#jk jk but i am quite proud of it

[mikeymyonelove]

Since it's a Friday night and I have nothing else better to do, guess y'all can get treated to the playlist I made for my scrapped Kenoraph fic *gingerly hands this like i'm relinquishing a prized heirloom or something*

[duckyfann9871]

GUESS WHO PASSED RENAL BLOCK WHOOP

[badcountryofficial]

Also I realized earlier in all facets of my life I like a healthy Challenge and I wanted to squeal and kick my feet that's so cool. I'm so cool

[strab3rr]

(long story and no short sorry) GUYSSS I DID ITT

I INDUCED IT!!!!! I WAS PURE AS A FUCKING BABY

IDK WHAT TO SAY (ok enough w capslock)

i have so much to say and not a thing at da same time idk how

anyway i want to begin with thanking you @b4ddprincess bc youre the reason i realized why i started this thing. thank you for making my life better and make me realized what i need to do: nothing. (its same for you guys, all u have to do is nothing)

two fuckn years ago i said to myself that i need a better life, quiter life, less fight with everthing bc everything was so loud and not clear i was feeling lost like a child in the market, and i wanted to make things better for myself in every way, but the main idea of my reasons to wanting to get in the void was: making anxiety go and having better people in my life. but the ''voidlist'' just never stopped bc im kinda greedy(having the idea of controling on your life, the idea of that power makes you greedy. yes thats a thing) anyway the more i add to the list the more i feel like im movin away from my desires then i feel depressed bc ive overcomplicating it bc theres so many things to do but i dont do anything so nothing happend bc i was waiting to be someth happen. and then i started doing awkwardly silly things such as: void routines and challenges and (im embarrassed of this one bc i was too desperate) drinking water

youve read it correct drinking water.

i was sooo desperate for having those things id do anything to get them.

i am simple. i want what everyone wants🎀🎀🎀: shifting realities bc i have so many crush and i need them to be crush me in bed(for 2020 girlies)

being an academic weapon is so easy for me🎀(bc of the urge to make my family proud) +dream collage

being the girl that everyone gets along w(basic needs)

being the girl who is pretty not cute(trauma response)

glowing aura(cats loves people w glowing aura yes thats a thing too)

dream body n hair(bc i deserve this🎀)

healthy (girlyfriend)friends(basic needs)

and of course him, my sp(i cant tell wich one at that time but i releived that its not him now, bc MY BELOVED CURRENT BF. guyss he is the one. dont u dare ask me how you know? i literally manifested him🎀)

then i realized i can have everything bc its my reality so why not add these:

new phone, +macbook air

dream apartment of my own

pinterest closet

lifa app for this reality

financially free-money(a lot. like really a lot)

knowing 4 languages like a native person(bc i want to be diplomat so bad) +sign language(its in general)

a little drama(its not gonna hurt anybody)

my parents being more lovable and away from me

every time i try to get in, either i was failing or falling

and im sick of it, sick of it so much i quit.(for a year)

then i go to the theraphy(ofc no im jk ilove being crazy)

one day i saw a post ss from tumblr about pure consciousness on pinterest and i was like whaat is thiiss. no mention of void so i thougt its a diffrent thing and i download the tumblr again and search everything abt it. and same excitement again after one year same thougts and same list popes up in my head. and i was like ok maybe this time itll happen.

still waiting to be someth happen so nothing happend, it was such a waste of time trying to get in while i was already be, i was already what i want to become. i was that girl that everyone gets along with but i couldnt even see bc i was too focused on wanting to be. but still tried every night and failed. and again tried-failed-quit circle bc.. have you ever met me🎀

4 month ago i saw the girl, iconic blogger and the goddess of my dreams, her @b4ddprincess thx again love u so much

a post pops in my fyp and i see the words ''pure consciousness'' i was like noo not again. and i was serious abt it i wasnt gonna read the whole thing but it attract me n i couldnt resist it so ive read it from the top to the bottom. and she got my interest so i stalked her page from the last and to the first post. it was quiet a beautiful journey for me. lasted like 3 days, the end of the 3rd day i was ''woaw it was this easy all along? u cant be serious.'' she was. i tried one last time, no breathing exercise, no ridiculous routines and no waiting something to be happen. it was just me being real me chilling out asf.

and it was this easy and it should be this easy bc being your 4d self is being nothing also being everything at the same time. if u wanna be everything you should be nothing first(as wizardliz saying: drop the old story, leave the victimhood, for being better stop being bitter etc.)u should make a space for everything first and then u can be everything.

for being 4d self of yours stop being your3dself.

sooo long story (no)short i am writing this from my mac in my new apartment(in middle of the night bc i couldnt sleep and then one tumblr notification reminded me i have a success story to share too) and my phone buzzing two minutes a time bc of my friends while im writing this, so if theres anything wrong ignore it pls.

oh u asking my bf how cute, hes sleepin in my bed now, exhausted from the work n school balance.

YWS SCHOOL!! im in my dream collage and im going to be in paris for a week. i deserve a vacation i guess(its for another conference), i kinda hate french men bc theyre so mansplaning(not like how i imagined, its hard to be friends w them)girls are cute but i feel like theyre aware im not permanent there so we just con buddies still cute and hepful for this foreigner.

and i canceled the lifa app thingy bc i can be my purest consciousness anytime i want, so i am my lifa app.

and thx to 4 languages i make a lot of money and that brings us to the pinterest closet, yesterday i realiased that. theyre not comes to me w an imaginary way like i imagined! i go outside for shopping casually and theyre there luckily i have enough money to buy them.

and my family theyre living in our hometown now so as i want it to be, we are away from eachother.

and the most magical thing: SHIFTING REALITIESSS

i did 5 world before i met w my bf. it was such a wonderful experience. if you have doubts abt shifting you can go fuck urself

because sir i did it and i am very sure that dean winchester being my husband is not a daydream, fantasy nor lucid dreaming. believe it or not he kissed me GOD HE KİSSED ME(someone should stop me i have a bf)

is there anything i missed let me see.. cats i have 2 cats now and theyre adorable. glowing aura-check

the girl who is pretty not cute- check +make anxietygo-checkcheckcheck

dream body and hair- check and check

i wanna give u a info i didnt have all my desires by being my4dself

not directly actually. but i have them all. and thats the point.

im not trying to be a blogger but if you have any question abt anything, id be happy to help

now i need to upgrade things in my farm byeess

loves, siena.

[taegularities]

candles & flames: downpour | jjk (m)

bonus chapter II: downpour

Summary: One knock at your door — that’s all it takes for the clouds to burst. Because when it rains, it pours.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: established relationship, royal!au; angst!!, fluff, smut ➳ warnings: ok ok – rain metaphors, mention of a traumatic past, daddy issues?, illegitimate child plot, backstories, mention of mentally abusive relationship, cheating (not between jk and oc), jk kinda a homewrecker, lies, tears, breakdowns, panic, fears, abandonment issues, craving/pining sigh, arguments and fighting, very sweet kids, dad!jk <3; explicit sexual content: oral (m. receiving, super brief f.), fingering, teasing, kissing/making out, manhandling, biting, big dick jk, soft dom jk, soft/hard sex, unprotected sex (shhh, they're married), he spills on her ass, cmnf for a bit, some aftercare; hm… the ending. ➳ wc: 31.8k ➳ a/n: alright. i courageously fought through the pain; not sure how this will go for you. we've waited quite a while for this, and all your support for this series really pushed me to no end <3 i hope this is all you guys expected it to be. take it easy with this one; love y'all sm and as always, let me know what you think 🤍 ➳ a/n2: this is a bonus chapter for my mini-series candles & flames. reading the rest of the story helps!! find the mpost below <3 and the collaborative playlist here!

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

It’s fall.

Orange-red, beloved, drizzling fall.

And everything falls with its emergence. The leaves, the temperature, the warmth.

You’re bummed, experiencing the prior season coming to an end again; the colours are fading and the flowers disappearing. The trees are empty; pretty but a little eerie, too.

Hana insisted on a stroll since the sun still graced you this noon; by now, it’s gone again, hidden behind grey, monochrome clouds. It looks much later than it already is; great call to march outside since you were still able to pick leftover flowers in the garden with her.

In the middle of the drawing room, Hana leafs through the basket. Jungkook is largely free today, but he’s still busying himself with papers of some guest he’s expecting tomorrow. The man wishes to open a bar in the village and asked for an appointment with the town’s royal to discuss the profitability of the idea.

Jungkook is lost in thoughts, thick eyebrows furrowed, but your eyes are scurrying across the room, settling on your daughter. She’s carefully inspecting each flower, remaining on her favourites a little longer; kneeling with pursed lips.

She resembles her father down to each smileless dimple. She’s staring down, the same shape and arch of her lips, eyes big. Whenever she finds a particularly good flower, she jumps to her little feet, walking up to Jungkook to present her choices for him to admire.

Once she reaches her last favourite, she holds it up to him with a tongue sticking out, proud and childishly joyous as she says, “This is for you.”

“For me?” he drops the papers to the table, mouth open; cautiously takes the daisy between his fingers. “Gorgeous. I thought I was not allowed to have one?”

“You can have this,” she mumbles, lisping here and now, “I have many.”

“Right. Let’s see.” He lays it onto the documents he inspected, stretching out his palms for her. Obliging, she lets him pick her up and place her on his lap, immediately pumped when he asks, “Where did you find it? Want to tell me about it?”

And she does, with sheer enthusiasm so, explaining the spot and the colours vaguely. You know Jungkook still isn’t any smarter, probably not quite remembering where the daisies grow. He prefers the field in the distance over the garden.

Concluding her story, she soon tells him, “Can you keep this? Until I am big like you?”

“Oh…” You tilt your head. Your cheeks are hot like the summer that passed, watching him blush, melting with her in his arms. “Of course! Do you want to tell me why I am getting this one?”

“It’s pretty.”

“Ah. Like you then. You’re pretty.”

And Hana, aware and oh-so-humble, responds with her eyes on her fingers, nodding, “Yes.”

They do this sometimes. Exchange pretty things. She enjoys sharing her food or her collections with him, stuff she loves. She’s learned to show affection like this; makes him and you a part of herself this way. It’s a slightly different dynamic with the others in the room, though.

Because the moment her tremendous eyes look up, they darken a shade, displeased with the little body crawling to her basket, close to reaching in. Hana wriggles and jumps off Jungkook’s lap, her voice high-pitched when she starts whining, “Nooo! Not you!”

Right. There’s that, too.

The miniscule hand almost knocking over the basket, the same eyes as his sister’s, but the expressions a lot closer to yours. The surprise in his gaze is similar to the one you see right behind him, belonging to the partner in crime.

You rush to lift the near-accomplice before Hana can reprimand them both. And he looks just like you when he stares at you in shock, not minding the warmth, hands close to his body before they settle right on your clavicles.

He averts his gaze, following the drama on the ground. And the other twin, the one he’d been hurrying to, looks like your occasionally whining self, too, when Hana reaches him.

Jungkook might have enjoyed a copy of himself in her for years now, but you got two boys with your features instead. They clutch at you at all times, much as Hana sticks to her father.

Jaehoon, clever and thoughtful, secure in your arms, and then Jaehyuk, usually radiant, on the floor. Only right now, he isn’t as cheerful anymore.

Rather devastated, startled as Hana opens the small fist crushing a flower. He ogles around with wide eyes, already breathing towards crying, and then, finally — juts out his lower lip. Seeks your attention; and when he catches your tilted, worried look, he starts weeping.

As if your presence permitted his breakdown. You sigh.

His fist is closed tight, but when Hana sharply orders again, “Let go!”, he does, scrabbling away from her. She collects her possessions with a grunt; you inch closer to her the same moment Jungkook rises from his seat on the diwan.

Lifting the crying Jaehyuk in his arms, he plants a soft kiss onto the child’s temple, shushing him with a gentle, “It is alright. Look, nothing happened.”

But Jaehyuk still buries his face in Jungkook’s chest, crying harder, actual tears this time around. Jungkook squats down to Hana with a scolding look in his eyes, one eyebrow cocked as he explains, “Suhana, it is good to share.”

She doesn’t quite look at him; throws the remainders of the demolished flower into the basket, grazing the petals. Sulking, she defends, “But he destroyed them.”

“He is little. You did this as well when you were small.”

Hana shakes her head, convinced, “I do not think that I did.”

“Ah… really?”

“I don’t destroy pretty things!”

Jungkook mimics your sigh, kneeling down, and you shift your eyes for just a moment to check on the baby in your arms. He’s the calmest in the room, observing the rest of his family with curiosity. You smile a little; he’s beautiful, so innocent, so clueless.

So empathetic.

Worried when he sees his brother still crying, not imitating his sobs, but pointing to his other half before he looks at you as if you understood. Awaiting your answer.

You did understand, actually; you often do. So you nod, telling him, “I know. Jaehyuk is a little sad.”

Jaehoon points again, and then suddenly leans forwards. You hold him tight, walking closer to the rest, and he relaxes. Happy you obliged, a finger in his mouth. You set him on the ground when Jungkook does the same with Jaehyuk, listening in as your husband tries again—

“Look. You gave me a nice flower, so give him one, too. He’s your brother, right?”

Hana hesitates. Then, “Yes.”

“Don’t you love him, too?” You hum at his words, enforcing the message. “You should give nice things to people you love.”

“Yes. But he is annoying…”

She grants her siblings a look, a little calmer when Jaehyuk sniffles. Jaehoon shifts closer to his disheartened brother, touching his hand, knees close. They can finally sit on their own now, and they use the ability to keep themselves glued to the other.

A second passes before Hana adds, “Alright, he should have one. He is too small to get his own.”

You agree, “That’s right.”

Holding two different flowers towards the now far calmer Jaehyuk — Jaehoon’s presence seems to help — she inquires, “Good, which one do you like better?”

Her voice is authoritative, the classic older sister. It affects the twins for just a moment as they blink at her; but then, Jaehyuk regards the choices presented to him — though his eyes settle on the marigold quickly.

Opting to grab it, he hits the void when Hana pulls back, shaking her head. You’re about to nag again, seated on the ground next to Jungkook, much like royals should as your sister would jest, but then hold back when Hana speaks again.

“No. Grab it from here, yes?” She hands him the stem, and he listens, takes it as carefully as a baby can. “Yes, like this.”

And then he’s raising it to his cheek, fascinated by it, touching the petals after all. Jaehoon watches quietly before his beseeching eyes drift to his sister. His plea is soundless, but she understands; says, “You can have this, Jaehoonie.”

The daisy he receives is from the same spot she plucked Jungkook’s from. Pretty things for her pretty brother. He’s not sure what to do with it, though, but he imitates the way Jaehyuk plays with it so tenderly, more than happy to accept.

You catch the smile spreading on Hana’s countenance, balanced out by her sassy little, “But you have to work for more. These are mine.”

You laugh, content, “This is good enough.” You reach out to her cheek, caressing for a moment. “Be nice to each other. They love you a lot.”

She only nods, yet baffled when Jaehoon suddenly opts for her, climbing half onto her lap. She gives in, though she can barely properly hold them yet; so she reshifts him as well as she can, placing him in front of her, between her legs.

Like this, they look through the basket; he’s kind and soft, so he doesn’t do much anyway. Just stares while Jaehyuk busies himself with the flower until he gets bored and targets the toy he abandoned minutes ago.

They’re cooing and conversing, Hana speaking, Jaehoon incoherently babbling. You’ve heard this is good, talking to your kids; apparently, they’re vocal much more later on.

But the room is filled with noises and a stack of papers, so you turn to Jungkook and suggest, “I can take them somewhere else. You’re working, so I reckoned…”

“It’s alright,” he, however, assures, “I am already done. This is rewarding, actually.”

“Isn’t it tiring?” You regard the scattered children, full of love for them, but brimming with fatigue, too. “I am so… exhausted.”

“I know. I understand that you are,” he says, grasping your hand, knuckles to his lips, “which is probably why I should stay, too.”

He gets it. You know he truly does, never just says it.

Ever since the birth of your twins, stress, anxiety and restless nights came together to an undesired mix. Barely sleeping makes you prone to headaches and mood swings; one child was already difficult to manage, but three…

You haven’t rested in years. Your skin and your eyes have changed. More tired, more sensitive, your heart a little more feeble.

And the birth wasn’t easy, either. You lost a ton of blood again, another source of Jungkook’s resurfaced panic; but this time because there were two kids at once. You feel grateful, you do — but the days and weeks after they were born were hell on Earth.

You didn’t quite feel like yourself for so long.

But their warmth and Jungkook helped. Honestly, you can’t anyhow fabricate a world without him and his support even just in theory. And beware, such love isn’t given; you’ve seen friends and relatives wade through terrible experiences.

Jungkook is a man they don’t place in every corner of the world, so you’re thankful beyond imagination.

Because you survived due to him. You live because of the humble personalities in this brightly lit room, dimmed only by the grey afternoon sky. It’s a cruel world at times; some pasts are an accumulation of everything bad. Jungkook’s more than anyone’s you know.

Looking at him now, you can hardly believe he was once the sad boy stranded in the rain.

That crying, sobbing mess, freezing, seeking peace when he was inundated by misery. But…

Things came together well, right? The world is less terrifying like this.

You guess the warmth might fall outside all the time, but it never does in these rooms.

“And?”

The answer echoes less than it did a moment ago. The peeking head is retracting just slowly, still frozen between the open door and its frame. You don’t think his eyes are spying much of concern, and he confirms it when he shakes his head, responds—

“Nothing.”

“This should be good enough then.”

“Hm, yes. I don’t know. It took hours last time, as well.”

Without a piece of context, it’s a hilarious picture. Somehow, it even is with context; so you can’t help the quiet chuckle, silencing quickly to avoid waking up the tiny bundle slumbering in your arms.

You reprimand your husband, “But you can’t keep standing there for hours.”

The sigh you receive is deep and long. You understand his worries.

It hasn’t been long anyway — the night transpired just a while ago. Still in the back of your mind since Hana waddled to your room, knocking with the might that her fist could possibly conjure; you barely heard it, but you did.

You have been a light sleeper since she was born, so you were shaken awake rather fast. You welcomed her in with softness, veiling the horror in your voice. You were devastated when you saw her feet bare, standing in the dark hallway.

Luckily, the moment turned out not quite frightening — she couldn’t sleep. That was it. So you pulled her into your arms and off the ground, stroking her back and her head, planting kisses in her hair.

It took a while to lull her to sleep; to be certain, you kept her right next to you for the remainder of the nightly hours, even though her room was next door. She’d mumbled something about a poor bird, and you’d understand only minutes after her silence that she had seen a dead pigeon in the garden that day.

The nightmare this scene called forth prevented her from sleeping comfortably in her chamber for some days to come.

Jungkook had come to bed late that time, so he was long knocked out when Hana came. The regret doubled the next morning when you told him about the occurrence, and Jungkook blamed himself for the coming hours — only, the guilt extended. Still prominent.

Because he’s still glancing out, fearing she’ll come and knock again; fearing it might go unnoticed once more.

“I would hear it,” you reassure, “I always will.”

“What if you don’t?”

“I will,” you try again; you keep your voice low, soft, understanding his string of thoughts. But you miss him next to you, and you want the door to close. You insist, “I will, love. Don’t blame yourself for not hearing it, yes? You were tired.”

Jaehoon moves in your arms, a small fist loosening. He’s fast asleep, but you still wait before you speak again, assuring that he won’t wake up again. Jungkook must be thinking the same, because only once you sigh a breath of relief, he says, “You are tired, too. Don’t undermine your importance here—”

“Just come to bed, darling.”

Interrupted, his lips morph into a pout, round eyes regarding you for a moment. But it seems you render him at least a little delicate, aware of your effect on him, tilting your head by a few degrees. Your smile must be jarring; because the second you flash it, he gives in.

The door shuts behind him, and he offers an upward twitch of his mouth in response before he asks, “Would you reckon she’s too young to have her own room?”

“Perhaps… I don’t always feel very comfortable with her absence at night either. We have gotten too used to her, haven’t we?” You shake your head as he steps towards your side of the bed. “But she wanted this so bad.”

“Hmm… good thing she spends half of all her nights here anyway.”

“True. She got too used to us, as well,” you say before sitting up, eliciting a brief groan as you prepare yourself to put Jaehoon back in his crib. You can barely stand up; your body is exhausted, begs to stay in the resting state for now. “Alright then…”

But by then Jungkook’s helping hands are already reaching out, his back arching, bowing forwards. Carefully, sweetly, he mutters a little, “No, let me—” before he’s sheltering his son in his hold, slow and gentle as he tackles the task for you.

For a minute, he remains there, standing over the crib, gazing at the babies so peacefully dreaming away. He does this sometimes — lose himself in the sight. This is a fairytale for him. When he read all those books on parenting years ago, he didn’t think it’d come this easily to him.

Not that parenting has ever been particularly easy. Tears and arguments were frequent at points in time, but so were sacrifices and compromises. You knew what such a change did to a vulnerable heart and mind, so you fought through the difficulties with courage.

And it was worth it every single time. All in all, you don’t regret a thing; you’d repeat it all if you could. Jungkook is your dream; this life is your dream.

Never ceased to be.

Even now, as he returns to the bed and jumps under the blanket, you register an odd, sparkly feeling in your tummy. It always existed underneath, never diminished or decreased. Ever-so-present, you still cherish its intensity, even after all these years. Or perhaps because of the time that has passed.

Such passion isn’t a matter of fact. You know it isn’t.

Triggered by the funny, pleasant feeling in your body, your smile grows a little. Softer and more loving when he kisses your shoulder as if to greet you. Proceeds to place his head on your chest as his arms snake around your body, settling in his very own safe space.

“Are you feeling well?” his drowsy voice questions, just a little muffled as the lips graze your gown’s cotton.

“I am. You?”

“Just cold. I need a bit more of this,” he cuddles in, kissing underneath your breasts, right above your ribs. “It has been raining so much.”

“It has been indeed.”

“But,” he shifts, closer to you, “I’ve learned to appreciate it now.”

You chuckle. Time steadily passes, but some memories stay right at their assigned spots, like an immovable anchor. You’re proud, having replaced his terrifying images of nature’s showers with fond ones. And ever since, the rain has felt closer to you, too.

“That is something, then,” you say, “I’m just sad for the kids… they can’t stay out too long without feeling under the weather. If I could, I’d show them the sky all the time, too.”

“And how we’re connected to it?”

You laugh again; you wonder if he’s feeling warmer now. You’re inundated with the heat, at least. “Yes, this.”

His grip tightens just a little, a fragile attempt to draw you deeper into him. This is all the laws of physics allow — no gap left for him to close. Yet, he tries. His kiss wanders up as he raises his head, lips missing your clavicles by a bit; thumb stroking the side of your mounds.

“Love,” he calls quietly; when your eyes move to his, you see a change in them. They’re fog-shrouded and somehow questioning. “Do you feel tired?”

You’re surprised; you expected something else. The question doesn’t match his expression.

For a moment, you assume that your answer might serve a bigger purpose, so you weigh it back and forth before you decide on a straightforward, “Less than usual. It’s been so long since we fell asleep together.”

Maybe that’s what’s keeping you awake. Maybe that’s what he wants to hear.

Because he nods fervently against your breasts, cheek pressing against them, and agrees, “It has been. Yet, do you know it has been only three days in reality?”

Oh. Dang. You guess there is no true limit to your mutual obsession. You shrug, “Feels much longer.”

“Well, in that sense…” Warm digits touch your arm, circling your elbow and then travelling up your skin. “There is one good thing about Hana sleeping in the other room, yes? We’re alone for once.”

“Unless she once again catches us in the middle of—”

“Don’t remind me.”

You giggle, but the sound dies when he pushes his palm under your short gown sleeve, caressing your shoulder and then the lower part of your neck. Angling your head, you close your eyes, somehow spitting, “Are you planning something, Sir?”

His leg moves further over your own; there’s a growing firmness between them that you can’t ignore. He teases, “Sir? Now, that is new.”

“Mmh, do you like it?”

“Admittedly, it is somewhat odd, but… it’s still something.”

“Then, what is going on now?”

“Well, it’s… very boring to talk about it. Lemme just—”

The palm covering your tits is sudden, but the mouth exploring them isn’t. You felt the touch from miles away, satisfied and alight when his teeth graze over your perked nipple. His hand, restless, works on pushing down your nightgown to bare one side, and he’s…

Impatient, as you’ve known.

His tongue is hot and soft, the tip of it merely teasingly brushing over the freed nipple as his hand pushes your tit up, further into his face and towards his mouth. You sigh. He sets fire to your nerves; you feel each of the licks affecting your body.

Then, amidst the comfortable, sweet journey, he suddenly bites.

You gasp, followed by a tiny exclaim of an, “Ouch,” and work on playfully escaping his advances — to no avail. He laughs against your bud, his hands stronger than your dishonest attempt as they pin your arms to the mattress.

His eyes are evil, an eyebrow cocked, lips parted as he breathes, “What?”

“You’re about to lose it again. I can see it!”

“Ah… do you— do you not want me to?” He’s still in a daze, his words mumbled. He moves back just a little, wondering if you’re not quite where he is tonight. But you shake your head the moment he suggests, “I’ll hold myself back if I need t—”

“Oh, can you?”

You’re smiling, so he’s quickly encouraged to offer a grin of his own; honestly admits, “No… but I will for you.”

“You will for me?” The everlasting beam on your face is inevitable; how could you keep your cool, pretend you’re not thoroughly warmed when he says things like these? “While I appreciate how thoughtful you are… I’m not a fool.”

Not a fool. I won’t decline.

“Then… May I kiss you?”

“You’re asking so politely, how could I—”

There’s no time to reject, even if you wanted to. His kiss is abrupt and hard, though his lips still refrain from any aggression just yet. He lifts his hands from next to your head to above it, dragging your captive arms with them.

As his head tilts, deeper in the kiss, his tongue mingles with yours with a tempting hum so unique to his voice — as if he’s tasting a delicatesse. Your mouths are in main action, but both your bodies are reacting in their entirety, too.

In constant motion, winding, closing in.

His upper body urges you down until you’re flat on your back; the nightgown settles back over your tits again as you move, but he grabs your flesh above the clothing, kneading. Clumsily, with his eyes still shut, he attempts to unlace the front of your gown.

You wait for his intention to manifest into reality, readily letting his palm brush over your hot skin, your neck, your jaw. But once he opts to undress you fully, your patience dwindles, and you let him know, “I don’t want to wait this time.”

“Ah, alright, alright… This is how we’re doing things tonight?”

Your poor dress will be wrinkled up by the morning; you know by the way he’s hiking it up your leg this time, stopping at your waist, force of habit. There’s a satisfying, delighted smile on his face, mixing with a pleased sound when he discovers you’re bare underneath the gown—

And it seems it motivates him more rapidly to tug at his own trousers. You nod as if to encourage him further, hands seeking out the hem of his pyjamas. But you’re as useless from this angle as can be.

So he sits upright, slipping out of it, pushing it down his thighs until it’s wrapped around his knees. He’s no better, really; just as naked, just as uncovered underneath the trousers, as if the two of you planned this, or hoped for this.

Kneeling, he pushes your legs apart, spreading until your flexibility stops. He settles between them properly, leaning down, and uses the position to kick off the rest of his disruptive trousers. The length of his cock, as unbelievable as ever and quickly hardening, presses against your damp cunt — bliss for the moment, but torture for the next.

The way his cock dips between your folds and rubs along your pussy’s growing dampness feels almost deliberate. As if he’s tormenting you, demonstrating his power over you, stiff past your hole and up your tiny clit without ever diving in.

But you won’t lie — you could probably come from this alone. It’s embarrassing, being so weak in his presence. And the filthy sounds, wet and inappropriate, don’t help a bit.

So you’re not sure whether you’re relieved or agitated when the touch finally vanishes but his mischievous smile doesn’t. It’s somewhat weak, hindered by the lust clouding his brain, but it’s insane and misbehaved either way.

He’ll kill you one day; or you might kill him. You don’t know who might end up asserting the more hazardous dominance.

For now, it’s you who’s surrendering. How could you not, considering he’s conjuring his own battle plan right above you, hand reaching between his and your legs and underneath the blanket to—

Damn the tip of the digits against your clenching cunt. He’s not even inside, but you react immediately. Know to bite your lower lip when he circles your clit a little, the position and the spread legs keeping you from shutting your thighs.

Your head falls to the side; Jungkook considers it an opportunity. He plays around your nub further, testing the waters, and when you moan out, he closes the gap between the two of you, latching onto your neck to suck and kiss and bite.

“Fuck,” you curse, incessantly hoping the kids are deeply asleep and won’t have to witness their mother’s foul language this early on. “Fuck, start already—”

He knows you aren’t talking about his fingers; they’re already in action, tapping your clit, drawing over it. Then moving down, slipping along your wetness, already drenched when he decides to ram a finger in.

Yet, he understands you’re still referring to the member standing tall, anticipating and urging for you but holding back either way. No, instead he chooses to drive you crazy first, using a free hand to grab your chin and turn your head back to him, going for another messy kiss.

And you can’t do more than give yourself to him so willingly, wincing and whimpering as he finger-fucks you as well as the position allows. It’s not ideal like this, and to your chagrin, he can’t use his skills fully, but the fact that he can turn your thoughts this incoherent speaks volumes already.

You can’t wait… can’t wait for him to bury himself in you.

Half hovering over you, he soon loses the strength to keep himself afloat, dipping and retracting his fingers to lead his cock there instead; still, once again, without fucking you dumb yet. You’re drifting, but still too sane for your liking.

Your wetness helps him toy with you some more; he keeps pumping with his hand as he humps you once, twice, and you mutter his name and a couple mumbled pleas — but he remains as wicked as ever.

But when the dam breaks and your mind explodes, you exclaim his name again in pure desperation, half your brain gone when he pushes just his tip inside you and continues jerking off to make himself as hard as he can.

Eventually, you demand, “Put it in!”

The shake of his head is vile. Your eyebrows furrow at the man, and you try to grind up into him — he doesn’t let you. Only the head remains inside you, and he keeps doing his thing, not leading it in or out, just drenching himself.

You reprimand, “You’re being impossible tonight.”

“Aren’t I?” he responds, like a naughty child who’s caught and proud of its sins. He presses another peck to your lips, his words breathy when he reveals his true thoughts, “No, sweetheart, it is just that— you aren’t ready. That’s it.”

You aren’t ready? You feel like you’re overflowing. But you understand; there’s no room for impatience after all. It’s happened before — him pushing in, only to realise it was too early, that it pained you instead of pleasuring you.

“Well…” you start, dumbfounded. He noticed and you didn’t — the ultimate proof that he knows you inside out. “You could’ve said this earlier. Put it in my mouth then.”

“Huh?”

“Right now. This will help, too.”

“Oh… yes? I— I won’t reject the offer.”

Of course he won’t. In fact, he climbs up the bed quickly, lifting, caging your body between his knees. The sight is incredible; thighs as wide as your face, muscular. You hold onto them, bask in the sight of the dangling package, harder by the moment.

With effort, he says, “Just for a second.” The tip taps against your mouth, hot as he pushes it inside. Thick and heavy on your tongue, his cock twitches, affected by the swirl of the wet muscle and the hollowing of your cheeks. “Yes… not long, no—”

He must be talking to himself. Keeping himself from thrusting and fucking your mouth all the way to the end. And when you bop your head up and down, lightly touching his balls and the parts of the length you can’t swallow, he restates, “I really do not want to wait.”

You let go for a moment with a slurping sound, agreeing, “Fine by me,” before you come back to go in harder. Giving him all you can, crossing your legs, seeking reprieve.

And you think you’d quickly overflow, by virtue of his enticing reactions, if the moment wasn’t so short lived.

Because it seems he reaches a limit when your drool starts flowing down the side of your face, nasty and warm, your throat still working full time on not gagging. On staying quiet. It’s become a task by now.

And for the first time tonight, Jungkook doesn’t serve the devil, but pulls back.

While it’s a pity — why didn’t he finish in your mouth? — you won’t deny your selfish part. The one that craves and awaits, glad when his body disappears beneath the sheets again, his head with it.

What—

Won’t he start? You didn’t expect him to fall out of your sight entirely. And there’s not much guessing needed until you understand that he’s aiming for his favourite spot, his tongue lapping up your juices a moment later.

He kisses your cunt just once, slides a stripe between your folds, and you’re certain his goal is much more profound. Normally, you’d be fully down for this, but you’ve reached a limit you can’t bear anymore.

So you whisper, “You don’t need to.”

He doesn’t register it right away, spitting and feasting further; more kisses, more tongue, untamed until you grip his hair and raise his head off of you. He obliges surprisingly easily when you pull him back to your lips, reiterating, “I don’t want to fucking wait. Just…”

“I know,” he says, peck after peck, in between each word, “I know. I have had enough, too, I have—”

His arm steals your breath when he twines it around your body like a vine, arching your back, lifting you by mere inches. Both his hands are busy; caressing your sides or your face; he’s confident about the touch, about the eagerness the two of you harbour for each other.

Which is why he doesn’t even guide his length towards your pleading heat anymore, gliding up and down; hard enough to stand tall against it, poking as if knocking. The thought makes you laugh for only a moment before your lungs suddenly empty—

Part of his cock slips in effortlessly; there’s no resistance, no struggle, no need to glance down and complicate matters. You welcome him easily; match his smirk, proud and unsurprised about your keen craze when he says, “Wasn’t supposed to happen already. I wanted another moment to—”

You vigorously shake your head. “Too late. Too damn late—”

The last word comes out strained as your body comes in motion, moving against him. And he matches your pace and fervour, shoving himself in harder. Unable to resist anymore, all the teasing vanishes along with his patience.

Instead, he bottoms out at once, and you yelp, an unintentional volume that he immediately shuts with a hand over your mouth and a chuckle. Jungkook enjoys playing the beast when he’s with you like this, but he can’t suppress his amusement when he shushes you.

“Are y-you trying to wake the mansion, huh?”

But his words are nothing but a breath, airy and quiet. Such a whistling whisper that it, much as your noise, might just be enough to wake everybody, too. The irony is comical.

You shake your head and his hand with it, relying on your nose to breathe the oxygen still left in the room. Your neck feels hot, your face and body burning up. Not quite sure whether it’s the way he’s handling you or whether your leg is actually trembling like this.

His strokes, slowly starting, shake up your body at least. The friction drives you insane; his length, reaching a mind-boggling depth, renders you so stupid each time. Thick against your walls, leaving no gap, no spot untouched. 

You’re boiling under his hand, somehow glad about the muffled sound. Because if he didn’t silence you like this, you’d be wreaking havoc right here, an unbridled mess wrapped in your husband’s body.

They say love and passion fade sometimes; that affection lessens when you get used to it, bored of it. But the two of you haven’t reached that stage yet — you doubt you ever will.

Because the flames that have surrounded you ever since you fell into these depths for the other… they don’t ever seem to dim. Who would’ve thought that a candle could turn into an inferno?

No, your body signals more than enough; this isn’t boredom. This isn’t a reduction in adoration. You feel the devouring and the worship in each thrust and touch and kiss and gaze.

In each curse and movement, how he shifts you and you wind. Dancing in the sheets and shivering under the goosebumps as he hears your stifled moans drowned out by his palm. If he could, he’d listen all day; if the circumstances allowed…

He rams into you hard but slowly and only raises the pace gradually; once he’s gotten used to the effect, however, and seeks to possess you more, he sends your body up the sheets. Each time, over and over again, restraint thrown overboard.

You mewl with a raised head and tightly shut eyes; his hand drops just a little, and you, in your misty moment, dig your teeth into the finger still covering your lower lip. The sound he lets out suggests pain here, but then again… lust there.

His voice is feathery, mellow; as if he’s softly charmed, seduced rather than achingly bitten.

Lips apart and eyes hooded, he relocates his hand just a little, twisting it until the thumb grazes your chin, hand laying on your cheek as the forefinger dips into your mouth. It’s difficult to focus; what does he look at?

The way his digit is gently trapped between your teeth, the tip of it teased by your tongue? The arch of your mouth and how his finger presses against the lower lip? Or the heat that grows under his palm, the rise of your chin, the eyes rolling back before shutting?

A feral urge expands in him, growing like a well-watered seed; he doesn’t know how you do it, but you encapsulate all his beginnings and ends in a moment, now and always.

Your hair is a mess by the time he removes his other hand from it, not quite sure when he grabbed a patch at all. He pins one of your legs to the side, angling it, and you breathe unsteadily, mumbling a tiny, “Oh— Kook—”

“Yes.”

It’s not quite a dialogue, but neither of you cares for it. There isn’t much to say at all. And neither any calls of his or your name, nor his quiet, “I love you so much,” do the emotion bubbling in his stomach justice.

In all honesty, he could explode just looking at you. You’re a wonder of nature, aren’t you? You pump relief and craze and comfort and insanity into him, one after another and all at once.

“Baby,” you call out the moment his teeth drag your damn gown down your tits again, kissing them, nibbling at your nipple. “I think I might already— soon…”

You don’t know whether it’s because it’s been so long, or because Jungkook knows just well how to fuck you right, but you’re nearly bursting. Or is it the mental picture of the movements he’s granting you?

Elegant yet beastly thrusts, hips and ass and upper body swaying up and down steadily; slow, then fast, then soft, then hard… rhythmic and then stuttering—

He wipes the hair off your forehead, and then whispers warm and close to your ear, “Hey, do you… know how obsessed I am with you?” A peck to your earlobe, and you wind, ticklish and pleased. He shifts to your lips, the kiss an inch away. “You—you’re all I’ll ever need.”

You can’t serve as much of a smooth and rational answer as him, but you still tell him all lost, “Then— be with me… me, always, yes?”

He chuckles; you’re not sure why. Perhaps this is such a matter-of-fact for him that he doesn’t need it spelled out. “Yes… yes. What else? Where else would I go?”

Away from you — even for a moment, even just a bit. Right now, you can’t bear the thought of a hint of a distance between the two of you. You want him close, closer, part of your heart, thawing with you in cool falls and cold winters.

“You’re pretty,” he then proceeds, tugging at your lip, “don’t know where to touch you. So pretty.”

“Everywhere. Just don’t stop— touching me,” you begin, every now and then interrupted by an exhausted kiss, “at all.”

“Right.” And still, he backs away out of the blue, all touch gone except the gentle rub along your hip, and you stare up at him with big eyes, body so empty before he orders, “Turn around.” He’s acting tough, but you see the madness in his eyes the moment he says it. “Quickly.”

Quickly.

You know what he’s thinking without him vocalising any of it. Know what he’ll do before he does it.

With quivering limbs, you oblige, helped by his hands as he hauls the gown easily over your body, crumpling it up and placing it next to the pillow. Within a moment, you’re bare, head to toe.

He keeps you on your knees, reluctant to wait a second before he enters you again. His hand lands on your ass, pulling apart to see better, and once all in, he starts moving again.

You don’t need to glance back to know that the muscles of his back and his ass are flexing, tanned and golden. The veins of his arms are probably protruding, his abs and chest damp, latter heaving. You know he probably resembles some textbook God, and maybe that’s what topples you over the edge.

That and… the hand on your clit.

Softly circling, the nub immensely sensitive, limbs buckling and weak. You require all your might to not fall and close your legs and sob.

But the tears are inescapable; one or two tip over your waterline when you finally come to an end. His prior teasing and the anticipation already drove you too close to the peak, and it seems that now you’re surrendering eventually.

You shake, your arms more so than the rest of your body. Wobbly, you try to keep yourself upright, but as the blur covers your vision and the waves crash over your pelvis and stomach, you let your cheek fall to the pillow. Hands clutch the sheets.

The tremor is out of control.

And you’re still riding out that high, aided by his continuing shoves and hammering. He’s generous when he pushes you all the way down, a hand on the small of your back as he says, “Take your time— I’m almost there, fu—”

Take your time with what? You don’t know; the chances are high he doesn’t either. Or is he talking to himself again?

To no avail, though, because he’s manic, uncurbed. Your cheek digs into the pillow, the bed moving more than it has during these moments lately. He’s chasing ecstasy, calling your name and little words, such as, “Love, sweetheart, darling,” over and over again like it’s his sole vocabulary.

His lips move over your shoulder and to your back, featherlight as opposed to how he’s fucking you. The care with which he kisses your skin leaves you gasping, affects you whole, and you feel the shiver down your spine, along your arms.

You want to stay awake all night. Want this to keep going.

Funny, how this very thought is followed by a question you neither expect nor grasp, “Have I… kissed you too much already? Are you sick of it?”

You think your eyebrows furrow, or perhaps you imagine it, because there is no way your facial muscles still have that much energy left. But he must be out of his mind, daring such questions. Is there such a thing as getting sick of him?

“Why—”

This man never lets you finish. There is an art to interrupting without irritating, and he’s mastered it — because you can barely complain when his hand wraps around your neck, cautiously lifting and turning your head to make out with you again.

The tongue sneaks into your mouth right away; the kiss is barely a kiss, too filthy and chaotic to be called such. Rather, you’re eating each other up, mixing your moans, crazed by his drilling until his breaths turn laboured and his sounds hoarse.

They come straight out of his throat, sweet in your ears. And before you know it, he’s getting to his knees and rapidly pulling out; you feel vulnerable and tender, thoroughly worn out. The heat is blistering and your mind gone — but you still notice the ropes landing on your ass.

Sticky and hot and plenty. Scattered over your flesh; you contribute some, too, moving your ass left and right just a little, and it seems he’s enjoying it. Groans as he pumps on; when you look back at him, eyes halfway closed, you give him the rest.

And a couple seconds later, tongue poking the corner of his lips, he’s done.

Panting, whispering something you can’t understand, weak… but done. Close to falling onto you until he realises he probably shouldn’t.

Instead, he lays down next to you. Your eyes are closed, but you immediately feel a loving brush over your cheek, ridding it of the strands sticking to your face.

You shake your head — or at least, you think you do. It’s probably more of an attempt, just a slight movement before you playfully scold, “Great… what do we do about this now?”

Jungkook swallows, calming down as he responds, “Over there— there’s a jug of water on the table still.”

“…And?”

“I will go and find a cloth?”

The careful question in his tone is so sweet. You’re not sure if he intended to stain your skin like this before the lust took over him. What a fool for you. Enough to barely ever think of the consequences, be they big or small.

In this sense, you could say that falling for you happened without a single thought for him, too, didn’t it?

He was chasing a different plan. Didn’t fathom that he was losing himself in you. And when he did, he didn’t consider the aftereffects and the risks of what his uncle had come up with; Jungkook didn’t care much about anything at all but being with you.

He’s told you many times.

Back when you hid in that room, or touched in the carriage — in those fleeting moments, the future didn’t consist of what his relatives needed, but of what he could give to you. Who he could be to you.

In hindsight, he was so in love with you. Looking at your relationship, you can’t compare the affection you started out with for each other with the overload of passion now, but… goddamn, he was so in love with you. You know.

And the truth is that no matter what obstacles life may place on your road ahead, neither of you will love the other less than the minute before.

You laugh when you meet his big, brown eyes, asking, “Is there any cloth in this room?”

“I… I think I brought one before. Should be on the table…”

“Might be good enough.”

“Or I can get one from the kitchen.”

You scoff. “You want to sneak around the mansion now? Really?” You lift your upper body, balancing it on your arms, catching him as he licks his lips at the sight of your bouncing tits. You nod towards the table. “That will do. Go and free me from your stuff.”

“Tsk. Good.”

You were right; his idea sufficed. And the kids are still asleep — a double win for you. In theory, you’re ready to crash for the night, succumbing to fatigue. But the truth is that only your body feels spent; your brain doesn’t just yet.

So as Jungkook wipes over the flesh of your ass, you confess, “I’m still not tired enough.”

“Mmmh, me neither.”

“…So what now?”

He falls back to his side with another grunt, throwing the dirty cloth to the floor. You reach out, grazing his chest, playing with the cotton he’s still sporting. He probably knows what you’re hinting at, despite being already battered, but he ignores your advances just to—

“Mh-mh,” he rejects, “I want to talk. I just… I need to hear your voice for a bit.” He stops the finger on his chest, raising your hand to his lips, and kisses each knuckle. Dramatically, he adds, “What would I do without your voice?”

You ponder. Then jest, “Still hear it in your mind somewhere.”

“Yes, very true. I still always do in the office.”

You laugh, so gripped by the emotions stuck to your heart. “So, what would you like me to say?” He shrugs, an indicator for, “Anything.” So you ask, “Would you like me to tell you a story?”

“Yes… story. Yes, tell me one.”

“I can think of one right away. Sort of a lullaby.”

“So it’s got to be a good one,” he says as he covers you with the thick blanket. An arm over you pulls you closer to him. “Right?”

Your eyes drift to the window. You’re lucky, sleeping in a bedroom with a view. Jungkook’s office has one, too, but Hana’s room, while next door, doesn’t. You’re at the far end of the corridor and this mansion’s wing, risking much, so exposed.

Perhaps you’ll move your room to a safer place in the mansion soon. But for now, you’re grateful for the sky, the stars, the moon. The pouring cloudburst.

Jungkook might have caught your distraction; because he wraps one of your hair strands around his finger, inquiring, “May I guess?… Is it a story about the fall and the rain?”

Your lips twitch upward to a smile. Flooded by past pictures, you refuse to end the night, preparing for a concluding tale as you say—

“How did you know?”

When it knocks at your chamber door the next sunrise, you could swear you haven’t slept more than a handful of hours. The exhaustion weighs on your eyes and muscles, body limp as you stir awake. Your voice is still hoarse.

So you’re startled.

Not just because it’s early or because of the interrupted, peaceful slumber; and not just because there’s a knock at the grand, adorned door, either. In reality, it occurs regularly — for Jungkook and his work, or to remind you of your children’s riding and violin lessons, or to inform you of the arrival of guests.

This time it’s the latter. Yet, you’re alarmed, not even because of the guest, but because it’s Sunday, and you don’t usually expect a visitor on Sundays — unless, perhaps, something is transpiring down in the village that needs your urgent assistance.

But — these things are rare. People here regard it as their rest day, too. It’s why you wake up drowsy and confused, ready to sleep the fatigue off and hoping it’s nothing too grave. Squinting an eye shut, you glance at the longcase clock in the corner of your room.

Seven in the morning.

You register a mumble of a voice next to you, low and gravelly, welcoming the staff inside who, a second later, informs, “Visitor for you, Lord Jeon.”

Jungkook sighs. A hand emerges from under the heavy, floral blanket, rubbing his tired, puffy eyes. He hums in gratitude, telling the informant he’d be downstairs in a minute; and when the young man has stepped away, Jungkook half turns to you.

His voice is still husky and half asleep when he gently wipes a strand behind your ear and says, “Go back to sleep. Might be Byun for the boxing ring. I should be back in a little.”

You only nod, moving his cradling hand with it. You can barely speak, fighting the urge to yawn. Frankly, you wouldn’t know what you’d be uttering anyway, though your mind is still present enough to understand that he’s kissing your knuckles and then leaving his side empty.

Falling back into the mattress, you once again hope for a speedy get-together on the floor down below; but when you awake again, the clock indicates the passing of over a full hour. The bed is still half vacant.

You wonder what’s going on, gradually cracking your eyes open to the ceiling until your brain fathoms well enough that a meeting this early shouldn’t take so long, and that anyway, there’s no reason for a business visitor to come by this soon into the day.

So you clear your throat, sitting up at the edge of the bed. You wrap yourself in your gown and your silk coat, arms folded as if to protect yourself. It’s just cold; a chill autumn day.

And as you walk down the staircase, you hear faint chattering from the main hall, like a tiny whisper from here. There’s only some staff in the welcoming hallway, but they’re guarding the parlour. That’s where the voices are coming from.

Nobody hinders you from entering the room when you do. Of course not; there’s no reason to.

But the atmosphere is still oddly charged when you step in, meeting Jungkook’s pale face from afar. You blame it on the sleepless night, just as much as the somewhat dark circles under his eyes.

Still, it gets weirder as you near; because he’s looking at somebody who has their back turned to you. A woman with long black hair, gazing down; and when Jungkook detects you, he looks terrified.

Uprighting himself, blinking, drawing a breath too deep to not worry.

You automatically assume the worst; bad news from the city? Some issues in the village? Or a girl trying her charm on your husband? Wouldn’t be the first time.

You round the chair she made herself comfortable on; and your surprise increases, skyrocketing when you notice that she didn’t come alone. There’s a child next to her. Proper and sweet, certainly older than Hana.

His hands are neatly folded in his lap, hair combed back. He’s just listening, it seems, to whatever they spoke about. And his face… his face looks familiar somehow; as does the girl’s, yet in an entirely different way.

“Good morning,” you greet the woman and she responds with a nod. “Is everything alright?” you finally ask, turning to Jungkook, a hand on his shoulder. “You didn’t come back.”

But Jungkook doesn’t answer. Your heart grows a little more wary. Because, why is he so speechless? Why does he look scared, eyes wide, chest risen, as if he’s holding his breath? Blinking faster.

The woman is back to staring at her legs, shifting her hand to grip the little one next to her; and the boy looks like he doesn’t want to be here at all. At the same time, however, he starts to admire the fancy interior of your mansion.

The lustre, the floor, the table, the chairs. Everything you’ve grown used to.

“What is wrong?” you try again. Panic watered by Jungkook’s lack of response, you gulp, but still steady yourself and remain polite. “May I ask… who are you?”

You’re looking at the woman again. She glances up to you. She’s gorgeous — full and curved lips, light brown eyes, pitch black hair. Looks young; about your age. She doesn’t answer, but Jungkook’s quivering voice does.

“This is Jihyo, darling.”

Well, alright. Doesn’t tell you much. You’ve seen her, maybe even heard the name, you think. Is she from your town? But you can’t assign her any significance…

“What does this mean?” you inquire.

“She… She wanted to talk to me,” he explains, “she came all the way from a village close to our hometown.”

“Ah. To say what, exactly?”

You don’t want to sound agitated; but the suspense is growing unnecessarily, and you want whatever truth out. And honestly—

The tension forms a little something in your head. Not enough time has passed for him to properly answer, but you still repeat, “To say what?!”

You feel like you have a hunch… you’re starting to come up with theories. And the worst of them dizzy you, make you want to yell and throw up, tempting you to smash a nearby vase.

Did he… could he do this to you…

No. 

“Jihyo and I knew each other… way before you and I got married. Way before.”

He echoes the last two words as if to reassure you; like the verbal equivalent of a soft hand on your back, rubbing you in comfort. But… the tactic doesn’t quite bear fruits. Your chest tightens more; the fatigue of the morning eventually fades.

“And?” you prompt, regarding her. “Why aren’t you saying anything then?”

“I have… to him. I—I do not quite know if it is my place to—”

“No, it is not,” you interrupt, “maybe you’re right. My husband should explain, no?”

But he’s stuttering as much as her. You don’t lose your patience often with him, or with people for that matter. You’re a cheerful person, fuelled by the miracles of the world. But…

This is pulling out your worst self.

“I—” he starts.

Terrified. What the hell is going on? You wait — wait more as he swallows. And then, when he drops the explanation, your heart falls with it. Bursts, plummeting from such a height.

“Jihyo and I met for a while and… she just came and told me that this… he’s—”

You understand.

You understand immediately because your guts warned you the moment you saw his expression. You look back and forth between him, her and the child, realising the similarities once and for all, well aware from experience why similarities are a thing in a family and…

You can barely hear yourself emit the words once they tumble out; like your voice isn’t your voice, and your thoughts aren’t your thoughts, “This… is your son?”

Like you’re living somebody else’s day who’s about to trudge through a life-changing, agonising event. Because this can’t be happening to you. Actually, it’s not sinking in at all; you’re fantasising, and you refuse to believe reality. 

“Jihyo says he is my son,” he paraphrases, as if he doesn’t really believe her, either, “he’s uhm. He’s six years old.”

Your mind begins to calculate immediately. Sudden dread fills you — because wait. Weren’t you together at that time? Did Jungkook hide from you, lingering in the dark, and yet another past is catching up to the two of you?

No. Hold on once more.

You got married to him five years ago. Were engaged and together for a year before. That makes six. You curl in the fingers in your mind, keeping up your math.

It’s been wrong all along, so you need to be correct this time.

Okay, so, if her — no, his, their son was born six years ago, it’d mean that Jungkook had been with her not too long before you. That’s not way before you got married, is it?

Your breath hitches. You blink the way he did before — not sure what to do or say. Your eyes move over to the rosy cheeks of the child again. He looks so innocent, still clueless, even though he perfectly understands what Jungkook just said.

Who the man is to him.

Of course. Same doe eyes, button nose, shape of face; like a damn copy. Not that the truth hurts enough, no — it had to be accompanied by another of his faces. Not in your own sons, somewhat in your daughter, but in him.

But you guess everybody is confused.

Even Jungkook. Most of all Jungkook, right?

Jihyo says he is my son.

Why? Does he not realise it?

That must mean he didn’t know, did he? And the child didn’t know either.

Jeon Jungkook, your husband of half a decade, has a son he never knew of. Older than Hana. Predating all of your history with him, alive and a toddler already back when you so profoundly believed that you were the first to share this very bond with this man.

To be the first for him at least once. But…

You’re not.

“Say something,” you hear him plead.

His voice is a little farther away. Your eyes drift back to him; he looks miserable, a hand reaching out. His fingers graze the tip of yours, but you retract in time. He sighs in absolute sorrow, face falling, as if his chest is surrendering.

You barely whisper when you answer, “What do you want me to say?”

It’s him and you; the woman is quiet, and you’re shattering. She can’t do anything anyway. Only contorts her face in pure guilt when Jungkook, defeated to the core, begs, “Anything.”

“As you wish.” Another glance at her. She’s looking at you, too. “Why are you here now?”

Her eyebrows raise; she’s caught off guard, but she still has an answer ready. Of course; Jungkook heard all of it minutes before you are, so it must be easy.

“I… I haven’t been doing well. The man I was supposed to marry left when he found out I carried somebody else’s child… even— even before that, actually.” Jungkook breathes air through his lips as she explains; you can’t tell why. “And I need help. Any help.”

“I see… And you couldn’t come years earlier, I assume? When I didn’t have three children of my own?” You lift the corresponding number; your cheeks are fiery hot. “When there was nobody I’d have to explain this to? How…”

You shake your head, disgusted with your attitude, but more devastated by the situation. So you spit, “How selfish are you?”

Her mesmerising eyes are so big; with her and Jungkook’s lives combined, their son could only end up with these grossly sweet eyes, pupils fracturing your heart. She’s looking at you as if you’re about to eat her.

Then she apologises, “I’m sorry… I tried to get by for as long as I could.”

“Didn’t you know we have a family?!”

“I knew! I— Of course I knew.”

Jungkook is royalty; people in your city know the two of you. Know your story. You wonder what this will do to you both.

“And,” you continue, “you still thought it’d be a good idea to bring chaos to our home.”

“I did not wish for this at all,” she defends, “I felt terrible all the while, and… I was so desperate, please try to understand. I need something, anything and… If his father can provide any of it in any way…” 

His father… his father…

You might spiral. The same thoughts circle your head at a pace that might make you faint.

This woman. This child. And his father.

You can’t breathe.

So you don’t respond to the sheer idiocy she just uttered, still in disbelief; the denial will be over in a minute. But for now, it hurts and you’re confused and absolutely out of touch with reality, and… fuck, your stomach—

You put a palm to your chest; the rise and fall is heavy. And just as he calls your name, you bolt away.

Just a second before you once again feel his fleeting digits miss your wrist, a lingering ghost touch as you run.

The first instinct your feet follow leads you to Jungkook’s office.

Somewhere in a corner of the mansion, you have your own chamber, dedicated to your time and your moments; but somehow, you still land in a room drenched in the scent you’re fleeing from.

And it’s counterproductive, the way you’re moving. Fast enough to dim his calls, but slow enough for him to catch up, too. Like you want him to follow. You know he’d find you even if he wasn’t hot on your trail, because you like to hide there.

But on other days, it’s you finding solace in him, not away from him.

You’re dizzy, deeply breathing when you shut the door behind you, both palms on the heavy door. You keep them there as if they could guard you from the disaster outside. But they don’t. None of it might.

Because he’s still right there, busting your glass heart when you hear steps outside, nearing; closer, too close, the corresponding voice hesitating for not a moment—

“Open… open, please.”

And suddenly, you’re crying.

There is no warning, no quiet tear falling, no steady progress. The stream of shock and grief is immediate, and it leaves your eyes, passes your cheeks, collects at your chin so fast that you barely notice the door blurring.

You’re sobbing; your forehead collides with the cold of the door, the carvings unpleasant against your skin. Where are your kids? They must still be asleep. Or maybe somebody is already — hopefully — taking care of them.

Jaehyuk gets all moody when Jungkook or you stay away for too long. You don’t think he should be this attached to you, to not learn to trust others. But trust is fragile and the child seems to know and… and… you know as well. You wish you could be as oblivious as him, though.

The world doesn’t work that way. No, it’s cruel and painful and everything good spoils someday, becomes rotten.

Doesn’t it?

Why does the voice on the other side cut you in pieces?

God. You want to return to your children. You want back to what you had last night; you crave their warmth, and his warmth. Of your children, his children.

But wouldn’t it remind you again? That the number isn’t uneven as you thought. That there’s more out there; he has more pieces out there that you’re not part of and… fuck. Fuck.

“I d-do not want to,” you finally reply, stuttering, words cut.

He silences. Maybe because he can hear you weeping. But he tries again, “Please… open.”

You shake your head against the door, but you know such a choice won’t lead anywhere. He’ll stay right there and you’ll keep telling him to leave, and despite his guest downstairs, he’ll persist.

So your hands sneak to the handle, weakened by the shaking. Jungkook doesn’t barge in until the door cracks open a slit; and when he steps into the room, you tumble back, out of his reach.

You don’t want his embrace. You don’t need his arms.

No, that’s a lie.

You do, but you can’t brave them right now. Body weightless, you rely on your voice, stating, “You never told me.”

His face is fallen, cheeks rounder when he looks to his feet. They’re flushed; the hue is so different from what you’re used to seeing. It’s always accompanied by a smile and crinkles around his eyes, sometimes shy, sometimes delighted.

This time it’s something else. Embarrassment and guilt and pain.

There’s a crease between his eyebrows, smoother due to your quiet tone; but it’s still there, distressed. Pained when he admits, “I didn’t know. I didn’t know a thing.”

“Who is she?”

He knows that, at least. You need to move away from pointless questions and throw those that you’re certain he possesses knowledge about.

He says, “She’s somebody I knew… so long ago.”

A thought after another creeps into your head, like a parasite, feeding on your sanity. You feel crazy and sick when a horrifying idea makes its way through, but you can’t resist the question regardless of the answer.

“Was she… was she one of the people you tried things with? To escape town…”

“No… she wasn’t part of any of this.”

And you cannot say if this is better or worse than what you expected. He wasn’t as terrible as to try with this many women. But if she wasn’t part of that stupid plot, and you were, does this place her higher in worth than you?

You weren’t good enough to be approached without a deal. To be fallen in love with unintentionally. But she was something else. It seems there was something, right?

But he’s with you. He chose you. You’re his wife, the woman he spends his days with, the only thought in his head. He’s loved you throughout the years; he’s devoted to you like the moon to the stars, not to her.

And he’s standing here, his eyes begging, his fingers quivering. You’re the subject of his desire and the name in his heart; he never even mentioned her. Fuck, he breathes for you… but you can’t seem to breathe.

You’re the mother of his children, yes. But so is she.

“Did you… did you get with my sister or me to forget about her?”

Fuck, you’re breathless. Why are you breaking like this? Why does the moment feel like this? When is it going to be over? Will you wake up easier?

“No…” he says, shaking his head immediately, “no. You know how it started. It had nothing to do with her, just with him…”

“So what?!” you spit, unable to contain yourself, somehow not affected enough by the big, sad eyes, pleading and fearing. “Who was she?”

It hurts. It hurts not only because of the obvious circumstances but — your love was born out of a facade, out of a lie. Even if he loves you genuinely now, even if you’d die for him without hesitation — the two of you happened as part of a different purpose.

But she never did.

She was real. Whatever he had with her or felt for her, it stemmed out of something authentic.

Your face heats up when you inquire, “…Did you love her?”

“I…” He hesitates. Fucking hesitates. But then says, “I didn’t.”

“You’re lying.”

You don’t know if he is. You can usually tell; this seems a little more complicated. One, you’re clouded by your own judgement. Second, the situation isn’t easy; Jihyo so obviously belongs to parts of his history.

Jungkook insists again, “I didn’t love her.”

“But you felt something.”

“I don’t know,” comes back, and something inside you falls, even if it shouldn’t, even if you had nothing to do with whatever was before you came along. You hate it, but you can’t stop yourself from plummeting face-forward into pain when he says, “But she was nowhere close to where you are now. Or where you were even back then.”

Can you believe this? The but pierces through you, repeating in your mind, as if saying, “No, she was less than you, but still something.” How do you know none of it will return with a child present in his life?

“But she was enough for a child,” you retort, “and… I don’t know how careful you were with others, too…”

“I was. I was careful.”

“But not with her!”

He doesn’t respond. This isn’t you; you don’t make others feel bad. You endorse empathy and joy. No, this isn’t you and it frightens you. If you had it in you right now, you’d take him into your arms. He’d deserve it, considering that he’s as surprised as you, falling as much as you.

Suffering like you.

But your thoughts are going haywire, and they keep falling out, “I thought I was the first one. I wanted our children to be our first—”

“I thought so, too,” he defends, “it’s what I would have preferred, baby, I… If I could just…” He gulps; it’s as if you can hear it from afar, in this quiet, empty room. There’s a pause between his words before he steps closer, whispering, “Please, I love you—”

“No, I…” You back away again. Shield yourself. You can’t take a single touch right now.

“Can we mend this?” Jungkook asks; the question splits you in half.

Because what could you do, really? This very real fact looms over you, might do so forever.

“Mend what?” you echo. “That you have a child with another woman? What is there to mend? This is reality and you cannot undo it.”

When you look closely enough, his eyes shimmer with tears, too. The sparse sunlight seeping through the windows for the first time in hours upon hours highlights the glimmer, but there’s nothing soft about it. You recognise dread in it.

Jungkook has been abandoned before, and ever since he married you, he’s been just as afraid, too. It took months and years for the two of you to find a remedy, to decrease the terror. To make him trust your presence entirely. To help him understand that you’re here.

Now, by the looks of it, it seems he isn’t sure anymore.

He tries again, desperate, out of his mind, “Just somehow. Somehow, we can fix this, right?”

“Fix what, Jungkook…?”

“Please.”

You’re moving in circles. He keeps imploring you to reconsider, and you remain clueless about what exactly he’s begging for. You just want to know where this is going. Who she is. Who she was. 

“Please what…” you whisper, eyes drifting to the ground. “What are we going to do about it, Jungkook? It’s important to think about, right…? Who was she to you?”

Who she was?

Jungkook’s memory is fragmented.

Pieces of what she really used to be to him evaporated long ago, just when he turned to look at her properly for the very last time on that warm early summer night. Back then, her smile was fake, apologetic, as if she’d committed an unforgivable crime.

As if sorry for wasting his time, for hurting him, for watching him leave when she wished for him to stay a little longer.

A similarly sad smile, yet so different in nature, appeared when she greeted him so gently in the hallway today. He was frozen in the staircase, stuck on that damn smile that haunted him for weeks and months back then, trying to understand whether she was actually here.

Wondered how he could make her disappear again. It wouldn’t fare well with how he lives his life with you now, he already knew. She was interfering.

And… the familiar smile told him she wasn’t here to deliver any good news. And even though he doesn’t remember it all anymore, he hated how the expression brought back the flood of past images.

The first fuzzy image was of a smile, too, albeit incredibly faded. More optimistic, tender. Enthusiastic, craving the solace and joy of the night as much as Jungkook had.

She stood on the far opposite side of the spacious hall back then; even through the dancing couples, he could see her gleaming, absorbed in a conversation with her dearest friends.

Jungkook had seen her before; perhaps once or twice, but he could barely remember her face. It was as if he was actually looking at her for the first time that night. He didn’t think she generally attended too many parties; and when they’d crossed paths before, they’d probably been a little younger.

He just…

He couldn’t remember her being this striking.

He couldn’t recall the dimples or the vibrant smile or the sparkle in her large eyes. Far away in the room, Jungkook lightly bit his lip as he observed, cocking an eyebrow when she gasped to something her friend had said.

As if he was standing next to her and hearing it, too. Mimicking her reaction, caught in a bubble.

And it took her a little to notice him, too. But when she did, her friends’ eyes followed, an immediate elbow teasing her sides as much as their words. Jungkook could only imagine what they were saying.

What are you looking at?

Is it your turn already? With him, yes?

Oh, and the season has barely begun!

He could read parts of it off their lips. Lifted his ego a little. But he averted his eyes nevertheless, despite the resistance in his movements, only to shift back every now and then.

To his chagrin, the night didn’t offer too many opportunities to near where she stood, but as the event snuck to its end, at least a sliver of hope twinkled, even for just a minute. Approaching the carriages at the same time, he found her waiting not too far from him.

Her family was missing just like his; but he was comfortable here, staring at the sky, breathing in the late spring breeze. But her gown, while heavy, wasn’t accompanied by a shawl, her arms bare.

He used the chance to ask, “Aren’t you cold?”

She stared up in surprise, not quite expecting a conversation. Yet, smoothly, and either bold or courageous or sweet, she answered with a confidence so enticing, “Hmmm, no. I guess I felt warmed enough throughout the night.”

Interesting. So very interesting.

Jungkook’s lips twitched upwards, an enthralled smile; his voice sounded somewhat different when he asked, “Is that so?”

“Mhm. I’ll thank you another day, though.”

Behind her, her folks neared, and he looked ahead and then down, smile still plastered to his face. Even when she’d left, the sparkle remained in his eyes.

That was it for now.

Jungkook’s and Jihyo’s paths crossed again merely a week later. He understood in that time apart that the tiny interaction had caught him somehow; he was relieved when he saw her again at the next party.

Brave, he joined her where she stood, scanning the finger food before settling on some tartelettes. He’d been hopeful throughout these days, yes, but Jihyo didn’t show her face too often; so he didn’t lie when he confessed, “I didn’t expect you here.”

“Well…” she answered, “I hoped to see you. I told you I’d want to thank you.”

“Mhhh, I’m still not sure what for, though.”

She shrugged her shoulders, smile so vibrant. “It was a pleasant night. I felt warm throughout.”

She’d said the same thing last time, waiting at the carriage, moonlit and breathtaking. He smirked a little, satisfied by the flow of the dialogue; then argued, “But it is the summer season. Heat is all that is ahead.”

“…Isn’t it?”

Something stirred in Jungkook. He wouldn’t analyse her words on other days, but her expression was telling. Made him fearless, whirling his mind as he asked, “Have you explored this place yet?”

“No. I never get to do so much. But,” she said enthusiastically, licking cream off her snack. Jungkook couldn’t look away. “I wouldn’t mind walking around. It is hotter inside anyway.”

And matching her fierce response from before, Jungkook added, “…I doubt it.”

He was right. She’d prove it quick minutes later. In the backyard, stopping in the middle of their walk, he felt the warmth, the heat when she pushed him into an empty corner, lips crashing against his.

Jungkook’s blood scorched indeed; the outside wasn’t cooler. In fact, it burned. He burned. And she burned, too. Her skin, her shoulder, the mounds of her breasts underneath the dress that he pulled down.

There wasn’t any room or chance to proceed too far, but somehow, Jungkook was content with this.

It made him crave harder; and he enjoyed the feeling. The temptation. The yearning for all he hadn’t yet seen, yet felt. He hungered for her; she was the opposite of what the world held, brought him excitement.

Today, he doesn’t know if it was this very exhilaration or the need for distraction or something else that dragged him back to her over and over again. He recalls his heart nervously jumping, but he can’t recall it blooming. Never the way it did with you. Never.

But she still evoked something different. Reprieve from his days, his sorrows, the grief in his big, old home.

He never told her any of this, but he assumes she saw. Sometimes, she’d raise his chin when they met in private, mouth breathing close to his, asking if something was wrong. He’d deny. He’d dive into her eyes and lips instead, forget about it all, enjoy her empathy.

She’d somehow worry, he thought, and then kiss him, tell him it was alright, no matter what it was. That she was there. And he’d appreciate it. Would like the warmth, the care.

And still, he’d go home to tears, suffer all over again. But when he fell asleep, he’d think of her, forbidding the last thought of the night to be anything dreadful, anything but the same pretty smile.

She offered madness. She offered humour, sweetness, and most of all, relief.

Jihyo always refused to walk around town. She never hesitated to decline his offers.

Jungkook was alright with this; didn’t question her rejection at first; he didn’t know what the two of them were, anyway. There were fuzzy feelings somewhere, something twinkling in his mind and his guts and his chest.

He didn’t think love felt this way, however.

He regarded love as a much stronger sentiment than what they had. What was it that they indulged in anyway? Ablaze days and nights, baring themselves behind locked doors, lips on her skin, her sides, her waist, her flesh. Hands on, under, between her legs.

The digits would dig into her hips and remain; his tongue tasted her up, up and down, in and out. Taking in her scent, lapping her up, showing her new things. Body against body. Buried in her, glued to her — could that be love? No.

It was just that, wasn’t it? Yes, he’d stopped meeting other women. Yes, he’d be distracted at events.

He would spend his time with his boys, but let his mind and eyes travel far from them; even the presences hiding in those halls that he’d usually mock or annoy or disregard, projecting his own insecurities onto them, dulled.

Jihyo was beautiful. Jihyo captured focus. And he called Jihyo’s name until he even muttered it when alone; she breathed it until he could only hear his own name in her voice.

But.

It wasn’t love. Even today, he knows it never was.

Yet, even then, he could imagine this for a while. If he couldn’t love her now, he thought, maybe he could love her some day. He couldn’t tell, but he could imagine it. Who knew? 

Then again, it seemed he would never find out, anyway.

Some days, some time later, Jungkook eventually started thinking how odd it was that Jihyo never wanted to go out. To tell somebody about them; would it be so bad?

He presumed it was because she didn’t want others to know. He understood, truly; at an age where people would pressure one into obligations just when they saw others together, he didn’t want them to rumour yet.

Then again, Jihyo and he were connected somehow; sometimes he thought that was enough, too. Deep under the sheets so often, sharing stories sometimes, and perhaps they weren’t for the public to hear.

And there was something mysterious about them that nobody would understand, anyway. He couldn’t wrap his finger around the mystical nature of the two of them, but he started to understand she had him good.

Yet…

Yet. Something was wrong with her. So entirely wrong when she’d keep him hidden in rented rooms or in the dead dark of the night.

When she’d refuse his offer to promenade through the park, be fully against his invitations on some days without a proper reason at all. Or, when she’d skip events that she promised to attend, and then told him she hadn’t been sick — just not in the mood.

And one day, he decided to ask.

A very futile intention; the urge to ask was quickly overshadowed by kisses too intense. He already wanted to see her again even before the evening was over, no matter what she’d answer. He was already dreaming of her body, despite towering over it right now.

Would these dreams ever stop?

His nights were sleepless anyway, just like this approaching one. Hands on his own skin, today replaced by her, pumping and fondling. All over him when he climbed onto her and pushed in again.

He couldn’t free himself of the itch she caused just yet; kept scratching. Then again, he was so clueless about who she was at this very moment. Fond of her, but confused, too.

Aware of how much he thought of her, but having no issues retorting things snarkily, like when she mumbled underneath him, “You can’t live without me,” and he effortlessly rose from her neck, swollen lips answering, “Oh, I can.”

And he could. They were confusing in nature, but he knew that he could.

Because she was veiling something that he thought might distance her from him, so he started keeping himself mentally distanced either way. Even though it proved harder these days.

But the two of them were still something. They got along; there was humour in this, attraction and fire. And he felt heavenly inside her every damn time.

In the midst of it, he told her, “We could try harder.”

Perhaps she misunderstood; perhaps she couldn’t read his eyes and his tone yet, because she pulled him closer, deeper. He let her. Wouldn’t voice these thoughts properly again until he dropped next to her and said, “I like spending time with you. And I want to try more.”

He didn’t notice right away — her hesitation, her silence.

It took a second to even look at her; and when he did, he recognised the sudden guilt in her eyes instantly. Remorse, pain. Like he’d just broken something with his idea that she’d kept whole. Only now, she couldn’t save it anymore.

He didn’t know what it was, so he wondered, “What is it?”

“I…”

Then again, it wasn’t hard to figure out anyway. He deduced, “…You don’t want it.”

“It’s… not that I don’t want it.”

“I mean. It’s alright, you see? We aren’t this far, so if you want to reject this, I do understand. I will live.”

“I might have to reject it… you, Jungkook,” she confessed, and he had to admit that he wasn’t overly enjoying what he was hearing, “not because I want to, but it’s…”

And the universe had cruel ways of interrupting. Always.

Because her words halted somewhere between him and her and then vanished into thin air. Cut by strong, arhythmic knocks at the door. The sudden interjection startled them, dropped the quiet hearts into the pit of their stomachs.

As the door worked on being unlocked, she whispered a tiny, anxious, “Please… you might get hurt.”

And Jungkook understood; jumped off the bed, slipping into his trousers within seconds before dashing to the back. The wardrobe was empty, ideal to hide; it’s what he knew she wanted, for him to stay anonymous.

Jihyo, still bare, sat up on the bed, and Jungkook, in the dark with only a gap to observe the outside happenings, waited. Waited until the door opened. Until a man, more or less a stranger to him, only minimally familiar, stormed in with furious eyes.

He didn’t stall a second before his anger ambushed her. Jungkook’s fingers tingled to crash the door of the wardrobe open; even from here, it was abundantly clear that the man struggled to not hurt her.

But right now, he relied on the fury in his tone; Jungkook assumed it was a brother or friend raging about her indecent behaviour. But it soon became all too obvious that he wasn’t. Somebody of such a relationship doesn’t snap like this.

No, Jungkook understood. Knew what the issue was when the man asked, “So you’ve started getting naked for others? Is that it now? That’s what you whore have been doing?”

For others…

She tried, “Listen, I—”

But he cut her off, “No! I promised you everything. Why do you despise me so much? You couldn’t wait for us to be wed, but needed to satisfy your needs elsewhere? Why do you despise me, huh?”

Jihyo didn’t hear much of what he said, zeroing in on specific statements, and whispered, “You do not give me everything. Not even close.”

Fuck.

If it wasn’t clear already… Jungkook’s mind spun.

Jihyo was promised to somebody else and was using Jungkook with a purpose and intention, as a means of fulfilling whatever she needed to fulfil. And he— he was the homewrecker, the third wheel, not her focus the way she was his focus.

Despite the mistakes he’d ever made, despite his damn flaws, he never wanted this.

What was he? A placeholder? Thrown aside the moment she’d marry him? Why was it that Jungkook’s existence was regarded as something so low, stomped beneath people’s feet, like he was nothing at all?

Who knew? There wasn’t even a second to think about it, to ask about it.

Priorities shifted, inquiries shoved away; when the man reached low, snatching a patch of her hair to pull her off the bed, sirens chimed in Jungkook’s head. It still mattered to him, not seeing her hurt; but his instincts were deep-rooted.

Nobody, including Jihyo, should have to experience this.

So Jungkook pushed the door open, met with a gasp, surprise and wrath. The man didn’t need to ask who he was or what he was doing here; he knew immediately, more than cognisant of the wretched situation.

Jungkook was ready to throw some insult onto him, words already on his lips, arms reaching out to defend her. But he didn’t need to; the guy had already let her go, taking a swing within a second before his fist landed on Jungkook’s jaw.

It could’ve been worse; he could’ve broken it. Jungkook knew right away that the damage wasn’t as terrible as it had the potential to be.

But his tongue still felt warm, tasted metallic. He took a deep breath through his nose, dizzy for a moment, still sane enough to hear the stranger say, “You can have the slut.”

There was another blob of disgust landing on Jungkook’s face; no doubt that the man bid him farewell with one last literal spit on Jungkook’s cheek. Then, the door fell into its lock, and it got quiet again.

Or… not quite.

Jungkook lacked words; there was nothing to say anyway. He was the culprit after all.

Worried hands settled on his body; he didn’t notice how much he’d sunk to the ground, one knee hitting the floor. But when the exploring fingers touched his waist, up to his armpits and his elbows, he stood tall again.

She was trying to lift him. To check for wounds, despite the clear drops of scarlet red he was leaving on this rented room’s floor. Eyes shutting for a second, he slapped the concerned palm off his arm, dodging it when she came back with a quiet, “Jungkook…”

“Shut up.”

“Please listen—”

“Listen to fucking what? You’re…”

There was no ending to the sentence. He didn’t know what she was. A fraud, maybe. But he didn’t have it in him to insult her somehow; perhaps because she, too, was already in enough pain as it was.

When his eyes opened, they glared. To his feet, to the side, into her wet gaze. She was nearly hiccuping, but he couldn’t get himself to give into the empathy entirely; the anger simmered in the pit of his stomach, threatened to come to a full boil.

Yet, he registered when she said, “He doesn’t treat me well, he— he’s controlling. And emotionally abusive, he— please,” she grabbed his hand, but he pulled out of her grip, “I can’t marry him, not if— not if I’m scared he might raise his hand at me.”

“Then don’t fucking marry him. You have this choice,” Jungkook said, spitting into the corner; the colour was disgusting. “Controlling and abusive, however? You sound perfect for him.”

“I don’t… I can’t. I can’t stay with him, but I— I could stay with you. I would.”

Jungkook scoffed. She had to be joking. Undoubtedly; there was nothing in him capable of believing she meant this. Not when she’d refused just this idea mere minutes ago.

He shook his head; he wouldn’t have any of this. Even if she left this man… even then…

He couldn’t do this because she made him do something so easily that he abhorred. He’d seen the love between his father and his mother before, and then witnessed the hatred between her and his uncle.

After all these years of affliction, he knew the difference between love and despise.

Knew where affection could grow, where it would wilt. Where it’d be replaced with hostility.

She wasn’t made for him; he wasn’t in the mindset for her. And he was wrong after all; he didn’t love her and he never could have.

“Please, don’t go,” she begged as he picked up his clothes, wiping his mouth on the bed sheet, ready to leave. “Please, I—”

She followed him all the way to the door; Jungkook resisted each push and pull, charging towards the exit with resolution. And when she blocked the door for too long, sobbing onto her body, he fletched his teeth, sharpened his jaw, clasped her wrist before he turned her around.

Arm pinned to her back, cheek pressing into the door, she kept crying, and then, finally, sighed. She gulped; then lowered her face, forehead to the cold of the wood, and too courageously as always pleaded, “Be with me one last time. Just… just once.”

And her tone… her voice… her curling fingers…

They tempted him. Something about this, something about her tugged him in again, like an invisible force. And for the tiniest moment, he hated himself for thinking this way. But deep inside he knew the truth.

That he still craved her. Still wanted to feel her once more. Still hungered to bury himself in deep, leaving scars and marks as if to punish her just once. But…

But he remembered. She’d turned him into somebody he wasn’t. So he couldn’t. He’d carry the regret to his grave.

So he let her go, using the moment of weakness, shoving her away slightly — she let him. She understood to give up. And he, with a coat over his shoulder, left.

A hand over the bleeding wound, and the other over his injured mouth.

If he wakes up now, you won’t be able to take it.

It was already difficult, breathing through every second of the rest of the day. Overthinking, but never quite processing the information you received. From the very moment you woke up to the story Jungkook narrated and everything that followed, the seconds have been hell.

Everything… everything—

The remaining conversations. With her, with the village bartender he expected. You don’t know how he survived any of it, functioned at all; using his brain at full capacity, reading through papers when you were sure the letters were blurring in front of his very eyes.

And how he looked at you after he was done and returned to you, reaching for your limp hand…

The hurt was prominent, your heart still reluctant, but you let him; what good would it have done to send him away? He kept coming back. Sat there for an hour until you told him to tend to his guest, to discuss whatever he needed to.

Truth was, you didn’t want him to go… but you didn’t want him near, either.

Your mind kept circling around a hundred and thousands of things. The woman sitting downstairs, fiddling and nervous, the child still next to her. Possibly bored. She’s aware of her past as much as you are, of the role she played. Of the hurt she caused.

The more you think about it, the more it pains. The more it seems like a tragedy, like an anti-fairytale. Fabricated.

So unreal.

It’s as though thinking it senseless could make it less real. You’re married to him now, but you still feel small, shrinking, insecure and hurt and unable to make any of this coherent.

You needed silence today. You wanted your mind to divert, conjure different, more pleasant thoughts, memories of better times. But this proved worse; so somehow, you ended up overthinking the situation to death.

You don’t want the children to wake up again. Hana is fast asleep, Jaehyuk dozing. It was Jaehoon’s subtle whimpering that finally shifted your attention twenty minutes ago; your arms were too weightless to carry him, but you did, swayed him, blended out your brain with his sounds.

By now, he’s already drooling over you again. You hope he stays just like this; hope Jaehyuk doesn’t notice the empty side of their crib. 

There’s something about this, the twin intuition. You had heard about it before, but it is truly fascinating, the way they communicate. You’re still baffled that Jaehyuk stayed as unmoving as he did when you pulled his brother towards you, comforting yourself with his warmth.

But you have to admit…

You’re exhausted. More so mentally than physically. Your body yearns to drop. The up and down pacing only drains you further.

You should set him into his crib again. He’s fast asleep anyway; everybody is. Just you aren’t. And your husband isn’t.

In fact, he’s not even in this room with you. Heart palpitating and chest paining, you’ve been waiting. He slipped in and out of the rooms you were in for hours, and you kept sending him away, sickened by the apologies, not even certain what exactly he was apogising for.

For having a child? For once tending to secret meetings with a woman you don’t know, ambiguous about what he felt for her? You don’t know.

And…

Honestly — your heart isn’t splintering because he made a mistake, really, did he? You and him were nothing back then. No. You’re fractured because of your own damn expectations. And because you wanted life to lead somewhere else.

You didn’t want somebody to become such a part of your love and marriage like this.

You sigh to breathe out the ache, deep from your stomach, hoping it’ll lighten the load. But it doesn’t really. Not even Jaehoon’s little hand over your chest does, his head on your shoulder, the scent of his baby hair.

And once the door to the bedchamber creaks open, you don’t feel relieved, either. Your heart stirs more, if anything. Scared your son might hear or notice, you hurry to put him down again, draping a blanket over his little body before you shut your silken robe.

Jungkook appears as if he’s lived a dozen lives in a day. His pupils have shrunk, shoulders low, hair as uncombed as in the morning. He didn’t bother; as little as you. He halts when he sees you standing in the middle of the room, surprised about the random spot you chose.

Endless affection flashes across his face, transparent yearning, as though he hasn’t seen you in days. Within a moment, the expression calms a little, and he pulls himself together enough to ask, “You are still awake, darling?”

You hold yourself tight, as if binding your body together. Clearing your throat, you say, “It’s… I don’t know if I will be able to sleep tonight.”

“…Me neither.”

“What happened?”

You gesture to the ground, referring to the parlour. She’s probably not even there anymore. She was all day; and she journeyed. She must be tired.

Jungkook explains, as if reading your mind, “Jihyo… she’s in one of the guest rooms.” You nod. He cards through his hair, continuing, “She said the guy she was supposed to marry never told anyone what had happened that night… I— I don’t know why. He never came back at all, but I figured that bit. She didn’t want him to, and I told her he shouldn’t have either way.”

He sighs; so do you. Feelings or not, you guess Jungkook has never been a bad person. It still feels odd. He then says, “And then she was abandoned by her family when they learned of her pregnancy and she wouldn’t tell anybody who the father was…”

Of course not. Somewhere, she must have cared.

“They sent her to some faraway aunt who was apparently a tyrant… and she ran away when her boy was a year old.”

Your dropped chin lifts, an immediate response forming in your mind. Your boy. Your boy, too. But you don’t spill it. In truth, you don’t even need to. As if written all over your face in big, bold letters, Jungkook sees right through you.

He halts, gives himself a moment to be sure it’s what you’re stuck on, and then tells you, “…I know but… I have no connection to him. She does. I have none at all.”

“She does, and now she’s here… actually here…”

“She’s here because it was nearly impossible to survive for her,” he insists, the tone of defence sharp and clear, “but somehow she still did. It’s gotten more difficult now, however, and—” He’s struggling more now; while some words pour out, others are whispered. Like, “As the father of her child… she says it is both our responsibility to ensure he is well. But…”

As the father of her child, as the parents of their child.

He’s not wrong; and you guess that if it wasn’t happening in your own household, you’d be much more lenient about this. You’d be nodding along, agreeing that a father should be present, that a child deserves it.

You’ve been part of an orphanage filled with lonely kids for too long to think otherwise.

But it surely is different in moments like these. You feel like a hypocrite.

“But?” you prod.

“She understands if I say no, too. I have my own family now.”

Yeah…

Did she need to tell him that? Did he know by himself; are these her or his words? You wonder…

“You say she always struggled,” you draw back to again, “why did she never reach out when she knew she was with child already?”

He rubs his eyes. Tired, his body somewhat more worn out than ever. Barely looks active; the shoulders are in an entirely new position. Or no… not new. You’ve seen it before — it’s just been years now.

“She thought I wouldn’t bother,” he says, “she thought… I’d abandoned her once and for all. Which I reckon I did.”

“And…” You’re scared to ask. You swallow. “Would you have aided her? If you’d known.”

He quietens. You’re not too fond of the hesitation loudening the silence. You know he’s thinking, eyes unfocused, imagining the scenario you narrated without probably really wanting to. You brought this to yourself, so you’ll need to be patient.

And you are, until he finally concludes, “I would have… I— I would have felt like I owed this to my child. I can’t— sweetheart, it’s not my nature, please understand. I wouldn’t leave a woman alone with this if I was anyhow part of it and—”

“And… If you’d known… we wouldn’t even have happened, right?”

Jungkook shakes his head again, the movements even lazier now. You’re afraid he might drop and faint. But he breathes in, then out, uprights himself, “It doesn’t matter what would have or could have happened. I did approach you and I did fall in love with you and we did happen. Isn’t… isn’t that enough?”

You blink; then blink more. A shaky breath escapes your lips to keep your voice as steady as doable. “Yes… I assume…”

Another pause. More stalling until the thoughts previously forming in your head become less of a tangled, messy garn and get clearer. You just do not know how to voice them; to keep the man who brought stars down to the ground to you whole.

You don’t want to hurt him. But you don’t understand how to handle the next few days any other way.

But you don’t say it yet. You wait. Listen as he begs, “Please tell me… tell me what you’re thinking. I don’t know what to do.”

You lie, “I don’t know, either, Jungkook.”

His strong hands get ahold of tufts of his hair again, butchering his mane more. The gesture isn’t aggressive, but he still looks so out of his goddamn mind. Desperately, he steps closer, breathing, “You know that I love you, yes?”

…You’ve seen needles at your seamstress’ place before. They always strike you as effective, professional. Sharp. The sting you feel reminds you of when her needle digs into fabric. Perhaps worse.

Perhaps it’ll turn into a sword in a moment.

“Only you,” he adds, but then halts, a shake of his head correcting himself before he tries again, “no. Only you and them.” His eyes briefly dart to the crib, a reminder to lower his voice, even though the shudder makes it hard. “I haven’t thought about her in yea—”

No…

“You haven’t thought about her once?” you interrupt. It’s one of the things your derailing mind tried to convince you of today. That she never really disappeared. “The woman you were involved with like this… you never ever thought of her or regarded her important enough to tell me about her? To think about her?”

And now he’s confused. Why do you keep asking questions? You’re your own worst enemy, really. Then again, how does one stop this toxic curiosity from overflowing in a moment like this?

“I don’t know,” he admits. Not a needle anymore… “She might have crossed my mind as somebody who once existed in my life. Not in a romantic manner. Nor in a yearning manner. I did not miss her, you see?”

He moves closer, hands lifting. You only now see how pale he is, his skin so close, eyes nearly lifeless, but not quite. They’re still filled with so much emotion and pain as he continues, “And I certainly did not care enough to prioritise her over you anyhow.”

Palms cradle your face. Usually so warm and comforting, they’re icy today, as if his blood has frozen in his veins. And he sounds so utterly dehydrated when he says, “She was never important enough, no…”

“I— I see.”

He waits. His breath falls on your face before he runs his tongue between his lips nervously. His waterline is damp, but holding back. You wonder when he last ate, when he last drank.

You guess he’s not as concerned about himself when he requests, “Tell me what you are thinking.”

A lot. Too much to condense into one single thought. But you still pick out one of the million swirling around and throw it out, “I am wondering… about what you will do now. I will assume you will help.”

You see how much he hates to admit it; you nearly take it back before he, however, tells you again, “I may have to.”

“And… if you do. What will it look like? Will you— I do not know. Will you meet her regularly, send her money, see the child? Build a bond? Have… have two families on either side?”

“I d-don’t think it will be like this, I—”

“How will it be then?��

His hands drop. He shuts his eyes, but opens them again a minute later. “I will provide… I might get to know him. But I do not plan on making them an integral, main part of my life. I don’t want this to come between us or have the children think wrong of me, and… you’re my priority.”

You know…

As the wife of somebody like Jungkook, you have seen the hardships that come with a traumatised mind. One that so deeply fears he will step into his family’s shoes, mimicking the misery he once experienced.

He’s been afraid of passing on generational trauma for years, and he battled the fear… you know he doesn’t want to start at zero. You don’t want it either. And you genuinely do not perceive him as a bad father; quite the opposite.

Jeon Jungkook gives his all. He loves with his all. He worships with his all.

But you still think this needs time and patience.

So you confess, “I believe you… I do. I just. I think this will change things. I cannot stop thinking about you moving back and forth, nurturing two families, and yes, I am selfish, but… I always assumed I was the only one.”

Not before. Not long ago. But now.

You would’ve been content with somebody like her being out there and never finding out about it. For the very first time in your life, you’re selfish, and it hurts, it burns, and you loathe that you cannot turn it off.

“I did, as well…” he confirms. “But you’re the only one that matters.”

“What about your son? Do you have it in you to not care?”

“He’s a child I never spoke to!” he argues, voice rising by an octave. “I just… fuck, I do not know. Baby, I… I don’t want to be a pendulum. I’m not swinging between two spaces… I will never perceive anyone as more important than you.”

“I see.”

Pause. Then, “…Please look at me.”

You feel another clump rise to your throat. It’s more dense this time, inevitable, and it affects your speech. Accompanied by something lifting to your head and making it heavier. You tell him, “I can't.”

“…Why?”

“I just can’t.”

“You ca—” He shifts, eager to bring you back to him; you’re already miles away and he knows. “Baby… Do you still love me?”

You could scoff. But you don’t; instead, you feel the liquid starting to pour. Like the rain these days, less comforting now, it drops out of your eyes. You somehow very well expected it, but the amount of the drops still surprises you.

Like a grey sky indicating a gloomy day, yet not a reliable preparation for a downpour.

Your inhale is sharp, cuts the air, and your eyebrows painfully furrow when the tears collect. You answer, “Of course I love you, I— Fuck, of course I do. It’s why this hurts so much!”

“I… I know.”

His gaze is similarly wet, suddenly an ocean, but he blinks the despair away before he crushes you in a hug. Jungkook is never afraid to cry, but restraining himself is something he’s practised for the kids… and even for you, it seems.

Shit, but— you’ve told him so many times. So many times to not hold back for you. You don’t either. You don’t either, right?

“I know,” he repeats, “I— I don’t know why these things happen, I’m—”

You shake your head against his chest, sogging his clothes as you mumble, “I can’t blame you, can I? It was your past, yes, but I wasn’t part of it, and… it’s still so much.”

“For me, too… for me as well, darling—”

“I just— I think I need distance, Jungkook.”

Wait… 

Wha—

That’s when the world stops spinning, frozen like his blood. The heart he has so gently guarded so far detaches from the rest of what lies beneath his ribs, and jumps into his throat, pounds in his ears.

The profound hope that he misheard you is needless, he already knows. He’s been hyper aware of your every movement and word today; he knows what you said and he knows he’ll have to let you. But…

“…What?”

The decision still leaves him stranded on an island. Away from this house and you and his children. Desolated, he as its lone habitant. And the image is surreal.

“I need to go away,” you elaborate again, digging deeper into the wound. Can he rewind the morning? No. You add, “Just until you have this sorted out with her and it’s done, and—”

“I have,” he carefully voices, convinced, so, so convinced, “there is nothing more to say.”

But you’re not with him just yet; you argue, “But she should stay for a little, shouldn’t she? I… I am not too fond of the scenario, but from an empathetic perspective, you should know about your son. Be in the loop…”

Yes, you do hate the idea. Yes, it contradicts your distaste for the image of him walking to and fro between families, providing and keeping her in his life. But, after all is said and done, his son will still be his son.

And you are only heartbroken, not heartless.

“I just…” you continue, gulping. “I can’t be here while she is. And I don’t want you to send her away already, either. Her journey seems to have been long and… she’s just trying to live.”

“Where… where do you want to go?”

“Home.”

The resolute tone you decide on hurts. Not because he’s against your family or your place back in the city, but because you seem to have thought it out already. That you want to leave. That you want to be away from him.

The woman that latches onto him the moment he crawls into bed after work; from the man who clutches your body throughout the night, wakes up delirious from your scent.

It stings. It burns.

“Just for a little,” you say, as if to cure the injury. “I… I need to be away.”

Jungkook’s throat is knotted up and dry. He almost doesn’t dare to ask, but he knows he’ll keep wondering when you’re gone. So he spits, “And then?”

“And then… I will see.”

Doesn’t matter anyway. He guesses that the wondering part won’t change, no matter what he inquires, no matter what you respond.

“…Why does this sound like a possible goodbye?”

He might faint. He doesn’t know how long he’ll have to be awake without you. Doesn’t know what’ll follow this disaster. Doesn’t know anything. Most of his life, he’s been haunted by this uncertainty, and he hates the return of it.

And you’re not saying anything; the moment gets worse as you close your eyes for a bit, staring down, unable to answer because you probably don’t know, either.

But…

“Please say something,” he urges, abandoning questions and pleas, diving straight into statements as if this could make them definitely true, “you… you will come back. You won’t leave after this.”

There’s agitation in your voice, merged with desperation when you speak again, “Jungkook, I can only think so far right now—”

“No, please…”

“What do you mean, pl—”

“I can’t lose you, no matter what.”

“But right now, I can’t take this either, Jungkook!” you snap. Perhaps it’s his big eyes throwing you off guard or the unknown future or the fresh hurt. Something in you breaks as your voice starts to vibrate, eyes watery. “I don’t want to be— another. And I can’t fully make you abandon them either, and… I still don’t know how to live with such a change and—”

And. And. And.

The list goes on. That’s the problem. It’s an overwhelming mess, a never ending string of thoughts. 

As the light in your eyes dims, usually so blindingly bright on other days, Jungkook’s eyes overflow. First a single drop of a tear, then half a dozen. He blinks them away, but suddenly there’s a river across his cheek, collecting to a sea at the chin.

And you look similar.

Shattered like glass. Your broken pieces are tiny; they resemble dust. God, albeit without a single intention, Jungkook has hurt the wrong person.

Desperation at the front of his tongue, he doesn’t know what to say. Nothing more to do but to revert back to pathetic begging—

“Please… don’t go.” His voice quivers, the sigh even shakier; his soft hands, the ones that held you just last night, rub his face in anger towards himself. “It’s who I used to be… I didn’t know.”

“Yes, it’s what used to happen, b–but it doesn’t hurt any less, fuck, and…”  Breathing is as hard as speaking. Your tears run again when you add, “And what if there are more? What if more of them come knocking at our door and we don’t know yet?”

His chest is rising high, falling low. Lower lip never still. You know panic is growing beneath his chest, and you want to wrap your arms around him, keep his pure heart from breaking. But what can you do?

Yours is splitting, too.

Worse when all he whispers again is, “Please don’t go.”

It’s a hopeless attempt. You know; you hear it. He’s still trying but he’s not truly expecting you to change what you decided on. Yet, you ask, “Please understand.”

He’s still not moving; but you think he understands indeed. Because he nods. Doesn’t look at you anymore. The sniffles are familiar, painful as he questions, “What about the children?”

You feared this question. The delivery of it proves harder than you thought; your tongue nearly gets tied, “I… I will leave the twins here. Travelling might be difficult with both of them when I am alone.” You look to the wall; to the little beds on the other side of the room. “Can I take Hana with me?”

You know it’s killing him as much as it is messing with you. You know what it means when he breathes in, but doesn’t argue with you as he nods again. Jeon Jungkook loves you; he loves you to every end of the universe.

And you’ll love Jeon Jungkook for the rest of your life, too, despite it all.

But this is needed.

He asks, “How long will you be away?”

“I don’t know…” you admit. “Hopefully not long.”

“I see.”

“I am sorry.”

All grand arguments end in silence or insults or apologies. There are no more words to utter. Jungkook is at a loss for hope, at the far end of a tunnel. If he could still convince you, he would; but your decision sits.

So all he manages is—

“I am, too.”

There’s a nod. Your tired eyes. You looking to the side, then to the bed, approaching it a moment later with a body falling so weightlessly. When he joins minutes later, you’re turned to the side, and he watches the back of your head, the mane falling, urging to touch it just a little.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he turns away, too. 

Until you fall asleep and for the rest of the night, you don’t feel a touch on you as you do on other days; but relying on your remaining senses, you do hear the sniffle. Do register the movements next to you.

One more time for a little, approaching while.

The place is empty when Jungkook wakes up. He’s woken up three days in a row now, and he’s never wanted to — every damn time, the place would be empty.

And he can’t breathe.

Ever since she stepped over the threshold and re-entered his life and you chose the sheer opposite, he hasn’t drawn a proper breath. This isn’t how things should be. They’re switched up, plainly wrong.

The room is empty; it has been this vacant before, but the void is yawning now, tormenting. Feels like it might never end.

A couple sunrises ago, you left with a lasting, gnawing touch. Before you stepped down the porch, your palm lay in his for a minute; despite the hurt, you still seemed to want to leave remnants of what he means to you.

Your hand was warm in his; and your eyes, albeit filled with some sort of cold distance, still carried some of the warmth, too, your gaze glassy. You were pulling yourself together so well. For him, yourself, the confused child clinging to you.

Hana thought you were visiting the grandparents out of nostalgic longing. She thought she’d be away from him for a fleeting moment. She’s too young to understand the passing of time, after all.

So she didn’t complain, but she looked dissatisfied. Unwilling to embark on this little vacation. Pouted at her father, but listened to her mother.

For her, he was keeping himself whole, too — but when your fingers slipped away from his, the heat still lingered. Like a red scald, as if he’d held his palm into a flame. Perhaps that’s what set him off.

Perhaps just as much as when the hole between your bodies widened bit by bit, and you disappeared in the distance after the carriage had engulfed you. The impulse to run after you grew consistently and rapidly, but his feet were cemented to the spot, legs stiff.

When the carriage turned, however, and only then, they carried him down. There was a faint sound in the background, like the whispering breeze of autumn, and Jungkook barely understood what it was until he realised his lips were moving.

It was him, not the wind.

Him, in a quick downward spiral, bedazzled by the lunacy and the tears obscuring the world; repeating something he knew you were already too far away to hear. You wouldn’t register any of it anymore; he hoped you’d feel it somehow.

“Please, don’t leave,” it was, wasn’t it? A desperate, “Why would you leave?”

The echoes in the mansion were suddenly much more prominent. Not just of his steps; his own voice in his head had an echo, too, but it was a lot louder, pure torture. Pressed against his ears, as if he was falling from the clouds and into burning hell.

The sounds were blocked by nothing but the wind.

This has been feeling neverending ever since. So infinite.

And maybe it’s this very horrendous fear that disables his lungs; that he might end up like this, without your touch, without your smile, without the future he drew in his mind every single day. It always, always contained you.

He loves you; he’s told you so many times, but it’s never been this apparent. And it’s drying him out, the goddamn loneliness. Blocking his throat. Shit, this place he settled on for you and his family, to give you the best life possible — its vast size is backfiring.

Because—

Fuck. Fuck. What is a spacious room good for if he can’t fucking breathe?

There isn’t anybody in here to hear him panting, surviving; he forbid it. But the loneliness dawns on him again, and he chants with tears dropping on the ground, not making any particular sense, over and over again, “Don’t leave. Please. Please don’t leave—”

As if his brain got stuck here the moment you left, playing the pleas on loop to drive him insane. His own brain is driving him insane. The betrayal is beyond belief.

He’s losing his mind; he’s well aware of this. Pondering, thinking whether the empty rooms in this mansion compete with the vacancy in his mind. Maybe not.

Because the mental rooms are plenty; his hand trembles to push down any handle on his way. There’s this long corridor, leading to these rooms, and whenever he does find the courage to open one, he finds himself in a void.

And he opens them every day, all the time. When he’s asleep. When he’s eating. When he’s wandering around, downing yet another bottle. Always hoping there are scenarios where you’re still with him, in his arms, leaving the pain behind to steer towards the same eternal love you’d been targeting before you left.

But he comes out hopeless each time. And it’s cruel, how vast the corridor is. As if his mind is deceiving him, making him believe there’s a future somewhere that you’re in… but your absence says differently.

He understands; the rooms in the mansion are empty because you’re physically gone, but the ones in his mind inhabit only him because the joyful hopes faded the moment you stepped into the carriage.

Now they’re filled with darkness and fear. What if you don’t come back? What if you do, only to deliver words he doesn’t want to hear, and then to depart again?

He hears nothing but his own voice in those rooms, and it keeps convincing him of his own barely-there worth, and that he always fucks up and that people leave and that they stay away. Convincing him that this is it.

This is how his life was supposed to go. To lift him up, but then to throw him into purgatory again  because somehow, this is what he deserves. Karmic payback.

The times he ever stops hearing these accusations and destructive statements is when other sounds interrupt them. Which has been rare, since he’s avoided conversations and social touch, except for when it was necessary and the village demanded it.

Luckily, this hasn’t been the case, and he’s been able to wither in peace.

There are still exceptions. He still has his children. He remembers; he tries. But his body is frail. Attempts its best to keep him a good father, like now.

Now, when it reacts to the incoherent call. It’s a quiet cry, a sign of waking up; Jungkook can’t remember arriving in his bedroom, but he knows exactly he’s here when he hears the sound.

Ah… right. He told the maid to get them to sleep and then bring them to their crib only ten minutes ago. He did, right? There’s been plenty his imagination has been conjuring, but the conversation feels real.

Even in a state like this, he doesn’t think he’d ever leave his children alone in this room, if he could prevent it. Sometimes, staff is around. Sometimes, he is. Sometimes, you are.

Were.

Right. Right. You might not return. But then again, you will, won’t you?

You love your children as much as he does; you’ve given all of you to the boys as much as you did to him and Hana. They have captured possibly bigger pieces of your heart than he has. You will return, even if just for them.

And then…

What if you take them with you? Or, what if you leave them here? What if, either way, he has to live a life without you?

These little pieces of him would remind him of you, too. They’re part of you, they’re half of you — but he’d see the entirety of you in them. He does even now as he walks over, watching Jaehyuk stir and Jaehoon weeping.

He hasn’t woken up his brother, but he surely has shot an intense ache into Jungkook’s chest.

Looks like you when you cry. Is this odd? Is it even possible, comparing such round, young features to your more defined ones? He doesn’t know, but he can’t unsee it either way.

And his hands burn and pain, his eyes on fire when he lifts him up, whispering Jaehoon’s name with a shush. There’s a change in behaviour immediately, but it’s not enough. The sobbing turns into quieter cries when he sees his father, but…

There’s something else Jungkook interprets.

Your scent is still everywhere. And for those few days, their way of feeding has been slightly different, too. They’re probably noticing the sudden shift. And yes, Jungkook offers comfort, but your absence lingers, and they understand it as well as he does.

“I’m here…” Jungkook whispers, standing in the middle of the room. For a second, Jaehoon grips the strings of his father’s white cotton shirt, but then his lips arch downwards again. “I know. But I am here, you see?”

As Jaehoon’s sorrow doesn’t lessen, Jungkook sniffles, too, lifting his head for a moment to prevent the tears from falling onto his boy. He takes a couple steps back until he plops back on the bed. Offers a hand to Jaehoon who wraps his tiny fingers around one of Jungkook’s.

Jungkook shakes his head, his sigh tired, and then opts for a nod instead as he repeats, “I know. I don’t think it’s enough either, me being here.” He gulps. “And her being away.”

His throat clogs up. He clears it, the tremble coming back to his lower lip as he asks in his son’s direction, “You miss Mama, don’t you?”

And as if aware, Jaehoon cries harder again, winding in Jungkook’s arms. He doesn’t know what to do to calm the tantrum, doesn’t know how you do what you do that he’s not able to do. He doesn’t think he’s failed as a father. He doesn’t think of himself as incompetent.

But he’s helpless without you. The two of you operated as a unit so far, as one big part of this universe. With half of it gone, he feels like he’s lacking half a brain, not quite functioning.

So he adds, “I do, too. Believe me, I miss her so much, too…” Ongoing crying. “I know.” Ongoing crying from both sides. The adult and the child, hurting the same. “I am sorry, sweetheart.”

And he’s not sure who he’s saying it to. To Jaehoon; to Jaehyuk. To Hana. To you.

To the hurting child he used to be, and the longing young adult that craved for too much. He’s apologising to everyone and over all the mistakes he’s made, all the regrets he carries with him.

And as he does, he’s not certain when his cries overshadow the ones of his son, or when the latter’s finally stop, only Jungkook’s misery still sounding. He doesn’t know how to stop this from hurting and how to nurse two children in a room without you, because you’re a piece of this—

You’re a piece of the picture. With you ripped out of it… isn’t it too lonely?

It is. God. God, the void swallows him whole.

And he doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know where to go and how to bring you back; if he ran to your city now, where the two of you grew and loved, would you appreciate it or hate him more?

Wait…

Do you…

Hate him?

He doesn’t know. How could he, sitting here, breaking down, mind all empty yet filled. Cruel. This is cruel.

So cruel how he forwards his mood to his children the way he learned never to do. How he can’t breathe, can’t think. How his words lose their meaning after a while, yet stay a mantra, still true  but so out of your reach.

I’m sorry.

I messed up.

I’m sorry.

Please come back.

Your seamstress is as clueless as you'd like to be.

It's probably part of her occupation, the cheerful, sweet, chatty nature, or perhaps, she's in that line because of that very characteristic of her. She's always been like this, so you shouldn't have expected anything different today.

It isn't as though the world joins you in your grief just because you're feeling it. Earth keeps moving.

Coming back home alone was hard. Hana was asleep most of the time, but the moment she woke, she sought his presence profusely.

You wonder if she noticed why he kissed her goodbye so often and told her he loved her a dozen times and gulped down the first hints of yearning with a clogged throat and damp eyes.

She probably doesn't know. His adoration was quieter than hers — because she wailed when he didn't come home, hated the surroundings she'd already seen before but forgotten.

Her father isn't around and she's angry about it.

Maybe you should've left her there. She isn’t as connected to you as she is to him, and while the twins might notice your absence, they won't quite make sense of it yet.

And you, you're stuck in this absolute consciousness that comes with adulthood, aware of everything.

Aware of where you are, who you're with, who is missing. Aware of how you won't be able to weep in your sister's arms forever; so aware that having beautiful dresses sewn won't bring you permanent satisfaction.

But everytime you think back to the last days, you break. The picture of him home alone, theories about what he might be doing, how he might be coping. Whether he's crying like you, fallen like you, feeling incomplete because he's in those rooms with only half of him.

That's how you've been feeling. You're a fraction of yourself.

After three days of solitude, Hana has learned to settle on pouting. It’s odd, the contrast between her and the town, always the same. The latter is as alive as you knew it. And Seung, the seamstress you used to frequent, is still the same amazing woman, too.

Grown, a little older, but the sheer opposite of a quiet Suhana, of a dejected you.

Your sister is holding Hana’s hand, the other tiny fingers busy with the fabric of the dark yellow dress. You’re in a cursory surface conversation with Seung, trying to be polite despite everything, asking how she’s doing, how her husband has been.

She got married years before you did, and she was always incredibly vocal about her relationship with her spouse. They’ve been a key and a lock; she’s spread hope for love amongst many other girls before.

You were one of them. And the hope bloomed, even when you were met with hurdles and thought you’d end in misery.

In all honesty, you truly thought you were an exception to the many rocky marriages. Sure, you never assumed yours would end up a constant fairytale; Jungkook and you have your days, too.

You just… held onto hope, more so when you fell for him, and you never ever thought you’d experience such a low.

Seung still tires of babbling about her husband soon; she enjoys detailing her fabulous life, but she never makes the entire talk about solely herself. So you expect it when you soon hear a question back, “Lord Jeon has also always been such a gentleman, too, though. I enjoy his company thoroughly. Is he not with you today?”

You barely manage the lazy shake of your head, but you smile to cloak the hurt covering your heart, flooding your insides. The agony is always searing; you feel it everywhere, as though a torch lit you on fire. Every damn mention of his name makes your body sink.

In this town, the people have gathered that he’s a fragment of you, that he’s right wherever you are. But not today. Today, he’s with somebody else entirely; it enrages you, and yet also reminds you of how much you miss him every sickening moment of the endless day.

But you still act as though the praise towards the wonderful man you know doesn’t drag another knife across your heart. You suppress your tears and nod, agree with her.

Of course you do. You enjoy his company, too. You’re not oblivious to your husband’s charm; he’s the heart of every conversation. The poetry in every novel after all.

“He did not join me this time,” you answer, smiling away the seconds to hide the difficulties in your home. Hana sighs, as though she’s understood that something went awry; as if she doesn’t believe it when you say, “But perhaps next time!”

Perhaps. Hopefully. 

Your sister brushes the topic off with a wave, focusing on the task on hand. You welcome the diverging topic, just in time for the finishing touches on the dresses you ordered. Seung asks you to slip into them for a final inspection.

The first one is a light purple gown; you do not have a clue where you might wear it, but you enjoy the feel of it. Your sister nods in approval, compliments, “This colour suits you well. You haven’t worn it in so long.”

“I have. I wear it a lot back at home,” you say, remembering a similar shade in your mansion, unaware of where your thoughts are heading until you say, “Jungkook got me a gown in this colour once.”

She pauses for a moment. Seung fumbles at the hem of the dress, busy making it and you pretty; but your sister notices, sighs for a second before she responds, “He has a good eye, then.”

“Yes… he does.”

He likes you in almost every colour, though. He’s baptised you with the name of the rainbow many times before. Thinks every hue brings out something different in you; and that you lend it some additional meaning. Your aura and your energy mix the colours in a palette.

“To something new; to something special.”

You nearly whimper when his voice returns in your head. Despite the circumstances, all you ever remember it in is in joy. When his words are followed by a chuckle and dimples. When the bangs, not cut recently, fall into his eyes, like curtains.

You don’t think of the shaky goodbye days ago… rather, you recall the moments before the world fell apart, drenched in sweetness and grace and warmth.

It becomes difficult to stand here, to let Seung fondle with the fabric. To listen to your sister’s praises and watch Hana’s feet dangle off her seat, hitting the leg of the chair with puffy cheeks and a jutting lower lip.

The view is already too much, and you close your eyes, blending it out. Which proves hard when your husband is mentioned over and over again; of course he is. Two halves of a soul… of course he is.

It’s been like this at each visit, so nobody would expect things to change this time.

And every damn time his name falls, Hana looks up. Big eyes, akin to a doe, personifying hope and love and yearning. If… if there was a way to contact him and let her talk to him for only a minute, you wouldn’t hesitate.

In fact, leaving her there with him could’ve been an option. But you need some comfort, too, don’t you? And he might not be in the proper state to take care of anyone right now. You intensely hope he is looking after himself.

But she keeps sulking. Despising the distance as much as you fear it, asking over and over again, and your dam only breaks and overflows when you step down the podium, asking, “Do you like this?”

And she, uncaring, shrugs, asking, “Can we go back to Daddy?”

You take a deep breath. Your skin tingles, a wave of discomfort filling you head to toe. Head heavy, you yet again register the change in your throat and voice, holding back as you try to pacify her, “Soon, darling. We’re just visiting aunty and the grandparents for a little, remember?”

She does, but it doesn’t help. Somehow, it makes her pout harder. Yesterday, she was crying; now, she’s handling the bad mood differently. Maybe this is worse. You thought children forget, that they distract themselves easily, but Hana’s affection is infinite. Integral to her.

How could she forget? You know who you’re talking about. How could anybody forget about him, ever?

You tuck in one of her black locks, inquiring, “Which dress do you reckon I should get?”

Another shrug. Seung tries, “Would you like to take a look for yourself, as well?”

“Be nice, Hana,” you say, “do you want to? You can say no, too, though.”

It takes a moment until she looks up. Her eyes change when she sees the variety presented to her; as if she didn’t regard any of it since you stepped into the shop. But eventually, she says, “Alright. I will.”

She hops off the chair, small hand in Seung’s palm, walks around to take a look at her choices. Her forefinger is hooked in her mouth as she focuses, only coming out, slightly damp, when she points at something she likes.

Your seamstress approves of most of what Suhana prefers before moving to the colour, “Which one shall we pick for you?”

“I like them all,” Hana says. It’s tough to choose until it isn’t. Once she’s settled on one, staring at it with intensity, you understand she’s decided, calling for you, “Mama.”

“Yes?”

“This is Daddy’s favourite colour.”

A tender shade of sea green. She’s right, it’s his favourite. Or at least a preferred one. You guess you can’t escape him, no matter how much you try, no matter how many miles you leave between him and you.

You ask, “Do you want to take it?”

But she seems unsure all of a sudden again. The finger has dropped with her expression, and she digs the heel of her shoe into the floor, yet nodding, “Yes… I want to surprise Daddy.”

“He will love it, baby,” you say, blinking rapidly. You point to the colour she chose. “This dress then, please?”

“Certainly. Measurements?” Seung says, material already draped over her shoulder; she walks over to the measuring tape, readying herself but…

Hana has long lost her motivation again. You see the light dim with each second, and you prepare yourself to convince her to bask in the excitement a little longer. But she won’t. Instead, she declares, “I don’t want to.”

“What?” Seung voices. “It only takes a moment—”

“I don’t want to,” Hana repeats, “I want to go home.”

“The dress?”

“No.” She inhales, arms dangling at her sides, the childish whining painful when she pleads for the millionth, aching time, “I want to go back to Daddy now.”

Fucking hell, Suhana, how?

How do I take you back already?

If you could, you’d step out and curse into the world. He’s too far away. You’re too far away.

You left with a purpose, bid him goodbye to find peace within yourself. Peace with the fact that a woman is probably still sitting where you have welcomed guests so happily before. The woman that presented him yet another child, his blood and soul.

How do you explain to your daughter that returning might hurt worse than being here, and that his expression will shatter you? That he’ll fall to his knees again, remind you that nobody has ever loved a girl before like he loves you.

That nobody will ever find this much adoration again. But that then, a second later, you’ll remember that until you die, you won’t be the only one anymore?

How do you cope with this? How do you bring your child back into this home, in a mood like yours, without a solution just yet?

In that house where he’s grieving like you, you’ll hear the echoes from everywhere, and the pain will intensify. His touch might linger on you, and the walls will scream and the bed will scream and the rooms will scream.

Yell the memories you made there.

The dinners you shared. The food he fed you with his spoon. The times he’d spill soup on you in the process and laugh it off, crack a dirty joke when the tissue drew over your cleavage.

And the times he kissed you at his office door, promising he’d be in the bedroom soon; the times you still knocked an hour later because he isn’t just a good husband and father, but a good leader for his people, too.

And… and…

The bare skin on the mattress next to you. Warm, sweet, hugging you in, lips on your shoulder, your back, your ear, your body. Engulfing you. Under you, above you, with you. The whispered words and the promises.

Vows that he fulfils during the days and the nights. Raising his children with deep-sitting sentiments, turning his own pain into power and using it to bring happiness to them and to you all the damn time.

Sleepless nights, giggly days, dances in empty rooms and conversations in laughter and tears and hurdles and successes.

Every wall and bed and room will scream out the question whether you remember.

Do you remember it all? Everything you’ve become with him in all those years. Do you remember? Do you? Will you ever forget?

Everything falls. The leaves, the temperature, the warmth. Your damn heart.

And it’s then that you can’t take it anymore. Maybe because you see him in your own daughter’s eyes; maybe because she keeps trying to manifest him, as if he’s right here.

So you break. Quietly but aggressively, grabbing her hand as you say, “Enough. No dresses for you. We’re leaving.”

And you do. Suhana doesn’t like the way you pull yourself and her out of the shop. It’s not painful and you’re not violent or rushed; but maybe she hears your altered voice and sees the torment in your face, because she keeps calling for you until you’re home.

Your sister attempts her best to distract you, promising she’ll grab Hana’s gown before you leave and whatnot — but you’re lost in thoughts, still overwhelmed by a flood of memories. You don’t snap at Hana, even though she taps your wrist, asking why you’re mad and where Daddy is, and once you enter the hall in your previous house, you finally snap—

“Get yourself together!” You’re glaring. You never usually do. “I cannot fly to him. Practise patience for a while, alright?”

It shuts her up, but it does something to her expression, too. She’s tearing up, sniffling all of a sudden. Close to breaking, too, when your mother comes out to greet you, and you ask, “Could you just… could you play with her for a bit? Distract her? I just…”

“Yes,” she immediately says, offering Hana her hand, who takes it reluctantly. She’ll be a little angry at you for a few hours. Won’t want you near her. So she obliges. “Take your time, love.”

So you do. Instantly so. Your sister helps, dragging you up to your old room by your elbow, just in time before you finally break down.

She wraps her arms around you as your tears cascade, your chin on her shoulder, shaking, hands unsteady as you lower the sound of your sobs. This isn’t your first time crying here; but it’s the first time the tears blind you entirely.

Your sister lets you mourn for a while, rubbing your back, sitting at the edge of the bed as she mumbles something you can’t make sense of. She’s always been good at comforting you, but this time, she doesn’t know much about the issue itself. Unable to say much.

Instead, she asks, “This isn’t just a casual fight, is it? You had a very bad one.”

“I’m just…” you try, but she shushes you again, tells you it is alright to take your time. You gulp, then start again, “I don’t know what to do.”

“It is this serious? What happened?” She’s concerned, but curious, too. “You still don’t want to tell me?”

You shake your head against her shoulder, and she sighs. You say, “I need to figure this out with him first. Unbiased…”

“I understand. I am here, though. You can stay here or with me… Seokjin knows, so he won’t mind.”

“But… I just—”

“These things happen, love. You know it. Marriage is all compromise and patience.”

You know. Of course you know. Didn’t you have these same exact thoughts all day? You’re aware of the basic foundation of marriage, but that doesn’t mean it hurts any less.

“Does it… always work out?” you ask.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. I have a strong feeling that he and you will.”

“…Why? How?

Maybe she’s saying it because she’s trying to lift you up. Maybe it’s part of comfort, to say things people want to hear. But your sister isn’t this type of person; you’ve appreciated her straightforward nature since the beginning of time, and if she didn’t believe in what she said, you’d consider her switched with somebody else.

Which is why you trust her words when she speaks, partly because the sincerity seeps through them from beginning to end, or because you’re well aware of this universal truth, “It’s rare… seeing somebody love like this even after years. Of course there’s always affection, but… sometimes love fades. His doesn’t. He really does feel strongly about you.”

“…He does.”

“See, you’re not doubting it. Maybe that’s enough for now.”

You would never leave such a statement open to debate. Even if a dozen women stood at your doorstep, reminding you of his lustful past and little mistakes, you’d send them away with a nonchalant wave.

Yes, the situation now differs from such a fantasy to its core, but even then, you know to trust in his heart. It’s just the future you’re scared of. The back and forth, the facts presented to you; in the form of a memory and in the form of a child.

Breath heavy and chest aching, you tell her, “I just don’t know what to do.”

“I don’t know either,” she admits, voice quieter now. “But— my first instinct would be… to tell you to go home. I think you need it. Your actual home.”

“And then what…?”

“Whatever your guts tell you to do. What are they telling you now?”

You puff out an exhale; you’re sick of crying. Your head hurts, as if devoid of oxygen. “That I am scared.”

She nods, well aware, digs further, “What else? If you think about the situation, do you see a solution at all?”

Thinking about it… thinking about it…

Properly pondering, you guess you’re not quite at the end of the road. There’s a wall in front of you, but it’s shrinking; if you give it an actual thought and look up, you might be able to climb over it. It’d just need… inhumane strength.

“Maybe… in theory,” you say. “Perhaps.”

Short pause, silence cutting the air. It’s still light outside, but the sky is grey again. No birds chirping, streets and alleys quieter. You think you hear a couple voices, a carriage passing under your window…

You miss the noise. You miss his voice.

You miss the way he sighs in the evenings, staring into a book you might have annoyed him into reading before looking up, noticing your gaze. Smiling at you, overwhelmed by love, leaning in as the novel closes and his lips open…

So your answer shoots out of you when your sister asks, “What else are you thinking?” Clear and ardent and brimming with certainty as you say—

“That I love him.”

The smile she flashes is tiny but telling. Something blooms in her eyes, as if filled with hope, and the little, unconscious gesture, manifesting in her expression, returns the longing to your heart.

A thumb wipes your tears before her hand covers yours, and with a voice so soft and gentle, she concludes, “You really do. Go back, yes?”

And you don’t have it in you to consider her wrong anymore. No matter the hurt, you don’t think you should stay any longer at all. You won’t deny that you needed the escape for a bit; but maybe this suffices.

And in hindsight, maybe you knew how this would end all along.

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

tumblr doesn't allow making very long posts due to the 1k block limit, so you can find the rest of the chapter and its 7k portion in this reblog! <3

[johannestevans]

just gone back and turned off commenting on all my hp fic on ao3, bc people still regularly comment on it as if i'm gonna be coming back to it any time soon and. no

Hi there, I do write fanfic from time to time, but until such a time as JK Rowling renounces her anti-trans campaigning and makes suitable reparations on the damage and harm she's done to LGBTQ+ communities and particularly to trans people, or at least, until such a time as she dies and is no longer likely to profit in any way from Harry Potter-related materials, I am unlikely to be working on any HP works whatsoever. I'm quite proud of some of my HP fanfics, and it's disappointing for me, but as a trans man myself I just cannot stomach even any tacit support that might encourage people to engage with her work. I myself am an author of many of my own books now, and much of my original fiction is available here on Ao3. If you're particularly interested in my explorations of the dynamics between Harry Potter and Severus Snape, especially the power struggle, obsessive natures, and mutual manipulation between the two, you might enjoy my serial Rescue Dogs, and my works that focus on the characters of Valorous King and Cecil Hobbes. If you generally enjoy my exploration of class dynamics, particularly explorations of hostility to the working classes and English Northerners in magical settings, you might enjoy my works set in the Yorkshire town of Lashton in general. I do not currently have any works set at boarding schools, but I do plan to at some point. My apologies for any disappointment caused by this, and as I said, I hope my own original works are a good balm for the soul even knowing that my HP works are to be abandoned until we can be confident that no support of HP properties might aid in the profiteering of the evil of anti-trans campaigning and abuse.

[thegamingcatmom]

How do you think the denalis and the re8 ladies (Donna included) would react to their s/o already having a child from a previous relationship?

Considering I´m in the middle of writing a lil (big) smt that involves MC having to deal with kids (well, one....kinda, lol), this ask made my heart soar. :3

Tanya Denali: ☝️

very supportive

in fact, will take on parental duties right away if you wish/allow it

she actually has to hold herself back quite a bit on that

(it´s as precious as it is just a smidge suffocating)

it´s a leader thing as well

as a leader, it´s her job to ensure the safety and well-being of every coven member

that includes her mate´s child

especially her mate´s child

she's good with children

albeit a bit strict

...she won't win the award of "coolest aunt/mom" anytime soon, let's be honest

she means well though

(a bit too well, sometimes)

she'll frequently remind the child to stay on the path she's marked (yes, I HC that vampires "mark" their territory by leaving their scent all over)

sometimes, she forgets that humans don't have a sense of smell that's out of this world

so she'll walk the route with the child to get them used to it, maybe point out some landmarks to make it easier for them to remember

it's adorable

...not so adorable when the child ignores her anyway and does what children do

which is testing boundaries and not following rules

yknow, kids will be kids

they don´t possess this hierarchical thinking yet

which is something you have to remind the proud leader of more often than not

she´ll come to terms with it

at some point

after lots of huffing and puffing and-

child: *looks at her with these big, innocent puppy dog eyes*

Tanya: ...🫠

(...it´s not at all fair that charm seems to run in the family)

she'll oversee how her coven members (or any other of her kind) act with the child very closely

...especially Kate

it´s not that she doesn´t trust her sister, but...

well, see for yourselves:

Kate Denali: 🤡

very good with kids

which doesn´t really come as a surprise, considering she acts like one for the most part

(at least if you ask her sisters)

she´s the "cool aunt" alright

and also a clown

even more so when the kid is present

the kid loves it, ofc

which only encourages her to up the ante each time she gets to spend time with them

that´s probs the reason why they take to her so fast

she really gives her all in her performances

it´s most precious to see

...and also quite nerve-wracking at times

especially considering she´s down for pretty much anything the kid wants

mostly because it drives Tanya up a wall

but also because she´s become addicted to hearing that infectious laughter

the kid has become her best audience fr

finally, someone who appreciates her wit and her spirit

she could just eat the munchkin right up-

Tanya: *makes the 'I´m watching you' gesture*

Kate: ...😇

Kate, on the inside: 🍴😋

JK

...or am I?

that´s actually something she frequently does to make the kid laugh

yknow, pretending to eat their lil feetsies or their tiny fingers :3

she also takes them for a ride on her shoulders or back every time they ask for it

she´ll also happily do the zoomies when the kid asks for it

or just drop down from the highest point she can find if they ask for it

or, yknow, wrestle a bear if that´s what the kid wants to see

...

you have to remind her on a regular basis that following a kid´s every whim isn´t exactly in anyone´s best interest

...

...

...

it´s more yelling, let´s be honest

(her sisters are only all too happy to join in)

Irina Denali: ❤️

out of the sisters, she´s Momma

so, naturally, she´s smitten with the little one right from the start

they look so much like you, how could she not love them unconditionally as soon as she lays eyes on them?

carries them around every chance she gets

squishes those chubby cheeks wherever she can

reading to them is one of her fav ways to pass the time

she'll make the voices too, ofc

like, yknow, doing her damnest to bring those characters to life for the little one

it's fucking wholesome

she'll gladly take the little one if you need a break or a breather

no judgement here, we can't all have unlimited stam and energy (sadly)

watching the little one sleeping peacefully fills her cold, unbeating heart with warmth so fierce, it feels as though it might just start beating again at any moment

especially if you're there as well - the little one curled up into you as you both sleep soundly after a day full of adventures is almost too much for her to handle

will join you if it does get too much to handle

she just needs that contact

she´ll put a blanket in between though, so the two of you stay warm and cozy despite her freezing body

takes lots of photos for the many albums she has

(and she has lots of them)

this is a time you can´t get back

they grow so fast...

you have to cherish every moment

she´s very good at math, so that comes in handy when it´s time for homework

she nails every subject, let´s be honest

they all do, but Irina is the most patient about it

she´ll explain everything thoroughly and has no problem repeating what she said over and over and over and over and-

until the little one gets it

when they do, she´ll give them the biggest hug

and smooches

she loves blowing raspberries too

they always make the little one break out into uncontrollable laughter

which makes her laugh in return

which makes them laugh even harder

which makes her-

For the Denali sisters, there´s the added pressure of knowing they´ll have to turn you both at some point. For you, that´s a given. You´ve long since come to terms with it. You´re looking forward to spending eternity with your chosen one(s). For the child? Well...

There´s still time. And until that day comes, they´ll cherish every waking (and sleeping) moment, gradually easing the little one into this new world day by day, bit by bit. And once that day has come, well-

They´ll still cherish every moment. However, it can´t be denied that there´s a sense of relief in knowing the two of you are much less breakable now. <3

Bela Dimitrescu: 👩‍🏫

she´s quite strict

...she´s a drill sergeant, let´s be honest

she refers to it as "teaching"

she´s used to giving her all in everything she does to impress Momma - only perfect is good enough for her

so, naturally, she expects the same level of commitment from everyone else

neither you, nor your child are an exception to that

(except when you are)

she softens somewhat when you´ve had one of your many talks though

yknow, where you tell her that your child isn´t a dog for her to train

or one of her many prisoners to torture

(it´s more yelling on your part)

Bela is all for tough love, so that´s what she´ll receive in return when the "tough" becomes a bit too much for your liking

she has the decency to look the slightest bit...reprimanded

not for long though

(ffs)

she refers to the child as "little one", without exception

no matter the mood she´s in

it´s the tone that gives away her true feelings

when she´s mad, there´s an edge to her voice, dripping with condescension

when she´s pleased, she has the sweetest voice

in fact, her whole demeanor changes when you or the child do something she deems "appropriate"

she even purchases kid's toys and stuffed animals from the Duke as a reward

for the child ofc

...most times

she'll take the little one on tours through the castle to show them where they're allowed to go

and, most importantly, where they're not allowed to go

she might be a human-eating mass murderer, but she understands that there's just some things that are not suitable for children

the brutal torturing/killing/processing of people being one of them

(not that she's ever cared before meeting you and the little one)

she reads to the child and even tries to teach them

...let's just say, she isn't exactly the most patient individual

you have to interfere when the little one starts crying

there's lots of yelling

Bela is back to looking the slightest bit reprimanded

not for long though, as per usual

it's a vicious circle with her

also because you keep coming back

also because, despite the struggles, the little one flashes a toothy smile every time they set eyes on Bela

she'd never openly admit it, but anyone with eyes can see the effect it has on the eldest

the effect in question: 🫠

Cassandra Dimitrescu: 👹

she's a bit like Kate actually

just a lot more unhinged

(a lot more)

she'll accept the kid without question or hesitation

mostly because she's been bored out of her mind anyway

finally something interesting happening around the castle

she kinda turns into a kid herself

a very bratty one

it drives Bela (and you) up a wall because, naturally, the kid mimics her behavior

Cass couldn't be more proud of herself

she shows the kid her collection of sickles when nobody's watching

who tf am I kidding: she doesn't give a rat's ass if someone's watching

on the contrary

she enjoys the attention too much

she even asks the Duke to craft a mini sickle - fully functioning ofc

only the best for her little slasher :3

she´ll teach the kid how to swing it like a pro

she´ll also teach them how to string them up properly

(the people, not the sickles)

which prompts lots of yelling

mostly on your part (and Bela´s)

sometimes, she leaves bits and pieces of some poor unfortunate soul lying around in hopes the kid will see it and ask questions

(she pretends it was an accident ofc, just...fell out of her pocket or smt)

nothing too gory though, just a tooth here or a toe there

yknow, gotta keep it somewhat PG

needless to say, the kid does ask questions

naturally, you're horrified

naturally, Cass is delighted and will happily answer any and all-

there's lots of yelling on both sides then

which soon turns into death threats on both sides

it gets so bad that, eventually, Momma D has to step in

which isn't exactly something new when it comes to Cass the Crass

she tries sneak into the cellar multiple times a day

with the kid ofc

she wants to prove to them that she´s the "cool" one, yknow? not a party pooper like her big sister who´s all about rules and following orders (yawn)

fortunately for you and your waning sanity, there´s almost always someone guarding the entrance for this exact reason

mostly Bela

or Mama D, when Bela is busy doing other things

(like experimenting on people)

(which means she´s down there anyway)

(nothing gets past her)

not that Dani isn´t absolutely willing and ready to get the job done - she´s brimming with excitement

however, she gets...distracted

very easily

Daniela Dimitrescu: 🤝

she loves the child

right away

they´ll be besties forever!

and ever!

UNTIL THE END OF TIME!

she loves them

she often reads to them, making the voices and funny faces

when the child rewards her efforts with their sweet laughter, she immediately joins in

which only makes them laugh harder

which makes her laugh harder

which makes them-

(you catch my drift)

she loves them

so much

she frequently takes the little one for a fly ride

which means she transforms into a bunch of her flies and carries the child around à la Magic Carpet

it´s really quite wholesome to watch

their shared laughter that echoes through the castle even manages to put a smile on one or two faces

until she drops them

...

people are screaming BLOODY MURDER-

"HAH, GOT YOU!"

...

literally -> the child´s fine ofc, laughing hysterically at the stunt she´s just pulled

they absolutely love it

besides, like she´d ever-

...excuse?

are you saying she´d harm her bestie for life???

HOW DARE YOU!

SHE LOVES THEM!

...

she gets a kick out of making the staff fear for their lives by pretending she´s gonna drop the little one

(because, if that were to ever happen, someone´s gonna pay)

as adorable as you find the sight of the two of them cackling like maniacs, sometimes you have to rein her in a bit because she tends to forget that humans - especially small ones - need their sleep

she understands ofc...after lots of complaining and whining

...

LIKE THAT WILL STOP HER-

(she´s just gonna sneak into their room when nobody´s watching so she can curl up with her bestie :3)

Lady Dimitrescu: 🤲

she kinda has proud!grandma energy, if that makes sense?

meaning: the micuțul enjoys a bit of a different upbringing compared to the daughters

(meaning: a lot less bloodier)

she´d never admit it out loud, but she wants to put the little one in her non-existent pocket

she probably could because they would be gigantic like the rest of her

(not me imagining Lady D wearing one of those hoodies made for carrying your beloved pet with you wherever you go)

she can fit the micuțul easily in one of her hands though when she carries them around the castle

which she does a lot

also to show the little one off to the staff

and they better respond to their joint appearance with "aww" or "oh, what a precious little thing"

failing to do so will result in becoming her next bottle of wine

:)

she wears the biggest smile when she walks through the castle and its grounds, the micuțul in one hand as she gestures to various objects and people with the other, explaining in great detail what purpose each of those things serve

"And this, my little gândăcel, is our head cook, widely known throughout this village for their supreme culinary talents. They can conjure up the finest meals from even the simplest ingredients - always the freshest, naturally. Ask for anything your little heart may desire, and it shall be yours."

the head cook, on the outside: 😊

the head cook, on the inside, realizing their fate lies in the hands of a child now: 💀

has the micuțul sitting in her lap when she´s working because she finds that it´s incredibly helpful with managing her stress levels

(ever since you and the little one moved in, significantly fewer pieces of furniture have met their untimely demise at the hands of a stressed Mama)

she also starts teaching the micuțul the arts of winemaking very early on (gotta teach em young and all)

we´re talking about the PG version ofc

actual wine is what I´m saying

no maidens were drained in the making

...yet

they will be though, at some point

when the little bug is older

(much older, tyvm)

you do your best to keep the whole winemaking business as far away from your child as possible, even going so far as to lock yourself and the little one away if things start to venture into non-PG territory

but the Lady can be rather...convincing

(by the time she´s done with you, you´re too tired and too bruised to even lift a finger)

Donna Beneviento: 🧸

she invites you and your child into her home and heart right away

she loves children

especially yours

and she loves crafting toys for them

especially for yours

she makes dolls and little wooden figurines like cars and animals, but she´ll also happily replicate action figures or any character from any movie or series the piccolo wants

she´s a very talented seamstress, so she often makes stuffed animals and clothing for the little one too

her house might be a hellish nightmare for most adults, but for children? it´s paradise

Angie!Donna makes a real effort to talk and behave extra deranged after learning it makes the little one laugh uncontrollably

it´s quite wholesome to watch

albeit a smidge terrifying

and very unpleasant on the ears

the things we endure for our children

Angie!Donna loves tea parties, so naturally, she throws one (or five) pretty much every day for the piccolo

she frequently cooks for the little one (and you ofc), and she encourages them to try as well - under her supervision and guidance, of course

you can´t see it due to her veil, but you don´t have to - you know she´s over the moon when your child announces that her Spaghetti Bolognese is "the best thing ever!"

"Can I have more?"

she downright melts

she uses her hallucinations to conjure up things the piccolo has always longed to see "in the flesh"

like the most exotic animals

or their favorite superhero

or their favorite character/s from any movie, series, book, etc.

anything they can think of, really

she takes the piccolo with her when she goes to work in her garden

she needs likes to keep an eye

but she also lets them "help" her ofc

said help consists mostly of digging holes, which may or may not be needed later

she also uses this opportunity to teach them a thing or two about plants in general

yknow, things like how plants behave in different seasons, their purpose in general, what herbs you can get from which plant and so on

(now, that´s some teaching you can get behind)

Mother Miranda: 🔬

it´s a bit...complicated at first

she doesn´t show any signs of aggression or disdain or anything that might hint at an imminent murder attempt

on the contrary

she shows great interest in your child - their physics, their mental condition, their blood-

and that´s kinda the problem

in all those decades she´s spent working to bring back her own child, her brain has kind of been...rewired

which means that, instead of seeing an innocent child - your innocent child - all she sees is another opportunity to bring back Eva

needless to say, you´re furious

and disappointed

and, most of all, you feel betrayed

the latter is what ultimately snaps her out of it

she doesn´t apologize though

not with words, at least

...not yet

instead, she shows real interest now

however, her almost clinical way of speaking still hinders any progress from being made at first

"Can you share your thought process behind the colors you selected for this mammal?"

...

the fact you have to point out that the focus of a children´s coloring book isn´t necessarily on realistic representation is both amusing and slightly concerning to you

you also gently remind her that she´s talking to a child

only to feel bad right after when she merely blinks at you in confusion

...you help her out with the next questions to ease your conscience:

she asks them about their favorite school subject

(and has to hold back an eye-roll when they say break)

she asks about their favorite animal

(her eye starts twitching when they say fish)

she asks about their favorite food

(and almost loses it when they say bird)

you scramble to tell her that they mean chicken, but you fear the damage is already done

(however, you can´t deny that the sight of your child casually leading the High Priestess to the brink of a nervous breakdown fills you with no small amount of glee...especially after she tried turning them into her next specimen)

despite her efforts (and she´s trying yall), it takes quite a bit for your child to warm up to her

but then, one unexpected evening, after months of living with her:

MC and Miranda: *curled up on the couch, watching a movie*

MC Junior: *comes running into the living room wearing their PJs*

MC Junior: "I´m done brushing my teeth! Can you read me a bedtime story?"

MC, starting to get up: "Sure thing, pumpk-"

MC Junior, pointing their finger: "No! I want Mira!"

MC and Miranda: 👁️👄👁️

MC Junior: *runs back out and ahead*

MC and Miranda: *share a look of utter disbelief before simultaneously breaking into joyful laughter*

Also MC and Miranda: *share a passionate kiss that reflects the struggles they faced over these past few months*

MC Junior, in the distance: "Mira?!"

MC, nudging Miranda along: "Your devoted little follower craves your wisdom, oh holy Mother Miranda."

Miranda: *gives a knowing smirk and one last peck before getting up and following after MC Junior*

MC: *watches her go, a blissful smile on her face*

In case it wasn´t clear: Mother Miranda went from 🔬 to 🪺 somewhere along the way. And she damn well deserves it cause she worked hard to achieve that status. ✊😤

.

.

.

Thanks a lot for your ask! 💋

[hwnglx]

for jk im curious to know what he means by the way ppl maybe assume he is a player or do they assume other things? I seen ppl assume he could be a cheater in relationships but thats not the case he is loyal asf imho, do u think its down to his people pleasing habits? he reminds me much of bangchan where ppl have said in readings he likes to be of use to ppl and to be able to help them where he can offer it. idk if its the same for jk

but fr when jk meets his fs shit is going to go down so maybe she can help jk even out his mindset towards all the stuff he has achieved which is more than the average korean so u think he would be quite proud to have helped put korea / kpop and in general hes done so much so I hope he is able to somehow feel accomplished. I do get what he means by it seems so superficial but ehh ppl have pushed for fame and fortune since decades ago and it either makes or breaks a person depending on their views of their experiences

well.. so much, if not the entirety of kpop idols' image is manufactured. since these people basically make a living by selling an image to the public, it's something that has to be calculated. your image has to be as appealing to people as possible, so what do you do? you only show off your best, and bury the rest. as an idol, you basically sell yourself as a fantasy, someone who appears to be perfect, but in reality is just as flawed as we all.

in jungkook's case, he's just tired of fame. it's like, the validation and admiration was nice at first, but after a while it just feels vacant and empty, and not real. these people love the manufactured you, they love the role you play in front of cameras. not the real and raw and weird you, with all your flaws and mistakes. and for a while, jk didn't know himself outside of being an idol, because that's all he did since he was a teen. so he was at this stage of “who even am i, when not being bts’ jk?” and easily fell into the impression that, his “normal” self is so insignificant and lacking in comparison. just unlovable. like people wouldn't love him if they knew of his more “unlikable” traits. everyone projects this fantasy onto him, but many don't wanna know his real soul. in his ideal type reading, i remember he had this intense craving for genuine love. not love for the idea of him, but for the real him.

you mentioned bangchan, while they do have similarities in their people-pleasing habits and desires to serve them, jk's energy is honestly much more pure to me personally.

bangchan is “i need you to like me, not just because i'm a person who needs validation, but also because it benefits me and my bag” (i don't blame him that's how shit works lol)

jungkook is “i need you to like me because i need affection and love and i feel empty otherwise”

in fact, jk's energy actually reminds me a lot of felix in this regard. they're surprisingly similar. (they do have similar charts)

[mysilaan]

What’s sleeping with the Touchstarved LIs like? Nothing sexual. Just. Sleeping lol eepy pals

I like imagining Ais moving in his sleep BUT you only get to notice that once you wake up lol (he’s curled up in the corner of your bed fast asleep with the blanket at his feet) ALSO BIG BUT!!!!! That’s only if he’s not cuddling you to sleep (smth he does often). Only then will he sleep sound and motionless. He doesn’t give a shit if his arm falls asleep. GIVE HIM CUDDLES.

Sleeping with Leander is just with him standing in the corner of the room. Unblinking. Covered in the shadows. He Does Not Sleep. He’s normal though, I swear :-) :-) jk I love to have this man.

HELLO ANON

Hope you’re good! I love this request… I don’t know if Ais sleeps actually… But if he does I’m sure he’s a light sleeper. For Leander that guy might as well be dying from lack of sleep LMAO

For the other LIs… Kuras definitely doesn’t sleep, I think Mhin is pretty paranoid so I’m imagining they have a lot of nightmares, or insomnia… For Vere, idk why but he gives off the vibe of the heavy sleeper: he’s 100% taking all the place in the bed and is impossible to wake up against his will… Well, basically a cat.

BUT I did write a little something about Ais (and a small part about Leander) because your ideas were funny to write, I had to…

After blood, sweat and tears it's finally here... And I can't not thank @aiscapades for helping me edit the text (most of the prettiest sentences are their...) if you ever write something I'll definitely devour it because you sublimed this headcanon...

Enjoy!! 🫶

TOUCHSTARVED HEADCANON🍒

Ais and Leander centered

⭐

The ambiance at the Wet Wick that night was quite festive, as it almost always was, but it was particularly noisy this time. The barman didn’t have a second to rest; every minute, someone went to the bar to order another drink. You were seated with Leander and Ais in a corner of the tavern, the three of you sharing a drink or several... The mood between you was light. Leander and Ais were lightheartedly sharing some death threats as usual, while you were listening to them, a grin on your face. You were pretty wasted because of all the drinks Leander suggested you try, while Ais was giving you a disapproving glance.  It felt kind of awkward to be the only drunk one around the table you thought while partially listening to whatever they were saying. You didn’t like being treated like an idiot, so you stopped the boys in one of their quarrels by slamming your hand in the center of the table. “Why am I the only one who can’t hold my drink here? I find it pretty unfair. Why did you make me drink so much?” Ais raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think it’s about how badly you hold your drink, but much more because of how many of those weird drinks you got from Leander.” That remark made you pretty upset, and Leander’s laughter turned your cheeks more red than they already were. “I can’t refuse a challenge!” “Yeah, that’s the problem,” Ais added. Leander leaned over the table to get his face closer to yours. “You know, I’m pretty impressed you’re still alive with all that you drank.” You didn’t know if he was serious or not. The smile on his face could be a hint of sarcasm or genuine amazement… You were too drunk to guess which one it was anyway, so you started joking. “Oh babe… You know it’s hard to get rid of me.” “Really…?” Leander answered with a smirk on his face. The tension between the two of you started getting heavier… Did he want to make out with you or kill you? You had no idea, and you would never be able to know as Ais pulled Leander back on his chair by the collar of his jacket. “If you want to mate so badly, the room’s upstairs.” “We’re not animals,” you simply said. “Are you, Sparrow?” He grinned widely, proud of his teasing. “Har har. Very funny. I already told you to stop calling me that!” “Make me.” His lips were pulled back in a wide grin, his amusement giving a clear view of his fangs.

A sudden thought that you couldn’t restrain, popped in your head. Your alcoholised mind was making it hard for you to process any coherent thought, so you simply stood up and looked straight in Ais’ eyes. “Come.” You turned your head toward Leander, and stared at him in a weird way for a few seconds as if you wanted to tell him something by telepathy. But you didn't add any further clarification. Instead, you stood up from the table and made your way up the tavern stairs. “What the fuck…" Ais breathed, dumbfounded.  The two boys sat in silence for a while, gazes locked across the table, before Ais got up and joined you upstairs. The place was barely lit by a single candle in the corner of the room. Ais closed the door behind him before asking: “What’s wrong with you?” You took him by the shoulders to make him sit on your bed… But as strong as he was, there wasn't much you could do to actually make him do that. “Please, sit.” He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t receive orders.” Though, when you tried to push him on your bed once again, he did sit. You were now face to face. His towering height usually made it hard for you to make eye contact, but you could do it effortlessly now. You climbed on the bed yourself, placing your knees at both extremities of his body, now placing yourself over him. You took his face between your hands and looked at it in detail from beneath you. He had a captivating red gaze, surrounded by pretty, long eyelashes. Long, dark strands of hair cut across his face, bisecting it just along his nose, but you still knew the angles of his features well. From the scar on his left eyebrow to his defined jawline, you looked at everything there was to see on his face. “Getting an eyeful, Sparrow?” You reddened. Sitting here next to him, you only now realized just how heavy your body felt from all those drinks. You swayed forward some, accidentally nudging Ais, which just sent him further down to the bed. Your face found a spot against his neck, and you inhaled a breath. He smelled good: his scent was a mix of cigarette, what seems to be some cologne and a bit of all the alcohol he drank earlier. Your heart started beating faster and you prayed for him not to notice. He couldn’t know you had feelings for him. It’s at this moment that his hands tensed on your shoulders, in an attempt to pull you back.

“Hey, get off. You’re clearly drunk.” But you didn't answer, nor did you move. He held firm, raising his voice a bit as he said once more, "Sparrow." What should've been an inquisitive prompt was instead flattened into a curt demand for a response.  He started to maneuver you onto your back, intending to just let you fall gently into the mattress, but he froze mid-action.  "You can't be serious..." he muttered, eyes wide.  You were sound asleep, still clinging to his arm. Ais sighed out of frustration one more time, asking himself what to do. But he didn’t think about it much longer. “Well… Let’s just stay here for tonight.” He put himself under the sheets, covering you with them at the same time.

⭐

You were cold. Goosebumps lined the flesh of your body. You slowly woke up, searching for your blanket. When you finally felt its fabric under your fingers, you grabbed it to cover yourself, but a stronger pull on the other edge of it almost tore your arm apart (once again…). You sat up on your bed with a start and gasped when you saw who was at the other edge. “What the… Ais?” What was he doing in your bed? Your first move was to look at how you were dressed, and when you noticed that you still had on the clothes you wore yesterday, you let out a relieved sigh. Ais got immediately woken up when you spoke and looked at you with annoyance. “Keep it down, would you?” “Hey! You’re the one in my room, stealing my blanket. What are you doing here?” But instead of answering, his head snapped toward something in the middle of the room. It was still dark outside, so it was hard for you to see what got his attention. “What is it?!” you asked, panicked. When your eyes finally adapted to the bit of light the moon was offering, a scream escaped from your mouth. “What the fuck?!” Leander was there, sat on a chair, feet laid on the low table of your bedroom. His arms were crossed and he was simply looking at the two of you from where he was, unblinking. “Is he… sleeping with his eyes open?” you asked Ais. But he didn’t answer. Leander did. “No, I’m awake.” He surprised you once more, and you let out another brief, startled scream. “Since when are you here?!” “Oh. Four hours maybe?” Your jaw dropped. How could he answer that with such casualness? “What… When do you sleep?” Leander got up from his chair and opened the door with a smile. “I don’t.” He left you completely agape. It wasn’t the first time Leander was giving off such strange vibes, but the more you got to know him, the weirder he was to you. When you turned toward Ais to ask him if what happened was a normal thing from Leander, you noticed he disappeared too. “Well…” You couldn’t find it in you to get back to sleep after what happened, and you stayed awake until you could see the sun rise. You told yourself that maybe you should talk to Kuras about what just happened; he was the most ‘normal’ one of this weird group, and you were going to need something for your hangover anyway… You’ll remember to lock your door next time.

[kelli-be]

I am proud of JK for what he said on instagram in support of his juniors and artists in general. It also goes to show that he doesn’t cower. This is not a person who lets anyone force him into anything. But I also want to address all of the people who are blabbering about the fact that he hasn’t stood up for Yoongi but can do that.

I have no doubt that there has been much support for Yoongi in private from all of the members. I also have no doubt that they would be honest with him about how they perceive the situation whether that includes concern over his behavior, advice or whatever. With the closeness they have that would be expected. However, there is nothing that any of the other six of them could’ve said publicly that would not have been picked apart or misinterpreted as excusing his behavior or inappropriate in some other way by some of this crazy fandom and by the media .

I mean, let’s face it even if they just said “We love you Yoongi” people would be coming out of the woodwork to say… ‘He is supposed to set a good example as an idol and all they can say is that they love him instead of letting him know that he should do better.’ They would be called privileged.. They would be attacked for not chastising him or apologizing for him.

There is no way that he would want or expect any of them to say anything publicly about his situation. For his sake and their own. With everything else that is going on, enough is being said all over the place without inadvertently feeding the BTS hatred frenzy.

I think people need to get a grip and understand that we don’t see 90% of the actual relationships they have with each other. But what I do know and I’m not really sure why others don’t at this point, is that they have gotten this far by knowing exactly how to support each other. They have gotten this far by choosing each other over and over again. They have gotten this far by growing and learning from mistakes with each other. They have also gotten this far by being intelligent, and the intelligent choice in this matter would be to stay silent publicly.

So how about we quit looking for a reason to attack them at all?

JK is standing up for people who need to be stood up for and he knows what he’s doing and he knows why. He was very young when he started. This has to be very important to him and carefully considered for him to go out of his way at this time to say something publicly. And I can tell you for free that this is something his friend Yoongi understands him doing.

I guess maybe I just am always looking at the reasons they amaze me as humans. They let us see their mistakes and their flaws and struggles alongside their incredible talent..It’s a lovely thing. I don’t really understand why people want to tear them down so badly. How can you call yourself ARMY and do that?

If you are so unhappy in this fandom and it no longer brings you joy perhaps it’s time to move on. I personally am staying right with them.. As they are. 💜💜



[fortunaaamajor]

Something In The Way II (Fred Weasley)

Fred Weasley x Reader

Read Part I Here

I know, I know. This blog was barely active and hasn't been for years. In all honesty through all my adventures through fic writing on Tumblr, this blog was just the shortlived final chapter. However, I popped on a while back and found a bit of this in my drafts and couldn't resist fleshing it out a bit. Something In The Way and the reactions to it are something I am very proud of and also felt connected to. It's only right that these guys get their story finished.

Fem!Reader, no house mentioned, no specific physical features

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol/drunkenness, nothing else I don't think.

Word Count: 2k

Although I am using the Harry Potter universe as a basis for this story I do not support JK Rowling or her views.

Fred and Y/N’s relationship was special, everyone knew that. What they shared was unlike anything anyone had ever seen. Fred and Y/N’s relationship was loving and tender, both always willing to put the other first whatever the cost. Fred and Y/N’s relationship was lasting, for the last four years they had been looking at each other like they were the sole reason for the stars in the sky, the mists on the mountains and the full, glowing moon.

Except Fred and Y/N’s relationship didn’t exist. The two had been dancing around each other all this time, never quite getting close enough to call it love.

They weren't close enough to call it love, yet Y/N was hunched over her desk, blood thumping through her ears as she frantically called her best friend of four years - Fred Weasley. Not quite in tune with muggle technology despite the well-meaning Arthur Weasley, Y/N's shaking fingers hovered over the phone as she willed her friend to pick up.

"Freddie! Fred! Can you hear me?" the excitement in her voice already made him glow over the phone.

"Loud and clear, in fact, hold it a tad further away my dear or you'll deafen me!" he snorted.

"Fred I was talking to Binns about my newest publication and it's being really well received..." Y/N was a historian of magic, working under the ghostly yet watchful eye of Professor Binns who she had known for pretty much all of her life (and his death) at Hogwarts.

"... he was saying that there's a teaching position available at Beauxbatons - mine for the taking if I want it! They love my work!"

As Y/N gushed with excitement over the phone, Fred's smile dropped. "As in the France-uhm-French-like Beauxbatons like as in by the mountains, the Pyre-uhm, how do you call it? The uhm French ones?!"

Only a giggle echoed across the line (or cloud, or waves, Arthur hadn't quite managed to properly explain how that bit worked).

"YES! Leading my own research, really honing my skills, and teaching the girls! Isn't that amazing?"

"Oh my.... Oh my my my.... love, that's excellent. When do you leave?" and at this Y/N swears she can hear a gulp, that or there's some sort of disturbance. Fred doesn't sound like himself.

"I haven't confirmed with old Binns yet. I wanted to see what you thought, and if there's a spell or anything to instantly make me fluent in French and as beautiful as all the Beauxbatons lot." she replied dryly.

Fred, now curled up on the chair in the poky little office of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, furrows his brow.

"Don't be stupid, you! It's really amazing, I think. Wait till Mum hears!"

Molly Weasley purses her lips and pulls Fred in for a hug, reeling from Y/N's news. "She's such a bright girl isn't she, your Y/N?" she mutters into his shoulder. Fred hears an edge in her voice, her praise is genuine but delivered in a slightly deflated tone. Although outwardly he is excited for Y/N, there's something within him that Molly can see, something pulling on some tendon or ligament or nerve, buried deep inside. He is uneasy.

Yet, ever in denial when it comes to topics surrounding Y/N, he plasters a smile on his face and tries to swing some positive momentum up and away from his twisting gut.

"She's incredible..... so incredible."

Molly squeezes him harder.

As the clock ticks away on the wall, Fred wishes time could just slow down.

Professor Binns shakes his head. Young Y/N stands in his office, feeling as flustered as she ever did as a student. The past few days she hasn't left her house, hasn't seen Fred or George, any of their siblings - not even Hermione or Harry. Through stacks of paperwork, cups of coffee shimmering with calming draughts and sleepless nights, her decision is made.

"I think the relocation would be impractical for me, Sir. I may not have a biological family but I think that makes it all the more important that I hang on to who I do have - over here, in England. Anyway, I think I'm needed to help out sometimes in Diagon Alley so the move might not work if the boys-" she trails off.

In her dreams, or shall we say nightmares, she becomes just another anecdote at the Weasley dinner table rather than a guest. In her dreams Fred reminisces over his old friend and the fun they used to have. In her dreams she is brought to tears as her students again ask her to recount her adventures with the famous Harry Potter and co. In her dreams she spreads layers of butter over freshly baked French bread... all whilst waiting for calls or letters from Fred - which never come. She wakes, tosses and turns all night, then scribbles her thoughts to try and make sense of them.

Her reverie is interrupted by Binns and his sharp tone, one that a star pupil and skilled historian like herself has never heard before.

"I wasn't under the impression that you were employed by the Weasley twins at their location on Diagon Alley, as some kind of - shopgirl?"

The sentence hangs in the air, dancing, taunting Y/N.

"I, ehhhm. He's - they're - ehm... Fred is my best friend." she splutters, as that familiar pricking sensation appears behind her eyes.

"I truly appreciate being considered, and your mentorship has always been truly very helpful. I'll be sure to be in touch about future projects but I cannot go to Beauxbatons, Sir."

She's waffling now, embarassingly trying to save face before she composes herself, graciously twists into a slight bow in Binns' direction, and excuses herself.

At The Three Broomsticks, Hermione stares curiously at Y/N over her butterbeer, whilst Y/N nurses something stronger - her tumbler of Dragon Barrel Brandy nudges against her lips with an electrifying sweetness.

"So you're not taking it?" Hermione asks incredulously. Admittedly she herself was envious of such an opportunity.

Y/N shakes her head, a small bubbling sob bursts from her.

"Oh right. May I ask why, Y/N?"

Hermione's stern look, the one that makes Ron crumble and terrifies Harry, makes Y/N acutely aware that she has had one too many sips of her brandy.

"Fred."

"Fred?"

"He's my best friend."

"... and?"

"I can't lose that, Hermione. I can't lose him."

"What on earth makes you think you'll lose him?"

Shaking hands are being dragged over Y/N's eyes and down her face as she attempts to hide her true feelings from Hermione. Why does she feel like she's about to burst into tears? Why when she closes her eyes does she keep seeing the fiery flash of red hair?

"I think, not being around him, he'd find other friends. I wouldn't be his partner in crime anymore. With George having Guenevere and all... what would we do?"

Hermione's exasperation melts away. Her face is overcome with a look, one of - relief? Y/N blinks slowly at her. Maybe it really is time to cool it with the brandy.

"Does Fred know?" Hermione urges.

Y/N silently shakes her head. Vowing that her streak of making a fool of herself will end now.

"Tonight. You need to tell him tonight. Tell him exactly what you've just told me." Hermione speaks in a hurried, hushed tone. As if she's planning something incredibly urgent. Y/N swears she sees a smile bubbling just under the surface of Hermione's authority.

Pulling her coat and bag onto her shoulder, Y/N heads to the flat shared by the Weasley twins - her best friends.

George opens the door to his tearful friend, but before he can even invite her in his older twin barges past him to comfort her.

"What's wrong? Did the job fall through, Y/N, please, what's going on? Who's getting a dungbomb in the post? If it's Binns it wouldn't be the first time, eh? If I need to I'll airmail one to France-"

"Fred. Shh. I'm not taking it."

At this confession, Y/N's shoulders heave. Her deep breath is heard from George across the hall.

"How so? I don't understand Y/N. Please, please help me understand. It's so... perfect."

George slinks into the living room and over to the cabinet where some rather old Extendable Ears lurk in an abandoned drawer, having survived the Molly enforced purge not long after they were first invented.

He stretches a pair out, checking the elasticity was correct for his plan. Silently mouthing "Sorry, Freddie." as he lodges one under the door.

Back in the hall Y/N avoids Fred's gaze.

"France means not being here." she huffs.

"Yes, silly. That's why it's France." he jokes, trying to tease a small smile from his dear friend, he almost pokes her in the side alongside his mocking.

She intercepts his hand, but instead of letting go she holds his pointed finger meekly.

"Fred. France means leaving you." she murmurs.

He blinks, two three four times. The look in Y/N's eyes makes Fred want to bundle her up.

Fred does. Y/N sobs. George's brow quirks as he tries to decipher these rustlings through the Ear.

"I don't ever want to do that. Ever, do you understand?"

Cogs turn under the mop of ginger hair, his hand rubbing slow circles on her back.

"My dear, this is your dream. You can't give that up for me." Fred's logical brain takes over, although he can feel that nerve - or whatever the hell it was - tugging again.

"I think, even if this is my dream that being without you is my idea of a nightmare."

At this Y/N will not meet his gaze. He shakes his head, slowly bringing a hand up to wipe a tear from her cheek. The glistening sliver of its path is disrupted by his warm thumb.

"Wherever you are. Whatever you're doing. You've got me for life Y/N Y/L/N. From the moment I saw you across the Great Hall." he whispers.

George strains from the other room - why weren't his prototypes more bloody - effective?

As Y/N looks up at Fred everything suddenly came into view - her and Fred meeting in the Great Hall, her getting him and his brother out of trouble in school, in return him spending his time showing her secret hiding spots, them leaving school but Fred's letters arriving every day, cosy evenings redecorating the shop after closing time, Fred's misguided petition to add Y/N's face as a hand on the family clock - he had even picked out his favourite picture of her for Molly to use.

No life without Fred would ever be the one Y/N chose. She knew that now. Hermione, Ron, Harry and just about all of the Weasley family had known this from the start.

"Fred Weasley. I think I chose you, is that ok?"

"Y/N Y/L/N. I don't think I've been more ok with anything, well - ever."

As their lips touch, George abandons the Extendable Ear in favour of nudging the door open.

As the two pull apart they catch sight of a smirk contained within the doorframe.

"Finally."

Fred and Y/N’s relationship was going to be special, everyone knew that. What they would go on to share was unlike anything anyone had ever seen. Fred and Y/N’s relationship was loving and tender, both always willing to put the other first whatever the cost. Fred and Y/N’s relationship was built to last for they finally now knew that to each other they were the sole reason for the stars in the sky, the mists on the mountains and the full, glowing moon.

Fred and Y/N’s relationship was just beginning. The two were tired of dancing around each other all this time, now collapsing into each other's arms they embraced this thing called love.

A/N: It's been so long since I posted fic that I don't even know if these tags are relevant, or will help with circulating it at all. Either way, if even one person enjoys this or goes to read the first part as a result then cool beans. It's very much appreciated.

[jinxedmuse]

고갤 들어 헤매다 꽃은 피어

🌒 purple rose — yoon jeonghan 윤정한

🎵 all night - beyoncé, bartender - lana del rey, kiss me - cassie, fantasize- ariana grande, girls need love (w/ drake) - summer wlkr, so anxious - ginuwine, like i need u - keshi, tumblr girls - geazy, next to you - bryson tiller, 7 exp ver - jk

in which: you find out that your cranky boss at your bartending job turns out to be quite the mischievous co-host of an exclusive bdsm club. not wanting to back down, you try to ignore this new found info when at work. but once blurred lines are already crossed, can they really be forgotten?

authors note: hiiii! im kinda proud of this:?/! (spoiler i hate this rn) this is part 1 of 2. started writing this 4 days ago after watching thing 1 & thing 2 & developing a filthy jh brain rot >< not proof read (clearly , ew) but enjoy plz & ty :,)!!

warnings: fem biology, v frequent cursing, absolute filthy smut (bdsm including but not limited to: degradation/praise, oral/cunnilings, raw sex,consented force, restricting toys, & etc) angst (?), alcohol, use of mj, pet names; princess, darling, slut

tags: 25 y/o bartender!reader x 27 y/o boss!jeonghan — boss/subordinate to fuck buddies to lovers (?)

friday 5:48pm kst

you exit the employee break room after hearing some frustrated curses and grunts. to no surprise, you see your boss yoon jeonghan, struggling with something up front.

you approach him cautiously, “you okay boss?” once you’re by him, you see clearly what he’s struggling with; the tap handle.

shit.

you were supposed to tell him about that problem like an hour earlier.

“no. it’s this stupid fucking lever that won’t go down and when i try-“ you listen to his complaints silently, biting your bottom lip. a habit you’ve formed whenever you get anxious.

he realizes how quiet you suddenly got and he pauses, looking at you with a slightly raised eyebrow.

“why do you look like you know this already?”

fuck fuck fuck.

you let out a stale laugh, jokingly slapping his back. “haha what? no way, is that the tap handle? yeah so about that, i meant to tell you earlier but i forgot because i was busy with the..?”

the? the? the absolutely nothing. the truth is you forgot all about the stupid, useless lever as soon as your boss walked into work. his sleeves rolled up, his first two buttons unbuttoned and his semi-long hair pulled into a ponytail.

he takes a step back from you, putting his face in his hands and taking a deep breath. he drops his hands, putting one into his pocket and taking his other hand and poking your shoulder back with every few words he said up until you were completely back up unto the wall behind you.

“the first thing i asked you when i walked in here, was if there was something i needed to know. cat got your tongue staring at me or what?”

your head hit the wall slightly. not enough to hurt but enough to make your breath hitch. you were starting to get aggravated with the demeaning tone he constantly had with you.

you muster up your best apology, wanting to get this over with as soon as possible.

“i really am sorry. won’t let it happen again boss.”

he lets out a sardonic laughter before completely turning his back to you and garnering attention from the rest of the team.

“when i ask you if there’s something i need to know, you tell me immediately. not less than an hour before opening, yeah?” he says clearly and sternly. eyes going cold for a moment.

they all nod their head in compliance, looking at you from the corner of their eye. some out of pity and some annoyance.

almost as soon as it was there, his mild scowl left. replaced with his notorious, easygoing smile. he claps his hand before looking at his watch. “great. everybody take positions, we open in 10 minutes.”

saturday 12:39 am kst

“i’m seriously, seriously, so fucking over him. as soon as i rack up enough money for a new apartment elsewhere, i’m quitting this job,” you say with a huff, falling back into your reclinable chair.

your best friend, hae won had picked you up from work after your 8-hour shift and brought you home. you both were currently on your patio as she let you vent your heart out into the night.

she lays out a blanket over you and goes to sit down across from you. “babe, you say that after every shift.”

you set down your drink in exasperation. “you don’t know what he’s like. he’s so fucking passive-aggressive- scratch that, just aggressive. only towards me!” you complain while flailing your arms.

she looks at you, amused by your expressive way of telling stories and the reactions that match them.

“and you think he’s singling you out?” she asks raising an eyebrow.

“he might as well be! dude, i fuck up once in a while and it’s like i’m begging on my knees to keep my job, meanwhile that jisoo guy- which i’m sure they’re friends by the way, could sleep on the job and he’d probably get a raise. it’s like they’re evil twins!”

hae won lets out a sympathetic laugh before speaking. “hm i would’ve never thought he was like that. he’s hot. like, beautifully hot. especially when he has his long hair?”

she lets out a cat call-like whistle into the air and you both erupt in laughter.

“i mean, i guess he is,” you say as y’all simmer down, agreeing with her comment. to deny it would be a blatant lie. if there’s one thing yoon jeonghan, it was beautiful.

his hair is always perfectly styled. he had these intense eyes when he was focused on working. he’d roll up his sleeves and sometimes stand behind you, instructing you how to work something with a low voice.

she interrupts you out of your thoughts, eyes scheming with a look that says she has a plan.

“you know what you need?” she asks getting closer to the table. you look up at her desperately. eager to hear what it is she has to say this time.

“to get laid. like some mind-blowing sex that distracts you from all this work bullshit.” she deadpans.

you let out a stale laugh, not taking her seriously. “right, and where am i gonna find the time for that? and don’t say a dating app because i’m cursed with those things.”

her face remains serious, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes.

“wanna know a secret?” she asks while scooting her chair closer to yours. you lean into her, slightly curious at what random, outrageous plan she is cooking up.

“i have a club i go to,” she says simply. you back up & look at her perplexed; was this the big secret that she was supposedly hiding?

you pick up your beer, taking a sip. the cool foam hitting the back of your throat before the actual drink does. “what club? did a new one open in Hongdae?”

she takes a sip from her can, a non-alcoholic beer, while slightly shaking her head. “no, not that type of club. they’re having an event this weekend, come with me on sunday?”

now you’re skeptical, had your best friend been lured into something? “this better not be some cult shit, i already deal with enough of those recruiters on the way to work.”

hae won loosens up now, returning to her playful nature and laughing at your claim. “it’s not. i promise, i’ve been there before.”

you thought this through for like half a second. you had work on monday but so what? you haven’t made an impulsive decision in a while.

“alright, why not.”

hae won claps in excitement, eyes practically beaming with delight. she had finally roped you into her plan.

she finishes up her drink and starts getting up while speaking.

“good! wear all black, doesn’t matter what and make sure it’s ‘accessible’ if you know what i mean.”

grabbing her coat and purse, she winked and left. heading home for the night.

sunday 10:15pm kst

your rush up to your best friend's car while pulling down your mini-trimmed black skirt. it had paired up well with an off-the-shoulder, see-through, black button-up shirt that you were wearing with no bra.

you had decided against safety shorts after thinking about it for like 5 minutes in front of your mirror before just saying fuck it.

a big regret.

“get in, we’re already kinda late.”

you get into the car, close the door, and start zipping up your black, knee-high, faux leather boots. “well hello to you too, princess” you say jokingly.

she was wearing almost the same thing as you but instead of a top and skirt combo, she had opted for a sheer, slightly see-through, button-up mini-black dress with thigh-high boots.

“oh and put this on once we reach” she hands you what seemed like a masquerade mask. it had a gold band with cute gold fringes and small cat-like ears at its peak.

that didn’t stop you from being completely thrown off guard though. “dude what type of fucking club is this?”

she puts a finger on her lips before starting the engine and pulling out of the lot. “shh just trust me, this shit is gonna rock your mind”

10:28 pm kst

when you finally arrived at the destination, you looked through the car window and your mouth immediately dropped.

undoing your seatbelt, you got out of the car with your best friend who was taking quick and hasty steps towards the front door.

you follow her and find yourself standing in front of the giant double doors, practically in a state of shock. “why are we at a mansion right now?” you ask while trying not to freak.

hae won looks at you, smiling before pulling her mask up to her face and ringing the doorbell once and then knocking on the door twice. “nice, right?”

“yeah but where is the club? you know what—fuck this, i’m out” you start walking away but your best friend tugs you back and quickly hands you your mask once more.

you give her a stern look but the door starts unlocking and you find yourself immediately putting on the mask.

the guy that opens the door looks like he came straight out of a dream. he was large with broad shoulders and muscular arms almost as big as your thigh. his hair was blonde and kinda of long, stopping right by his ear, styled perfectly. his eyebrows dark and prominent.

he was wearing a black and red masquerade mask with emerald green accents. he opens the door wider and with a deep husky voice, he finally speaks up.

“so, what is it tonight ladies?” he asked while holding up a variety of different colored wristbands.

your best friend speaks up for the both of you, knowing you were still shocked. “both single, both bicurious.” she rushes out.

she then takes your hand in hers and walks through the door, standing in front of the man.

he lets out a genuine laugh. skies above, it was so sexy. he then closed the door, taking two pink wristbands and wrapping them around both your wrists.

his big hands were warm and scruff but clean, it was obvious he worked out. yet he was being gentle as if we were delicate flowers.

he looks up, accomplished. “right all set, follow me.” before we gave a reply he already turned his back towards us, heading deeper into the mansion.

the further in we went, we started hearing low r&b music, like some actual baby-making music. there were all types of girls and guys and people in general of different heights, wearing different clothes, and in different masks, each with a different colored wristband.

he stops in his tracks and you almost bump into his large back, smack dab with what seems like a tattoo peeking out from under his collar. he turns around, holding you steady.

his touch was warm and stern and very caring like a worried leader. he rubs your shoulder before dropping his hands and speaking up once more.

“alright, ladies. drinks are to your left, rooms are upstairs, enjoy yourself” and with that he walks off, heading to a group of guys, all seemingly just as attractive.

you finally turn towards your best friend who seems to be just beaming under her mask, taking in her surroundings.

“okay, now fess up. what is this place?” you ask in a hushed whisper. she looks up at you innocently.

“let’s just call it a bdsm castle, yeah?” she says all too casually.

“oh. you’re fucking joking.”

“nope” she pops the p and scans the room some more before looking back at you.

“and you’ve been here before?” you ask, wide-eyed.

“yes, well once with that one ex that was an investment banker.” she then takes your hand and starts walking with you, going further into what seemed like the lounge room.

you were nervous, super nervous. you wanted to bail and quite frankly you should’ve but behind your already jarred morales, your subconscious was screaming “why the fuck not” and to be honest, you were intrigued.

“what the hell am i supposed to do here?” you ask curiously

“what the hell else? mingle, fuck, have fun. seriously anything.” she starts. she then nods her head towards a group of people that are standing by a piano, drinks in hand while in deep conversation. “you see those people with the white wristbands? they’re observers.”

squinting your eyes in their direction you could see their white wristbands. you turned towards her, curiosity growing by the second. “observing for what?”

“means they’re not here to have sex. just here to watch people have sex. voyeurism or some shit, at least for today i guess.” she says quickly before moving on.

“pink means single and willing to get laid basically and red means in a relationship but willing to get laid.” she further explains.

you look at her perplexed. “so cheaters come here to get their dick wet?”

hae won laughs at your remark but shakes her index finger signifying no. “mainly means that they’re polyamorous and looking for a third or fourth or whatever it is they’re into.” she breaks down.

the essence of this place was starting to make sense. you nod, showing your comprehension and edging her to keep talking.

“oh, and you’re not allowed to say your name. you don’t need a code name or some shit but usually, these things are exclusive and private ie: CEOs, your local librarian. anyone could be here and unless you decide you want to sleep with them, which is the only time you can take off each other's mask, you can’t ask for their name.”

you look at her with a sly smile. “you know for someone who's only been here once you sure do know a lot.”

“oh, did i say once? I thought i said twice. i’m thirsty, are you thirsty? i’ll go get us a drink” before you could reply she was already making her way to the bar.

she orders the drinks but lingers, it seems like she is flirting with the bartender who has dyed hair. he was wearing a slightly orange and silver mask with pointed cat ears. he was tall and lengthy, his movements clumsy yet still confident as he made the drinks.

you rolled your eyes in adornment, looking around. your feet were hurting, they were low-heeled boots but still. you sit down on a lounge couch and roll your ankles slightly.

“you okay there?” a voice asks in a dialect you aren’t quite used to. it sounded more like an accent from elsewhere. their voice was smooth.

you look up and a slim and tall man has come up to you. he has multiple earrings and fiery red hair styled nicely. he had on a green mask with gold lining. he was holding a drink in his hand, which seemed like some type of wine and you noticed that his nails were clean and painted.

you smile before remembering your mask. standing up, you approach him and stretch out your hand to shake his. his hand meets yours, a white wristband around his small wrist.

“here to watch?” you ask. he leans in closer to you, your hand still in his. his voice was low and smooth, yet full of personality.

“that’s only if you allow me,” he says, tugging you slightly closer to him. his actions were bold, making your face heat up almost immediately but he radiated a type of calmness to him that you rarely saw in men nowadays.

just as he’s about to whisper something in your ear, someone else joins you too. slinging an arm around his shoulder and pulling him back away from you.

“aw not fair man, you know i called dibs.” said the new man.

dibs?

now he was a sight for sore eyes. even the bunny-shaped white mask couldn’t hide the fact that there was certainly a handsome face underneath.

his almost jet-black hair was long and had a sheen to it that made you know he took proper care of it. it hung over his face, well mask, with only one side tucked behind his ear. his eyes through the mask were mischievous and his tone playful. he was wearing a prada suit with its tie lazily undone, barely holding it together.

the guy in the green mask let out a small laugh. “i was only introducing myself” he said, keeping his eyes on you.

“yeah well introduce yourself elsewhere. besides, your twin asked me to call you over.” the mysterious man said, nodding his head towards the bar.

mr. green mask looked back and you followed his gaze. sure enough, you saw the guy with oreo hair waving him over. your best friend looking up at him lustfully.

he cleared his throat, biting the inside of his cheek at the sight. he slowly stirs his wine, taking the last sip while not breaking eye contact with them. he looks back at you swiftly, excusing himself before walking over to them.

you were now alone with the guy wearing the bunny mask. he approached you confidently, taking 3 long strides towards you but he didn’t stop there. he kept going until you fell back onto the couch. both of his hands were at your side, keeping you in place. the move felt eerily familiar to your boss.

nope. you weren’t going to do that. think about your boss on a weekend? you refused.

you finally spoke up to him directly, even leaning in slightly, not backing down from the confident man.

“someone seems interested.” you tease all whilst maintaining eye contact.

“oh trust me, very,” he replies back before you can even finish your sentence. he then takes a hand and brings it up to your face. you flinch, not scared of him but about your mask.

“relax darling, in due time,” he says. he leans in closer, your face now practically inches away from each other. he then raises a leg, putting his knee in between your legs. once positioned, he straightens himself up, now looking down at you.

with one hand now in his pockets once more, he uses the other to gently cup your face; his slender and cold fingers slightly squeezing your cheeks. you felt like a doll under his touch, your face gradually growing warmer.

“hm someone getting hot, huh? you interested?” he asks, not breaking eye contact. still cupping your face, one of his fingers, his thumb specifically, grazes over your now pouted lips underneath the mask.

you nod, almost too frozen to speak but he shakes his head, kissing his teeth.

“c’mon darling, we’re grown. use your words.” he insisted, cupping your face a bit tighter now. this makes you respond almost immediately.

“very interested.” you manage to get out.

he laughs at you. “atta girl” he says, as if he knew full and well the effect he had on you. a familiar heartbeat appeared in your cunt, you could already feel it getting warmer as you got more excited.

he lets go of your face and backs up from the couch. he straightens himself up and slightly cracks his neck, relieving the tension from looking down at you.

he then offers you the palm of his hand. you look at it for a second but he takes it as hesitation.

“don’t worry, i don’t bite; that is of course unless you want me to.” his voice sounded like a trance, you could tell he was the type to be able to convince someone to walk off a cliff if he truly wanted to.

you take his hand and he jolts you up, pulling you into him. he catches you effortlessly, wrapping an arm around your waist lazily. he gets closer to you, his cologne smells good, probably expensive.

he whispers in your ear as if no one else in the room full of other people who had the same plan, needed to hear your intimate conversation.

“let’s go find ourselves a room.”

11:16 pm kst

the masked man walks you to a secluded area of the house. stopping right before a door that seemed to have a keypad instead of a keyhole.

he looks back at you once more, raising an eyebrow . “not backing down?” he asks, tone hopeful that you say no.

honestly, this wasn’t your style. sure you’ve had a one night stand before but this whole bdsm castle thing? you felt like a virgin all over again.

yet there you were, anticipating for this masked man to fuck you funny. your cunt already slick with wetness, his actions from earlier had a strong effect on you and you wondered just if this man could truly satisfy you.

you nod, stepping closer to him and the door. “not backing down.” you say firmly, keeping direct eye contact.

with that, he punches in some numbers and the door clicks open. he leads you in and you have to mentally stop yourself from your jaw-dropping. the room was huge, all the furniture black and the bed could easily fit at least six people on there.

you stepped closer, taking it all in. at the head and feet of the bed, there were stainless steel handcuffs. at the foot of the bed, there was a thick rope lying on top of the bedroom bench.

you touched it gently, tracing a finger along it’s rigid and dry nylon. was he planning on using this on you? and almost as though he read your mind, he kept up behind you, leaving no space for imagination.

his hard cock twitching against your ass, his chest against your back. he brought down his still-masked face into the crook of your neck, pulling you into a back hug, arms wrapped around your waist.

“you wanna use that tonight darling?”

his voice rose the tiny hairs on your arm, your cunt now pulsating in an almost painful and steady beat, asking, no, begging to be used.

“i’ll do whatever it is you want me to,” you replied, voice shaky, heavy breathing.

with that, he faces you towards him. your back to the bed before he pushes you onto it softly with one finger.

he crawls on top of you. both thighs at your side, knees dug into the plush and satin bedding. “now i warn you, i have a slim frame but i am a bit sadistic. scratch that, extremely sadistic. is there anything you’re uncomfortable with?”

you thought about it for a moment. aside from your ex and that one, one-night stand, you haven’t been sexually involved with anyone else. you weren’t too sure about the entire bdsm world. you’re old enough to get the gist but you weren’t sure how far you could go, how much your body could take.

“hm, i don’t mind spit but i’m not sure about it in my mouth. i’m not a fan of the butt stuff and i think that’s it? we can try anything tonight, i’m willing.” you consent. he laughs at your eagerness, finding it cute. finding you adorable.

he then brings a hand up to your hair, stroking it gently. “once i take off these masks, if, by some off chance, you ever see me outside of these mansion walls, know that i don’t know you and you don’t know me. strictly pleasure okay?”

his words weren’t harsh but it still made you flinch. it’s fine, he was simply being direct. you’re both consenting adults for a fun night, no need to turn this into something more and complicate things. besides, seoul was huge. no way you’d see each other outside of here. slim to none chance.

“yeah i’m cool with that, strictly pleasure,” you repeat back, anxious as ever.

“you wanna have the honor or may i?” he asks, finger slung into the string of your mask, slowly teasing it off.

you give it a split second thought before reaching for his. “let’s do it at the same time.”

he laughs, amused at your suggestion. “ i don’t see why not.” he holds your mask as you hold his and you both take them off.

the mask comes off and it seems like someone just knocked the wind out of you. no fucking way.

absolutely no fucking way.

“what the hell.”

it was non other than your boss. yoon jeonghan.

you must have upset the universe somehow, your shakras aren’t aligned, SOMETHING, because there is no fucking way your boss you had to meet at work on monday was getting you dripping wet on a sunday.

he smirks, dropping your mask and letting out an amused laugh.

“now this, this is interesting.” but he doesn’t back up, instead he keeps on getting closer and backing you up onto what seems like a dozen pillows.

“i should’ve known something was off by that voice” you murmur, no longer maintaining eye contact yet still trapped beneath him.

“awh c’mon, i’m not that bad,” he says in a low and husky voice. he licks his lips slowly, almost in a circular motion while eyeing yours. he then brings a hand up to your neck, pulling you closer to his face before he lets go, hands at your sides again.

he drops his head onto your shoulder, into the crook of your neck before letting out another laugh.

“ahh, what should i do? i really want to fuck you right now.” he says this casually, as if it’s a random daily thought.

it makes you instinctively clench your throbbing pussy. his words weighing more now that you were out of the confines of your job.

jeonghan then backs away from you and sits at the end of the bed, he opens up a drawer at the table side and pulls out a case of joints. he brings one up to his lips before looking over at you.

“want one?” he offers, the joint going up and down as he speaks.

you hesitate, observing his face. were you really about to fuck your boss. should you? i mean this was the same guy who usually gave you hell on earth while at work.

he puts down the spare joint as if coming to a realization. “ah, i probably shouldn’t be offering my employee weed huh?” He’s about to put it back and away into case when you suddenly stop him. your hand grabbing his wrist.

“yeah, i want one.” if he was going to be casual about this, why couldn’t you?

“hm. okay. grab a lighter from the left nightstand. It’s in the top dresser.”

you nod and open the drawer, sure enough, there are a few lighters. you grab a random one and hold it up to him but you realize he had put away the case of joints and was staring at you curiously.

“where’s mine?” you ask, still holding up the lighter.

he shakes his head, a sly smirk on his face. he then comes closer to you once more, joint still in his mouth. he points it out so you can light it.

you flick it once, it buffers. the second time, a dim flame comes out of the lighter. as you’re sparking the joint, he’s not breaking eye contact. finally he drags in a puff, holding it for a second.

“so, what’ll it be? are you gonna give me the honor of fucking you tonight?” he asked while inhaling smoke, eyes glued on you.

you knew it was wrong. it’d be awkward at work and you hardly even like him. but you were already in too far and honestly it had been so long since you slept with someone. to say you were touch starved would be underwhelming.

“yes.” is all you simply respond, now staring back at him with the same intensity.

he studies you for a few more seconds before holding out his pinkie, “no strings?”

you look at it and intertwine your own with his, then connect your thumbs. “no strings.” you repeat.

with that, he pulls you in roughly, exhaling smoke into your mouth. your eyes get watery but you successfully hold back a cough. he turns the shotgun into a kiss, wrapping his cold hand around your throat and brushing his tongue against your bottom lip, asking for access.

as soon as your part your lips open, he glides his tongue against your own, taking it roughly yet passionately. soft groans leaving his mouth. He laid you down on the bed, not breaking the kiss and the harsh movements caused you to moan into his mouth.

his other hand finds itself at your waist, holding you firmly beneath him. fingers digging into your skin as if there was still too much space between you too. it didn’t seem possible but the kiss deepened as he fully put himself on you, his body pressing hard against yours. his hardening crotch rutting against your core, eager for some kind of friction, eager to make you feel good.

you bring down a hand, starting to palm him through his once smooth slacks and almost immediately he moans into your mouth, shuddering at your touch.

he pauses, pulling back from the kiss with haggard breathing, you chase after his mouth. already missing it’s warmth on yours.

he giggles, almost too cutely for such a vile scene. “aww, you like my mouth that much princess? i can do much more with it.

“let me serve you,” he says this almost desperately, hands roaming your body.

your back arches at his touch, your cunt leaking wetness unto the satin sheets underneath you. “please, i need your touch.” you say between anguished moans.

he cocks his head to the side. “such a needy girl huh?” he was enjoying the view of you pathetically rutting yourself against the satin sheets. your fist gripping onto them.

he gets up and takes off his tie, he then takes one more puff of his joint before tossing it back on the nightstand. you were still on the bed, your core wet and aching badly. you needed him to do something to you soon or you would practically go crazy.

he smirks, pleased with simply seeing you shift uncomfortably. you can tell he wanted you just as much. his hardening cock making a very apparent dent in his pants.

“strip,” he demands. his voice broke you out of the strange of looking at his crotch, you didn’t even realize you were still fully clothed.

you complied almost pathetically too fast. taking off your mini skirt and your sheer shirt. immediately, the cold air hit you. your nipples getting instantly hard at the feeling.

his eyes dropped to your body, a lustful gaze with something so much more. as if he would spend the rest of his life admiring your body if he could. “fuck, you’re beautiful.”

he watched almost in awe, gently patting your hair before roughly pulling you closer to his face. he started kissing you once more, tongue eagerly greeting yours as if he couldn’t go another second without your mouth.

it was a sloppy kiss, just needing to feel each other. mouths desperate and far too eager to worry about presentation. he pulls back again, a string of mixed saliva breaking off between you too.

you moan dissatisfied as he pulls away, looking up at him with confused doe eyes.

“lie down.” he ordered, the lustful glimmer returning to his eyes.

“yes boss.” is all you can pull together, it was small and measly but he heard it.

fuck. you were so used to saying it out of habit at work you didn’t even realize it slipped out until he had gone silent.

too scared to look at him, you kept your head down. ashamed you could’ve fucked up that bad. instead, you feel his cold hands lifting up your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“i like that.” is all he says before he nods to the bed, signaling you to continue lying down.

you obeyed him and he found himself at your sides again. taking his hand towards your warm and soft body. he dragged a delicate and icy finger along all your curves, minuscule and large. just needing to feel the touch of your skin beneath him.

he drags it back up, reaching your plump breast and he starts playing with the bud of your nipples, making you wince at the feeling, back arching at his touch.

“fuck that feels so—ngh shit.” you tried to string some words together but all you could do is whimper pathetically.

his dick was practically begging to get out of his boxers, hell, even just his pants. at every pretty moan, you let out, it twitched, your lewd noises already having control over it before you had even touched it.

“mhm what did i say about using our words princess? since you’re so bad at following instructions, i’ll have to punish you like the perfect slut you are for me, eh?”

you look up at him weakly, eyes beaming with anger. he already had you pathetically curling over at his simplest touches, how did he plan on punishing you even more?

“wrist or ankles?” he asked while pointing at the cuffs at the top and bottom of the bed. before even thinking it through you said wrist.

he then briefly got up to tie your left wrist to the left bed pole and your right wrist to the right one. the handcuffs were cold and firm, the type that you could only imagine cops used but it felt like a slightly different material. it felt safe.

he then took the keys and gently grazed them over your nipple bud, earning another breathless moan from you.

he shuddered at the sound of you. one part of him wanted to release a full load right into you but the other wanted to make this last as long as he could.

after all, how often was he going to have his back-talking employee with such lush lips, underneath him? mouth slack, pathetically begging to be touched by the boss you claimed to hate.

“p-please boss, ah fuck- c’mon, just ngnnh fuck me already” you yelp desperately, head was thrown back, no longer able to take the teasing while your cunt wanted to be rammed into harshly.

you could tell he liked seeing you like this. squirming in pain did nothing but make him smile.

“in due time my pretty, pretty princess.” he placed the cold small key on your stomach and then kneeled at the foot of the bed. he trailed both his hands up and down your thighs, your core throbbing harder by the second.

“how bad do you want my mouth?” he teased, kissing your thighs and going higher and higher until he reached your dripping core, it’s heat practically begging for him.

“so-ngn, so bad so so fucking bad please— fuck i can't take it anymore.” that set him off, blowing cool air onto your clit before pulling you towards him.

the action caused a tug on your handcuffs and wrist, causing you to cry out in pain but it quickly turned into pure bliss because not even half a second later the flat of his tongue was on your heated core.

it was like he was on death row and you were his final meal.

his soft and pink tongue delving deeper and deeper into you. even kissing your folds every once in a while. he then took a hand off your thigh and spat on two of his fingers before roughly inserting them into you, curling them slightly so they hit the g spot that made you a moaning mess all while giving you kitten licks on your clit.

the feeling of both his fingers sliding in and out of you at a rapid pace tied with his excruciatingly slow licks, even sucking on your clit harshly every time you moaned out an excruciating “boss.”

your stomach tied in knots, your heat clenching around his fingers that were now wet and covered with your fluid. it felt so good how he was ramming his fingers into you, the palm of his hand slapping onto your core and hitting your clit at a rapid speed.

you swore you could see actual stars.

he moaned into you pussy, barely able to contain himself. “fuck baby you’re making such a mess.”

his praise makes you jolt your hip forward, being met with his eager tongue, “mnnhmgmm it’s all because of you boss, hmhm i need you so fucking bad-d.” you dragged out.

jeonghan couldn’t help himself. using his other hand, he started palming himself through his slacks, desperate for some kind of relief, some kind of touch.

“mhm fuck just like that, keep talking to me baby.” he egged your own, getting drunk at the sound of your messy moans and the squelching sound your cunt made every time his fingers went into you.

you kept praising him, saying anything that came to mind so he wouldn’t stop. your words almost coming out as gibberish because his fingers alone were clouding your thoughts.

“ah-shit, boss just like that, please keep going,” you begged and he abided. he took out his finger and went to work with his mouth again, his tongue harsh and fast, licking your folds and going as deep inside you as he could.

you were so close to an orgasm. your vision getting blurry by all the tears brimming your eyes. he felt the tightness of your cunt around his tongue and fingers.

“tell me when you’re about to come okay baby?” he asked in a haggard voice, pre cum oozing for his tip already.

“ah mgh— y-yes boss im so close” you breathed out.

while he was eating you out, he took the hand he was fingering you with earlier and started rubbing your clit slowly; giving it small slaps that made you squirm around the bed, unable to move much because of the cuffs.

your stomach hit a specific knot and you knew for sure you were about to come undone within the next few seconds.

“i’m—fuck, about to come,” you whine out pathetically, your eyes closed, chasing the high towards the climax.

right as you reach your peak, he pulled away from you.

your eyes immediately snapped open, wide and frustrated that the knot in your stomach was left unsatisfied.

you looked at him, heavy breathing, hair stuck to your face due to sweat. he simply smiled and licked your wetness from his lips and fingers, not wasting a drop.

“why?” was all you managed to whine, practically on the verge of tears at the loss of contact.

he shrugged, a satisfied smirk on his face “the only time you get to come is when i’m fucking you raw princess, simple.”

your eyebrows knit up in confusion.

“so fuck me.”

his eyes went from playful to lustful in an instant at your words. in a swift motion, he undoes his belt and drops it onto the floor. with one hand, he unzips his pants, they hang loose a few inches, showing off his prada briefs. his curved length pulsating underneath.

he then gets back onto the bed, discarding his shirt and revealing a slim but toned body. his arms slightly flexed as he threw the shirt onto a nearby couch.

jeonghan then positions himself on his knees, hair falling unto his face. he looks back up at you, eyebrows knitted with a now unfamiliar expression. he seemed needier as opposed to the hungry mess earlier. “touch me.” is all he says in a low voice.

you crawl towards him yet you feel like a prey being stalked by a predator. you take a nail, trailing it up his thigh, earning a slight grunt from him. your finger stops right above his length, twitching in eagerness. its pink hue apparent from underneath the white briefs.

monday 12:58 am kst

you both fall back onto the bed, worn out and still coming down from the high after exhausting each other to your limits.

he looks at you as if to say something but stops himself. you wanted him to say something. make one of his borderline rude yet sly remarks but he is silent. the sound of both your heavy breathing starting to calm down in the still bedroom.

“uh, is there a bathroom in here?” you ask, refusing to make eye contact with the main that had just fucked your senseless.

he brings up a limp arm, hand pointing to a door by the right nightstand. you get up cautiously, wrapping one of the sheets around your body. you make your way to the door and go through. the bathroom was big and spotless as if it had been cleaned just recently.

outside you hear some faint movement. a dip in the bed followed by careful footsteps. you had a clue you knew what was happening but a part of you wished it wasn’t so.

you use the toilet, never losing your habit of peeing after having sex and then you get into the shower. needing to get the remnants of tonight off your body.

monday 1:47 am kst

you get out of the shower, feeling refreshed and squeaky clean. you use one of the clean guest towels to dry your body and wrap it around yourself.

you reach the bathroom handle, hand hesitant on the nob. unsure if you were ready to face the scene or potentially a person outside. in a swift motion, you open the door and exit the bathroom.

you look to your side unto the bed just to find it neatly made but with no one in it. no scattered clothes lying around, instead it seemed he took his and even folded yours, putting it in a bag on the nightstand with clean oversized clothes next to it.

you were relieved to not have to face your boss after fucking each other for what seemed like two hours but there was a pang in your heart at the fact that yoon jeonghan didn’t even bother at least mention he was leaving.

you dressed yourself in the new clothes and put on your mask once more. as you were finishing up, there was a knock at the door.

“boss?” you called out. no way, he had the code right? you walk towards the door, your belongings in hand and open it. sure enough, your best friend standing at the door.

“oh, it’s you,” you say casually, giving a faint smile.

“damn bitch can you be less excited pretty please? you’re overwhelming me.” she teased sarcastically. she was wearing a change of clothes too but she still had on her mask.

“you’re done right? your bunny boy told me you would be up here.”

you let out a dry laugh. so he could tell her but he couldn’t say anything as he was leaving? you know what, fuck that. you can be super casual too.

“yup!” you say popping the p, you exit the room and close the door behind you. your best friend takes your free hand and you both walk down the steps together.

you quietly dip out of the mansion through the front door, making your way to her car.

“can you drive? i had drunk earlier and i still feel kinda dizzy” she pouts.

“yeah, toss 'em,” you say about the keys and she does. you unlock the car and head in, making your way home as your best friend sleeps in the passenger seat, adamant about sleeping over at your house.

monday 4:50 pm kst

on her way home from work, your best friend picked you up and dropped you off at yours. you stopped in front of the bar. it’s large and luminescent name shining above, “purple rose.”

you felt queasy, nervous, nauseous, and anxious all at once. yet you also felt excited, a newfound secret to keep as yours. you entered through the front and made your way to the back, the employee room to clock in.

your fellow bartenders were gathered at the front. some sleeping on the table, others talking behind the bar.

“good morning guys!” you say in a more chirpy voice than usual.

no way you had become one of those people who finally get laid and suddenly you’re ms sunshine walking on a rainbow.

they noticed the slightly higher octave, raising an eyebrow but nevertheless, they said their fair share of greetings.

you start heading to the break room when one of the workers stops you. a slightly concerned look on her face.

“i wouldn’t go in there if i were you, boss is in a bad mood,” she whispered the last part, clicking her tongue.

what the hell could’ve happened in the last 12 hours since you had sex that had the whole bar walking on eggshells?

you smile at her warning but disregard it. not to see him, you say to yourself, but because you needed to clock in any way.

you open the door and are immediately met with a pacing jeonghan. he looked disheveled, handsome, but still disheveled. as if he didn’t get a wink of sleep.

he sees you by the door and motions you in.

“what took you so long?”

what was he talking about? you looked at the clock and you were exactly on time.

“i’m here on time, what do you mean?” you asked while setting down your stuff.

the atmosphere was tense as if you had truly done something wrong. jeonghan pauses in his tracks and starts walking towards you. he was unreadable, you couldn’t tell what he was feeling at all.

“being on time is being late,” he answers, eyebrows furrowed, breathing haggard. he was a couple of inches away from you, far more than what was appropriate at work. his eyes fell to your lips before begrudgingly looking back up.

“so, what do you have to say for yourself?” he ask, almost in pain.

you were truly lost. was he seriously mad because of the time? he pulls you out of your thoughts, hand slamming on the desk behind you.

“i asked what you have to say for yourself.”

now you were seriously annoyed, what the hell was his problem? you answer, tone curt and firm. no longer wanting to indulge in this conversation or his presence.

“my apologies boss, it won’t happen again.” you spat out, tone laced with venom. you said it formally, not missing any honorifics and he caught this. gaze going cold before breaking out a smile.

he hung his head low, muttering a curse before looking back up at you. the night you spent together, the line that was crossed, almost as though it never even happened.

a mere figment of your imagination. ha, if only.

“it won’t happen again? we’ll see about that. come back out immediately after clocking in, you have front duty again today.”

and with that, yoon jeonghan, no, your boss left the break room.

leaving you in a complete state of confusion.

[peachjagiya]

PEACH!!!! I just need to scream this somewhere LOL!! TAEKOOK REAL!!! ARGRGRGRGGRRHHHH Anyway, screaming aside, may I just point out how the "Jungkook might have been in Hawaii too" theories came about after Type 1 photos preview were dropped? I feel so proud and validated as a TKKR when some TKKRS pointed out how the "look" of some of Taehyung's photos is so relaxed and intimate. We noticed the look Tae usually has around Jungkook and how Jungkook captures him so the chatter of JK being there with him started. THEN, the Hello Kitty Plushie discussion era arrived, with us debating if it's the same or they both got 1. We were too careful with our theories even! Most settling on, they probably got 1 of each. BUT, the point is we still could identify that JK is somehow connected to Type 1!!

AND BOOM! SUNDAY HAPPENED!! Taehyung confirmed our suspicions that JK was there with him!!! ARRRRRGGGGHHHHHHRHHGHG *combusting* LOL! I'm just so proud of us TKKRs too for knowing them enough to flag that "hey, this Tae look usually comes out when JK is around or taking photos of him" but the photobook description was spending alone time, BUT that's his Jungkook looooook!! Then we go about our days wondering if we are just hallucinating LOL! BUT NOOOOO, I am just so happy for TKKRs coz we can identify the nuances that their solos most likely are blind on specially those who diminish their bond. They miss out on being able to see through another layer of their fave because they don't want to accept the other's existence and importance on their faves' lives. Imagine living through one of our theories getting confirmed????!!! Like OMG, I am on a high right now... I feel so happy for them and proud at the same time that we can "see" them. Not to make TKKRs important but imagine having people who can acknowledge a huge part of you despite having to hide it not out of choice but out of norms and expectations, yet people can still acknowledge that your hearts have so much love to share and your bond is as beautiful as you believe it to be. You are SEEN. Our community is a mixed bag, we will always have bad apples, but for those who are just observing and getting inspired by them with no hate in their hearts, I want you to know that I may not know TaeKook and how they feel but I just know they are happy to have you around. I also want to take this opportunity to thank @taekooktimeline Kayla, I feel like what she is doing is so so significant and will be an important piece of TaeKook history. Going thru the timeline with your own judgment and seeing the bigger picture always blow me away. Specially when most moments get confirmed years later. It feels so surreal how we feel quite lost in moment of time, then clarity comes when you least expect it. Anyway, I blabbered too much, I'm still on that TaeKook High. People may say we are too delusional and romanticize stuff, but look we tried to be rational and logical, most recent example is the plushie then here comes Taehyung essentially telling us "You're not delusional enough. We didn't just spend time together. Jungkook actually flew to see me when I told him I missed him." Like no TKKR blog here would even come up with the Jungkook flying to Hawaii just coz Taehyung missed him part. We are too careful with our thoughts HAHAHA maybe in TK fanfic side of tumblr but dammmn.. it's real!! Have a great year Peach, the ride will be rougher the next couple of weeks but I know once MS is over there will be more of us screaming and feeling like everything is so surreal LOL!

ANON!

Scream away!

I think more than anything, even over very couple-y vibes, this feels special because it cements the bond we've known about and often been asked to defend.

This moment is not for the jkkrs. I don't even really care how they're dealing with it. Not my job to correct them or set them on a certain path.

BUT I must confess the fact that it's JK who travelled, that JK is shown being physically affectionate with his hand on Tae's neck so protectively when Tae isn't touching him at all... That did give me extra levels of joy because it torpedoes the (offensive) idea that JK is bothered by Tae's one sided affections. No, sorry and excuse me but Tae isn't a weirdo desperate for JK's attention, he isn't a clingy friend who JK wants to shake off and Tae isn't exaggerating their bond. Tae is none of the weird things people accuse him of and that's a good thing to have confirmed so decisively (even if we already knew.)

As for the photos, I guess this is the mystery that is left! It does feel kind of like Tae included JK because he was part of Type 1's production, doesn't it? And I do think the quality of some of the photos is very similar to JK's photos. And we have that picture of topless person with longish hair who may or may not be JK taking a picture:

(I go back and forth on this because sometimes it doesn't look curly enough to be JK's hair but then actually, I think his hair only looks so curly in that one picture because it's wet and when it's dried out, it can sit straighter. Etc etc.)

Anyway blah blah, maybe we'll find out for sure but we all absolutely had a hunch, didn't we?!

I hope they do find our support even a little bit encouraging. I reckon fandom can feel pretty intense but generally everyone on here seems to be rational and keen not to be inappropriate about them? At least I hope genuinely supportive voices sometimes get through.

What a nice ask. Thank you anon!

[worldsfromhoney]

Greetings, plebeians

This is your resident unknown and attention-depraved author/writer, BEE/bee/beE/🐝

Here’s some stuff about moi:

I like… tea. YES I LIKE TEA 🍵🍵🍵 it’s quite honestly the greatest invention of all time

I also like reading. That’s kinda like a hobby that all writers are mandated to say. Which is reasonable.

I’m a fan of miniatures and piano. Yeah, I did try them out. Yeah, I did fail spectacularly, thank you! ☺️

I also like painting but the therapy one and not just a blank canvas that sucks the soul out of artists lol

What do I write?

I write… stuff. BEAUTIFUL, HEARTBREAKING STUFF, mind you. But it’s still stuff, so lemme elaborate.

Speculative fiction - if you idk this, it’s really just a mix of fantasy and sci-fi; the ‘what if’ genre

Urban fantasy - don’t get me wrong, I love high fantasy, but urban is waaay easier to worldbuild

Steampunk & other punks - PUUUUNK 🤘🤘🤘

Horror and thriller - mostly psychological and body horror, don’t worry! I don’t do jump scares or anything ☺️

Slice of life - mwah my heart and soul mwah

Others - yes, I am capable of doing other genres 😤 I’m a multi-faceted bee, you know?

DISCLAIMER: what I write might only reflect upon my psyche and state of mind but that is not a guarantee

My WiPs

I am proud to say that… I DO NOT HAVE ANY!!

*gasp* what ever do you mean bee? Are you quitting writing? *sobs*

No, my darlings.

i just have no big projects to boast about right now. I feel like big projects aint my thing at the moment and pushing myself only led me to disappear from the internet for a month 😞

What i do have are short works i randomly choose to write and post here on tumblr !!

✨ FICLET MASTERLIST IS HERE ✨

🐝 POETRY MASTERLIST IS HERE TOO 🐝

If you’re interested, please comment on this post or reblog or DM me if you want to be put in the taglist!!

Does that mean you accept… requests?

…………yes. Yes i do. Go and flood my askbox you plebs !

Am I anywhere else?

Please. It’s 2023. Of course I’m… everywhere *cue evil laugh*

Bluesky - if you haven’t heard it yet, tis the new Twitter… cuz it’s literally made by the old creators of that glorious blue bird *cue a moment of silence*

Tiktok or Twitter - do not look for me here

Tumblr - EYYYYYYYYYYY i post ALL my stuff here !! They’re really just bait to hook some writer friends 🥹

Ko-Fi - ehem ehem i know first drafts are considered shite but BUT i have decided to make them available for perusal yes you can burn your eyes to anyone who buys me a cup of tea ~

Patreon - i finally have one!! I’m still setting it up tho and prepping all the content 💛💛💛

I’ll be doing a patreon soon enough actually so look out for that

How I organise myself

Well i wish this is applicable to actual life because i’d very much like to know how 🫡

Jk, here be the tags:

#bee writes some stuff - my micros, my flash fics, my text posts

#bee plays some games - tag games !! which i have never played before till now !!

#bee does some prompts - this will definitely see the light of day… someday

#bee stalking some writers - what it says on the tin

#bee answers some asks - omg i only added this because someone actually sent me one *faints*

#bee saves some stuff - there are way too many resource posts that i’ve scrolled past cuz idk how to tag

[taegularities]

heaven to you (teaser) | myg & jjk (m)

Summary: A casual hook up morphs into a fierce fever dream when roommates slash best friends Min Yoongi and Jeon Jungkook bring heaven and hell to you – all at once, in one single night.

➳ pairing: Yoongi x reader x Jungkook ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: kind of fwb, threesome, college au; fluff, hella smut ➳ warnings: lmfao buckle up, there'll be quite a few warnings for this one :') yoongi and oc are fwb, teasing, flirting, kissing booth stuff, jk wears glasses and has long hair (manbun beloved), yoongi and jk are both so cocky :'), but so is oc, sexual tension, mid-sex convos, threesome ofc, dom yoongi n jk, explicit sexual content, such as double penetration, degradation, spit stuff, manhandling,.. (will expand on this once the full thing drops – but it's a whole lot 😄), they do some weird ass stuff during sex lol but it's such a fun piece, aftercare, valentino yoongi and ck jk!! THE ENDINGGGGG LMFAO ➳ est. wc: 12-15k 😁 1.5k for the teaser!! ➳ a/n: so :’) this had been in planning since? december? i knew i wanted to do a lil something for the milestone, but that lil something turned into… whatever demonic hell this is LOL. back to the ruin you days, i guess. am super excited for this to finally drop. gonna give y'all the best version of it possible, love you <3

MASTERLIST | WIPS | TAGLIST

No matter how fatigued you feel, you’re determined to see this thing through.

Today’s event might have tired you out, but Yoongi’s tongue was quick to bring you back into the land of the living. You’d never admit it to him, but no college responsibility could force you away from the sins he always offers to you.

And two rooms from here, he’s waiting to send you down that spiral again.

You shudder in excitement.

You lift your body off the toilet seat and wash your hands; one last glance into the mirror as you crack your joints. You’d put a gym session into tomorrow’s schedule, but tonight might just serve as exercise enough.

Deep breath in, you step out with strengthened enthusiasm. You brace yourself for whatever’s to come, but what you don’t expect is the presence awaiting you outside the bathroom.

Your fingers halt over the door handle; a light smile creeps upon your face when you see him leaning against the wall.

Eyes shift from bottom to top slowly.

He’s gorgeous. Sculpted and tall. One of his legs is angled, heel against the wall; so you see how thick and strong his thighs are even through his baggy joggers.

And you don’t think he had his hair in this damn bun before; it presses against the wall. Combined with the glasses on his nose, he emanates some type of… innocence.

But you know Jeon Jungkook. And he’s far from the purity you’re so foolishly perceiving right now.

His head moves when he registers your light steps, meeting your eyes so nonchalantly that you trash all prior thoughts of innocence once and for all. You don’t ask what he’s thinking or what he wants. You assume he was merely waiting for his turn to enter the loo.

Jungkook’s plans for tonight, different from yours, probably consist of taking a good shit, seeking a filling meal and drowning in a good night’s sleep. That’s what you think, at least.

But as you move across the hall and towards him, he doesn’t walk past you, doesn’t target the bathroom.

Instead, he keeps looking at you.

And something in his gaze suggests that he’s not quite done talking to you; something of the awkward conversation in the living room still remains. 

Yet, he doesn’t speak.

So, you do, “What?”

“Hm?” he voices, a head tilt suggesting surprise, but you know he’s fucking with you. “Nothing. Was gonna pee.”

“Right.” You don’t move from your spot yet. Fold your arms under your chest. His pupils flit down for a second and then up to your face again; weirdly proud, you press your tits up some more. “Then go.”

“Alright, boss,” he rolls his eyes at you, pushing past you with a light brush of your shoulders, “I’ll go.”

And he does. Doesn’t mean you trust him. So you remain and wait.

Wait a minute longer. When he comes out, you’re still standing there.

He doesn’t look surprised. Just trudges towards you with half damp hands in the pockets of his sweats, sly smile on a pretty face until you speak and it drops.

“Was that off putting to you? You really don’t want it?”

There’s a rapid upward movement of one of his eyebrows, and he feigns the confusion perfectly as he asks, “Want what?”

“To join us.”

He puffs out a mocking laugh. Looks to the side, enough for you to admire his chiselled features. A jaw as sharp as a razorblade. Mole on his neck. Wanna kiss.

Then, he asks, “You were actually serious? Like, you still are?”

“Do I look unserious to you?”

Your blinking is supposed to be cute, but he doesn’t fall for it. You clench your jaw; you know he doesn’t want to reject you. You see it in his movements.

So you try, “Or are you just not made for it?”

Which seems to trigger just the right amount of ego in him. Because he laughs again, forming a circle with his lips, and lets out a little, “Ohhh,” as though you’re challenging him. Which, in some ways…

Before you know it, his scent wafts towards you. Soapy, pleasant. He’s close enough to trap you — which, to your surprise, he suddenly does.

One arm on each side of your head, he closes in. Your head moves immediately, your gaze set on his colourful tattoos. When you look at him again, the infuriating, lopsided signature smirk makes your eyes roll — a coping mechanism in a situation like this.

You won't reveal that the sudden movement sent a shiver down your spine, or that you held your breath for a moment possibly long enough for him to notice.

So eye rolling it is, disguising the wavering self-control as annoyance when he explains, “This wouldn’t be my first time, babe. Yoongi and I don’t mind sharing.”

His breath is warm, minty. Did he chew gum before?

You gulp.

“But,” he continues, tilting his head; you nearly expect him to kiss you. But he doesn’t. “You’re not exactly the type of girl I usually fuck with.”

Not his type of girl, huh?

Rude.

“Why not?” you ask. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs his shoulders.

You see your reflection in his glasses — so far, you seem composed. Though less when he says, “You like leaving people and things broken. You get bored fast.”

Ouch. You wish he was lying.

It’s not like you do it on purpose. People catch feelings fast — you don’t. You make your intentions clear; the times things broke weren’t because you intended them to.

But…

You’re surprised he knows about this at all. You know Jungkook isn’t one to do feelings either; Yoongi told you. Perhaps he’s divulged your philosophies, too.

“So do you,” you answer.

“You got bored of Yoongi really fucking fast, too.”

“Not true. I’m still here.”

“You are now. You haven’t been for quite a while, right?”

You silence. What the hell does he mean?

Bewildered, you stare at him; if he wasn’t surrounded by this odd mystery, you’d push him away again. But he wants to rile you up, and you know you can take a lot more than that.

When you don’t answer, he pulls away, tugging back one or two escaped hair strands. Your eyes follow as he secures them behind his left ear, adorned by two earrings.

But when he raises an eyebrow in question, you awaken again, assuring him that, “You don’t have to. Yoongi and I can just do our thing and you… I don’t know. Have a good night, I suppose.”

You nod once and then push your body off the wall, glad you’re not sandwiched between it and Jungkook anymore. But before you can escape into your friend’s bedroom, a strong hand pulls you back.

You gasp, not anticipating the bold grip, flashing a glare to the veins on the back of his hand as you ask, “What? Didn’t mock me enough or—”

“You won’t ask again?” he has the audacity to inquire.

“You can’t be serious,” you scold, eyes wide. You can’t get out of his hold, so you don’t try just yet. “I’m gonna go. He’s already lighting candles or whatever.”

Jungkook chuckles. “As if. He doesn’t do that shit.”

“True,” you admit, “well, but he is waiting for me. Was waiting for you, too.”

“For me, huh?”

His grin is dorky. The following pout even more so. Horny moods make him cocky, but you remember from every other time you saw him at their dorm how freaking annoying he was.

A likeable annoying, you must admit. Capable of sweet smiles and funny jokes and absolute dumbass behaviour.

Like now.

“Awwh. Man, I saw him just this morning,” he says, loosening his grip around your wrist, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I understand if you missed me, but he really didn’t have to.”

You grimace. “You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah. Just so you know, when you call someone an idiot, you—”

“Alright. I’m leaving.”

Which you do. With absolute confidence.

Throwing your hair back and moving your hips. But what you also do is look back once you’ve taken a couple steps, nodding into the general direction of the bedroom. 

Granting him a boost of confidence as you give into his wishes and ask again.

“Are you coming or?”

“Uhm—”

“Isn’t that why you wouldn’t let me go?” If he rejects you now, you’ll walk away. End of story. “Or why you’re looking at me like that.”

He doesn’t answer. Caught red-handed.

He seems to contemplate it. Is eyeing you carefully, amused beyond imagination. What a delightful expression.

One last time, he thinks aloud and says, “You’re acting badass now, but that will backfire. And you will burn yourself.”

“So what? Fire’s fun.”

“I’m just saying.” One more. “Tonight might be a little too much for you with the two of us, you know? I’m not as easy to handle as you think. ”

“I don’t think you are,” you confess. “But I don’t want to handle you. I want the opposite.”

No matter how tired you are, you will see this thing through. With or without him, you will take what Yoongi gives. Accept if Jungkook offers anything. And you think… you think he will.

There’s a glimmer in his eyes. A hint of desire, hunger growing in the predator’s big gaze. If he wants to reject you now, you’ll walk away.

But you don’t think he will.

And once more, courageous, you say, “Handle me, Jeon Jungkook.”

okayyy. this is one glimpse of the whole sin lol. yoongi is gonna have a way bigger role, this is just a jk centric scene!! they're both prominent a lot in every other scene and they're both menaces :')

please look forward to it!! it's gonna be a fun lil piece before we go back to our lil angst/fluff corner. and support by leaving a like, reblog and comment! anddd send me your thoughts, your enthusiasm is extremely encouraging!!

if you want to be on the taglist, here you go!! love you all <3

[joyswonderland1108]

Hi, hello.

Well hello there yeorobun! Hope y'all are doing well, eating well, resting well and having a great time!

Am i back yet? No no of course not because my shibal sekkiya of uni is taking up my whole time, i might as well just cry because i miss y'all, i miss this blog, i miss writing, i miss the friends i made in here, i miss chatting with y'all, you name it.

But anygays, you know what else i miss? Our Bangtan boys but also our Kookmin, ah! I'm having a hard time dealing with everything knowing i can only go back to older content from them for now or just the lil tid bits we get from them from time to time aka the posts on Weverse or JK's activity on Tiktok recently.

But you know, as an avid Goondori checker, i'm hopeful like.. A LOT, did you even realize Jin already did 86% of his term? Which leaves him with only 14% more to go that's like 2 months and 1 week only until he's back. We might be complaining how it's too long and we can't wait but with our everyday lives and while missing our boys too did we even notice that we waited that long already for Jin who is coming back very soon? So yeah i'm being very hopeful.

While i am very busy i still checked Twitter (X) from time to time to get some updates since quite honestly i hate being in the dark and having to come back way later to a buttload of information and updates makes it hard to digest everything at once so.. Anygays, not gonna say me regularly checking on them updates was anything oh so very happy since this fandom for some goddamn reason is still very toxic and very immature but whatever are we even surprised at this point?

I still got the opportunity to listen to Tae's new song "Fri(end)s" which i really loved and i loved the story conveyed through the MV as well, Hobi came up with a new album, i've been checking the updates and i'm only getting to discover it today SO EXCITED!!! I'm really proud of our boys.

Well anyways, i hope i can get enough time later to be active on here again, take care of yourselves y'all, Love ya!