter what the occasion or skill was - if she could do it, she was certain that Bella would somehow make it better or, if not, find a way to put the attention back on her.  

It was tiresome and aggravating and drove a wedge between her and her mother. Charlie wasn’t nearly as bad as Renee when comparing the two of them, which is why the younger swan wildly preferred her father.

When she found her mates and moved to Italy, the relationship between her and her mom eased a bit. She wasn’t around as much to hear Renee fawn about Bella and Renee instead used the time she did speak to her to wonder how her new - modified version - life was.

She had hoped her and Bella’s relationship would mend itself as well but, of course, that wasn’t the case.

She had been swept into Bella’s world unwillingly and Bella hated that she had to share her little piece of heaven with her sister. It stung her even more that her mates were the very Kings of Volterra, the same ones that nearly stole Edward away from her.

She was not shy about voicing her opinion either, even in front of the kings. She knew they would never do anything to harm the family of their mate if that was what she wished.

Though, the human’s patience was beginning to run thin.

Especially now, as Bella sat in the quiet area of Aro’s study with her husband, sister, and her mates. They visited a couple of times a year, Bella using the chance to show off her new immortality that her sister had not yet received.

Though she hadn’t said much, her mocking eyes and hateful scoffs were not missed by anyone. The Kings were as polite to her as always but she could not return the sentiment.

Her sister hated it and knew her mates did as well. They tried hard to be nice to her and the Cullen family, the least she could do was pretend while she was here.

Hell, even Edward managed to be respectful and hold up a normal conversation.

Finally, after Marcus had attempted to start another conversation with Bella to which he was met with a snarky comment, the mate of the kings had had enough.

“Bella, enough.” Her voice, normally quiet and demure, was loud enough to shock everyone into silence. 

Bella looked to her sister wide eyes, Edward looking between the two of them warily.

Aro, Caius and Marcus all wore varying shades of surprise and pride, their attention fully on their mate as she stared down her sister. Bella was gaping at the human, not used to the loudness of her voice or the displeasure on her face.

“Marcus was simply asking a question, trying to get to know you better. The least you could do is pretend to be polite and have some decency while you’re here.” She was angry now, the years of being pushed behind Bella and constantly being pushed down building up in her. “They’re nice enough to let you come here because you’re my sister but one word, and you won’t see me again and we won’t extend any favors to you.”

“I can’t held that I was pulled into your world and I can’t help who my mates are no matter how much you remind me that you hate me being involved and you hate them.” Bella opened her mouth to argue, to which the human raised her hand, showing she was not done. “But they’ve treated me better in a short time than you have treated me my whole life. You have no right to come here and disrespect them and myself when they’re just being nice.”

She huffed, pausing when she noticed the looks she was getting around the room. Her face turned red then, realizing what she had just done in front of everyone.

Bella was only staring back at her sister, looking only the smallest bit ashamed. Her golden eyes looked towards Edward, who only looked back briefly. “You’re right, I apologize.”

She nodded back, cheeks still burning. “I think we should end this for tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

With that, she stood heading out of Aro’s quarters and heading towards her own. She knew her mates would be close behind her and left the door open for them, smiling sheepishly when they appeared.

“I can’t believe I just did that.”

“Neither can we.” Aro laughed, reaching forward to grab her hand and kiss her cheek. “That was fantastic.”

“I have to agree.” Caius took her other hand, a smug smile pulling at his lips. “I never saw it coming, though it needed to be said for some time.”

“I was just so sick of her treating you guys like that.” She sighed, leaning her head back into Marcus’ chest as he appeared behind her. “You all have been trying to be nice to her and that’s how she repays you. I can handle it but she shouldn’t take it out on you.”

“You shouldn’t have to handle it.” Marcus murmured and the other two nodded in agreement. “She’s your sister, Bella should treat you better than what she does.”

She scoffed. “You’re telling me.”

“Come on.” Caius tugged your hand, pulling you back towards the bed. “No more talk of Bella tonight. We’ll put on a movie or something to get your mind off of it.”

She smiled, leaning up to peck Caius’ cheek as she followed them each to her bed. The four of them got comfortable, her resting in the middle of Caius and Marcus while keeping a hold of Aro’s hand.

Even if her rant towards Bella didn’t change anything, she knew she’d have the three kings for the rest of eternity to love her and accept her in all her ways.

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

Hiii! I saw your demon141 post and was wondering if maybe this time you could do a version except reader is a demon like them? It’s fine if you can’t! I just love your works, thank youu 🫶🏻

hello!! TYSM that's so sweet for you to say (literally crying) here's a work about reader get changed into a Demon like Demon!TF141, I hope you enjoy this! :D afab!Reader, including female pronouns word count: 1.4k cw: swearing, pet names Demon!TF141 Thoughts Reader becomes a doll instead

“Welcome to hell, love.” You look around to observe the surroundings, lit candles circling in inside with a magic circle and languages you don’t understand, then you move your gaze back to Price, who first talked to you when you woke up. “How do you feel?” He asked. “kind of...... energetic?” You could feel an indescribable power floating inside your body, a tail you still haven’t figured out how to control is wiggling behind you. Keep processing the new things about your body, you bite your lips out of habit. and oh, that stings, now you realize you have two little fangs. “Ye got blood from all ‘f us, so ye gonae have some of our power.” Soap’s standing beside you, you turn over to look at him, and you can see Ghost and Gaz observing you outside of the circle too. “But how do I know how to use them?” Turning back and facing Price again, you frown at the information you are given, but you only receive a pat on the top of your head. “We’ll teach you how to use it.”

Face to face with Price, who’s now your leader plus other complex relationships, you finally ask. “Uhmm, Do I really need to sit on your lap when you teach me?” “That’s a must, doll.” His right hand resting on your right thigh kneading your flesh while he answers like it’s not a big deal. “Why?” “You’ll know it later.” You doubt that he’s just taking advantage to make you sit on him, and slowly pushing the situation to you cockwarming him, but look at the seriousness on his face, you almost feel sorry for having suspicion on him. “Now, take a deep breath, imagine you’re smoking a cigar, then let out your breath slowly.” Price indicates, left hand patting your back to instruct you. “but I never smoked a cigar before.” but You still try. Take a deep breath, imagine you’re smoking, then slowly let out the breath... okay, you get nothing but acting like a little dumbass. “Stop laughing at me! I’m doing what you said!” You smack at Price’s bicep when he chuckles at how adorable and silly you look when you’re trying so hard. Price manages to stop his laughter “You can do it, love, try again.” He encourages you. You concentrate again. You can do it, just inhale, imagine, exhale... you could feel it, the power in your body starts floating under your skin, blow it out now...! “Fuck you, Price!” Blushing like a tomato, you jump off of Price when the man bursts into laughter when you fixate for over 1 minute just to get a tiny wisp of white smoke out of your mouth. “Come here love, get back here.” He beckons and coos at you. “Why don’t you show me?” reluctantly dragging yourself back onto his lap, you pout when the grin’s still lingering on his face. “You sure abou’ that? dove?” “Why not?” you retort. “Well.” You should be aware of the mischievous glint in his eyes, because the next second, the whole room is full of white smoke. “holy shit... that’s too many! Can’t y— &@:&-...” Price watches your unconscious body slump on his, your face still has a smear of pink, but little snores are already coming from you. “That’s why I said sitting on my lap is a must, luv.”

Not only Price’s power, the powers you inherited from the other 3 men are powerless as fuck. Ghost teaches you how to control the shadow. You watch him playing with the shadows easily, as if he’s just having his daily tea, meanwhile, after an hour of struggle, what you achieve is summon a little hand from your own shadow and trip yourself over it. Which makes the gruff man laugh and surprise you, leading you to accidentally lose the control of the shadow and slap the little hand right on your face. Soap can shift into a more devilish form, you watch him become over 7 feet tall, eyes glowing in the dark, beautiful horns sharp and grow on the side of him, making him more intimidating and glorious. and you look at yourself in the mirror, a longer tail that makes your naughty and uncontrollable one even harder to straddle it close to your body, and a slightly bigger horn shines dimly. “that’s it?” You raised your eyebrow. “I guess so.” The mohawk demon cheerfully replies “At least ye look sexy, bonnie.” “Shut the fuck up, Soap.” Maybe you can learn some useful things from Gaz, you thought, although you always question how he gets that wacky power. “It’s easy, baby, just think about someone you love, then express it out.” His arms snake around your waist. “Price said the same thing before and all I get is nothing.” “You can think about me.” His breath fans on your ear, damn it, this man’s voice has enough charm itself, he doesn’t need that power to seduce others. “Go fuck yourself, Gaz.” “I can make you fuck me, babe.” You’re not even surprised when you tolerate Gaz’s constant flirting for hours, but the only thing you seduce is a bat outside your window. “I’m done with these bullshit!”

You didn’t tell the men you need to go out to breathe some fresh air, they definitely will insist on going with you, but after all those tedious practices, you just want to have a moment of silence. but what you haven’t learned is, that the hell follows the principle of ‘the survival of the fittest’. “Fuck fuck fuck...!” You swear to God or Satan or whatever rules the hell that you’re running as fast as you can, but the demon who see you as a poor lamb once they laid their eyes on you sprints towards you, and chase you like you’re the first prey they seen in days. “Jesus Christ!” You look at the dead end in front of you, and a scream rips from your throat when the demon pins you on the wall. “There’s no Jesus here, little girl...” The hand on your neck becomes tighter, you claw at their hand, and your vision starts getting blurry as you kick your legs in the air. No... I can’t die yet... wait I’m already dead, then where will I go when I die again...? “aauuhh!” The demon’s grip on you suddenly disappears along their yelp at the pain, you drop from mid-air, preparing yourself to smash on the ground. but the ache you expected doesn’t hit you, instead, numerous black arms emerge from your shadow, and catch you in their grasp. “Our little bunny escapes. What a naughty girl.” scoop you up from the shadow arms, Ghost holds you tightly in his embrace. “I- I’m...” “Shhh. Honey, it’s okay, we got you now.” The tender eyes of Gaz’s meet yours, and he croons softly at your shaking form.

You don’t say a word or try to scramble out, staying obediently while they carry you back to their mansion — your mansion. They put you on your bed, Ghost grabs his favorite tea from the cabinet to make you a cup, soap helps you change into your pajamas, whilst Price and Gaz sit on the edge of your bed, whispering sweet nothings and assurances to you. Taking a few sips of tea, you eventually feel safe now, because there are four men besides you, the men that you bond with your blood, and you know they will keep you safe, forever and ever. “If you're tired, have some rest, eh? we’ll stay with you.” Gaz caresses your cheeks with softness, you surely feel tired, a bit of an urge to cry. but abruptly, you feel your body start to heat up, and you squirm. A sweet whine slips out of your lips as the heat starts pooling at your cunt. “You forgot your voice could seduce others, Kyle.” Price smirks at you reaching out your arms and start pawing at his pants. Gaz smiles deviously “Sorry, Capt.” he apologizes, though there isn’t any regret in his tone. “Taking care of our bonnie’s need is our job too, aye Ghost?” Soap “can’t let our princess wait any longer.” The last thing you remember is Ghost pulling your panties down, and the sight of him burying his face between your thighs, but you know there’s heavenly bliss waiting for you, and the night never ends in hell.

[mythicmanuscripts]

hi! omg i absolutely adore all your stuff, it's so good, and the subby!boys with wife! reader is such a perfect dynamic.

would absolutely love to see more sub!jace being clingy and teary, and not wanting you to leave him at all -- maybe he's not feeling well or is sad about something going on and all he wants is to stay in your arms.

and maybe someone walks in on you and he gets so upset because your arms are his safe space and you need to soothe and comfort him?

honestly everything you write is amazing, sub!jace is literally my new obsession <3

Oh my god I love this!!! We’re all so obsessed with clingy sensitive Jace I love it.

While my answer definitely isn’t very graphic, it is definitely sub!jace with implied sexual content so I’m gonna hide it under the cut for those who don’t want to read that :))

So I think this works best when discussing how Jace would be once he’s more comfortable? For the first two or three months he’s mostly very put together and trying to impress you and be a good husband, he wants to prove himself.

You’d only ever seen him unsettled and needy during sex and immediately after. It was always such an odd change because he’d instantly go from being polite and withdrawn and sometimes even dominant to try and show he can provide for you but then you kiss him and get a hand in his hair and instantly his knees are buckling and he’s whining into your mouth. So for a while it’s mostly Jace being put together and then when he couldn’t manage that anymore there would be brief bursts of him being very very needy.

But as he starts to get more comfortable and starts to accept that you really do love him and would never leave him for showing you his emotions, then he starts to become a lot more like that clingy version of himself all the time?

Eventually he won’t try to hide when he’s upset or stop himself from begging you to stay longer or telling you he wants to leave a public event and be alone with you. You always listen and help him and he just feels so so good because you’re his wife and his biggest support.

(By the way, this is definitely something noticed by both the rest of the castle and Rhaenyra. They all can see how as your relationship progressed Jace becomes more clingy and stays by your side, going everywhere with you and pulling you into hugs in public. At first Jace is worried how his mother will react but actually she’s just so so happy for him? She knows exactly what it’s like to be married to someone you can’t love and so she gets teary eyed every time she sees how in love and Jace are because she knows if there’s one thing she’s certainly done right, it’s making sure her son marries the love of his life and no one else.)

Anyway, I think Jace would be the most clingy and needy after he’s been without you for a while? From your wedding night onwards (and let’s be a honest a few nights before that too), he’s always slept in the same bed as you. Even when he was still trying to uphold this tough facade, he would still insist on sleeping in the same bed as you and he wouldn’t be able to sleep into you came to bed.

But unfortunately there’s a war ongoing, and that means both of you are regularly sent on missions for days and sometimes weeks at a time. Jace isn’t too bad when he’s the one being sent somewhere. Of course he really really misses you, but he knows you’re safe at the castle and will be there when he returns.

The issue is when you’re the one sent out. He understands why he can’t come with and he’d never try to tell you that you can’t do it, but damn it he hates every single second without you. He spends the entire time you’re away worrying about you. He has horrible dreams of all the different ways you could be hurt or killed, he spends hours at a time sitting on the beach just staring into the distance in hopes he may spot you. Rhaenyra always tries her best to comfort him but it’s no real help and she knows she can’t do any more.

As a result of this, when you do return I think his nerves would always be completely shot? He’s spent the entire time you were away in a perpetual state of tension and anxiety and fear and so now that you’re back it’s almost like he crashes? He knows you’re safe and his body just can’t keep him running in this state anymore.

Everyone else knows not to get in front of Jace when you return. The moment you’re within reach he’s running down to you and pulling you into the tightest hug possible. He buries his head in your neck and you can feel his shoulders shake as he cries. You tell him you’re here now, you’re back, you’re safe. Eventually he’ll collapse into you and then you have to gently push him away and wrap an arm around his waist to help him back to your shared quarters.

The first time you went on a mission after marrying Jace, some members of the council made the mistake of rushing over the moment your hug with Jace ended and started asking for updates. Jace very nearly had them killed and the only reason they’re still alive is because his mother thankfully realised what was happening and told everyone that they’d only get a debrief on your mission the next morning because she can see Jace is at the end of his rope.

He’s so shamelessly clingy for the entire evening. He never lets you out of his sight and cries if you even think about moving. He needs be with you for the entire time so that he can slowly begin to accept that you’re alright and you’re back with him.

You spend more whole time in bed with him in various states of undress. It always starts with Jace begging to undress you and be allowed to take a bath with you. At this point his motives aren’t even sexual. He wants to make sure you don’t have any injuries anywhere and because it’s been so long since he last submitted, he really wants to please you and do acts of service for you.

Of course you agree to both and he’s so so gentle.

The problem comes from whenever sometimes comes into the room. A few other councils members will always inevitably try to come in and ask you about how the trip is, but there’s also the servants and Jace gets unsettled no matter who is in the room during those times.

It takes at least an hour of cuddling before Jace will be ready to hear about what happened during your mission because first he just has to accept that you’re actually there and safe.

And good luck to anyone who opens that door because Jace will immediately cling to you and never let go. He’s been without you for far too long and you can’t just speak to someone else now. He’s your husband and for once he will use that to his advantage and demand uninterrupted times with you.

[mxdarling]

[“put that down! you’ll hurt yourself with that.” / “you’re so pretty when you smile.”]

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅• •❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

ೃ⁀➷: summary: idia bought a new multiplayer game, and he wants to play it with his player one, you.

ೃ⁀➷: word count: 2.3k (2334)

ೃ⁀➷: reference/Inspiration: playlist

ೃ⁀➷: event: [200 followers event]

[author's note:] JDJDKD MORE IDIA CONTENT WOOHOOO this was supposed to be his belated birthday gift from me but uhh cough cough writer block hit me like a bitch soo.. didn't finish before new years, and it's now like- 4 months late??? anyways, thank you anon for requesting idia with dialogue #3 and #7!! my last yandere idia work had him a little creepy so i made him cute this time loll i hope it's to your satisfaction anon!

[warnings:] lowercase, yandere behavior, more fluff than yandere, established relationship, reader is a gamer, cuddling, kisses, reader is ticklish, poor explanation of game mechanics, mentions of fear for judgement, reader is portrayed as a crybaby, one paragraph mentions idia being a creep, game is a rip-off of minecraft (fantasy version), toxic teammates.

[note:] If there is anything else triggering here that I didn’t list in the warnings section, please tell me. i don’t condone this type of behavior, this is merely just for entertaining purposes and some sort of coping mechanism for me. if you continue to read beyond this point, ignoring my warnings, i am not responsible for your actions from here on out.

[GN reader]

IDIA SHROUD seemed to be in a good mood today, at least according to what you've seen so far. probably because his latest purchase is the cause of his being in such an upbeat mood. not that you're complaining; it was rather cute seeing him all excited and giddy when he found a new game to play. it's like a whole new, different side of him comes out whenever he starts to ramble about the features of the game and why he should absolutely play it right now. of course, as his player one, you're automatically going to be the first person he's going to play with. not that you mind, really. playing with idia was always a fun experience; it reminded you a lot of how you would spend your free time back in your world.

(those days of laziness, those days of unproductivity where you did nothing but lay down on your bed and do nothing—no school work to do, no club activities to do, no studying for an upcoming exam—just pure idleness. then when you're bored, you could just use your phone, PC, or iPad to entertain you as the day goes by, playing nonstop until late hours in the evening. god, you miss those days.)

you often wondered what genre of video games this new world had to offer. you knew that it wouldn't be so different from your own world, but you weren't sure just how many of your friends were affiliated with gaming entertainment. out of fear that judgement would be placed upon you if you shared this interest of yours, your love for video games has been hidden—so to find someone else (with that someone else being idia) that likes video games and is very well versed in them is a dream come true. it was a long process to get him to play with you, let alone consider you a friend and not try to avoid you every 2 seconds—still, it was a feat you were proud of because now you get to experience many, many different sides of idia that you would have never known 9 months ago.

(you once heard idia curse like at least twenty times in one breathe when one of his teammates was being shitty and a prick, he sounded so angry and scary that you backed into a corner to avoid getting burnt by his scorching, bright red hair that grew the more angrier he got. the only reason he stopped was when he heard quiet sobs in the corner of his room and turned around away from his computer to see you huddled in the corner of his room. quickly he went over there, completely abandoning his game and comforting you. he hates seeing his cute prefect cry, especially because of him, he's not the great at comforting but when he hugged you so tightly, your quiet sobs turned into silence. right then and there he swore to never be the reason you're crying and when you do, he'll be right there with you.)

you are currently cross-sitting in his very comfy bed, watching as idia set up two controllers and plugged in the PCs to turn them on (you're still surprised he's got more than 2 PCs, which, if you really think about it, his family background makes it make sense). after waiting for the PCs to turn on, he then connects the controllers to the PCs and opens up the game on both screens. you would insist on helping him set up, but due to you literally being isekai'd into this unknown world of twisted wonderland, you aren't too familiar with many things besides the whole magic stuff—plus, you aren't too keen on breaking any of idia's stuff because of your lack of knowledge on how to do technology.

(technology in general is so extremely confusing, you would argue wholeheartedly all day and all night, and idia would agree with you and low-key flex on how knowledgeable he is in the field of technology, just to impress you and show how reliable he is. secretly, he likes it when he's useful to you.)

"sorry! it took a while to set up..." in slightly shaking hands, he hands over the controller to you while holding the other in his free hand. he looked rather nervous when he faced you to give the controller, like he's worried he wasted your time waiting for him. it reminded you of a puppy looking up to its owner apologetically when they did something wrong, so cute, you thought, adorable even, you added.

"haha! it's okay! you didn't take that long anyway." you gave him a reassuring look, a soft smile, and bright eyes, showing him that you weren't bothered by having to wait a bit as he set up for you two to play.

both screens show the in-game loading screen, and the bar quickly fills up due to the fast internet speed (one you're quite envious of). slowly it fades to the starting screen, where a big text is bouncing 'tap to start' in both of your faces. Idia presses to start immediately, wanting to get into gameplay as fast as he can while you take a moment to admire the visual aspects and effects of the game in silent awe. you always had a thing for the visual stuff that was shown in-game. by slowly pressing the button on your control, you enter the game and begin a fantastical journey with idia.

“put that down! you’ll hurt yourself with that!” he says worriedly as he watches you damage your avatar's HP bar this early in gameplay. usually he gets really annoyed when he plays with noobs and normies; they stink at comprehending basic knowledge, do dumb things in-game, ask too many questions, and ruin the whole gameplay experience for him. 'ugh, how annoying.' is his usual reaction to such—of course he wouldn't think of that towards you! never ever would he ever think this way towards you; even if you do things noobs and normies usually do, he can't bring himself to be annoyed—you were too cute in his eyes. he would never admit this to your face, though, and he still gets red just at the thought of him thinking you are cute. It's true though; don't get him wrong, but... the embarrassment that comes with thinking about these thoughts is just too much for his poor little heart! honestly, he's for sure that one day you'll be the death of him, does he care though? not really; in fact, he would probably love that.

(he blushes so hard whenever he thinks of you in his clothes; it's the way your natural scent clings onto his shirts, the way his shirts made you even cuter than you already are—one of the only reasons he doesn't wash his clothes immediately because he wants to savor your smell to memory. he's a creep, yes, but he's one devoted creep.)

"whoops! sorry didn't see that, haha..." nervously laughing at your mistake, you eat whatever consumable you have in your inventory to try and restore as much health as you lost. as your avatar munches on the food in its hand, from the corner of your screen, you can see idia's avatar walking towards you. once it's near enough to your avatar, you can see the animation of a bunch of items being dropped and your inventory picking up due to the proximity between the items and your avatar. you opened your inventory, curious about what he just gave you since it looked like quite a lot of items, and confused about why he was giving you so many items in the first place. your eyes widen in shock as the items he's given you are one stack of steak, every weapon in-game (sword, axe, pickaxe, shovel, hoe), but in steel, and a full set of steel armor.

your mouth continues to gape open as you put on the armor set on your avatar. how did he get so much stuff this fast? it hasn't even been an hour yet! "where.. did you get so much stuff!?" you ask naively, following idia around as you don't want to get lost, die, and lose all your stuff. "stole half of those from villages, some from mining, and a few from trading" he says so casually as he continues to walk in an unknown direction, like this was a regular thing for him, not to mention this was a hard difficulty! he's playing this game like it's not easy mode! "could've gotten more if it weren't for those stingy mobs..." furrowing his eyebrows, he let out a small huff of frustration, pressing slightly harder on the buttons on his controller, not noticing how your mouth dropped down even further at his passing comment. as she presses on, walking in an unknown direction, you're hit with the hundredth reminder that he's on a whole other level than you when it comes to gaming.

three hours in, and you guys decided to play on public servers, where you'll get to play different game modes other than the usual story and survival modes. once the two of you picked a game to play, the room quickly filled with laughter, shouting, incoherent grumbling, screams of terror, and many more in between. you two decided to save a team game as last since idia wasn't enthusiastic about playing together with other players because he just wanted to play with you, and there was an underlying fear that you would encounter toxic teammates. but since you were practically begging him to just try it at least once, he couldn't help but give in to your pleas.

it was fun, he supposed. it wasn't as annoying or infuriating as he thought it would be, but he still had to keep up not making really snarky remarks when certain players were interacting with you. he'd hate to have you see such a mean, ugly, and disgusting side of him. other than that, it was an okay experience. he thinks it would've been better if it was just him and you on a team; wouldn't it be kind of romantic? you and him against everyone else?

then what he feared most would happen actually happened. suddenly some fucking jerk is screaming insults at you for not being good enough, and before that teammate got two more words in, he exploded on them. curses upon curses spit out his mouth in rapid speed, and the voices of that said teammate slowly but surely die down as their ego and pride go down with them. in the midst of anger and chaos between him and the teammate, you could feel tears building up inside you; everything around you started to blur, and the sounds that filled your ears were starting to get tuned out. you couldn't even hear that idia stopped screaming curses, turned off both PCs, and went to take the controller from your hand, lift you up into his lap, and slowly wrap his arms around you.

once he had you fully in his grasp, he tightened his grip, making sure not to let you get away from him. he wasn't good at words, especially when trying to comfort someone, but seeing you cry was making him cry too. he did, after all, swear to always be with you when you cry. raising one of his hands, he placed it at the back of your head and gently pushed towards his neck. then his hand went down to rub your back, up and down, up and down, at a slow pace. letting you cry it all out in peace while also letting you know he's there with you.

a few minutes have passed, and your sobs have gone silent. your eyes have become droopy and sleepy, and it feels almost impossible to keep them open. suddenly, a hand lifts your chin, and you feel a pair of lips come into contact with your forehead. it wasn't like a quick kiss; no, the kiss lasted for at least a few seconds before pulling away. even then, upon pulling away, you feel another kiss on your cheek, this time a little quicker than the forehead kiss. then another kiss on your other cheek, then another on your nose, another on your jawline, another on your earlobes, and finally, his lips hovered over your own lips.

you could feel the hesitation when he let out a nervous breath; the thought of your lips on his always sends him into an electrifying and drunken daze. he can't think straight when he's this close to you, but even then, it gives him an unusual feeling of contentment and confidence. the luck he has to be able to snag such an adorable, cute, amazing, and beautiful person like you in his life. he almost can't believe it. swallowing his own nervousness for your comfort, he presses against your soft lips delicately. soon after making physical contact with your lips, he feels a smile form on your face—a small smile, yet it was enough for him. any smile from you is enough for him, because seeing you happy is the best view he could ever lay his eyes on.

feeling out of breath, he's the first to let go but also the first to frown at the loss of touch. i want to stay like this forever, he thought as he watched you emit a giggle after the kiss. fire burns brightly in his heart, and he starts to wonder if you being the death of him will really come true. his cheeks burn that ever-warm red that he knows you've seen many, many times before, but he can't help it. when you pull him into a world through rose-tinted glasses, no way could he be immune to such an effect.

"i really can’t take it when you cry like that… smile for me, alright? you’re so pretty when you smile."

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅• •❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

PLEASE DO NOT COPY, REPOST, SHARE, TRANSLATE OR REUPLOAD ANY OF MY WORKS TO OTHER SITES WITHOUT MY PERMISSION + REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE APPRECIATED.

[orikiys]

✿ ✿ 〞 voicemails with minho before death knocks

✰ pairings: sick!minho x gn!reader

✰ genre: angst, romance, grief

✰ warnings: major character death, mentions of alzheimer’s illness, lots of what ifs and unsaid thoughts, forever isn’t for ever.

✰ word count: 1.2k + words

MINHO | chan | changbin | hyunjin | han | felix | seungmin | jeongin

one 𖨂

hey, uhm i honestly don’t know what to say but i’ll try. so it’s five forty in the morning and i’m sending these to you. the doctors– they said i won’t be able to m-make it. . . and i want to reassure you that whatever happened wasn’t your fault. at all, my kitten. we didn’t know i had this terminal illness, and i think now is the perfect time to say those things i never said. firstly, i love you so much. more than you can imagine. and yes, even more than that tv show of mine. there’s honestly so much to say, but there’s so little time. i have only 2-3 more hours, i suppose? and i begged the doctor to not call you before i’m gone. i know this isn’t fair to you my little star, but i don’t want to see you in pain because of me, or anyone else. which is why i’m afraid of letting go of your hand. afraid that if i go, you will try to follow me blindly, do the wrong things, walk down the wrong paths and will end up losing yourself. i don’t ever want that to happen. ever. so, please don’t cry when i’m gone. i guess you can cry a bit. . . but not much. what if you end up getting a sore throat? if you do, take the medicines from the second drawer in the bathroom, okay?

two 𖨂

i’ll miss you. your goofy faces that you make, your cute little squeaks between your laughs, your beautiful eyes that always shine when you see chocolates and you. all of you. i’ll miss all of you so much. how about you? will you miss me too? will you bake your cinnamon rolls that i love so much at the funeral? or on my birthday? will you? i’m not even sure what happens after death. whether i will even remember you or not, i don’t know. but what i know is, that i’ll watch over you from up there. i’ll always watch. so don’t be afraid to step out of the house after it gets dark. and if you do, carry that pepper spray with you, okay? doesn’t it feel so surreal? me becoming a star, when i always call you my little star? i guess that’s why i’ll have to watch over you from afar. me, a big star. you, my cute little star. i’ll shine bright in the sky, i’m sure of that. so don’t you dare lose that shine on you as well, alright?

three 𖨂

it feels weird and- and scary. i’m so nervous, love. i didn’t want to die like this, never! i wanted to live a long life with you. live with our three little cats, and maybe a few mini versions of ourselves running around our house. i wanted to see you grow old. and i want to keep loving you even when you put hair brushes into the freezer and dishes in the bathroom, i want to be with you. right by your side. and even when you forget to brew your evening coffee, i want to hold your hand and guide you. and even when you keep repeating the same words three times a day, i will pretend it’s new. so that you don’t have to remember that you’re forgetting. yeah, i know it. the doctors told me you can have alzheimer’s over time, it’s highly possible. but i’m afraid i won’t be able to take care of you kitten. and i’m sorry– i really am. i wish it didn’t have to end this way.

four 𖨂

i know you. you were looking for forever. i couldn’t give you that. but i can at least take the batteries out of the clocks so that we’ll be stuck inside this moment as if time had really been stopped. so that i’ll almost get a million extra seconds to spend with you, except here seconds do not exist. it’s only the two of us. you and i. in our forever. and when i die, you can crank your watch– restart the clocks and begin the time. and know that we were infinite the moment you were mine. i’ll always be yours. always. i promise. but i want you to move on. i want you to experience love again while you’re still young. i’ll support every decision of yours from up there, and i’ll cheer on you. i don’t ever want to hold you back. nuh-uh. i want you to move forward, and even though you can look back, i don’t ever want you think you could’ve changed the past. you need to walk on a different road now. one without me. and though it hurts to say this– you need to live without me. live for us. live for the future you always wanted. live to complete those bucket lists of yours and even mine, since i couldn’t complete even a single of them. live. just live happily.

five 𖨂

it’s ten minutes past seven, and i feel sick. pain scale infinite/100. my whole body feels on fire. my hands– they wouldn’t stop trembling no matter how hard i try. my lips have turned pale, and i feel it coming. i can sense it. i can sense death waiting on the door. waiting that the moment i finish it’s going to snatch me away from you, from this world. and i’m trying to stall time. but my body doesn’t listen to me anymore. it’s become weaker and more. . . stubborn. my love. i wish i could call you that more often. my little star. my kitten. all these nicknames are the only way i survived my nights admitted in this hospital. i used to think of you. think of what you would do after i’m gone. think of what you would feel. think of who else would cry for me. and i don’t know what to do. i really don’t. i feel just so helpless. i don’t know what to do anymore. i really don’t. i hope you’re not sad because of it. please don’t be. take care of our three beautiful children okay? tell them that their father has gone to a beautiful place, show them your love, sing to them at night and take them in your arms when you feel sad. and if you ever miss me, look at the rain, or the stars or the clouds, i’ll always be here to listen. always. just as i promised.

six 𖨂

i hoped that death would be a bit kinder. i hoped she gave me some more time, some more years i could spend loving, admiring and memorizing every bit of you. but it’s always unexpected. she comes in unexpected ways and takes away our loved ones in the blink of an eye. i’m talking like a true poet now, aren’t i? give that pink letter to my parents, green one for each members and blue one for you. tell them to open that after a week, it applies to you as well, missy. be kinder to yourself. love yourself. look at the mirror and think of my compliments. felix gives the best hugs. hug him if you feel low. if you ever feel drained out like me. i’m tired now. just– so so tired. can i rest now? please? i’ll always love you regardless of whatever may come. and i’ll always be in your heart. i’m about to be a star, my love. s-signing off, yours forever.

taglist: @taeriffic

for anyone who wants to be added to the taglist either send me an ask without anon (cause it’s s taglist) or fill the form linked in my masterlist <333

[libraryraccoon]

Ok I request Azrael x archangel gn reader please (romantic pls)

Gender : GN

Pronouns : None

Message from Raccoon : it's honestly a little hard to write for Azrael because we know nothing of him-

You and Azrael have known each other for a long time, before the Earth was created.

You had to watch over Heaven and make sure everything was okay. Azrael often accompanied you in your task because he wanted an excuse to escape the paperwork.

He often tells you what some souls did when they were alive and how they died, like this demon killed by a hunter and dogs because they thought it was a deer.

You got closer, and what was supposed to happen happened.

You start to date him.

Now that was fun.

Do you know what the “50 questions to see if we approve you for dating our brother” archangels/family of Big G version is ?

No because you felt like you were being questioned for a serious crime and not dating their brother.

3 hours.

All right ? 3 hours of suffering an interrogation for a crime that wasn't a crime. In the end, they accepted you, apparently it went pretty quickly because you knew them..

You don't even want to know how long it would have lasted if you didn't know them before dating Azrael.

You and Azrael flying together is canon.

You fly at least once a week, and when you don't people think there's a problem.

Literally you and Azrael might just don't want to fly the week, but people will think you've broken up.

There are always angels to come and find out why you don't fly together, even after you tell them to stop.

Although it also helps a lot, in the sense that when you argue there are always angels to help you resolve the problem.

Personal/private life who ?

You know how Viv sold us Lillith x Lucifer ? Not what it's like on the show, but how she sold it, the loving couple everyone wants ? Yeah. It's you and Azrael.

Azrael always plays jokes on you, and you play jokes on him in return.

I can just see you starting a never ending prank war, you creating new jokes so it never ends.

You created most of humanity's jokes, Big G once asked how you had so much imagination for this sort of thing.

Hugs. So there, three possibilities :

If you are shorter than him then you are the little spoon,

Or you are the same size and always change from small spoon to big spoon depending on your mood,

Or you're taller and he's the little spoon.

The one who makes the big spoon must always put their wings around the other.

Whenever one of you is sad, the other always puts their wings around the one who is sad, because it's just comforting and brings a kind of sense of security.

Gabriel is your number 1 shipper. You can't tell me otherwise, he was literally the one who managed to bring you together in the first place.

Lucifer wondered how his brother managed to find someone, especially since Azrael had never seemed interested in love before.

Michael threatened to kill you if you ever hurt his brother... you didn't feel like it was a threat but more of a warning.

You’re glad he never heard about your little arguments.

Despite your little arguments which are rare, you and Azrael are THAT couple that everyone wants.

I just know that some angels come to ask you how you manage to have such a perfect/good couple.

I can see Azrael being sarcastic, so if you are too, know that you are the threat couple from Heaven.

(Second) Message from Raccoon : Writing for a character that we haven't see/know anything about them is so hard ?? I never suspect it to be that hard tbh.