#mind you this takes a while considering the full seasons last up to two hours sometimes

[gallalctyka]

gaining sudden interest as an autistic person will have you start preserving the media in question with the utmost care for no reason other than you started liking The Thing even if for a brief moment

[titi-1188]

“Just for tonight”

“Take me with you. Please. Just for tonight.” Your heart clutches as his wide puppy dog eyes are looking up into yours, pleading silently. “Alright. Just for tonight.”

—

WARNINGS: Mentions of alcohol/being drunk

PAIRING: Felix x Reader

WORD COUNT: 3.9k+

EXTRA INFO: Christmas, Idol X Regular Person, Lovers into Ex’s into Lovers again, ‘Forced’ breakup, Reader doesn’t care for holiday (Felix does), Drunk calls, sappiness, sobbing confessions, fluff STRICTLY SFW!!!!

A/N: As always, sorry for any mistakes, my english writing skills are NOT the best, I try to look over it and make sure everything makes sense to an outsider perspective of someone who ISN’T in my head but yk how it can be🩷 hehe i hope u like it!!! (can u tell idk how to write drunk people!)

Winter has never been your favourite season. It didn’t have anything to do with the weather or the short days, it’s the holiday that’s associated with it. The only person to ever make you like the holiday was your now ex, Lee Felix, who for the last 3 years has brought light into this usually dim holiday.

This will be your first Christmas without him, having broken up around four months prior due to both of yours busy schedules which led to never having the time for one another and constant stress and pressure, ending in the two of you hurting each other more than anything. What you didn’t know was that one late night phone call, will change your entire situation for the better.

On this cold winter day, after a full day of work, all you want to do is collapse onto your bed, forget about everything going on outside of the four walls of your room and go to sleep.

Which you manage to get done for a couple of hours, until you’re woken up by the familiar sound of your phone ringtone. You groan and reach over, not even looking at the caller ID as you decline the call, the red digits on the digital clock on your bedside table flashing ‘1:03am’.

As you go to roll over, your phone rings again. Frustration curses through your veins as you pick the phone up again, only to freeze as you read who exactly is calling you.

The name ‘Lixie’ flashes on your phone screen. You never had the heart to change the nickname or to block the number. You consider hanging up again but something in you wants to know why he’s calling you at this time and before you even realise it, you answer the phone and press it up to your ear.

“Hello?”, you ask, voice slightly hoarse from sleep.

A hiccup can be heard on the other line before a familiar deep voice can be heard “Y/N…hiiiii”, he hiccups again before continuing “Did I wake you up?”. His words are slurred and it doesn’t take a genius to realise he’s drunk.

“Yeah..you did”, you reply, trying to act casual and like hearing his voice again for the first time in four months doesn’t affect you in any way at all. “What’s wrong?”.

“Uhmm…I need help.”,he murmurs sheepishly, sounding slightly out of it.

“With what? Where are you Felix?”

“I went out to see the Christmas lights…and I got caught up at a stall or two trying champagnes..and I kept going and now I don’t feel my body”, he says, rambling quickly, sounding almost mind blown at his own actions.

“Felix..call one of your members to pick you up. Not me”, you say. Trying to sound stern. You wince as you hear the soft whine he lets out at the other end of the line.

“No!! Y/N you don’t get it..I wasn’t supposed to drink..or be out this late”, he whispers into the phone, as if he’s telling you a big secret. “If I come back to the dorm like this I’ll be in huge trouble!”

“Don’t you have anyone else to call?”

“…no”, he replies and you can hear the lie in his tone. You bite back a chuckle, he can *never* lie while drunk, for some reason he just always sounds really obvious.

“Please Y/N..it’s cold..”.

His soft ‘please’ pulls at your heartstrings and you just know you won’t be able to fall asleep after this phone call anyways so you might as well get him and bring him back to his dorm. “Fine..send me your location”.

“Yay!!”, he exclaims, giggling like a little child before abruptly hanging up and mere seconds after doing so, your phone pings as he sends you his current location. You sit up and silently brace yourself for this interaction you both will probably regret in the morning.

The streets are cold and empty as you drive towards him, your phone gps directing you to where Felix claimed he is. You try to stay calm but everything about this entire situation causes old feelings to resurface and you don’t know if you and your sensitive self can actually handle seeing him again.

In all honesty, neither of you wanted to break up. If it wasn’t for both of your circumstances you can confidently say that you’d still be together. Maybe that’s why neither of you removed each other on any socials, or blocked each other’s numbers. Maybe that’s why in his drunk state Felix could only think to call you and maybe that’s why you are actually driving over to a random spot in the city at 1am to get him.

You get to the street and park your car, stepping out, the cold air hitting your face. As you close the door and lock your car, you take a moment to look around your surroundings, you see the decorative lights on the trees and some, now closed, stalls. You decide to keep walking in the direction where the area was more lit.

It doesn’t take long to find Felix, sitting on the bench with his head leaning back, eyes closed. You take a moment to admire him silently, everything about him to this day was perfection and you’d be an absolute fool to try and deny it. He looked ethereal, basking in the soft lights with his blonde hair, freckled face and heart shaped lips that are currently curled up in a soft smile. You can see that his face is flushed from his drinking and you wonder if he’s asleep or does he always just look this peaceful.

You approach carefully as to not startle him too much. “Felix?”, you call out gently, the second his name is called his head whips up and his eyes open wide, smile growing as he sees your face. “Y/N!!”, he says, standing up quickly and almost falling over immediately, luckily you were within reach and caught him, stabling him.

“Be careful.”, you tell him and he blinks at you, clicking his tongue “I’m always careful, thank you very much”, he replies, an insane level of sass in his voice that takes you aback for a moment before he bursts into a fit of giggles. “Oh I’m so grateful you…came, Y/N…I literally feel like jello”, he slurs his words as he looks into your eyes, his face slightly dazed yet he still has recognisable sincerity in his face.

“I find it hard to believe you didn’t have anyone else to call”, you remark. He gulps, looking like a deer caught in headlights “I definitely did not have anyone”, he attempts to sound convincing but even to his drunk self he must sound pathetic because he groans and looks down at his shoes. “Fine, I won’t lie.”, he pauses for a second, hiccuping “I just wanted to see you.”, Felix looks back up into your eyes after his sudden confession and you feel a pang in your heart at the sight. “I’m sorry for waking you up”, he murmurs.

“No, no, it’s okay—I don’t mind”, you quickly say, wanting to make him feel better, suddenly feeling guilty about your earlier remark.

“Really?”, he asks. “Really.”, you reply, trying to sound confident at your own words.

“Come on, let’s just go back to the car and get you back to your dorm”, you say.

“No! I told you already..I’m not meant to be out! I can’t go back there like this!”, Felix whines, clutching onto your arm, his eyes looking up into yours. “Take me with you. Please. Just for tonight.” Your heart clutches as his wide puppy dog eyes are looking up into yours, pleading silently. “Alright. Just for tonight.”

Soon enough, you two are back in your car and instead of driving to his dorm, you’re driving the two of you to your apartment. Not something you planned for but apparently it doesn’t take much to convince you. Well, if it was anyone but him, you would like to hope you’d have more resistance but something about Felix just made any effort to say ‘no’ melt away.

You glance at him and a soft smile grows on your face as you see him leaning his head against the car window, breathing hot air onto the pane to draw random shapes with his finger. You feel yourself starting to reminisce and quickly avert your attention back to the road.

Apart from Felix’s soft humming and the soft wound of the engine running, the entire car ride is relatively silent and up until you pull up to your apartment buildings parking it stays that way.

During the ride home it started snowing, soft flakes falling down on the two of you as you led Felix towards the entrance. You make sure he’s standing up properly when you go to enter the security pin to enter the building. Once you get the door unlocked you turn to get Felix to follow you inside but you freeze for the millionth time that night seeing him.

This time he was leaning his head back, eyes closed, tongue sticking. You let out a giggle. “What are you doing?”, you ask.

“Waiting for a snowflake”, he replies quickly. “You can do that another time-it’s cold, let’s go inside”, you tell him as you continue to hold the door open.

He looks at you, then back up to the sky and back to you as if he was debating it before stumbling his way inside. You quickly follow in after him and close the door before making your way to the elevator. The entire ride up and during the small walk down the hall to your apartment, Felix is leaning on you, arm linked with yours and you can’t help but feel your heart beating just that bit quicker when he snuggles into your shoulder.

When you both manage to get into your apartment you take off your shoes and coat before helping him with his. The entire time he’s looking around, a frown on his face.

“What’s that look for?”, you ask as you hang his coat up, doing the same with the scarf he hands you.

“Where are your Christmas decorations?”, he asks “You used to have them up by now.”.

“I guess I didn’t get around to it this year”, you reply. Truth is, the only reason you’ve decorated your place for the holidays is because Felix used to help you do it. Without him and his slightly overwhelming Christmas spirit that brought joy to this holiday, you couldn’t find the motivation to even attempt at decorating, it’s not like you celebrated anyways.

“So we have to do it now!”, Felix exclaims, excited. “We can do the lights and the tree, hang up your stockings and-”

“It’s almost 2am, we’re not doing that”, you cut him off. “But Y/N-“, he whines but you start speaking again. “Another time..let’s get you to bed so you can sleep this off..you’re all red in the face..”.

You debate bringing him to either the living room or your bedroom, and before you can ask him which he’d prefer he goes off himself, almost tripping as he enters your room. You quickly follow after him and manage to catch glimpse of him collapsing onto your bed.

“I guess you’ve chosen where you want to sleep”, you say with a lighthearted tone as you walk over to the bed, helping him pull the covers up around him.

“Your bed is comfy~”, he says, a smile on his face.

“I’ll get you some water and painkillers for when you wake up”, you tell him and he nods at your words, snuggling into your pillow.

You return with the water and painkillers, placing them on the bedside locker, crouching down by the bed momentarily. “I’ll be in the living room if you need anything Lixie”, you whisper, the nickname rolling off of your tongue naturally. He looks up at you, confused. “You won’t stay here?”, he questions, brows furrowing deeper.

“N-no, no I don’t think that’s a good idea”, you tell him. A pout forms on his lips instantly and he looks up at you again, utilising those puppy eyes of his. Even in this state he knows how to win you over. “Please Y/N…I won’t be able to sleep alone, I haven’t been able to sleep alone..I need you by my side”, he says, his voice a mix of whining and pleading “I want to get at least one more sleep with you”.

You’re going to regret this later but you sigh before making your way to the other side of the bed. The second the mattress dips under the added weight of your body Felix rolls over and grabs you, wrapping his body around yours. As you look at his face, you’re met with his dazed smile and flushed cheeks, your faces are too close for comfort, way too close for comfort.

“Comfortable?”, you ask, raising a brow. He nods before burying his head in the crook of your neck. Maybe he is too comfortable.

There’s a moment of silence where everything is peaceful, the only noise in the room being the both of yours breathing.

“Can you play with my hair like you used to?”, he murmurs, words still slightly slurred, but not as bad as earlier. “Of course”, you reply softly, your fingers going up to softly play with the hair at the back of his neck. He hums in content, burying his face deeper in your neck.

“I’ve missed you so much honey…my honey”, he whispers and it takes you a second to register his words and nickname. He misses you? His honey? While you were still together he loved calling you honey, claiming you were just as sweet if not sweeter than the nectar. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe you shouldn’t have went to get him, brought him back here or got in the same bed as him. You’re about to say something, anything, to put an end to this when you hear light snoring coming from him. You look down and he is out like a light, his soft breaths warm against your neck.

Maybe as much as this is a bad idea, it wouldn’t hurt anyone to spend just one more night like this with him. You can’t deny that you haven’t missed it either, and that your sleep hasn’t been as good as it had been with him. Maybe you should just let yourself have this. That’s how you comfort yourself about this entire situation before falling fast asleep.

The next morning, you wake up, alone in bed. You look at the bedside locker and see the empty water glass and missing painkillers. Glancing at the clock the digits ‘10:06am’ flash red. Felix must’ve already left.

Or that’s what you think, until you hear clattering in the living room. You immediately shoot up in bed and get up. Walking towards the living room. The closer you get the louder the sounds of humming and shuffling around coming from the living room get.

Upon walking into the living room you simply stop in your tracks at the sight in front of you. Felix is decorating your living room. You watch as he is mid decorating your Christmas tree, back to you, mouth agape as you take in the sight of your living room. He’s already done with the fireplace, the small window display, and has put out the festive pillows and blankets onto your couch. You can’t tell whether you should be mad or oddly happy.

He still hasn’t noticed your presence as he’s humming some Christmas tune to himself so you clear your throat, grabbing his attention. He turns around, bauble in hand, looking like he just caught committing a crime.

“Oh! Y/N!”, he sounds surprised, as if he didn’t expect you to be here in your own apartment, “I hope you don’t mind—I wanted more water..and it just looked so sad undecorated and I know you wouldn’t have done it yourself because you’re a bit of a Scrooge but even Scrooge understood the Christmas cheer in the end so I just thought I could maybe-”. “It’s..okay”, you cut him off, looking around the place “You did a good job for someone that should be hungover..”, you flash him a small smile and he grins sheepishly at your words before you continue “Feeling okay?”.

Felix nods “Oh yeah-I don’t even feel hungover! Those painkillers literally got at my headache instantly, I feel as good as new, and I mean it was nice to get a good sleep..I only woke up like an hour ago..I slept like a baby honestly.” You nod at his words, leaning against your doorframe. He looks up at you,“..Did you sleep well?”, he asks, sounding a bit uncertain, almost like he’s scared to ask the question.

“I did”, you reply “Better than I have in a while.”

“Yeah..me too..if I haven’t made that clear already”, he chuckles dryly.

There’s a pause where the two of you just stand there in silence, and it is Felix who breaks it “I should probably go..I shouldn’t be bothering you like this..”.

“Wait no-”, you protest and he looks up at you, waiting for you to continue. “You already started decorating…might as well finish it right?”. “Right”, he nods, smiling. “Can I help?”, you ask and he nods.

You walk over to where he’s standing at the Christmas tree and neither of you have to say anything as you both go back to decorating it. It takes you back to the last Christmas you two spent together. Baking all kinds of treats like gingerbread houses, cinnamon rolls, Felix’s brownies, making your own decorations from scratch (paper snowflakes that after hours of attempting you both gave up on), listening to Christmas music and dancing together around the living room, but the memory that stuck out to you the most had to have been all your Christmas movie nights, where you’d cuddle on the couch with him under one of your various blankets and watched the most cringiest rom-com Christmas movies. You can still remember the way he’d hold you and trace shapes idly on your skin as you both watched the movie, snacking on whatever you two baked that day.

The two of you back then would have never thought you’d be broken up now. The two of you back then would’ve actually laughed at the thought. However the new year ahead had different plans for you both and everything led to the day you both mutually decided it would be best for the both of you to end things. Even then you sobbed in each other’s arms for an hour before Felix forced himself to leave.

Before you know it, your eyes are welling up with tears and Felix is looking at you concerned. “Y/N…”, he says your name shakily and you already know the second you look up his face will look exactly like yours does right now. One thing about the two of you was that you were both too sensitive and emotional for your own good, and when one of you started crying-so did the other.

As you two make eye contact, the tears just start falling and you drop the baubles your holding, causing a small clatter on the floor, before his arms wrap around you, pulling you close to him as he hugs you and you hug him.

“I miss you so much.”, he says through his tears. “I miss you too”, you reply, your head on his shoulder, slightly leaning into his neck. You can still smell the lingering smell of champagne on him but underneath that it’s just his innate smell that strangely brings you a tremendous amount of comfort.

“It’s been..so shitty..I didn’t think it could get worse but it did..I literally..”, Felix chokes out, sobbing. You understand how he feels. The breakup didn’t benefit either of you. On the contrary it made it everything worse. You nod against him to show him you get it and you just know you got the message across to him.

You stay like that for a little while until your sobs turn into sniffles and your legs start hurting from the standing. You both take a seat on the couch beside each other, legs touching.

“I would say I’m sorry for..calling and causing this but..I’m really not”, Felix admits, sniffling “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to see you more in my life ever than in the last four months last night..to me anyways, was the best opportunity to see you again.”

“Either way you’re forgiven”, you reply. “I think I’ve been trying to hide it but nothing got better like we thought it would.”

Felix lets out a small scoff, covering his face with his hands. “We thought we were doing the right thing…idiots…as if either of us could live without the other”. He peeks out at you through a gap in his fingers, trying to gauge out your reaction and it’s only when he sees a soft smile on your lips he puts his hands down.

“We…were acting like idiots”, you say and the two of you let out a chuckle. Almost in sync you both turn to face each other on the couch better, you tucking your legs on under you while Felix sits crisscrossed.

He reaches over, wiping your tears with a soft smile on your face before you mirror his actions on him. “Maybe…we should..just pick up where we left off?”, he asks with a look of anticipation on his face. “Maybe we should.” He takes ahold of your hand, interlocking your fingers together. “I love you honey, I always have and always will.”, he says and a smile breaks out on both of your faces. “I love you too sunshine.”

He drops your hand, only to grab you by the waist and pull you on top of him as he falls back on the couch, the two of you giggling. “Should we go out for brunch as a date?”, he asks, pecking your temple before resting his head on yours. “I think we should, as a nice treat”. “Good..I know a place”, he murmurs into your hair. “But first I want to finish that Christmas tree”. “But honey-”, he whines playfully. “Lee Felix we are not leaving until that’s done, no way!”. He laughs at your more authoritative tone. “Fine fine..I suppose we’ll finish it”.

“Did I tell you I love you?”, he asks, you can practically hear the grin in his voice. “Not enough”, you reply jokingly. “Well you’ll be hearing it a lot now”, he says before lifting your face up again to look you directly in your eyes.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

extra note: i’m trying to make a post including mh masterlist, fandoms and req rules but holy shit it’s a PROCESS. (my links aren’t working and i’m tweaking out)

[vagabondfandoms]

Falls on Me

Day Two: Morning

Previous Chapters:

Day One: Night

Rating: Teen (For this Chapter)

Characters: Gale Dekarios, F!Tav: Copper, Lae'zel, Karlach, Wyll Ravengard, Shadowheart, and Astarion in order of appearance.

Warnings: N/A, Gale POV, Mentions of chronic pain

First morning together and Gale is taking over cooking duties for the group.

---

Gale planned to be the first one awake to start the morning meal but much to his disappointment, two figures were awake and moving around.

"Good morning, Gale." Copper says warmly, pouring steaming liquid into a wooden cup and handing it to the young Githyanki warrior. "Were you able to sleep alright?"

Lae'zel gives the cup a displeased look, that reminds Gale of Tara when she's offered food not up to her standards. The young Gith gives it a hesitant sip, looks surprised, and then proceeds to drink some more.

"Yes, I did." Gale lies, knowing full well it took him hours of combating pain from both his orb and the hard ground to finally fall asleep. "But to be honest, I was expecting to be the first one awake this morning. I hope you aren't trying to take away my self-appointed but hopefully well-deserved cooking duties?"

"Ohh, no." Copper says while shaking her head behind the cup that was at her lips. I can't compete. The stew you made last night was delicious. I only put a pot of sib* on the fire to tie us over until more of us are awake.”

"Good," Gale says merrily as he rolls up his sleeves and reaches for a knife. I didn't want to find myself replaced on our second day together. It was very hard making dinner last night with only a couple of potatoes and a dubious-looking cut of meat.”

“Do you want any help, Gale?” the monk asks, already rising to assist.

“No, no. You go on. Relax!” Gale emphasizes. “I have this under control. We have a busy day ahead of us and these carrots are probably the least taxing things we will have to slice and dice today.” 

Gale waves the knife in the air to emphasize the slicing and dicing part. But he could have gone with the fried and flambéed if he was only considering magical cooking metaphors. 

Copper shrugs and sits back down next to Lae'zel. Gale keeps himself busy chopping up the carrots and potatoes to make a hash. 

He can overhear parts of the conversation around him. Lae'zel was answering some questions about the Githyanki culture that Copper was asking and Gale leans in to hear more. Of course, he read books about the Githyanki but it was entirely different hearing a first-hand account from a member of that race. Fantastical stuff.

"Yo, good morning." Karlach bursts out, as she skips over to the cookfire. "Hey somebody made sib, awesome!"

The chatter around the cookfire continues but a little more loudly than before. Gale just finishes browning the hash in the slightly dented camp skillet they bought from the druid trader for a deal when Shadowheart and Wyll arrive for breakfast. 

The timing makes Gale suspect the duo were hanging out in their tents instead of visiting with the group but he makes no comment as he dishes up the potato mixture into their bowls. 

Wyll happily says thanks while Shadowheart gives him a curt nod of acknowledgment for the food before daintily taking a nibble of seasoned potato.

Lae’zel once again looks at the food dubiously but wolfs the meal down with a warrior's grace. Gale is happy to see his cooking being enjoyed so openly.

In the back of his mind, he begins imagining all the ways he could impress his companions if only he they were back at his kitchen in Waterdeep. But if that was the case none of them would be in this situation with tadpoles in their brains now, probably not even him for other reasons.

Gale places a worried hand on his chest and feels the faint pulse of magic. “The orb is dormant now but for how long?” 

Getting lost in dark thoughts of face tentacles and magical explosions, Gale is surprised by the sudden appearance of Copper by his side. “Hey, you should go sit down and eat.” She says as she starts gathering the dirty dishes to get washed. “I can clean up after everyone.”

“Well, I have…” Gale starts to argue but the fiery tiefling cuts in.

“Yeah, wizard, enjoy your meal! We got this mess.” Karlach smiles while placing a bowl of hash in Gale’s hands and quickly marching him over to sit down with the others, who were in various degrees of conversation.

“-a spell for that,” Gale says deflated as his butt hits the ground. Words fall on deaf ears as the two taller women start carrying dishes to the washing tub to scrub.

The wizard picks at his food but listens in on the conversation between Wyll and Lae’zel about the strengths of their preferred weapons, the rapier and shortsword.

Gale grumpily thinks a fireball would make quick work of either weapon when Astarion sashays over, whining about not getting breakfast and getting surprised when Copper offers him the last bowl. 

The conversations slowly die down as everybody starts to get ready for the day. As Gale slowly gets up, his damn knees disliking being that low to the ground, he looks over at the bowl Astarion left by the fire and notices it's still full.

“The prissy elf didn’t even take a bite of his food even after he made a show of not receiving any.” Gale frowns, making a mental note to not take anything Astarion says too seriously.

Author Note:

Sib is a hot drink made of bark, roots, twigs, and herbs that the mercenaries and common folk consume in the book series The Deeds of Paksenarrion, a DnD-like fantasy world. It's something small to tide one over while waiting for actual food.

[frozenbound]

Thank you for writing the last prompt of mine, I loved it! Here is another one: I know it isnt autumn just yet, but i was thinking I would love to see your take on demon hanzo with zombie cassidy (van helsing cassidy works too, but I feel zombie boy doesnt get enoguh love) maybe with a theme of 'love transcends everything' (even dead or as demons, these two cant get enough of each other xD)

I'm so happy you liked it, thank you very much!!!

This was an interesting request! What I've written is a LOT more open-ended and shorter than what I usually do, but I hope you like it anyway!

Zombie Cassidy and Demon Hanzo, coming right up under the Read More!

The wind whispered and rustled around the trees, rattling the bare branches and scattering the brown leaves across the cold, bare ground. All the sounds had a hollow, deadened quality to them, and there was no telling if it was the dead season or dead ears that were to blame.

The demon always sounded clear, though; clear as a bell amid a muffled, stifled world.

It was one reason among many why Cole came here to the border of the forest, shambling and stumbling and forcing his stiff limbs to bend and straighten, bend and straighten, until he could rest what was left of both mind and body on the edges of desolation, the wide, flat, empty, and brown prairie behind him and the dark, dense, creaking forest before him.

The demon knew when he came, somehow. The first time had been an accident, when Cole had been wandering around his piece of bleak wilderness before spying, far and gray on the horizon, a low splotch that was the first break of any kind he had ever seen in his monotonous land.

He never called it “his” land until he knew there were others, lumbering across the nearly endless miles until the trees loomed above him, and he had stood there, staring, unsure of what to make of this sudden and momentous yet mundane discovery, a land that was different but equally dead, full of rustles and whispers that no living thing made or spoke…until he appeared.

Grey skin. Featureless, blank eyes. For a wild moment, Cole had thought he had found another like himself, stiff and hardened and rotting, but then he saw how the demon moved, fluid and graceful, as though he lived, and how the demon looked, perfect and unmarred.

No need for a hastily tied bandana.

The demon had stared, his eyes glowing gray-white in the darkness, meeting the soft and venomous green glow of Cole’s.

Then Cole had slowly reached up, tipped his hat, turned, and left.

He couldn’t bear another person’s presence after so long.

It burned like nothing had in a long, long time.

But, burn as it might, the deadly cold of loneliness turned out to be far more intolerable. Cole had hardly gone a few miles back into the barrens of…his…desolation before he stopped.

And, hours or days or weeks or months later in this timeless place...in these timeless places...he had turned back.

The demon hadn’t appeared as quickly as before, and Cole had even started taking the trouble of pacing, making his joints creak as much as the branches before him, before there he was, again.

“You’ve returned.”

Cole stopped dead.

A voice.

Clear yet low, gravelly yet smooth in his ears, a voice, a voice.

Cole struggled to answer.

He couldn’t. 

But the demon chuckled as he drew nearer, nearly stepping out on Cole’s side of desolation, out of the trees, but not quite, not quite, but standing before him, and Cole felt eyes on him for the first time in…felt someone consider him for the first time in…

And it burned. 

He burned.

The demon was fascinating, his gray skin covered in beautiful, muted designs of demons, with stylized horns above his eyes, and he was handsome, so handsome, like Cole had been, once upon a time, but no longer.

Now Cole was…

Cole began to turn away.

The demon chuckled.

“You’ve come all this way. Stay a while. Let me contemplate the how and why of a cowboy here in this place.”

Cole stopped.

And turned back.

Some time later, they parted ways.

But they didn’t diverge for long.

Cole was never out of sight of the forest. At times it was looming off to his side, at times it was a low, gray splotch on the horizon like it was when he’d first seen it, but he was never too far away.

The demon didn’t seem to wander far, either.

Whenever Cole came to the borders of desolation, it didn’t take long for him to appear.

“Ah,” came his voice, the one clear sound. “There you are.”

Cole couldn’t smile. But he wanted to. He wanted to smile like the demon did as he walked forward.

Maybe that was enough.

It was enough.

Cole took an unsteady step forward, then another.

Then he paused, one foot in midair, his eyes open and glowing and questioning.

The demon laughed, came up to his side, and took his cold hand.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he said, and Cole burned, burned, burned, as they walked between the trees and left his desolation far behind.

[masterwords]

Ok, so I’m so hyped for May and all the domestic Hotchgan! And you said blow up your ask box, so….

I would love a fic about Derek and Aaron taking a cooking (or baking) class together! I just think it could be so funny and sweet. (And probably more messy than they think it is. Maybe a little competitive 😅)

Turns out...I am not good at writing cooking classes. LOL This idea was one of my absolute favorites and I found it to be incredibly challenging. I had three different drafts, none of which were good, so I set myself a 30 minute timer this morning and just went to town...landed here. It's better than the others, but not great. At least it's coherent! I didn't edit it, just skimmed...so if there are horrific embarrassing errors. I'm sorry please forgive me. We're in the thick of baseball and getting ready for tournament season and end of the school year stuff so my time isn't as plentiful as I'd like but we're getting there! Doing the thing! (Not on AO3 yet...I'm being lazy.)

Words: 1.7k

Warnings: food, it's all food based.

** hey shorty **

“You should take Penelope,” Derek muttered, one last attempt at salvaging his Saturday afternoon. “She would love this.”

“She bought the gift for us, Derek. To do together.”

He’d forgotten that part. Maybe not entirely, but he was clinging to some thread of hope that maybe she had wanted to go to the classes too. And if she did, he wouldn’t have to.

“It’s just gonna be a bunch of nerds…” Now he was whining. He wasn’t proud of it.

“It’s an hour, Derek.”

“An hour I’ll never get back.”

In the end, it turned out to be two hours...but two hours Derek was glad to have been present for. The instructor, an old woman with a thick Scottish accent and a frown that could rival Hotch’s any day of the week got right to business. No jokes, no wasted time.

She started by explaining the history of shortbread, and Derek breathed an audible sigh of relief. His ultimate fear was that they were going to be making something awful...it was described by Penelope as a “historical cooking class” and she gave him no more information. Hotch knew but refused to divulge – so he’d looked it up, and it turned out there were three possible classes it could have been given the time and day. One of them was making something called a medieval beef pie and something about the thought of that made him feel ill. Shortbread he could do.

Or so he thought.

“Pilcaithly Bannock,” she said and Derek couldn’t help glancing around the room to see if anyone else was as lost as he was. Turned out, he was not alone. “It’s a traditional shortbread made with the addition of almonds and a few flavors you may find intriguing. The recipe we’ll be using comes from a cookbook written in 1861.”

At her direction, everyone filed up toward the front of the classroom where she handed them a bin full of ingredients and cooking utensils with a photocopy of a recipe taped to the top. Hotch and Derek glanced at one another thoughtfully, both impressed by the instructor’s organization. Suddenly Derek, who had never considered himself much in the kitchen, felt like he might actually be able to do this.

Hotch baked. He loved to do it. His insomnia sometimes led to incredible pastries, flaky dough and sweet treats that helped him ease his troubled mind in the wee hours of the night. He would come back to bed around 3am with the house smelling like a bakery and a little flour in his hair and Derek would wake up starving and salivating. But him? No. He could grill, and he could do that with the best of them...and he could eat, boy could he eat...but baking required so much precision, measurement, time and patience. It wasn’t that he couldn’t do it, it was that he didn’t want to. Nothing about it was appealing except eating the end result.

They were not supposed to talk while they worked, but everyone seemed to want to chatter a little. The instructor poured herself a mug of coffee and stood in a corner observing for a long while. Surrounding them was the chaos and clatter of a kitchen, mixing bowls and whisks and spoons and running water.

“What does it mean when it says to beat the butter to a cream?” Derek whispered, leaning over close to Hotch. “Isn’t that already what it is?”

Hotch tipped his bowl in Derek’s direction and showed him the thick peaks of creamed butter with a smirk. “Just use your whisk and whip it.”

“Too bad we don’t have stand mixers in here.”

“Seems like a good time to put those muscles you work so hard on to good use…” Hotch muttered and Derek, under his breath, called him a shithead.

“Mine’s gonna be so much better than yours.”

“Keep dreaming,” Hotch replied so quietly, so sure of himself that it became Derek’s entire mission in life to do this one thing as perfectly as he could. So, stepping back, he read the entire recipe top to bottom and then again, closer, before he set to whipping the butter. He was a little behind the rest of the class, they all looked like they were adding in the flour and sugar and almonds, but he wasn’t concerned. He could take his damn time.

And he did. He chopped his almonds into fine little bits, he made sure there were no clumps in his dough that he would definitely classify as a “paste” in accordance with the recipe, and when he scored his final product before taking it up to the oven he was...well, he was proud.

Until he saw Hotch’s, which looked borderline professional. His heart sank. The students all piled their trays into the waiting preheated ovens and set to their next task...cleaning up while the shortbread did its thing.

“If mine is better,” Hotch said while he scrubbed his countertop, “you take me out to lunch at Shake Shack.”

Derek scowled. It wasnt’t that he didn’t like Shake Shack, but he wasn’t in the mood for greasy burgers and milkshakes. “And if I win, you take me down to Così.”

When the timers began going off, the instructor pulled them out of the oven one by one. She inspected each tray before handing them off to their owners to begin cooling. The look she gave Derek was impossible for him to read, but he could see the admiration on her face when she looked at Hotch’s perfect little slab of shortbread. He began mentally preparing himself to eat at Shake Shack, to watch Hotch with his mushroom burger and frozen custard quietly gloating over his perfect performance. He realized in that moment that while he loved Hotch, he probably would have hated him had they met in high school. That smug look on his face was getting Derek all sorts of riled up and he couldn’t decide if he wanted to kiss him or smack him. Maybe both.

“How are they?” he asked when Hotch broke off a corner to try. He just shrugged and looked...disappointed.

“I could have done better. They’re a little tough.”

Derek stared at him agape. “They look professional, man.”

“I over-mixed the flour. They’re not bad but they don’t crumble the way they’re supposed to.”

Derek, horrified by what his own creation must be like in order for Hotch to be disappointed in his own turnout, stared down at his slab. They were darker than Hotch’s by at least one full shade, and a little extra even on the edges. Slowly, he reached out and broke off a corner of his to try and it crumbled in his fingers.

Hotch was watching him closely with a sweet smile on his face. “That’s perfect, Derek.”

“What are you talking about? It fell apart.”

The instructor made her way to their counter and peered at both of their creations. First she looked at Hotch’s, broke off a corner, and Derek saw the same look of disappointment on her face that Hotch had.

“They taste incredible,” she started with a smile. “But you’ve overmixed a bit, haven’t ye?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Give it another try at home.” Hotch smiled and nodded at her encouragement, proceeding to clean up the rest of his station and package up his failed attempt at shortbread. He could turn it into ice cream topping or something else at home at least. It was salvageable. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the instructor inspecting Derek’s.

“Nice color,” she began before grabbing a bit and watching it crumble in her hands. Her smile, once somewhat timid, widened. “Ahhh. That’s perfect.” She snapped off one whole cookie and held it in her hands reverently before snatching a chair, dragging it over to where Derek stood and stepped up on top of the seat. She stood now beside a very confused Derek, her hands still cradling the cookie.

“An old Scottish tradition is to break a slab of shortbread over a bride’s head. If it crumbles, the marriage will be good and fruitful. Shall we give this young man’s shortbread a try?”

The class erupted in laughter and applause, so she held her hands now over Derek’s head and snapped the cookie. It barely took a second before it crumbled to bits and fell over Derek’s head and shoulders in cookie dust. He shut his eyes and laughed along with everyone.

“Ahhh. Well, if that’s any indicator of the strength of your marriage…” she said, doing her best to get safely down off of the chair with Derek’s help. “Job well done.” Derek glanced at Hotch and shrugged, thinking he would find the man looking jealous or disappointed in himself...but all he found was Hotch with tears in his damn eyes and a smile on his face. The big softy.

In the car afterward, Hotch sitting in the passenger seat with two takeaway containers of shortbread on his lap, Derek poked the bear. “Did you hear her say mine was perfect?”

“I did.”

“She used the word perfect. Not good or great...perfect.”

“I heard.”

“Just makin’ sure. I know your ears don’t work so good, shorty.”

"Derek..." Hotch mumbled, giving him the side-eye. Derek just smiled broad and pulled out of the parking lot.

"Whassup shorty?"

Hotch had no response, but he couldn't help the ghost of a smile that ticked up at the corner of his mouth. Being called shorty was probably the least of his concerns. Derek was about to be insufferable over this shortbread ordeal for the remainder of the weekend and he would just have to suck it up and deal with it.

Derek, with a wicked little grin on his face, drove them straight to Shake Shack, bypassing Così on the way. He won the competition in class fair and square, but the instructor was right. He did have a pretty damn good marriage, and part of what made it so good was knowing when his partner might need a little pick-me-up...even if he did make the superior treat. He won cooking class.

But Hotch needed that frozen vanilla custard for his wounded pride and Derek was going to make sure he got it. (But if he crumbled a little of his perfect shortbread on top...well, could he really be blamed? It was perfect.)

[sun-marie]

I was tagged by @full---ofstarlight to do this super fun oc questionnaire! Thank you so much for tagging me <33 Since BG3 brainrot is still very much a thing I thought I'd do my two tadpole kiddos 💜

--

NAME: Zephyr Elowen Skybreeze, “Zephyr” to honor her late father, “Elowen” being her mother’s maiden name, and “Skybreeze” as her paternal family name

NICKNAME: None really, although her grandfather does teasingly call her “powder puff” from when she was a little girl 🤜🏽💨

GENDER: Cisfemale

STAR SIGN: I’m not much of an astrology person (which is ironic bc I think Zephyr is lol), but I’m going to go with Aries 🔆

HEIGHT: 5’ 5 - 5' 6 ~ish

ORIENTATION: Pan~

NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: She was born in Mosstone, south of the Forest of Tethir, by her wood elf mother and air genasi father, the latter of which died before she was born. She was raised by her mother and her paternal grandfather while her paternal grandmother traveled. When she was 15 she moved with her family to be closer to her dying grandmother in Baldur’s Gate, where she continued living into the present day. Zephyr considers herself a Baldurian, a Mosstonian, and a member of the Elmanesse Tribe through her mother.

FAVORITE FRUIT: Pears, but really any pome fruit 🍐🍎🍏

FAVORITE SEASON: Winter, she enjoys the quiet of the freshly fallen snow ❄❄❄

FAVORITE FLOWER: Apple Blossoms

FAVORITE SCENT: Incense

COFFEE, TEA, OR HOT CHOCOLATE: Tea for sure, her favorite is Chamomile (but also she is absolutely not above a good cup of hot cocoa by the fire)

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: Generally, a good solid 8, but during the course of the game she’s been having pretty bad sleep and can’t sleep for more than 3 hours without waking up :(

DOGS OR CATS: Dogs! While she likes both, she values the unconditional love/loyalty of dogs, and they are basically the only kind of animal that isn’t instantly intimidated by her / stand-offish to her.

DREAM TRIP: It’s a little corny I know, but I really do think she’s wanted to go to Waterdeep, the “✨City of Splendors✨”, ever since she started seriously pursuing a life of academic study.

NUMBER OF BLANKETS: 2, a comforter that remains on her bed and a smaller lightweight that she carries from room to room like a cloak lol

RANDOM FACT: Before the events of the game, she had been on a trip to the library of Candlekeep for a little over a week on an academic field trip sponsored by her (currently unnamed) monastery. It was on her way back home that she was kidnapped by Mind Flayers, and all but 2 of the tomes she had been allowed to take home with her were destroyed. Her family had expected her back in less than two days from then, only to be met with radio silence for months as every message she tried to send was shot down.

--

NAME: Ruathym Dhalmass, one of the last of the ""distinguished"" Dhalmass line

NICKNAME: He finds other people’s reaction to him being quote “one of the good ones” pretty funny because it speaks more to surfacer’s lack of experience with Drow than the quality of his moral character. He doesn't consider himself a good person and he knows Drow in the Underdark (his sister for one) who are much more “upstanding” than him. So now Ruathym being “The Good Drow” is kind of an inside joke in the party.

GENDER: Cismale

STAR SIGN: I’m gonna go with Taurus 🐂

HEIGHT: 5’ 9

ORIENTATION: Bi

NATIONALITY/ETHNICITY: Ruathym is a Seldarine Drow, and he and his older sister spent most of their early childhood as orphans in the wilds of the Underdark after their parents were killed by Lolth-sworn extremists. Eventually, when Ruathym was about 12, they came upon a Druidic Circle consisting of a colony of Myconids and a few drow and deep gnomes. They took Ruathym and his sister in, and gave Ruathym his deep appreciation for “underrepresented” organic life such as fungi. When asked about his nationality, Ruathym usually just shrugs and says “The Deep”

FAVORITE FRUIT: Pomegranate

FAVORITE SEASON: Spring, especially during the humid/rainy months!

FAVORITE FLOWER: Sussur Blooms, though he general prefers the bio-luminescent toadstools to any flower

FAVORITE SCENT: Vanilla beans~

COFFEE, TEA, OR HOT CHOCOLATE: He generally prefers coffee, but finds herbal tea to be easier to make and so that’s usually what he ends up drinking 🍵☕

AVERAGE HOURS OF SLEEP: 4, and that’s only if he’s forcing himself to sleep

DOGS OR CATS: Both! Ruathym is an animal lover to the core, he loves dogs, cats, hamsters, oxen, frogs, corvids, gremishkas, badgers, bears, all of them! He finds that more often than not they’re easier to talk to than people.

DREAM TRIP: Ruathym is not a very ambitious guy, if he could have spent all 500 years of his life in that tiny little Myconid colony, he would 😶 Having said that, hearing Minthara speak about Menzoberranzan does make him wish for a small peek.

NUMBER OF BLANKETS: 1, well-worn and well-loved

RANDOM FACT: Ruathym is actually a beast on the hand drum as well as a decent lute player, but he doesn’t let anyone else know for fear it will ruin his hardened reputation 👀

tagging @glamfellens, @hajima-7 and @fiendpact! Doesn't have to be BG3 related afaik, and no pressure at all if this isn't your thing 😊

[puzzlewholesale]

Tips & Tricks on How to Do a Jigsaw Puzzle: Step-by-Step Puzzle Strategy

Introduction

Solving puzzles is one of life’s many rewarding pastimes that’s both relaxing and mentally engaging. When you begin, you may be tempted to dive right in and put pieces together as you find matches in no particular order. While this approach may work for puzzles with lower piece counts, it spells certain frustration for more complex jigsaws with lots of pieces.

Taking the time to solve a puzzle strategically will ultimately make the process more stress-relieving and cognitively beneficial than going in without a plan. To make the most of your puzzling experience, we’ve put together some tips and tricks for how to start a jigsaw puzzle.

Puzzles are perfect for people of any age, considering the diversity of jigsaw themes, sizes, and even shapes. So get your puzzle, puzzle accessories, and thinking cap ready, it’s time to talk strategy!

Step 1: Pick Your Puzzle Strategy Before You Start

There are a few steps to take before opening up the puzzle box and getting to work. If it’s been a while since you last solved a jigsaw puzzle, fear not! It can seem overwhelming at first (especially if you’re working with 1,000 or more pieces!) but sticking to these guidelines for how to solve a puzzle will help you complete yours in a timely and efficient manner.

Are you wondering how to start a jigsaw puzzle? The first step is to get everything set up. This includes making sure you have good lighting, plenty of space, and even some snacks handy

Choose Your Puzzle and Work Area

Select your puzzle and workspace if you haven’t already. Choose a jigsaw puzzle that appeals to your imagination and will be a close match to your skill level. Explore puzzle themes at puzzle wholesale such as scenic landscapes, the four seasons, holidays, wildlife and farm animals, city scenes, and more. Your puzzle strategy will be similar for most types of jigsaws, though will require more preparation time the bigger they are.

If you’re new to puzzling and are looking for something on the easier side, start with 100 piece jigsaw puzzles or 300 piece jigsaw puzzles to get your feet wet. For puzzling veterans, try 750 piece or 1,000 piece puzzles with complex image designs sure to keep you busy for hours. In any case, keep in mind that bigger puzzles will take longer to complete.

Next, find the appropriate place to work. You don’t want to empty the puzzle box onto a table only to realize that you’ll have to move it, or don’t have enough space! The kitchen table can work, though pieces may go missing if moved around frequently to accommodate people eating or asking why you’re doing a puzzle while they’re trying to have lunch.

Make life easier by using a puzzle table for your next project. It keeps your jigsaw in a discreet, transportable area and features borders that keep pieces from falling and getting lost.

Step 2: How to Start Your Jigsaw Puzzle

Puzzle strategy tip number two: dump out the pieces! After all, you can’t solve your jigsaw while it’s still in the box. Remember to arrange the puzzle on your table carefully, as pieces can easily get lost when they’re small and blend in with the surrounding flooring. If you do lose a piece, check out our blog on what to do if you’re missing a puzzle piece. Coming up with a solution is easier than you think!

Turn All Pieces Face Up

Once all the pieces have been taken out of the box, turn each one face up. This will give you a clearer picture of what you’re working with and will help with later stages of puzzling, like sorting the pieces.

Assemble the Border

Often, people wondering how to start a jigsaw puzzle overlook this step—assembling the border. It can seem a little tedious at first, but identifying the edge pieces and putting them together to create the full border provides a clear framework. If the puzzle is a rectangle or square, the corner pieces will be your guides. Note that for shaped jigsaw puzzles, assembling 100% of the border at first may be too difficult, in which case do as much as you can!

Sort the Pieces by Color

Easy as pie, organize your puzzle pieces into small piles by their color. You can keep it general at first, subdividing by more nuanced shades as you go. It also helps to look for similar patterns on the pieces to see which ones go together—two blue pieces, for example, could fit in completely different areas of the jigsaw.

Sorting pieces is especially useful when working on larger jigsaw puzzles with complex images akin to miniature worlds. Even if the pieces you’ve grouped don’t automatically fit together (or need to be moved around) this process will help save you time and effort in the long run.

Step 3: How to Solve the Puzzle

Now that you have your workspace set up, border assembled, puzzle accessories handy, and pieces neatly sorted, it’s time to solve the puzzle! Work at whatever pace makes you happy, taking breaks as needed.

Complete Section by Section

One of the most impactful puzzle strategies is to work section by section. Simple, right? Use the pieces you sorted into different piles based on color and pattern, gradually filling out areas and reorganizing pieces as needed. You can always go back and forth between a few different areas, should you get stuck on one section (like that endless blue sky).

Build the Center

As much as possible, try to work from the middle areas of the puzzle outward. This helps bring together and connect surrounding sections, like the branches on a tree. This part of the puzzle strategy goes hand-in-hand with the previous steps.

Piece the Puzzle Together

By now, the jigsaw puzzle will likely have many sections ready to be connected and pieced together. Fill in the gaps between sections and solve for the rest of the jigsaw puzzle, getting any last edges assembled you may have been stuck on earlier. Once you’re done, pat yourself on the back, no matter how easy or challenging it was to complete your puzzle.

Step 4: Deciding on a Frame

Congratulations on finishing your jigsaw puzzle! Now that it’s completed and you know how to start and solve a puzzle like a pro, you have to decide whether you’d like to shuffle it back into the box or keep it preserved. For saving it, use dedicated puzzle glue and frames to hold the pieces together reliably. Otherwise, take apart your jigsaw piece-by-piece for future enjoyment.

Conclusion

Solving puzzles is a fun, stress-relieving hobby enjoyed by millions of people around the world. Puzzling exercises both halves of the brain and has been shown scientifically to help improve short-term memory, concentration, and problem-solving abilities. Plus, puzzles are lots of fun whether you fly solo or work with family or a group of friends. Now that you know how to do a puzzle like a pro, it’s time to start solving.

Are you on the quest for your next puzzling adventure? Shop for jigsaw puzzles at puzzlewholesale today, browsing by theme or the number of pieces to find exactly what you’re looking for. Thanks for reading!

[matildesimaoblog]

paris fashion week

September 25th - October 5th

When you live in Paris, there are many cultural advantages, especially when it comes to participating in events like the fashion week, which takes place at the end of September every year. If you know me at all, you know how much I love fashion. I'm fascinated by how designers create breathtaking garments, I enjoy seeing people's personalities reflected in their style, and I have a keen interest in fashion history because I believe studying the past is essential to understanding the present. Therefore, being in Paris during this time of year was a dream come true.

Like every fashion week season, I made a list of the shows I was most interested in seeing. In the past, I would simply watch the livestream, but this time I had the opportunity to attend the shows in person. The only challenge was figuring out the locations. Thanks to my friends, I discovered that people would usually post the addresses of the shows on TikTok. Until then, I had never downloaded the application. I had told my friends back home multiple times that I had no intention of jumping on the trend and consuming unnecessary 7-second to 1-minute content. However, the only thing standing between me and the chance to see actual celebrities and their impeccable outfits was downloading TikTok, so I did.

As you can probably imagine, during fashion week, there are fashionable people everywhere. Being a broke fashion girly, I tried to be creative with my outfits, but honestly, I'm pretty basic. I like wearing a white T-shirt with jeans, my Adidas Sambas, and occasionally adding a knit sweater if necessary. I don't know why, but I stood by this habit because I feel put together when I wear simple clothes like that.

During fashion week, I attended four shows: Givenchy, Schiaparelli, Coperni, and Vivienne Westwood. While most security guards considered waiting around for celebrities at the entrance of fashion shows a waste of time, I, like many others, saw it as my way of participating in fashion week. It's truly insane how many people are willing to wait just to catch a glimpse of celebrities (myself included). Furthermore, I wasn't expecting the organization to be so chaotic and often improvised. I would usually arrive at the location two hours in advance to secure a good view, and typically, the barriers were already in place. However, there were two exceptions. At the Schiaparelli show, they had put barriers only at the entrance, and on the opposite side, they had only put up plastic banners. It quickly became apparent that this arrangement wouldn't suffice, so they added barriers later when chaos was already in full swing. Additionally, because the entry was on a narrow street, they should have stopped the traffic leading into the street to minimize disruption, but they didn't. The other show that lacked organization — at least at the beginning — was Coperni. When I arrived, they hadn't even set up any barriers yet. It was remarkable to witness their uncertainty regarding the placement of the barriers as they kept changing their minds.

The highlight of my fashion week experience was probably at Vivienne Westwood. Firstly, I arrived early and had the opportunity to see Andreas Kronthaler. Secondly, I was front-row and able to watch the show outside the venue on a big screen that transmitted what was going on inside.

To end fashion week on a high note, there was a last-minute book signing organized by Jacquemus at one of their stores. My friends and I attended the event and got to see Simon Jacquemus, which was an incredible experience, primarily because he's one of my favorite designers!

[quotes121sworld]

House of the Dragon is planning a shorter Season 2 as part of a longer term plan, including Season 3

While the creative team behind HBO's House of the Dragon certainly has a bigger Season 2 in mind in many ways - including the introduction of five new dragons - they also have a smaller season in mind in terms of episodes.HBO renewed House of the Dragon -- set 172 years before Game of Thrones -- in late August, just days after the pilot had the largest premiere audience in the network's history, at 10 million viewers.The network did not disclose the number of episodes in the renewal announcement, and although they originally planned another 10-episode run like Season 1, meeting They are now reportedly aiming for an eight-episode second season. The shorter season is said to be part of a long-term plan for the series that would also include an early green light for Season 3.The news comes ahead of production, which begins season two in the UK sometime this summer, with HBO eyeing a season two premiere in summer 2024.

Minor Season: While the creative team behind HBO's House of the Dragon certainly has a bigger Season 2 in mind in many ways - including the introduction of five new dragons - they also have a smaller season in mind in terms of episodes

Renewed: HBO renewed House of the Dragon -- set 172 years before Game of Thrones -- in late August, just days after the pilot had the largest premiere audience in the network's history, at 10 million viewersSome sources claimed the shorter second season was just another cost-cutting move for HBO's parent company, Warner Discovery, which had come under fire for many such actions, including the cancellation of the $90 million film Batgirl.An HBO spokesperson, who confirmed that Season 2 would indeed be eight episodes, instead insisted the shorter season would be "story-driven."There were reports that series creators Ryan Condal and Game of Thrones writer George RR Martin were envisioning a three or four season series.Both Condal and Martin reportedly "took a step back" when conceptualizing season two in order to get a "big overview" of the series, which is based on Martin's companion book, Fire & Blood.This new approach helped the writers figure out how to break up these stories and what seasons specific battles should include.The approach ultimately resulted in both Season 2 and Season 3 being fully planned, and the network is considering approving scripts, casting and a production schedule for Season 3 as well.Part of the reconfiguration involved moving a major combat sequence originally intended for Season 2 into Season 3.The report also claims that this plan now makes it easier for the show to run four seasons, although both Condal and Martin are currently both "back-and-forth" about whether the full story should be told in three or four seasons.

Cost-cutting: Some sources have claimed the shorter second season is just another cost-cutting move for HBO's parent company, Warner Discovery, which has come under fire for many such moves, including the cancellation of the $90 million film Batgirl

Story-driven: An HBO spokesperson, who confirmed that season 2 would indeed be eight episodes, instead insisted that the shorter season be "story-driven."Ironically, in October a blog entry where he revealed the show would last four seasons and use 10-episode seasons, while lamenting how HBO used to greenlight 13-episode seasons.“I'm thrilled that we still have 10 hours each season to tell our story. I hope that will continue to be the case,” said Martin. "It will take four full seasons of ten episodes each to do Dragon Dance from start to finish," he added.The season 1 finale ended with the brutal death of one of Rhaenyra Targaryen's sons, setting the spark that starts civil war between House Targaryen and House Hightower.Condal revealed earlier this month during an event you should consider that fans will be treated to many more fire-breathing dragons."You will meet five new dragons," Condal revealed during the Q&A session at the Directors Guild of America, adding that production on Season 2 will begin "shortly." Martin was also at the event, praising Condal and his writers, adding, "This guy has an amazing writing team. Because if you read my book Fire & Blood, which you should do, it's a fake story.'"So there's a lot of detail in there that's absolutely wonderful and moving that's not in the book. They added stuff and they added good stuff, which is important," Martin added.

Full Seasons: "It will take four full seasons of 10 episodes each to do Dragon Dance from start to finish," he added

More Dragons: "You will meet five new dragons," Condal revealed during the Q&A session at the Directors Guild of America, adding that production of Season 2 will begin "shortly." Read the full article

[bored-trans-orchidsexual]

I genuinely hope this doesn't come as a shock to people but this is *not* going to be a 1:1 remake of ATLA with live action actors and special effects, it's just not. Netflix is not going to make an episodic, "adventure of the week" series faithful to the source material. The original show's first season was a 20-episode run of short little 20-minute stories, with the exception of a few 2-parters like at the beginning and end of the season. Netflix's show is going to be an 8-episode season covering the same overall story, with presumably 40 minutes, maybe an hour, per episode. The adaptation is not going to be direct. Some content from the original show is going to be expanded (you know the first episode of netflix's is going to be the first two-parter of the first season, *maybe* throw in the southern air temple, so it's going to be expanded on) and others are going to be shortened (Several of these episodes are going to adept multiple side adventures in one, unlikely each original storyline is going to keep a full 20 minutes of screen time.) This distinction is more important then I think a lot of people are thinking of it, and it's gonna lead to some disappointments in the future I can tell. This Avatar is going to be *fully serialized* unlike the original, which toyed with serialization more and more as the seasons went by but never fully dropped the episodic spirit, even within more serialized arcs, which I think was a beautiful blend. These writing styles don't need to be as opposed as some would make you think, but Netflix's entire brand is fueled on sterilization and binging, so there is no doubt in my mind the changes will be made. What difference does this make? ATLA was a collection of about 15 different stories depending on how you count them (for example the last 4 episodes take place in the same place and build on each other, so I consider them one story) that while it begins in one place, ends in another, and the stories in between clearly depicts an overall journey, Each individual story feels like it gets it's own time to breathe, sometimes with two episodes dedicated to them. It's one journey but you quickly forget about the end goal as you watch, so soaked up in the characters and events in each place they visit.

"The Warriors of Kyoshi" is episode *4*. So in context of this much more linier, serialized story where the stops along the way are really going to feel more like *smaller parts* of the ongoing narrative they will keep reminding you of leading up to just episode 8, changes things. Suddenly the characterization, personalities, and flaws of our main cast are going to matter much more, and there are going to be different expectations on how they develop and grow. The run-in with the Kyoshi warriors, which gets rid of Sokka's sexist worldview? Is going to happen early or in the middle of episode *2* mark my words. Writing a character to have as annoying a trait as being a sexist, only to immediately write that flaw out barely a full episode later, is just flat-out bad writing, and in this new presentation is just going to be annoying. Removing this aspect entirely, is honestly the safest bet and I'm glad they are doing it. The only other reasonable choice while not tanking the writing quality *on purpose* just to be 100% loyal in an adaptation, would be to make the Kyoshi Island appear much more north, later in the series after we've gotten to know Sokka more and maybe with his sexist remarks getting annoying or driving certain side characters away. Of course this would *also* piss off ATLA fans because that's not just changing arc orders, that's also shifting the geography of the world to fix a narrative issue and would have likely the same people up in arms, writing angry posts and youtube shorts about *that.*

"But Sokka sexism arc so cool"

TL;DR The Sokka Sexism character moment doesn't make sense in this new context, we're better off without it, not every change in writing an adaptation needs to be attacked. I have a niche annoyance I'd like to address. It's about how Netflix's live-action remake of Avatar: The Last Airbender isn't going to include Sokka's sexist behavior, which the company is treating like a win. I have seen quite a few people voice blowback against this sentiment, talking about how interesting and valuable this aspect to the character is, about how removing it weakens the character instead of adding to it, yada yada yada, and I just have to say... I feel like you guys aren't fully getting context here. Don't get me wrong, it was kind of cringe of them to broadcast this removal like they were doing a great thing, it was naturally going to backfire of them, but they probably just saw the general cause of "fuck bigots" getting more and more traction in recent years online and wanted some free online publicity/hype, but the people smugly making youtube shorts and posts pointing out the basic narrative of what happened and saying the same thing about how 'actually, his being sexist and learning to not be was good and helpful' is kinda just as cringe to me. Don't get me wrong: They are kind of right. Sokka isn't a sexist per se, just was raised in a culture that held to some pretty rigid gender norms and hasn't seen enough of the world to challenge that until the Kyoshi warriors more or less beat that misunderstanding out of him. From then on his worldview has broadened and he no longer carries that assumtion that men = strong and women = soft anymore. It's frankly a kinda childish execution of the concept, just thinks one way then in what, 2 days, changes his mind forever? And to my memory, it never really comes up again since? But whatever, it's a kid's cartoon and it's written fine enough. And in a beat-for-beat remake of the same length, there's no real reason to remove it. Hell, expand on it, make it a bigger deal, that's fine. Part 2 coming. Sigh.

[rickfucker]

(kinda emo) Nsfw Rick Headcanons (GN!)

i’ve gained lots of followers since my last post. hello! and welcome to the shitshow. this turned out extra emo! for whatever reason idk. i think it might just be because of how much i love rick this season. he’s a little softer. pls enjoy.

Sex is one of those things that he almost overdid when he was younger. He still loves it, don’t get me wrong, but he used it as an unhealthy coping mechanism in tandem with his drinking. It started losing its spark as he really got on in years.

This man is of the streets. He’s seen it all and he’s done it all.

Definitely a switch. His default is soft dominant. He will give endless praise, from how stunning your body is to how well you take him.

He gets tired, though. He’s spent his whole life fighting shadows of himself; trying to convince himself that he doesn’t need anyone. He wouldn’t ask you outright, necessarily, but if you decide to take the reigns from him for a night, he melts right into it. He wants someone to take care of him. Love him. Be gentle with him, just enough to make him forget about the cruelty of his own existence.

Sex with you is healing for him in that respect. He has done the hard and fast with everyone he’s ever met. You’re a fresh start, like he’s being given a second chance at doing things the right way.

He takes his time with you. To the point of your very obvious frustration. I’m talking hours of foreplay.

He’s the type to gently coerce you into saying exactly what you want in bed, usually in the filthiest way possible. Once again, extra points for the full-body blushing you’ll be doing. He eats that shit up.

He wants to hear you say what you want. That you want him, specifically. Consent is sexy!

Nicknames for days. Sweetheart, baby, hun, sugar, sweetcheeks, lmao. He loves just hearing you say his name, though.

He likes to fuck in weird places. Views it like a sort of challenge.

You would definitely have sex in every room in the house. Kitchen countertops, living room couch, the shower (obviously), laying you out on top of the dining room table (you insist on Clorox-ing afterward because he certainly isn’t going to do it).

He would never risk the possibility of you two being walked in on, though. He’s for sure into exhibitionism to an extent, but not with his family in mind. For your privacy as much as his own. Also his territorial nature. Nobody is viewing the goods but him.

He actually doesn’t want to have sex on his workspace. He’s got too much important shit that can’t risk, ahem, contamination.

If you get awkward of feel embarrassed while bumping uglies, he literally does not care. Everything you do is sexy to him, including all of the very human things about you.

(AFAB) I can’t tell if he’s a boob or a butt guy, but that’s ‘cause he’s a pussy guy. We all know this. He is King of giving head and he fucking loves it. 

(AMAB) Same goes here. King of Giving Head; He WILL give you that sloppy toppy.

Always makes his partner come first.

He can’t pick a favorite position, but he does love it when you ride him, especially dry humping. He likes it when the two of you end up so in the moment that there’s no time for taking off clothes.

Goes absolutely feral when you say you love him.

Sometimes cries a little after really intense sex, but not when you can see him. He’s got all these pent up emotions that just end up toppling over when he lets his guard down.

Pillow talk for a hundred years. He likes it when you start rambling about the future, toying with his hands while you talk softly. “Maybe we could move somewhere closer to the ocean. Or are you more of a cabin in the woods kind of guy?” You laugh at the idea of Rick lounging on the beach, which he takes mock offense to.

You make him think about things he never would have considered before. What reason would he have to ask himself the less important questions of life? Like what his favorite architectural style of home is. What would his perfect vacation look like? If he had to pick a new hobby to start, what would it be? It’s just nonsense, things he would never talk about in front of anyone else due to their irrelevant nature, but in the afterglow with you, he likes it. Maybe it makes him feel more normal; suburban; domestic. Maybe he just likes how dreamily you talk about those things, and the way you give him your full, rapt attention in the quiet sanctity of his tiny bedroom. Nothing else exists but you.

[yandere-daydreams]

Okay okay but what about a royal going yandere for their court jester? They’re just such fun company, a refreshing contrast to the monotone education they receive in preparation to take the throne.

(i'd like to mention that @heartfullofleeches already has a very entertaining yandere!emperor x jester!reader series, and i've sorta wanted to put my own twist on it for a while now. consider this my own little spin-off, if that's allowed.)

tw - imprisonment, implied drug use, unhealthy relationships, and obsessive behavior.

you're more of a traveling act than a full-blown court jester, honestly - just another drifter who invites yourself into the royal palace of whatever kingdom you're in, offers your service to the crowned family, and allows them to either accept you into their entourage or have their personal guards escort you to the city's border. you're taken in more often than not, if only for the novelty of having such a brazen fool to serve as that evening's entertainment, and you enjoy the work, often remarking to the courtiers you've been tasked to amuse that your's is the only job in the world where a surplus of skill is second only to a total lack thereof. sometimes, you only stay for a single performance, and on other occasions, you'll spend months in one place, juggling the chef's finest cleavers and singing songs about who that Duke is sleeping with or which misguided investment left this Lady without her fortune. you always move on in the end, of course. if you linger too long, they'll start to give you official duties, try to make you part of the household rather than a parasite who spends its days drinking up the king's wine. you tend to cut most of your stays short, to say the least.

you're quite fond of your current kingdom, though, a little coastal nation with a sovereign still growing into their crown. they don't have much of a court, but they seem to enjoy hearing tales of your personal adventures, seem to like hiding their face behind a gloved hand as you sit in their personal chambers and tell them about a particularly vindictive Lord from your last venture. you do feel bad for the little ruler - an isolated child raised into a lonely monarch, surrounded by advisors and regiments and so many people to whisper so many pleasing things into their ears, left to rule a country you can tell they don't truly careful with no one for company but a poor, traveling fool. you're far from a dutiful companion, but you do what you can, practicing your flips and cartwheels while they sign legislation and draft formal decrees, muttering jokes under your breath whenever you find your way to their side during any royal banquets or ceremonies. their smiles are hard-won, but you don't mind a tough audience, and it's easy to lose track of how many hours you spend attempting to balance on the tip of a fire poker when their laughter proves to be such a satisfying reward. you almost hesitate to leave when the seasons change, it's a momentary weakness, and you manage to wish them well the night before your departure. they take it well, but you aren't surprised by that. they've always been the stoic type.

that's what you assume, at least, until you wake up in their personal chambers, the wine they'd insisted that you toast with spilled over your clothes and your wrists shackled to a bedpost. they're seated on the edge of your mattress, of course, gazing down at you with those cold, desolate eyes. they're speaking, but you can't make out the words - just little nothings about why you would leave them, about how much they've come to love your company, about how devastated they'd be if you ever strayed from their side.

about how well their precious little fool could perform with two broken ankles.

[scapegrace74-blog]

Artificial Nocturne, a Metric Universe Story

A/N This is an idea I’ve had banging around in my head for quite a while, and I’ve finally got it down on paper.  It’s about Metric Jamie and Claire facing a huge test in their relationship, and how they react to it.

When I first wrote Lazy Dancer and Calculation Theme, the two ficlets that eventually became the multi-ficlet Metric Universe, I had no idea at what time they were set, beyond being modern. Since then, the Metric Universe has grown into a twenty-four (and counting!) installment beast with actual hooks into a particular point in history, so I've gone back and assigned Metric-canon-compliant timeframes to those first two stories. That's important, because this installment takes place a full three years after Jamie and Claire get together officially as a couple in No Light, No Light, and nine months after Calculation Theme, which up until now was the latest in the series, chronologically. This is a seasoned couple with a lot of water under the bridge. I have other ideas for ficlets that take place in the intervening years, but it felt important to get to this installment first.

With that said, this story is for all the readers who patiently waited for me to come back to this universe. I'm glad I didn't let you down, and I hope that you're satisfied with the result!

The entire Metric Universe, in chronological order, can be found here. 

November 6, 2021, Spittalfields, London, England

The fact that the voice on the phone wasn’t Jenny was a harbinger of disaster arriving at their door.  Claire knew the tone; had used it herself in countless conversations with loved ones.  Measured.  Clinical.  At one remove from emotional connection.  Being the recipient of such a call made her want to track down every family member she’d ever spoken to in such a way and beg their forgiveness.

Jamie slept, blissfully unaware of the anguish that awaited him on waking.  Nearing midnight, it was far too late to catch a flight or train to Scotland.  She briefly considered waiting until his alarm woke him for his early morning shift but dismissed the notion as selfish.  If their situations were reversed, she would want to know.  Pain did not lessen by being deferred, but the numbing of raw nerves took time.

He was asleep on his side, one arm curled on his pillow as though fending off a blow.  She ached for his oft-fractured innocence, longed to take him inside her flesh where nothing more could hurt him.

“Jamie, wake up,” the night’s peacefulness shattered with her words.  “There’s been an accident.”

***

Phone calls.  Internet searches for last minute flights.  Packing an overnight bag for an indeterminate trip.  She understood why Jamie rushed into burning buildings.  There was purpose in action, a conduit through which to siphon the poison of fear, the viscousness of futility.

“I’ll take an Uber tae Gatwick.  There’s no need fer ye tae miss yer shift.”

They were standing in the kitchen, both staring vacantly at the fridge as though willing it to provide further imperatives to guide their shipwrecked purpose.

“Alright,” Claire replied without truly hearing him.  “Did you remember to pack the Atkinson novel?  I promised Jenny I’d return it the next time I saw her.”

This was skirting the borders of absurdity.  Jenny’s spouse lay in an Inverness hospital, the victim of a farming accident that saw an over-turned tractor crush his body into Lallybroch’s fertile dirt.  The literal last thing on her mind was a borrowed book.

“Aye.”  Jamie opened the fridge door, peered inside, then let it swing closed again.

“Let’s go to bed,” she suggested.  “There’s nothing to be done for a few hours yet.”

“I canna sleep, Claire,” Jamie protested, following her dutifully towards their room all the same.

“I know.  Just rest your eyes.”

She slipped, fully dressed, beneath the covers.  Beside her, Jamie lay still like the effigy of some noble lord, the sharp angles of his profile limned in silver-blue streetlight.

“I am a coward,” he confessed to the ceiling, “for I dinna want tomorrow tae come.

She took his chilled hand in her own and held on tight.

***

“What are you thinking about?” she asked as shadow continents drifted along their wall.

She knew he was awake from the measured cadence of his breathing, from the tight grip he maintained on her hand.  She hadn’t expected prompt candour, however.

“How Ian helped me after the explosion.  Jenny was flailing about wi’ all the subtlety of a jack-hammer, sticking her stubborn wee heid inta everything.  I was in a terrible state, hooped up on morphine an’ feeling right sorry fer myself.  Ian jes sat by my side, night after night.  When I woke screamin’, he would use his voice tae calm me down.  When I refused tae get outta bed, he dragged me up wi’ his own two hands.  He stood in the middle of the path tae despair, and he wouldna let me get past.  Ian Murray an’ the memory of ye: those were the two ropes I used tae pull myself back onto my feet.”

Considering Jamie’s memory of her at that point consisted of a drunken encounter and half an hour keeping him from flat-lining in her emergency room, she couldn’t imagine how she’d earned equal standing with his life-long best friend.  It was a conversation best saved for another day.

“We have to believe that he’ll be okay,” she said, despising the hollowness of the words but unwilling to make empty promises.

Rather than responding, Jamie rolled into her side, burying his nose in the concavity of her neck.  She half-expected tears, but he lay still, breath ratcheting like a xylophone on each exhale.  After a time, his mouth began to move, pressing urgent moist kisses to her clavicle, nosing her shirt away so that he could reach the uppermost swell of her breast.

“It feels as though there’s a fist tight about my throat,” he muttered into her sternum.  “I canna draw a decent breath.”

“Come closer and let me breath for you, then,” she offered, raising up to peel the uppermost layer of her clothing away.

In their three or so years together, they had made love a hundred different ways: shyly, tenderly, teasing or passionate as a raging storm.  This was something new.  A desperation that hurt to witness. An unfailingly considerate lover under normal circumstances, Jamie seemed driven purely by his own base needs.  With impatient fingers, he shoved her underwear to the side, burying himself a hundred absolutions deep inside her body.  This wasn’t about sex, she understood.  He was seeking solace and succour from her at the most primitive level, chasing the tabula rasa of release.

With nerves raw as copper wire, Jamie finished within minutes.  A rough expulsion of heated breath and he crumpled towards the mattress, his weight pressing her down like lead.  She prayed he would drift to sleep and gain the temporary reprieve of oblivion, even if it meant laying crushed beneath him.   Instead he rose silently to use the washroom, coming back with a warm cloth to clean between her legs.

“I love ye, Claire,” he whispered once they were again lying side by side, waiting for the muster call of dawn.

In the days and weeks that followed, she would revisit those words and remember how they had the finality of a farewell.

***

Their flat rang with the sepulchral expectancy of an empty train station.  An independent loner since her youth, Claire nonetheless found herself filling the silence left by Jamie’s absence with inane chatter.

She spoke of her penultimate clinical rotation, and of her absolute certainty that gerontology was not the specialty for her.  She narrated her list of chores, assuring him she wasn’t over-watering their spider plant and that his mobile phone was in no danger of being cut off for late payment.  She debated the merits of various residency programs and confessed her doubts that she would be accepted to any of her top choices.

By contrast, their actual communication was brief and infrequent.  Ian’s condition was no longer life-threatening, but the doctors had to amputate his left leg above the knee where the tractor had crushed the bones beyond repair.  The surgery and post-operative rehabilitation took place in Edinburgh, forcing Jenny to chose between abandoning her husband or leaving her children and the estate in her brother's care.  Jamie’s emotional state shifted from blind terror to a weary aloofness as the long road to recovery stretched before them.  His grim mood added metaphorical distance to the physical divide already in place.

“I sure wish you were here to talk to,” she whispered to his pillow after a particularly grueling twenty-four hours.  “My life only makes sense when I see it reflected in your eyes.”

***

Upon due consideration, Jamie determined that he would sooner run into a burning building than be solely responsible for putting two children under the age of six to bed every night.  It wasn’t yet eight o’clock and his neck ached with the accumulated strain of holding his head upright.

Since arriving at Lallybroch three weeks earlier, his days had taken on a relentless sort of routine.  Mornings revolved around dressing, feeding and transporting his niece and nephew to their primary school.  Midday was reserved for the countless tasks and duties that went into the running of the estate: finishing the harvest, caring for the livestock, making minor repairs and keeping the house at least a step above squalor.  By afternoon, he was mentally and physically exhausted but there were still five hours of child-minding, meal preparation, bathing and story reading before he could collapse, nerves brittle and eyes tacky, onto the sofa where he more-often-than-not fell asleep listening to the fire crackle, a half-finished dram of whisky teetering precariously in his hand.

It was from that sofa that he leapt, realizing he had failed to pack the children’s lunches for the next day.  A cursory glance in the fridge confirmed that he had not shopped for groceries in several days.  With few nutritious options to hand, he settled for toasting sliced bread with two dabs and a smear of butter.  Despite his exhaustion, he smiled when he pictured Wee Jamie and Maggie discovering their bologna sandwiches decorated with happy faces the following day.

For the thousandth time, he considered at what juncture he would need to capitulate and accept the kindly offers of neighbours and more distant relatives to pitch in and carry part of the load.  Jenny was insistent that the bairns’ routine be upset as little as possible, considering the many inevitable adjustments they would need to make once Ian came home.  In principle, Jamie agreed.  In practice, he was holding things together with only the most tenuous of grips.

Seen through the haze of fatigue and apprehension, his life in London took on the quality of a fevered dream.  He yearned for Claire with a burning ache that migrated from his wame to the back of his throat.  Not unlike Ian’s amputated limb, he diagnosed himself with phantom pains. A vital part of his life was missing.  With time, he would adjust.  His heart would learn to beat despite its missing half.

That’s not how the cardiovascular system works, my lad.  He drifted to sleep with Claire’s voice correcting him, rounded vowels rolling about in her haughty mouth.

Insistent rapping infused his dream, translated as musket fire that startled him awake.  The mantle clock read half eleven. He briefly considered leaving whatever maniac was beating down his door at that hour to the tender mercies of the night.

Upon unbolting the door, he was greeted by a sight so inexplicably astonishing that he wondered if he was still dreaming.  Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp, face pale in the moonlight and curls as dark as peat, stood on his front step, a suitcase braced against her calf.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” she asked when he showed no outward reaction.  On the inside, his heart was bellowing away like a concertina.

“Aye,” he shook himself.  “Aye, I’m jes startled tae see ye, Sassenach.”

He left her heavy suitcase at the base of the stairs and turned to find her looking around the great room as though she hadn’t visited a dozen times before.  His own gaze took in the mess of toys on the floor and the half-finished glass of whisky on the table.  The fire had burned low while he’d dozed.  Hopefully the dim lighting at least hid the lines of strain on his face.

“Can I offer ye some tea?  I’m afraid there isna much tae eat, unless ye favour bologna sandwiches.”

“Tea would be nice.  I always forget how cold it gets up here at night.”

Such a statement would normally serve as the perfect opening to suggest they keep each other warm in the laird’s bed.  Instead, he fled to the kitchen, tongue thick and dry in his mouth.

It shouldn’t have been as surprising as it was to find his girlfriend at his doorstep: Claire wasn’t a woman who sat back and let change happen to her.  In all the scenarios he’d drawn of his near and distant future, however, this particular one hadn’t factored.  He wasn’t ready to have this conversation.

The perfect geisha bow of her lips crimped as she blew across the steaming mug of tea.  Across the narrow bridge of her nose were tiny nutmeg freckles that only became visible when she was tired.  It had only been three weeks.  How had he forgotten how completely and utterly besotted he was with her?  It made what he had to say that much harder.

“No’ tae sound unwelcoming, but what are ye doin’ here, Claire?”  he asked.

***

Claire saw the way Jamie was watching her like an oasis in the desert, as though she might vanish like mist as suddenly as she’d arrived.  In trying to tamp down that very evident longing, he’d overcompensated towards surliness.  It reminded her of their recent phone calls: Jamie valiantly trying not to sound overwhelmed while she listened to him grow more and more distant.  It was obvious he felt obliged to face Ian’s accident and the upheaval it brought to his family alone.  She’d given him time to come around, and when she’d grown impatient with that approach, she’d bought a one-way plane ticket to Scotland.

“I’ve come to help out,” she answered his question plainly.  “However and wherever I can.”

Jamie bristled, his face an amalgam of relief and shame.  Despite the fact he was surrounded by the evidence of his very thin hold on any semblance of control, he wasn’t going to make this easy.  Fortunately, she was more than his match when it came to stubbornness.

“What about yer studies?” he countered.  “Ye’ve jes the one clinical rotation left, and yer applications for a residency are…”

“I deferred them,” she interjected.

“…due anytime now and then the interviews and… what did ye jes say?”  Russet eyebrows raised in dual arcs of shock.

“I said I deferred them.  Hell, if Cat McInnis can miss a rotation to get a Brazilian butt lift, I can certainly take time off to support my boyfriend during a family emergency.”

“Nae, Sassenach," he shook his head adamantly.  "Ye’ve worked sae hard tae become a doctor, and I willna be the one standin’ in yer way…”

“Well, it’s a good thing it isn’t your decision, then, isn’t it?” she sniped, growing exasperated with his near monastic insistence on self-sacrifice.  Jamie was many things, but he wasn’t a monk.

“I may ne’er return to London, Claire,” Jamie confessed with the air of a man playing the last card in a very bad hand.  “Even once his rehabilitation is complete, Ian will ne’er be able tae work the farm as he once did.  I owe it tae the memory of my parents tae stay here and help Jenny any way that I can.”

“I know all those things, Jamie.  It’s why I’m here.”

“I canna ask ye tae give up yer dreams tae become a farmer’s wife!”

The words echoed through the large room, seeming to increase in volume the longer neither of them acknowledged them.  Claire waited for Jamie to recant his Freudian slip, to explain away the word’s significance by referencing his obvious exhaustion and agitation.  Instead, he sat a foot away from her, his breath soughing in great gusts, eyes shiny with anguish.

“I need to ask,” Claire spoke slowly, “which aspect of that statement you find the more impossible.  Is it the part where I don an apron and a wooden spoon?  Or the bit where we would be joined in holy matrimony?”

Beside her, Jamie let out a disbelieving huff.

“Surely ye ken I want tae marry ye,” he said, not looking directly at her.

“Given that you’ve not once, in all the time we’ve been together, mentioned that fact?  No, no I don’t ken that, Jamie.”

“I was waitin’ fer ye to finish yer schooling,” he explained as though this should have been self-evident.  “Which is what we were discussin’ before we got sidetracked…”

“Sidetracked,” Claire scoffed.  Admitting the intention to ask for her hand in less than a year’s time was a trunk line issue, as far as she was concerned.

“Aye, sidetracked,” Jamie persisted.  “Tae be sae close tae becoming a doctor, only to walk away jes because my plans have gone tae shite...” he petered off, shaking his head where it rested between his palms.

“First of all, your plans are my plans.  That’s the way this commitment thing works, as far as I can tell.  And more importantly, the last I checked, Scotland was still participating in the British medical system.  I can make arrangements to finish my last clinical rotation and complete my residency up here, when the time is right.”

Finally making eye contact, Jamie’s mouth opened and closed like a landed fish.  Generally logical above reproach, there had to be a reason that particular solution to their dilemma hadn’t occurred to him.

“What’s this really about?” she whispered, taking his hand in her own.  It was the first time they’d touched since she’d arrived, and a current of warmth flowed from his body to hers.

“I dinna want tae be a burden,” he whispered back. “T’would kill me if I ever felt ye resented me.”

Foolish man.  Foolish, obstinate, noble and flawed man.

“That’s the brutal joy and utter calamity of love, Jamie.  That we want to spare the ones we hold most dear.  But what feels like a burden to the asker, the recipient wears like a mantle of honour.  You taught me that.”

Crystal blue eyes filled with tears as he regarded her with such tender hope that she felt the back of her own throat grow tight.  Seeing the storm before it arrived, she opened her arms and allowed him to collapse into her, his sobs soaking through her cotton shirt.  She drew her hands through his hair, stroking him like a fretful child.

“Shhhh, shhhhh, it’s alright.  I’m here.  You’re okay.  I’m here.”

Over and over again until he finally calmed.  They lay curled together on the sofa, silent save the occasional sniffle from Jamie and pop of sap from the fire.

“Did you really mean it?” she asked, trusting him to know what she meant.

Instead of answering, Jamie rose and went to the mantle, where a small box sat amongst other family keepsakes.  When he returned, he was holding a small object.

“I’ve been holding onto this since that first time ye came here, when ye asked if ye were my Lady Lallybroch.”

A delicate and intricate silver ring, warm from the heat of Jamie’s hand, was pressed into her palm.  It was her turn to weep, apparently.

“You knew you wanted to marry me way back then?” she choked out.

“Nay, Sassenach.  I kent I wanted ye tae be mine the first time I saw ye, drunk and imperious, in my local pub.”

She handed the ring back to him, her grip shaking and weak.  For a second, Jamie looked defeated, thinking she was rejecting his proposal.  Then he noticed her extended left hand.  With a long exhale he carefully placed the ring on her finger.  Something intangible and abiding slid home in her soul as well.  Looking into Jamie’s eyes, she could tell he felt the same way.  There was the two of them now, autonomous yet intertwined as surely as twin planets.

Healing kisses, breathless laughter, rapturous tears.  Sometimes all three at once.  Until Jamie interrupted their celebration with an enormous yawn.

“Sassenach, dinna think I’ve forgotten that I owe ye an orgasm,” Jamie began.

“You’ve been gone for three weeks, Fraser.  I’d say you owe me quite a few more than that,” she retorted from her spot nestled against his chest which rumbled as he chuckled.

“Fair enough.  But that only makes what I’m about tae ask all the more shocking.  Would ye mind terribly if we simply went tae sleep?  I’m ded on my feet, and I willna make love tae my fiancée fer the first time when I canna serve her properly.”

Claire rose and extended her ring-adorned hand.

“What time do Jamie and Maggie wake up in the morning?” she asked as they ascended the staircase towards the laird’s room.

“Wi’ the lark, the wee heathens.  They’re usually bangin’ on my door by six thirty.”

“I’m setting my alarm for five o’clock,” she advised as they slid into the four-poster bed, meeting with a sigh in the middle.

“I admire yer strategic thinkin’, Sassenach.  Wi’ preparedness like that, ye’ll make a braw doctor.”

Their bodies banished the air between them, two elements that yearned for each other at some molecular level.

“Sassenach?” Jamie mumbled when she thought he had already dozed off.

“Mmmm?”

“Waz’a Brazilian butt lift?”

A half-hearted kick to his shins was her answer.

“Ne’er mind,” he sighed as both hands drifted down to grasp her arse.  “Canna improve on perfection.”

And with that, he fell asleep.

[nat-20s]

what’s poppin everybody I’ve seen multiple tma ep 92 “martin cleans jon’s wounds” fanarts and we all know that season 3 jmart pining hits different, so please enjoy this 900 words of just straight up yearning

~*~

 For all of his drive towards knowledge, Jon's thinks he might have had enough revelations to last a lifetime or three. He thinks he's definitely had his fill of revelations that happen while he's exhausted and bleeding. He supposes, that of the revelations that have been brought forth while he was in pain, this one is least terrible. It might even be good, in some contexts, in some stories, other than his current own. With the fogginess of his head combined with the sensation that none of his movements interact correctly with gravity, he can hardly analyze the feeling, its source, its repercussions, hell, even its general depth. All he knows is that one: he very desperately needs some sleep and two: as he watches Martin dig around the oversized first aid kit, he would very much like to kiss him.

He's not going to act on it. Obviously he's not going to act on it, especially as he doesn't know whether this is, is..an impulse, or an actual, full blown desire. Maybe this is simply born of gratitude. After all, Martin is, as they speak (or, as Martin keeps up a light stream of chatter and Jon make vague noises in response that are less painful than actually speaking), taking care of him. As he applies the salve and wraps Jon's seemingly still burning hand, Jon knows that this may be the last gentle, genuine touch that he'll experience for months? years?. It'd be nice not have to wait, to want, but instead to be able to ask for Martin to hold his hand outside of the context of medical care. Kissing is certainly a step beyond that, but it's not particularly hard to get from point a to point b. Distantly, he considers that Martin might even enjoy a kiss as a way to say "thank you" when the words themselves grind up Jon's slowly healing throat. However, he doubts he would enjoy a kiss as only a thank you, without the deeper feeling to back it up.

Not that..not that there isn't deeper feelings to back it up. God, Jon just..he doesn't know. There's so much he doesn't know, what's one more item to add to the list. That being said, this newfound, newfangled want might simple be the natural sprout of a seed that had been planted earlier. Maybe back to the Prentiss attack? Witnessing Martin pull out that corkscrew, the physical representation of Martin's ability to somehow alchemize his own fear into cunning and resourcefulness and, and... fore-sightedness, well. It's not like Jon hadn't taken notice. Then there's the way that Martin would laugh on one of their semi-forced lunch outings, and Jon would silently beg whatever might be out there that it's not him, that Martin didn't kill Gertrude, wasn't out to kill him, because he couldn't stomach the thought that that laughter was meant to cover a secret cruelty. Or how when he was staying with Georgie and she told him to reach out to people, his mind automatically replaced "people" with "Martin". Or, hell, the three minutes ago when Jon made a questioning noise at the extent of their first aid kit, and Martin made a teasing comment about adding to it because someone "stabbed themselves with a bread knife", and it set off Jon's current minor crisis.

Oh.

All of that together..that's not nothing. That's almost certainly a something, and once the ibuprofen kicks in and at least muffles the sharpness of his pains, once he sleeps off the delirium of too many straight waking hours, he will probably still very much want to kiss Martin.

All of this gets solidified when Martin moves from wrapping his hand to his neck. To keep him steady, he lightly places his fingertips on Jon's jaw. Jon leans into it before he can question the action, and his revelation becomes much, much worse.

He doesn't want to stop at kissing Martin. He want to eliminate any space between them; he wants to curl up his legs in his lap and wrap his arms around his shoulders and bury his face in his neck. He wants to be held as he sobs, as he finds the strength to tell him about Mr. Spider. The fact that he wants to tell Martin about that says far too much in of itself, but he wants to be understood, just by one person, who is currently only inches from him. He wants Martin to be gracious enough, to care enough, to allow Jon to purge decades worth of fear, and to love whatever might remain of him afterwards.

.

.

.

To love.

Shit.

Jon swallows it down. He swallows it all down and tucks it away in his ribs, only to be brought out when he can actually do something with it. He does, however, in the very back of his mind, make a vow to himself. When the world doesn't end, or, if it does, but they're both somehow still there, he'll say something. He'll, at the very least, get Martin to hold his hand without bandages separating them. For now, though, as Martin finishes his wrapping, Jon decides to instead ask for something more simple. With his good hand, he texts Martin, Stay for dinner? Just take out, but I'd appreciate the company.

As Martin easily smiles down at his phone and replies, "Yeah, of course! I was gonna suggest it if you weren't," Jon still wants to kiss him. But, for the moment they're suspended in, his presence alone is more than enough.

[hansolmates]

a hero’s journey (m)

summary; jungkook and jisoo are the mightiest power couple. however, one drunken confession and that whole facade fades in an instant. you realize that maybe you need to break from your unvaried life for a bit and be the hero of your own love story pairing; jungkook x editor!reader (f) genre/warnings; best friend’s boyfriend au, slice of life, angst with a happy ending because im weak, pining pINING, everyone’s kind of a mess in their own sweet special way, alcohol use, mentions of ze weed, toxic relationships, mean friends, sex—slight dom!kook, food play, fingering, squirting, heavy use of the petname “pretty girl” bc im weak, strength kink, manhandling (oop!) w.c; 22.2k a/n; woof! my first fic for @goldenclosetnetwork​ 23 | jungkook’s birthday project! this goes out to all the closet romantics *ahem me cough* who doesn’t love pining between a cutie koo? a huge thank u for vivi @eerieedits​ for making this bbbBEAUTIFUL fic banner!  

prompt used: “I should’ve known.”

if you like this fic pls consider giving a like n’share🥺💜🥺💜

It’s so easy to ignore the world. 

Maybe it’s a young-adult thing, but it gets difficult fitting into the 9-to-5 and playing to satisfy bosses that don’t entirely understand your work ethic. Maybe it’s out of complacency, or fear. But you prefer to let the world flow around you and when you’re needed, you’ll act. You’ve reached that point in your life where you enjoy the little things, satisfied by an extra hour of overtime tacked onto your paycheck, a new fabric softener, or finding the perfectly squishy yoga mat. 

You’ve finally started feeling comfortable in your shoes, uncaring as to whether you’re single or drowning in college debt, happy to live a relatively stable life. You’re grateful. There’s nothing more than you need than your happiness, and the love of your friends and family. 

Namely, your best friend from college. Jisoo always joked about how you two “won the lottery” as dorm rooms in freshman year were determined by lottery. Pulling numbers 883 and 884, you and Jisoo snagged a corner spot of the dormitory, leaving you two utterly cramped but utterly close as the years went by. Six years later and it’s still the case, the two of you have grown into talented working ladies. While you may not be able to spend time with each other the same way you did in school, you still care for each other. 

So when Jisoo shows up teary with a rumpled dress shirt and her hair waterfalling out of this morning’s bun, you break out the good alcohol and season three of Jane the Virgin for her. 

After the liquid is warm in your cheeks and you’ve fawned enough over Micheal and Rafael’s love triangle, you let Jisoo ramble. 

Jisoo has downed a whole bottle of soju on her own, while you’ve decided to have a tasteful glass of wine. You’d rather be tired wine drunk than wasted on soju. 

“Jungkook and I had a fight,” she warbles, stuffing a handful of popcorn in her mouth, “it was totally stupid.” 

Your eyes flash, picturing Jisoo and Jungkook in quarrel. They’re the epitome of an Instagram-worthy couple, beautiful and deathly charming to a fault. They show nothing but kindness and sweetness to you whenever you third-wheel, not a lick of anger between them when you’re all together.

So a fight is something surprising. Jisoo and Jungkook, J-squared are a power couple. Saying their names next to each other just emits a sort of energy you can only akin to famous small screen couples like Troy and Gabriella or Cory and Topanga. Jisoo’s Instagram is belly full with sweet selfies of them together, the doe-eyed man always looking completely sweet and gentle to the woman in his arms.

You never piqued Jungkook as the type of guy who would pick a “stupid fight.” And you know Jungkook pretty well. 

Maybe a little too well. 

“He surprised me during my lunch break and he caught me talking to Doyoung and he thought I was flirting,” Jisoo is practically eating her sweater, her head falling between her flannel pyjama sleeves. 

“Doyoung, as in your ex Doyoung?” you raise a brow. 

She groans, glaring at you in earnest. “Not you, too! I told him it was ridiculous to get jealous, and then I told him how jealous I get when he’s around girls and I don’t need to tell him that,” she rolls her eyes, twisting her feet petulantly in her fuzzy socks, “but then you know what he says back?” 

You wince, swirling your wine glass, “That you’re crazy?” 

“That I’m crazy, exactly! How did you—” her bloodshot eyes zero in on you, where you’ve tucked yourself in the corner of the couch. You swirl the ruby liquid in your cup, watching the feet web around the cheap crystal, “you think I’m crazy too, don’t you?” 

You swallow your sigh, taking your time to finish your liquid in languid sips. Uneasy, you wish you could just sink through the couch in order to avoid this conversation. Jisoo’s heart is generally in the right direction, but in terms of emotions she has the kind of sensitivity that you prefer to ignore rather than tread. Jungkook is also equally emotional, but in a different way. He wears his heart on his sleeve, preferring to keep things straight as opposed to bottling it up like Jisoo. 

However the theoretic bottle has reached it’s brim and Jisoo’s tipping, fast. 

“I need to tell you something,” Jisoo is swerving, crawling like an infant on wobbly limbs to reach your corner of the couch. You almost stop her, tell her you can continue this conversation in the morning, it’s what you normally do when she drinks into a stupor. But tears are swimming in her glassy caramel eyes and she’s grappling onto your blanket, resting her head in her lap. 

Her glossy russet strands curtain her head, so you don’t see the expression on her face when she says her next words: 

“Jungkook told me he liked you senior year, and I told him you weren’t interested so I’d have a chance.” 

Wow. So that explains everything.

The memories that you’ve tried so hard to brush away, the feelings you’ve tried so hard and continue to try to suppress, are laid out in front of you on a rusted platter. You could laugh, you could fling the rest of the Pinot Grigio down your throat like fresh water on a hot day and call it a night. 

But instead you choke back your tears, and push her off because you’re hurt.  

Deep down you know you would’ve been less upset if she told you the week after Jisoo and Jungkook called it official. If you knew from the beginning, it would’ve been easier on your heart. But it's been over two years since the past, thinking you’ve been needlessly, stupidly, delusional in thinking that you could’ve possibly had a chance with Jungkook.

Because it could’ve been you. And the reason why Jisoo and Jungkook fought today? Now you know it’s because deep down, they know they’re each other’s second choice. 

You can’t even recall a time where Jungkook and Jisoo were together alone before they suddenly started dating, remembering how it used to be you and Jungkook before Jisoo found him one day in your shared apartment, utterly smitten. And now you know you weren’t delusional, because the feelings and the signals you two were exchanging in senior year was real. 

But it doesn’t stop the fact that over two years have passed. Two years of a serious relationship between Jisoo and Jungkook, and two years of you secretly loving him from an arm’s length. 

“You hate me,” Jisoo removes herself from you, voice trembling. The quick, dark part of your mind wants you to snap back of course I hate you. You’ve trusted Jisoo with your life all these years, she was the reason you got through college so gracefully, why you enjoyed the past seven years of your life. 

But the sentiment is stained, and all you can do is deliver a tired smile and stand up. “I don’t hate you,” you say, “I’m just, really overwhelmed. I can’t lie and say that I’m not hurt,” your fingers clutch the fake crystal in your grasp, and for once you’re thankful you’re not strong enough to break it, “but you two love each other now and there’s no point in dwelling in the ‘what-ifs’.” 

Now that you think about it, when was the last time Jisoo treated you like a best friend? You stare at your wine glass, thinking that the only time comfort is provided in this apartment is when Jisoo is upset, never when you’re upset. 

Jisoo bobs her head senselessly, agreeing to every word. It’s pathetic, seeing her on her knees and her eyes glimmering with the hope that you’d forgive her straightaway. She must feel awful. That’s good.  

You sigh, needing to be the bigger person. “You need to call Jungkook and tell him he has nothing to worry about though, after all, you two have history now. As much, if not more than Doyoung.” 

“Right,” she replies, biting her lip. It suddenly feels like you're talking to a wall, carrying a conversation that's long ended.

“As for us,” you have half a mind to slam your glass on the counter, but instead you give it a heavy hand, letting slowly thump to the coffee table, “I don’t think I want to see you two, for a while.” 

“Understandable.” 

“And I don’t want to help you move out anymore,” I just want you gone.  

“Right,” she whispers. The both of you will be completed with your lease in two months, and Jisoo and Jungkook have decided to move into Jungkook’s apartment. As for you, you haven’t decided as to whether you want to go through the whole process of moving out or looking for a new roommate. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so so fucking sorry. I just was insecure as fuck in college and Jungkook was the first person I met in a long time that helped me feel more… like me.”

You want to say that she's right, she’s selfish. Her excuses aren’t palpable anymore. It’s too late. But if you were in Jisoo’s shoes, you’d think this apology is mere crumbs in comparison to your friendship. Why isn't she trying harder? Maybe because she doesn't know any better. After all, you never told her what you felt for him has morphed into love. 

You don’t even have to ask as to whether she’ll tell Jungkook this or not, you now know honesty is not her style. 

Jisoo doesn’t get a goodnight and a drunken kiss on the forehead like she usually does whenever you two have your late night talks. Instead, she seals herself to her own demise as you slam the door to your bedroom, effectively shutting each other out. 

Work is a bitch the following morning. You’re like molasses, rolling out of bed despite the whole world and its mother telling you to go back to sleep. 

Your feet are killing you as you make your walk to work, deciding to wear a pair of red-backed heels so you can stomp your way through your day. 

Your Wusband (Work-Husband) Kim Namjoon matches you step-for-step, eyes glued to his phone as he catches you on the sidewalk. “Woman on a mission,” he comments absentmindedly, eyes glued to his phone as he follows the click of your shoes to your favorite cafe. 

You spare a glance to your right hand-man, eyeing him appreciatively at his dedication to your morning routine. He’s your favorite co-worker, one who keeps you on time to your meetings and keeps you sane when you want to pull your hair out and dig out a coffin in your little cubicle. Namjoon’s long legs always seem to catch up with you during your workweek, whether it’s to get coffee in the morning or to talk shit about the latest gossip in the breakroom. 

The bell of the glass door tinkles in your ears as you enter the café, relatively busy for the morning rush. While you wait in line, Namjoon ticks off your activity list for today. 

“Meeting with Victoria is cancelled this morning,” you groan in relief, your supervisor Victoria always scares the shit out of you even when she’s not doing anything, “and just the usual proofing and whatever we have to do on the third floor today—can I get a large iced Americano with a pump of caramel? Thanks,” Namjoon moves aside so you can throw your order in as well, “and after work could you stop by Vernon’s? He took a sick day today and he has most of the manuscripts for the next issue.” 

“Done and done,” you swipe your card in the dip, tucking your card away in your zippered pouch. “So like, do Americanos taste any good? Like it’s literally watered down espresso how do you pay to drink watered down tar—” 

Jungkook’s at the pick-up counter. Jungkook’s at the pick-up counter swirling stray sugar crystals with his thumb and putting them in his napkin. What an impeccable display of Virgo energy, absentmindedly cleaning things he has no business doing. You scoff to yourself, recalling this morning that Jisoo got off the phone this morning with a stupid smile on her face. From the mirror image that Jungkook is excluding while he’s smiling on his cellphone like a smitten teenager, it seems like they’ve made up. 

Nevertheless the hurt from last night is still fresh in your bones, and you force yourself to look away despite the fact that your morning pick-me-ups are almost done and are sitting tauntingly next to Jungkook’s elbow. Does he really need to learn against the counter like he owns it? Hair slightly damp from the shower, your heart beats a little faster at the fresh image.His biceps are straining against his charcoal lycra long sleeve, which is slightly damp from his morning run. Snap out of it! You are a mature, working woman who does not swoon in the view of bulgy muscles, especially when the man who owns those muscles is taken. Suddenly there’s a call of your name, and two cups and a paper bag are put in front of Jungkook. 

He blinks, and you immediately pale when you see his eyes flit over your name surrounded by your favorite coral pink beverage. You feel struck as his head perks up at the name and he narrowly makes eye-contact—

“The fuck you’re doing,” Namjoon gripes, shoving your guava iced tea and croissant in your chest, “standing there like a moron as if we don’t got shit to do today.” 

“Sorry,” you mumble, pulling at the brown paper bag to tug a piece of croissant between your teeth. The warmth, buttery pastry melts in your tastebuds. Ah, bread. Nothing like a little bit of carb to make you feel better. 

You’re suddenly thankful for Namjoon’s gargantuan torso from effectively blocking you from Jungkook, hauling you out of the coffee shop like a petulant toddler. He doesn’t even give you a chance to catch another secret look at the object of your affections, making sure you’re back in your work game before you enter the building. Even if he doesn’t know it, Kim Namjoon’s always got your back. 

Or in today’s case, breathing down your back. 

Without your third editor and a hard deadline coming up by the end of the week, you and Namjoon are working in tandem throughout your 9-5 to complete drafts for Big Hit Publishings Arts & Media section. Both of you take turns to bring snacks and feed each other, feeling like reading zombies and slaves to your desk as you remind each other to breathe throughout the whole ordeal. 

In complete honesty you don’t totally mind. Namjoon is a great partner-in-crime, and you both love what you do and do a damn good job at it. You call it “Buzzfeed but with Benefits.” 

And at least for today, you could quell the feelings in your chest from last night and this morning. Sure, you’ve always been okay with the pining you’ve had for Jungkook. The feeling comes and goes whenever it pleases, and since yesterday you’ve been okay with just admiring from afar and being their third wheel. 

However, now the feelings are acutely comparable to a third-degree burn with the help of Jisoo playing with fire. 

With a quiet exhale, you concede in your gaming chair (because it’s just so damn comfy to keep in the office.) You’re an adult and not a petty child, and you will not let this piece of information derail you from your calm, stable lifestyle. 

But honestly? Fuck Jisoo. 

“Let’s go, buckaroo,” Namjoon logs off for you, the cinnamon-y smell of his shampoo effectively waking up your senses, “it’s already 5:30. And you said you’d stop by Vern’s to get his drafts.” 

“Right,” you blurt, mindlessly putting away your papers and snack wrappers in your bag. You can’t believe the whole day’s gone already. 

“Maybe you don’t even have to go to his apartment. Just text him or whatever.” 

“Sounds good, thanks Joonie.” 

“And y/n?” Namjoon gives you a look that causes you to force a terse smile, one you give one too many times to higher-ups at work. It isn’t to insult Namjoon by any means, but you guys are partners, the kind that tell way too much but hide just enough to remain close from afar. “Take it easy, will you?” 

“I will,” you concede, stretching your arms, “I’m def overdue for a massage.” 

“You don’t look sick,” you scoff, taking in the casual look your co-editor boasts as he leans casually against the doorway. 

Hansol Vernon Chwe is the epitome of fluffy, decked out in large electric blue sweats and his russet brown hair curling softly above his porcelain skin. Not only is he your co-editor, but also a friend from college. Not to the extent that you were with Jisoo and Jungkook, but you operated in the same publishing club and managed to get partnering internships that made you the co-workers you are today. You see a little bit of that collegiate youth in Vernon right now, as he looks well-rested and fresh faced despite the fact he probably didn’t apply moisturizer or drink enough water today.

“But you kinda do,” he tilts his head, noting the heels that adorn your feet, “you’re wearing your sexy shoes today, that means something’s going on.” 

“Gee, ever the ladies’ man,” you scoff, getting under his arm to invite yourself inside, “all I want is the completed interviews so we can pick out the best parts and draft them. Then I’ll be on my merry way.” 

“Oh c’mon, we’ve been talking nothing but work this whole damn month. What happened to college when we’d talk hours about House Hunters, the safeness of library sex, that little furry thing in Lincoln Hall’s urinal? That was prime conversation.” 

“Vern, I’m just here for the drafts,” you sit at his tiny kitchen table, glaring at his open laptop.  

“You could’ve just emailed me,” he teases, twisting around his chair so he can rest his arms against the back. “But since you’re here, that means you probably wanna spill some tea but you’re too upset to admit it.” 

“If I talk will you stop talking like that?” 

“Yes. Give me the juicy details. Need some juicy juice.” 

“Nevermind, get out of my apartment.” 

“Uh, this is my apartment.” 

“My point still stands,” you make another face at his outfit, “you look like the blueberry girl from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.”  

Vernon purses his lips, scooting his chair closer to yours. He’s unfazed by your insult, far used to your defenses being higher up than Fort Knox. He looks up at you with his pretty lashes and deceivingly sweet caramel eyes, leaning his head along the backrest. “C’mon, tell me what’s bothering you,” he says in a gentle tone, coaxing you open. 

He always knew how to do it for you, a little bit of sweet talking and that clear open gaze always reduced you to shreds in university. For him, it always took a good meal and some sci-fi movies to get him to talk. That must be why you’ve stayed friends for so long, you two knew how to connect. 

Finally you crack, kicking off your shoes and hoping the sharp end doesn’t land on his cat. You hear Luna meow in protest but she’s got great reflexes. Unbuttoning the first three buttons of your stuffy blazer, you air out your cleavage, not caring about Vernon’s gaze. He’s seen worse. 

“Remember Jeon Jungkook? Majored in graphic design.”

“Ah, yeah. The guy who like, lived at the gym and the dining hall? Haven’t seen him in a minute,” his eyes seem to glaze over the glory days, reminiscing in the simultaneous safetynet and stressor that made up your early twenties, “didn’t you guys hit it off real well? Like I remember you ditched like—three sci-fi nights to study with him. Who even studies at 1AM?” 

“Yeah, we did,” and you can’t help but frown at as you remember the 7-Eleven runs, the utter warmth you felt when he would wipe a stray rice grain off your cheek, and how happy you felt to laugh so much with him it hurt, “but uh. Jisoo got drunk last night, because they had a fight. And she sort of admitted to me that she sabotaged our relationship and told Jungkook I wasn’t interested in him so they could start dating. Two years later and here we are.” 

A pause. And then, “Want a beer?” 

Vernon doesn’t even wait for a response when he gets up, bare feet slapping against the tile as he prepares some drinks and snacks for you. 

“That’s pretty fucked up,” he practically sing-songs among the cacophony of popcorn pop-pop-popping in the microwave. The aroma of buttery kernels is all but a relief, reminding you of movie matinees, “and like, she knew you liked him! It was totally obvious, even if you didn’t spell it out for her.” 

“Yeah,” you practically gushed to Jisoo those past two months, every waking moment with heart-eyes over the talented graphic designer Jeon Jungkook. 

“I can’t believe Jisoo would keep that a secret from you for so long. Like, can you even trust her anymore?” 

“Don’t know, was she even my bestfriend or was I just a good roommate to her?” you ask. Vernon is holding two beers in one hand and a bag of popcorn by the tips of his fingers in the other, careful to not burn himself. Opening the beer for you, you thank him and take a long swig.

“Well, good thing you’re still not in love with him or whatever. That would really suck. Unless—”

The look on your face says it all. You’re practically snotting into your bottle, your face tucked into your chin as you fight hard to stop the tears you’ve been suppressing for the last two years. “Don’t give me your pity,” you garble, turning away from the sad look Vernon gives you as he wraps his arms around you. 

The tears are soft and gentle, flowing freely onto the cotton of Vernon’s arms as you let it out. 

“‘M’not,” he concedes, rubbing his chin into your neck. He really is a lot like Luna, just like his  cat ready to give you affection. “Let’s just, get some take-out and watch Hamilton or something.” 

He lets you wear his matching sweat suit, lime green, as you order Thai food and rap along to Hamilton’s sick beats. Vernon does a better job keeping the flow, but you’re having a good time being his hype man as he parades around the living room like it’s 1776. 

You go home that night around ten o’clock, feeling noticeably lighter and more relaxed. Be that it may you are still wearing the sweatpants and heels ensemble, you feel comforted. 

The apartment is quiet when you walk in, not a single light turned on. You get a slice of the city lights bleeding in from the organza curtains, which allow you to kick off your heels and hobble to where you think the kitchen counter is. 

Today is Jisoo’s day to cook dinner. You can tell she decided to cook today from the faint smell of Japanese curry and a small unwashed plate in the sink. Whenever it was someone’s turn, they usually left an extra bowl or serving in it for the other roommate when they got home. Unsurprisingly, you find no such thing on the counter or in the fridge. 

You’re not upset, but rather decided. If Jisoo is going to let your friendship fade off with no intention of redeeming herself, then you should give her the same amount of energy back. You realize now the apology she gave last night wasn’t for you, but empty words to make her feel better and mend whatever toxicity she’s created in her own relationships. People like Namjoon and Vernon reminded you that you didn’t need to try and earn other people’s friendships. 

It’s disappointing, but the feeling is all but too familiar. 

If you could describe Jisoo as anything, it would be the color pink. Blushing, beautiful, beguiling pink. The way she flushes when Jungkook does an uncalled for grandiose gesture of romance, or when she wears a hot magenta number when she’s hosting a fashion show. Jisoo is the personification of La vie en rose, unbothered and unabashed.  

But now all you see when you think of Jisoo? Nothing but red. 

With that, you go in your room and untack the polaroid of you and Jisoo at the carnival last month, putting it away in your junk drawer to be forgotten. 

“You’re running away.” 

“Am not.” 

“Are too,” that interjection comes from Vernon’s roommate, Jung Hoseok. He’s been watching you two bicker over work for the past hour while he plays GTA5, failing to get a good hard carry because you and Vernon are too busy discussing whatever finishing touches you need on your final draft. 

“No one asked for your opinion, Jung,” you throw over your shoulder. 

“I’m just saying,” Hoseok flicks his wrist and nabs a tank, “you never wanna go home, you eat all our food, and I found your pyjamas in my laundry basket.” 

“You said your basket was the blue one,” you hiss under your breath. 

“The navy blue one,” Vernon chirps unhelpfully, “not the electric blue one.” 

Hoseok hits “save” on his campaign, disconnecting from his PS4 and stretching his lean limbs. “I mean, we could use a third roommate,” Hoseok jokes, getting up from the couch and grabbing a handful of M&Ms from your bowl, “you do make a bomb mac n’cheese.” 

“Appreciated,” you relent when Hoseok presses a kiss to your cheek and tells Vernon he’ll be back late working, leaving you and Vernon alone in their shared apartment. When Hoseok is gone, you stare at the door, tilting your head, “y’know,” you remark, “Hoseok’s a cool guy, why did I never hang out with him in college?” 

“Because he was stoned the majority of senior year and you just didn’t vibe with that crowd.” 

“Oh, yeah.” 

“But, you’re trying to change the subject,” Vernon carefully untacks your hands from your keyboard, knowing that you two have already been done with this month's issue and you’re now just mindlessly re-reading emails. “You’ve been here since Thursday, and now it’s Saturday. And as much as Hoseok and I like having you around so you can wake me up before we go to work, it’d be nice to throw me a bone and let me in on what you’re thinking right now.” 

You frown, noting Vernon’s large hand covering your laptop closed. He isn’t going to remove his hand anytime soon unless you talk. “Jungkook’s helping Jisoo pack up her half of the apartment this weekend and I don’t want to be there,” you say, short and simple. 

“You miss her?” 

“Yeah,” you admit honestly. You hate this version of yourself, unable to even look at Jisoo nowadays despite the fact you’re under the same roof for the remainder of the month. It’s hard to believe that the roommate from six years ago finally got under your skin, cancelling out all the years of friendship because of one silly relationship, “sad she doesn’t want to be my friend anymore.” 

“Did you talk about it?” 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you reply despondently, “if she cared at all she would’ve to apologize again by now.”

Vernon figures, and his neutral expression doesn’t change as he leads you to the couch, brushing away Hoseok’s things so you two can get comfy. You busy yourself with the remote, exiting the PS4 homepage to scroll Netflix. 

“And are you trying to get over him?” 

“I mean, yeah,” you have been, but it’s a little hard when you’ve been contentedly pining. It was easy to keep your feelings bottled up because you originally thought Jisoo and Jungkook were meant to be for each other for the past two years. Now you're still pining but ruefully bitter at Jisoo.

“It’s not fair, y’know. She broke girl code, bros before hoes. Or is it chicks before dicks?” Vernon shakes his head at his lame attempt to get you to smile, which works anyway because Vernon’s silly and his sense of humor always gets you a little loose. “It’s your house too, you shouldn’t feel like you don’t belong there.” 

“Well I was supposed to help her move out this weekend, and I’d prefer it if Jungkook didn’t know what was going on.” 

“What?” your friend furrows his thick brows together, tucking his hands under his knees as he leans into your stubborn expression. “You’re gonna let Jungkook go on with his life not knowing that his relationship is based on a lie. That’s not cool. Even if you’re into him, he’s still your friend.” 

Damn, when did Vernon get so good at giving advice? Truth is Vernon’s always been good at dishing advice, you’ve just been privy to what you wanted to reveal to him. The first year or so being together outside of college was always about work, saving each other’s asses to ensure you two got that promotion and aim higher and higher. Now that goal is out of the way, and what better way to reconnect over some shoddy romance straight out of a Degrassi special? 

“I know,” you hug your knees tight to your chest, “when I’m ready, okay?” 

“Okay,” he agrees, because he’s not a pusher, “do you know the best way to get over someone?” 

“What?” 

“The best way to get over someone, is to get under someone," he emphasizes that point with his hands, sliding one under the other with a wiggle of his thick brows.

You slap him on the shoulder, “Vern, you disgust me.” 

“But it works!” 

“I’m not going on Tinder to find a fuckbuddy.” 

“You don’t have to look on Tinder or Tumble.” 

“Bumble.” 

“Whatever,” and his eyes flicker to his lap, where his pale fingertips turn red as he grips the edge of a throw pillow. "If you really don't wanna find someone, I can help." 

Is Vernon offering himself up? He is offering to fuck your brains out in the hope that you could inevitably fuck out your interest in Jungkook? Your eyes flicker over to Vernon's form on the couch, who's tucked in the couch just as you are. 

It’s true that you find Vernon attractive, and to some extent he definitely finds you attractive as well otherwise he wouldn’t have suggested the idea. It’s just that in college you never viewed him in that kind of light, probably because you were always so caught up in Jungkook. But tonight you can’t seem to ignore the eagerness hidden in Vernon’s carmine gaze, and how shiny and touchable his chocolate locks look under the setting sun. 

“I don’t want our friendship to change,” you reply slowly, furrowing your brows. “I appreciate it, but I don’t know. It sounds like a temporary fix.” 

“Can’t knock it if you don’t try it,” and out of curiosity, you don’t shy away when Vernon leans over to you, squeezing himself between the couch so he can tuck you in his arms. “I want to help you, but only if you want to.” 

Maybe it’s the frustration you feel with Jisoo, Jungkook’s ignorance, or the fact that you haven’t felt physical pleasure in such a long time, but you soften into Vernon’s hold. He’s relaxed, nothing betraying him as he waits patiently for your answer. You’ve always admired how much he kept up his “cool as a cucumber” demeanor. He isn’t the type of guy to let life pass him by, but he’s the kind of person who walks along life, embracing the ups and downs like old friends. He’s the ocean waves that crest along the shore, pushing and pulling along without a care in the world. 

He’s the textbook opposite of Jeon Jungkook, which is why you give Vernon the okay to lean in and press his lips against yours. 

His kisses are soft, and he takes great care in making sure you’re comfortable with this new step in your relationship. It almost feels as if you’re cutting corners, and you can’t help but feel a little guilty that you revel in the way Vernon’s hands trail under your too-large t-shirt. 

The pleasure you’ve ached for is there, bubbling low in the pit of your belly. It’s hard to get you out of your mind however, because this man isn’t the one you love. His kisses hold no power, only brief reprieve. Your heart doesn’t palpitate and your palms don’t sweat, you’re just languid. 

You’re greedy and selfish, but you remind yourself that it’s okay to allow yourself of these freedoms, even for a little bit. As Vernon finds your sweet spot that has you rolling your hips against his, you find that temporary fix isn’t a bad start at all. 

When you trudge back to your apartment that night after much reluctance, your face is still flushed and you think you smell a little too much like Vernon’s cologne. But the fact that still stands is that you're satiated, and you feel a tiny percent closer to moving on. 

The television is glowing with a terrible reality TV show, angry brides upset over cake layers or whatever. Jungkook and Jisoo have fallen asleep on the couch, surrounded by half-empty boxes. Jungkook has his arm lazily over Jisoo, her petite body fitting perfectly between his chest and the crook of his neck. 

You scoff when you spy Jisoo's bedazzled manicure digging into Jungkook's bicep, as if someone's going to take him away if she doesn't hold tight.

With stiff muscles you spare one look at Jungkook, ignoring the pang in your chest as you weave between boxes to turn the TV off. Barely an iota of your feelings have dissipated since your previous tryst with Vernon not an hour ago. Looking at Jungkook brings it all back, unfortunately. You suppose the feelings will pass with time. The soft hum of the television ceases, and you’re bathed in a room that feels dark and empty, despite the apparent life in the room. 

There’s some bleary talk coming from the couch as you walk to your bedroom, and if Jungkook is sleepily mumbling your name in question, you pretend you don’t hear. 

“So, where’s y/n? I thought she was going to help us pack.” 

It’s an innocent enough question, as Jungkook scans the corner of the living room hallway that leads to the bedrooms. You haven’t come out yet. He knows that you love sleeping in on the weekends, but he hopes the smell of fresh food will coax you to the table. His pan is sizzling in protest, telling Jungkook to quit talking and flip the hashbrowns. He's fried up three, in the hopes you’d be up for some crispy potatoes. He knows how much you love potatoes, especially at 2AM when you’re craving fries and a McFlurry combo. 

Instead Jisoo mutters, “You toasted too much bread, you know I don’t eat bread like this,” she’s pulling slice by slice out of the toaster, until there’s a stack of six golden toasts in the middle of the kitchen table. 

A little part of him wishes to quell the precursor to the argument there. It would be so easy for Jungkook to say, “the extras are for me” because he’s trying to gain weight, and that would be that. 

Instead he continues with his unanswered question and replies honestly, “I made extra toast for y/n, babe. She was supposed to help us pack but I haven’t seen her all weekend.” But he’s pretty sure you came home last night, unless that was his imagination. 

Jisoo pulls a carafé of apple juice out of the fridge, pouring the amber liquid into two glass cups. “Ah, she said she had some last minute things to do for work. Y’know, Big Hit always wants a big hit.” 

He chuckles, tilting his head as Jisoo gives him a small smile from the kitchen table. Jisoo is always good at cheesy jokes. “She must love her job, huh.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Her articles are really good, too,” the air smells like butter and Italian seasoning, as he places one hash brown on Jisoo’s plate, and two on his. He knows you edit in the Arts & Media section, and loves how you make it a point to include video games and modern graphics when it’s deemed appropriate. “She did a piece on the evolution of RPG and I thought her commentary was really spot-on.” 

He brings breakfast over to the table, while Jisoo places two slices of toast on his plate, one buttered and one with strawberry preserves. Breakfast is a quiet, but peaceful affair. Jungkook takes note of how Jisoo takes extra long to complete her meal, her fork creating ribbons in her little blob of magenta jam. He allows himself to complete his first hashbrown and a slice of toast before asking the difficult question. 

“Are you and y/n okay?” and he also takes note when Jisoo’s ministrations on her jelly stop, as she looks up at him with her big brown eyes. 

“We’re fine,” she insists, “just normal roommate issues, I promise.” 

“Maybe I should text y/n,” Jungkook says, pulling out his phone. “Lemme help you fix this, wouldn’t want you and her in a bad place when you’re about to move out.” 

“Baby, why are you so concerned about y/n?” Jisoo croons while his thumb hovers over your contact, his screen showing a two-year old selfie you two took during a study session early on in your friendship. He can’t remember the last time you two took a picture together out of spite, one without Jisoo. Jisoo’s hand pulls him away from his phone, rubbing small circles between his palm. 

He wants to ask, why aren’t you? But he sees the terseness in Jisoo’s smile, as her eyes fix between the interlocked fingers. He has a feeling he’s hovering somewhere he isn’t allowed to be in. Maybe it really is roommate stuff and it’s none of his business, but he feels a little insulted being left out because you and Jungkook are just as much best friends as you were in college. 

Or are you? 

This question plagues him throughout the day, and when Jungkook packs enough boxes for the weekend and says he needs to go home, Jisoo for once doesn’t argue. Normally Jisoo would cling to him like a koala, murmur simultaneously adorable and dirty things in his ear and lead him to her bedroom to coop up for hours on end. But Jisoo says she’s tired and needs some alone time, which is also fine. 

He doesn’t feel like going home, and instead heads straight to the gym. A couple pumps wouldn’t hurt, and it would clear his head. It’s nearly five in the evening when his body is thrumming with the afterglow of his post-workout, and he decides to take a little cool down in the mall and treat himself to a smoothie. 

It must be kismet when he sees you coming out of the bookstore, looking a little winded but no less professional in your beige blazer set and rose gold iPad. Whenever he hung around your apartment with Jisoo and you’d come home from work, he’d make it a point to acknowledge your plethora of multicolored skirt-suits. He never needs to be professional in his place of work, and admires how much effort you put in. 

“Hey!” he jogs up to you, and he catches the way your shoulders jump at his voice. “We missed you today.”

Your smile curls into something dry, and you twist your spine like rusty hinges to face him. In turn, his smile dims a little, wondering if he’s doing something wrong. Maybe you’re tired? He catches the line of sweat that glistens your baby hairs, and how your hair is done up but has fallen a few centimeters with some pieces falling out. 

“Jungkook,” you exhale, “lifting boxes wasn’t enough of a workout?” 

“You know me,” he replies stiffly, hiking his backpack higher upon his shoulder. Why does this conversation feel so awkward? “So, finishing up work? Sucks you have to work on a Sunday.” 

“Ah, it wasn’t so bad,” you face relaxes a little as you explain your work, “it was children’s day at the bookstore and they were watching Disney movies. I’m writing a piece on how I believe Ratatouille is Pixar’s magnum opus. Interviewed some kids, I wanted an expert opinion.”  

“Ratatouille is the superior film,” he declares with a firm nod, “after all, anyone can cook.” He revels in the small smile he manages to retrieve from you, immediately understanding the inside joke. If he came out of the gym five minutes earlier, he probably would’ve been able to catch you in the bookstore. What a shame, he would’ve loved to see you play around with the kids. 

At the mention of food, the mall manages to silence itself enough for him to catch the grumbling coming from your stomach. He laughs when your cheeks heat. 

“I was on my way to get some smoothies,” he jabs a thumb in the direction of the food court, “wanna catch up and get a bite?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, I have a lot of work to edit,” disappointment pangs in his chest at your easy rejection, but he ignores it, “I kinda wanna save some money too, still not sure if I’m staying in the apartment after Jisoo moves.” 

He doesn’t know what compels him to take your shoulders and wheel you in the direction of the food court, much to your protest and whines. “C’mon, explain to me why Ratatouille is the magnum opus—I need to defend why The Incredibles is superior. I’ll treat you to dinner.” 

“What? I can pay for my own food—” 

“And I can’t treat my best friend to a nice meal once in a while?” 

That has you stopping in your tracks, and Jungkook nearly barrels his chest into your head if not for the grippy soles of his Adidas Ultraboosts. He can’t see your face, but his hands note how your muscles cord tightly between the cotton of your blazer. 

He doesn’t understand why you’re so tense. Was it because he called you his best friend? Well, you are? At one point he felt that way, early on in college. The position just stuck with you. And when Jisoo told him you weren’t interested, he was perfectly fine with the platonic relationship. It was nice to have someone to talk media and video games to, someone not as chaotic as Jimin and someone not as deterred as Yoongi. 

Although, maybe as of late he hasn’t been so much of a friend. It’s no one’s fault, he’s been caught up with work and Jisoo’s move, he hasn’t said so much as a “hey how are you” when you’re around. He can’t blame you. 

Suddenly his mind blanks, the mall fading away as he focuses on how small you look as your eyes dart between the parking lot and the food court. Jisoo and Jungkook have been so caught up on each other lately, that he fears you’re starting to separate yourself.

“Um, this place is good,” you tug him by the elbow and lead him to a fast food joint. 

When he picks up both your orders and comes over to your saved table, you’re talking animatedly on the phone. You’re laughing, looking at Jungkook as if he’s the one intruding and you’re muttering a hushed “sorry” as you continue the tail end of the conversation. 

“Yes, Joonie. Go with section two, I know my shit. I’m your Work Wife for a reason, Umji in PR could never compare,” you’re giggling like you’re five years younger, and Jungkook feels stuck in a timelapse. 

He watches you go, throwing around names and terms that he’s so lost on but so desperate to understand. He knows nothing about your life other than the one that’s tied with Jisoo, which is a damn shame. Since when did he inevitably downgrade you from “best friend” to “his girlfriend’s roommate?” 

“I’m sorry,” you turn your phone over and push it to the side, giving Jungkook a smile as well, albeit weaker, “let’s dig in!” 

To his relief the dinner goes as good as it should be. You have your tray practically overflowing at the seams, all on Jungkook’s dime. It has his heart swelling with pride, he hasn’t seen you eat in a long time. There’s fries spilling out from the corners, and two sandwiches because you couldn’t decide between a chicken sandwich and a burger. 

Food gets you amicable, and he doesn’t mind when he does most of the talking. You’re engrossed in his talk, lettuce hanging out of your mouth as you’re rapt with attention as he recalls a story that happened at work recently with Mingyu. You ask questions in all the right places and he sucks up all your attention like a happy pill, and it feels nice to be able to lead a conversation for once. 

“Jeez, I’m getting the burger sweats,” you giggle to yourself, and his smile brightens at your positive change in attitude. Food always helps. 

When you remove your thick high-collar blazer, that’s when he sees it. 

“Seeing someone?” he asks, eyes flickering curiously towards the violet bruises that bloom across your neck. 

“What–oh,” you have the audacity to look embarrassed, hands clutching your neck like a shield, “no, just a hookup.” 

A messy hookup, too. Unless you had a thing for showing off marks, which doesn’t seem to be the case. “Didn’t peg you for someone who hooks up,” he says more to himself than you, but you catch him on his impulse jab. 

Your eyes narrow and your defenses go up, “I’m trying to get over someone,” you snip back, busying your hands by crushing up your greasy sandwich wrappers. 

“Am I allowed to state my opinion?” 

“Since you asked so politely, no.” 

He sighs, “I just don’t think that’s the best way to get over someone,” heck, Jungkook doesn’t even know who exactly you’re trying to get over. He just knows that you’re far too smart and independent to let yourself resort to such matters. 

“It isn’t, but it’s really the best option as of now,” you reply curtly. 

And his gaze saddens as he sees you fold your blazer over your arm, indicating that your time is up. Jungkook is aware the comment he made is out of line, and it weakens him knowing that you don’t even want to pick a fight with him. He can’t even find it in himself to apologize properly. 

He doesn’t know if he’s more sad that you’re pining over someone unattainable or upset at himself for not knowing you’ve been harboring feelings for someone. If you really think hooking up is your only option, you must be really hung about whoever you’re into as of late. 

“If it’s worth anything,” Jungkook adds, wanting to leave on a high note, “fuck that guy. He clearly doesn’t deserve you.” 

A small, secret smile plays on your lips, “Yeah, I like to believe that.” 

“I’m anxious,” Namjoon’s mantra makes the whole energy in the room wobbly, paired with the fact the two of you are squished between cardboard boxes as Jungkook aimlessly moves things around like a Tetris screen. 

The only time you feel remotely comfortable basking in your home is when Jisoo is gone. Oh-so conveniently is the Big Hit building undergoing maintenance today, so you and Namjoon have decided to work from home in your apartment. Although you thought by now that Jisoo’s boxes would be long gone and tucked away in Jungkook’s place, instead you’re living in an episode of Ed, Edd and Eddy and the cardboard is practically wall-to-wall. You also thought by now that Jungkook would have no reason to show up unannounced anymore, but apparently that’s not the case. 

“I have, anxiety,” Namjoon adjusts his glasses for the nth time this afternoon, brain not fixed enough to focus on the screen of his chrome MacBook, “anxiety, anxiety. I can’t right now. I need my weighted blanket and a pillow.” 

“Namjoon, I can get both of those for you if we just send in this last spread,” you coo gently, as if placating a baby. You make brief eye contact with Jungkook from the other side of the room, his lips quirking in amusement as he stacks a box of clothes by the kitchen. 

“Do you feel my palms? My palms, they’re like a fucking fountain you need to feel them—” your Wusband approaches you like a zombie, leaning over you and tripping over his criss-crossed legs before he topples over you. 

“Blegh, get off of me you sweat giant!” you cry with a good-natured laugh, although the grip of Namjoon’s palms under your shoulders are damp and slimy, “Joon, I can’t get you your blanket if you’re crushing my boobs.” 

Namjoon finally relents, untacking himself to rest his chin on your glass coffee table. “Fine.” 

“Look over the last column and I’ll bring your blanket, okay?” 

Pushing yourself off the ground, you shuffle your way out of the living room through the maze of boxes and into the hallway. It feels like your apartment is less of an apartment and more of a storage space when you’re trapped in-between two lines of boxes, and Jungkook effectively blocking you from entering your room. He was just in the living room but now he’s come from the linen closet, standing between the entrance of your room. 

“Sorry,” he pops his head out from a smaller box, one filled with designer costume jewelry. 

“It’s fine,” you chirp, barely making eye contact as you shuffle over the boxes. 

Your toe drags over the lid of one of the open boxes in an attempt to move diagonally. You nearly crash your face into the hardwood if not for Jungkook’s arm stretching out to catch you. In seconds he manages to catch all your weight in one hand, pulling you to him with your hip pressed against his. Your breath traps itself in your neck. Your subconscious fears that if you speak now, you’ll babble about how attractive it is that he’s able to catch you as easily as grabbing a light sheet of paper. 

“Careful,” his voice rumbles in his throat as he regards you with a wan smile. 

Your “thanks” is barely uttered as you slip into your room, heaving your weighted blanket and a pillow in your arms to let Namjoon borrow. 

The burgundy quilted fabric is hunched over your shoulder, draped around your body so it’s easier for you to carry on your back. You try to eradicate the memory of Jungkook’s arms, lean and strong as he held you to him moments before.

Ugh, you thought messing around with Vernon would stop your silly pining. It seems that it’ll take more than a couple rounds to satiate your curiosity. For such a kind guy, Jungkook seems like a wolf in sheep’s clothing when it comes to the bedroom. 

You can imagine him being so kind in the beginning, coaxing you to wan and bend to his every wish and command. And then when you keen a little too hard at the attention, you bet a switch would flip and he’d grab you—

The blanket flops around your back, and you’re sorely reminded that you’re thirsting over a taken man, yet again.  

Jungkook makes it extremely difficult for him to be hateable. It’s by nature that he’s just so damn likeable. Heck, he’s pretty much packed seventy percent of the things Jisoo should be packing right now. 

Making sure not to trip again, on your feelings and your blanket, you successfully reach a tired Namjoon. You tuck your koala-shaped pillow under your co-editor’s arms, and drape the heavy blanket over him like a cape. He’s giving you a thumbs up and a toothless smile, the previous meltdown overcome as he focuses on finishing the last of today’s work. He’s slipped on some noise-cancelling earphones, presumably filled with generic coffee-house music or rain playlists. 

Wordlessly you go to your nook to prepare some tea. It’s getting late and a warm cup would distract you from the impending deadline. Despite the fact that you and Namjoon are 99% of the way done, his previous freak-out has you on live-wire and you could use a little caffeine. 

Placing three mugs on the counter you call, “Jungkook, tea?” 

“Yes please,” you stiffen when you feel Jungkook magically appear right behind you, his head peering over your shoulder, “with milk and honey.” 

Deciding to give Jungkook the beehive-shaped mug because it’s very on-brand for him, you begin to steep the leaves in your kettle while he spoons the honey. 

“So,” his words are slow as the drip of honey, the amber goo taking its time to descend into his mug as it falls from the dipper. “Is that the guy you’re trying to get over?” 

Jungkook lifts his brows towards Namjoon, who is softcore jamming to his white noise playlist. It’s cute as to how curious Jungkook is about Namjoon. While you try to keep your work life separate, there really isn’t much backstory to your personal life to warrant that kind of divide. 

“Namjoon,” you state aloud, watching Namjoon sing badly to himself, “why, are you gonna beat him up for me?” 

“I can take him,” you can practically hear Jungkook’s chest pop out. 

With a roll of your eyes, you reach to kill the heat off the tea kettle, “No need. He isn’t the guy I’m trying to get over.” 

“Oh, he’s your fuck buddy then?” 

“Shit!” being caught off guard, you grab at the handle of your kettle without a pot holder, burning your fingertips. In seconds Jungkook’s larger hand encases your own, pulling you over to the sink to soak your fingers in cool running water.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Jungkook is chanting like a sinner at church, searching for any sign of pain in your visage, “I shouldn’t have asked while you’re working with a hot stove.” 

You suppress a sigh, relaxing your fingers as Jungkook soothes the burn with his gentle hold, “Shouldn’t have asked in the first place,” you mumble. 

“I know,” he replies, “guess I’m just feeling a little left out. We don’t talk like we used to. I guess I’m getting a little too nosy for my own good, aren’t I?” 

You don’t understand what’s going on with his incessant babbling as of late, but you chalk it up to work stress and Jisoo’s move. Having no answers to his honest reply, you gently untack your red palm from his grip, assuring him that you’re fine. 

Namjoon steps into your kitchenette, being surprisingly careful as he takes your potholder to pour himself a cup of tea. If the tea is oversteeped and bitter he doesn’t say anything, only leans against the counter as he regards you two with slow sips. “You alright?” 

“M’fine,” you reply stubbornly, avoiding Jungkook’s worried stare. 

Namjoon holds out his hand, “Hand.” 

“No—”

“Hand.” 

His deep voice coerces you, and you immediately slap the back of your palm onto Namjoon’s. Your partner brushes his golden hands over the tiny blister that’s forming over your fingertips. “Can’t have my Work Wife outta commission.” 

“Your Work Wife is fine,” you gripe back. 

Your co-worker’s eyes flicker over to Jungkook’s for a brief second, Jungkook regarding him in curiosity as he stares at your connected palms. “I have some aloe in my bag for sunburns,” Namjoon offers helpfully, ignoring the weird glances, “I’ll give it to you in a bit. Also, I’ve overcome my sudden bout of stress and I’m ready to email our progress to Victoria. We’re done for the day.” 

“Awesome, thanks Joonie,” you exhale, relaxing against the sink, “wanna go eat somewhere?” 

“There’s a niche place in Itaewon if you wanna check it out?” Namjoon offers.

Jungkook interjects, “Jisoo ordered pizza if you guys wanna share with us?” 

“Pizza also sounds good—” 

“We don’t wanna interrupt your alone time,” you gracefully cut in, stepping in front of Namjoon despite the fact that he’s easily towering over you. 

Jungkook snorts, “I’ll have enough alone time with her when she moves in, don’t worry. Besides, I ordered three pies because I wanted to try three different flavor combos. I need two additional judges.” 

“Thanks Jungkook but,” you stifle a cry when Namjoon jabs you in the back with his thumb. It’s pressing, digging into the small of your back as if he’s trying to telepathically tell you that you’re being rude, “but… I don’t know if I can eat three slices! Namjoon on the other hand, can probably eat enough to fairly judge.” 

“Great,” Jungkook’s smile is blinding, causing your grin to stiffen as he looks for his phone to shoot Jisoo a quick text that they’re having dinner for four. 

Once Jungkook’s out of earshot, Namjoon tugs you by the sleeve, “The hell was that?” he hisses in your ear, “you look like you’re about to shit and piss your pants at the same time.” 

“I just don’t feel comfortable eating with them,” you cross your arms in defiance. You think back to just a week ago where you and Jisoo reluctantly attempted to eat breakfast together one morning. You provided minimal small talk while Jisoo clinged to her phone, replying to you in non-committal clipped tones. 

“Do I want to know?”

“No.” 

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” you retort, “you got me into this mess, you’re gonna stay with me ‘till the end.”

“I don’t know what you want from me, woman,” Namjoon throws his arms out exasperatedly, oolong tea nearly sloshing onto his hand, “just suck it up or I revoke your bragging rights to that snag you got on our spread next Monday.” 

“Not my fault you couldn’t get Kim Taeyeon on the spread,” you smirk. 

“Well I didn’t so happen to stalk the Sephora she frequents for the past two weeks—” 

“I didn’t stalk her I just so happened to need a new Fenty Gloss Bomb every other day—”

“I’m home, Jungkookie!” 

Your face contorts, your playful energy melting to the hardwood as your previous banter with Namjoon evaporates into thin air. Work bags in one hand and three boxes of pizza balancing in the other, Jisoo kicks off her heels somewhere across the door and places the pizza on the dining table. 

Jungkook immediately appears by her side, and you look away and Jisoo plants a heavy kiss on his lips. She cracks open one eye as she notices you and Namjoon hanging by the kitchenette, “Oh,” she mumbles at her audience, “you’re here?” 

Yes, you bimbo. I’m here in my own apartment. 

“I guess you didn’t read my text that they’ll be joining us for dinner,” Jungkook cuts in good-naturedly, “we have way too much pizza anyway. Have a seat, guys.” 

Jungkook navigates the kitchen as easily as your own, and you slump in your chair while Namjoon exchanges pleasantries with Jisoo. She looks impeccable, hair in a tight chignon and a tight navy dress as she converses with your co-editor. 

“I’m starving,” Jungkook announces, making sure to place a slice on Jisoo’s plate. He shuffles through the other boxes, making brief eye contact with you when he decides to put a slice on yours as well, “you like these toppings, right?” 

You regard the greasy, hearty piece of cheese and bread with a curt nod. You feel Jisoo’s eyes laser on your skin, “Yeah, thanks Kook.” 

Namjoon, Jisoo and Jungkook mostly stir up the conversation, you opting to eat as slow as possible to avoid any conversation. It’s easy to blend back and let them take over, as Jisoo loves to talk about her fashion firm and Namjoon is a great listener. 

Jungkook and Namjoon make it a point to direct the conversation to you from time to time, and you let the ball leave your court as soon as it lands. You prefer to keep your responses short and simple, especially when Jisoo is so eager to talk about the new silk drapes she’s installing for Jungkook’s windows.

Your phone buzzes in your lap, and you discreetly look under the table to read the incoming text message. 

vernie bernie: would u like to do the devil’s dance tonight

vernie bernie: or a tickle to my pickle? 

vernie bernie: beatin ya bean? 

You: ohmyGOD 

vernie bernie: or y’know, u could just come ovr and chill. Hobi made some bomb tres leches

You: call. Ill come after dinner

“Are you okay, y/n?” your head bounces up to meet Jungkook’s gaze, “you’ve barely eaten and you haven’t talked much.” 

“Oh you know, she’s just stressed about the upcoming spread,” Namjoon steps in for you, and you send him a discrete, but grateful smile. He’s always impeccable at reading the room, “she’s just nervous about her interview with Kim Taeyeon, but I think you did her interview justice.” 

“No way, the singer Kim Taeyeon?” Jungkook gushes, regarding you with stars in his eyes, “your interviews are always so great, y/n. You ask really good questions. Like that one spread about  Lee Yonghwa’s art gallery? Really cool.” 

You notice the way Jisoo presses her lips together, a thin line as if she’s trying to seal away words that she’ll regret saying. She’s jealous, and you can’t help the blush of pride that fills your veins as you raise a secret brow at her. 

“Right, you got nothing to worry about,” Namjoon squeezes your shoulder encouragingly, as if you’d get his double-meaning. 

“Thanks,” you reply, pushing your plate away and standing up, “I’m actually gonna go head to Vernon’s for a bit, though. He wants to double check his work before we email Victoria.” 

It’s a bald-faced lie, Namjoon sent the files to Victoria right before dinner, but he isn’t going to argue. 

“Okay,” Namjoon thanks Jungkook and Jisoo for the meal, stacking his plate atop yours, “I’ll walk out with you.” 

“It’s only been twenty minutes, though,” you see the slight panic in Jungkook’s gaze as he watches you quickly clean up for you and Namjoon. You can’t quite pin why he’s so concerned, after all he has been acting strange as of late. 

“Yeah, I’m full,” you reply curtly, licking your lips and avoiding his gaze. You already know what he wants to say, that he’s been in your apartment all day and all he’s seen you eat is stale chips and tea, “but we can do this again.” But hopefully not. 

“If you’re coming home late again,” it’s the first time Jisoo has spoken to you directly. You tilt your head to her slowly, watching the plastic smile carefully carved onto her expression. You see the contrived care and concern between her brows, “please try to be quieter next time, the last time you came home late you woke Jungkookie up.” 

Snapping your gaze to Jungkook you plaster on a thick smile, “Sorry Jungkook—” 

“What? No, it’s fine!” he furrows his brows in confusion, finally able to detect the strange tension between the two housemates, “I barely heard you—” 

“Maybe I’ll just stay the night at Vernon’s,” your eyes trail over to the pajama set you immediately switched into when you got home today, “wouldn’t want to disturb you two.” 

“Good,” Jisoo’s tone is saccharine and clipped as she tacks on a, “have fun.” 

It’s laudable, how much Jisoo wants to make a fool out of you but you won’t have it. You revel in the perplexed expression as Jungkook’s gaze darts back and forth between the two of you, wanting to butt in but unsure of how to approach it. Not giving him the time to, you bid the couple a goodnight and make a fast getaway. Heck, you don’t even take your work stuff with you. 

Once you’re out the door, Namjoon wordlessly gives you a hug. You sigh gratefully into his embrace. 

The next time Jungkook sees you, he reads the room before anything. You and Jisoo’s apartment is scarily empty, almost clinical. He’s tried texting you a few times after his failed-not-failed attempt at catching up at the mall and his awkward conversation concerning Namjoon, but you always reply back with vague replies and an unpromised promise of meeting up sometime soon. 

It dulls him to think that you’ve given up on him as a friend. But can you blame him? He needs to keep an appropriate distance for Jisoo, after all, she doesn’t like it when he gets too close to other women unless it’s strictly professional. Usually Jisoo’s jealousy inevitably works itself out and Jungkook doesn’t pose any problems because he has very few girl friends, but for some reason your friendship with him specifically gets Jisoo stiff in the face. Is it because you and Jisoo are so close? Possibly. 

But it doesn’t mean you can’t join the same Valorant server with him at 2AM and accidentally bomb each other, or argue over the magnum opus of each film company. Is that not enough? 

Jisoo’s working overtime, and Jungkook suggested last night that he move the boxes to the front of the door for easy pick-up when the moving truck arrives. Jisoo promises to buy Thai food in return, and with a kiss emoji she leaves him to audit fabric budgets. 

As he glides down to Jisoo’s room he notes that the pictures along the wall have disappeared, and there’s double the amount of boxes in the hallway. It seems that you’re moving out too. To where, he doesn’t know but he hopes it isn’t too far. 

He chides Jisoo remotely when he sees that her room is completely intact, and he makes moves to pack up her things. 

That’s when he finds his letter. Not a love letter to Jisoo, but a love letter to you. Deep in the recesses of Jisoo’s junk drawer, is a faded lavender envelope with a pressed cream colored baby’s breath taped up in plastic. The glue is yellow and old, clearly served its purpose due to the fact that the letter is already opened and the contents rumpled. 

Hey Pretty Girl–

He immediately stuffs the letter back in its holder, stricken at his messy handwriting from two years ago. It feels like he found a time capsule, another version of Jungkook confessing to you. He used to call you Pretty Girl, not enough for you to catch on to his feelings, but enough for you to understand that he did find you attractive. It was early on in your friendship. 

When you first asked him to be study partners for some silly class that had nothing to do with each other’s majors, he gaped like a guppy and pointed to himself. That day he went to class in last night’s clothes and a nest of fluffy strands. “Me?” he felt like absolute trash, and you were probably desperate due to the fact you two were the only seniors in this class, “but you’re a pretty girl… and I’m pretty dumb when it comes to this subject.” 

But instead you scoffed and pulled him from his slumped figure, dragging him to the library, with a wink and a “you’re pretty, too.” Those words have burned in his brain since then, as he wasn’t used to getting such off-handed compliments, especially from intelligent girls that wanted more than one night. 

For whatever reason you continued seeing his dumb self, even after the semester ended and together registered for one more class for spring. 

Whenever you’d go out for ice cream you wouldn’t hesitate to stuff your face and add for extra Oreos and fries, you’d assure Jungkook you’re not normally this much of a slob. 

Jungkook would just smile and offer you a napkin and say, “You’re still a pretty girl.” 

He fell for you gracefully. There was no regret, no walk of shame, no cliché late night party where you or him could’ve instigated it into the physical. It was all by feel. 

However the two of you took your time with your relationship, languidly enjoying the hushed conversations in the library at 2AM, the late night McFlurry runs, the integration of each other’s friends like it was natural. Ergo the lavender love letter. It was a gentle declaration, one he felt pretty confident in. 

So color him stupid when you passed him in class with a happy wave, Jungkook dumbfounded at how well you handled his confession. You weren’t oblivious, you just never read it. 

But now he knows the declaration was for whatever reason, lost in transit. “I should’ve known,” he whispers in the air, the letter crumpling in his grip. Composing himself, he pinches his brows.  

There’s an electronic buzz and a sharp slam of the front door. Judging by the time, you’re home. 

You flop onto your mattress, folding an arm over your head to stop the sun from seeping to your eyes. Vernon’s exhausted you, and you barely got away before he could have any say in it. You need a little space, and some time to think. 

Just as you close the door to your bedroom, it swings open. 

You gape as Jungkook thrusts himself into your bedroom like a deer with horns, looking pale. You follow his gaze, darkened eyes that linger a little too long on your neck again, and you narrow your eyes at him to avert. He looks a little red in the cheeks despite his pallidness, looking like he just got out of bed with messy wavy locks and his signature sweats. Is Jungkook packing for Jisoo again? 

Acutely aware that you smell like sweat and sex, you clutch the blankets closer to your body. “Uh, rude.” 

He looks uncharastically frantic, waving a letter in his hand, “Did you ever read this?” 

“Read what?” you ask, hands reaching out for the envelope. 

“My confession letter,” he blurts, having no shame now that all the gears are running through his head. “I wrote you a letter asking you out, because you said you wanted to collect notes like in Letters to Juliet. But I just found it in Jisoo’s drawer, why would it be there?” 

And all the pent up frustration that never seemed to escape under Vernon’s sheets, the feelings that never seem to subside, all bubble back to the surface. Now that Jungkook knows, there’s no hiding. 

You’re in shock, hands reaching for the letter despite the burn that seeps through your fingertips. Jungkook’s shoulders slump when you do indeed look like it’s your first time seeing this, as if a missing puzzle piece in your timeline has finally been revealed.

“I, I didn’t think you’d write me a letter,” you take the lavender envelope, clutching the letter by your chest like it’s something precious, “that’s so sweet,” you say to yourself.  

It dawns on him, “Wait, you knew about this? I knew something weird was going on.” 

“Only recently,” you frown. 

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” he nearly shouts, causing you to flinch, “no wonder why you were being so weird all this time. How could you let me live the rest of my life knowing this? That my relationship is built on a lie? ” 

“I don’t know,” you suddenly feel very small in your mattress as Jungkook rounds up on you, pulling your desk chair closer to your bed, “because you love Jisoo, of course.” 

“Well obviously that’s not possible,” and while yes a two-year realtionship ending like this is going to hit him hard tonight, he’s focused on you and the fact that you failed to tell him, “somehow I’d find out. Why wait for me to find out on my own?” 

“Because I wanted to protect you!” 

“Protect me,” he scoffs, crossing his arms and sneering at you. It causes you to tense up, feeling the telltale signs of tears bubbling to the surface, “you don’t even want to be friends anymore, y/n. I’ve tried to catch up to you so many times, but you keep leaving me hanging. I know I’ve been a pretty bad friend and I get it if you just feel awkward that I liked you, then that’s a shitty reason.” 

“Have you ever considered that it’s too late to tell you?” you shoot back, sitting up straight, “yes, I admit I should’ve told you earlier and I’m sorry, but it was a lot for me to process to y’know? Jisoo and I haven’t talked properly in weeks!” 

“Oh, so you’ve stopped trying to be friends with Jisoo too, huh? Just like you’re trying to stop being friends with me.” 

“No,” you pinch your brows, “she stopped being friends with me! She doesn’t care about me because she has you,” conflict burns in Jungkook’s gaze, and you only serve to fuel the fire, “she’s tried so hard to not involve me in your relationship.” 

“Just tell me why you’ve really kept this secret instead of saying you want to protect me like a baby—” 

“It’s because I’m in love with you, idiot!” 

You blink and back up against the wall of your bedroom, as if you can’t believe that the words came out of your mouth. 

It’s quiet again. The sour look evaporates from Jungkook’s face as he watches you suppress your sobs on your mattress. The room seems devoid, sucked out of its color as you’ve cleaned up most of your things, the only thing left being some plain grey sheets and a pillow. 

Jungkook’s mind is absolutely reeling, playing back memories from a different point of view. 

“When Jisoo told me she sabotaged our relationship so she could date you, I was so upset and didn’t know what to think,” you manage to place the lavender note on your wooden desk, making sure no tears could mar it. “And I thought I could move on and eventually stay friends with the both of you, but the next day Jisoo put all her attention on you and completely ignored me or any attempt to salvage our friendship. She only told me to forgive herself,” you’re hugging yourself, wrapping the blankets around you like a weak embrace, “so I thought if I cut myself out of the picture and forced myself to move on like I should’ve, everything would’ve been okay.” 

“So, you would’ve rather kept all this pain to yourself?” 

“Yeah,” you give him a teary smile, “because I wanted you to be happy.” 

And with an equally sad smile he murmurs, “But I’m not happy.” 

 Your face falls, and you really look at Jungkook. He’s exhausted as well, slumped in his chair. Has he been trying to grapple along the threads of his relationships, while you’ve been trying to loosen them? 

“What a waste of two years,” he slumps in your chair, letting the pieces click into place, “a relationship built on fake love. I was really trying, y’know. I thought I was going crazy.” 

The three of you have unknowingly been playing a futile game of Cat’s Cradle, a game that no one wins. 

Jungkook looks wistfully out the window, noting the pleasant day that fails to present itself in your tiny room. It feels simultaneously satisfying and bitter when it falls into place, your thoughts finally fitting together for the first time in months. “We could’ve loved each other. For real,” he says, and you silently agree. 

You’re still crying, shaking like a leaf in autumn. Jungkook’s arms hover awkwardly over yours, his warmth palpable despite the fact that he hasn’t touched you yet. With a timid smile you allow consent, and you melt like putty in his arms. 

“Kookie, ‘m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” you murmur into his shoulder, not caring if it hurts when you press your chin into his skin. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way.” 

It’s been so long to have him close like this, the friend you’ve always wanted but never needed. Since college you’ve always imagined a life without him doing just fine, but that doesn’t mean you want to live without him, roommate’s boyfriend or not. 

“I’m sorry too,” he sighs back, “this sucks right now, but we’ll be alright.” 

The two of you sit in your room until it turns dark and the sky muddles into shades of twilight and egg yolk orange. There’s lulls in the conversation, the two of you filling in the gaps and making sense of the mumbo-jumbo that’s been going on in your consciousness up until this point. Your insantities turn sane, and by the time Jisoo’s making her way back inside with the smell of pad thai, Jungkook is ready. With a squeeze to each other and a press of your lips because you don’t know what to say, you tuck yourself in and pretend to fall asleep. 

“Messy, messy, messy,” Vernon sing-songs, knocking his heels against the wall. 

The both of you are sitting upside-down, butts attached to the wall connecting to his mattress and your feet hanging in the air. Your mint floral organza socks pad against his Pink Floyd poster, while his yellow tube socks are heeling against some old Polaroids from college. There’s no prospect of sex today, not when shit just hit the fan. 

Today you and Vernon are just two old friends and very close co-workers. 

“Tell me about it,” you bemoan, frowning at the beige wall, “this whole week’s just been a whole mess. It’s like, warm tuna salad.”

“Gross,” Vernon grimaces at the apt comparison, “so what happens now?” 

You sit up on your elbows, looking down at Vernon’s peaceful expression, “What do you mean?” 

“Like, are you gonna get together with him?”

You snort, flopping back down on his bed. The blankets fluff around you and you inhale the pine scented sheets. “After all that? No.” 

“But you still love him?” 

It must sound dumb to still love him after all this time. You wouldn’t be surprised if Vernon thought you’re silly to still hold a place in your heart for someone who has fifteen million things on their plate now. After all the physicality and the space Vernon gave you in his home, your feelings haven’t wavered. 

Your companion doesn’t bother waiting for your answer, hearing your answer somewhere in the air as he gets up and throws on his denim jacket. Rolling over your stomach you ask, “Where are you going?” 

“Some friends down in printing want to meet up for drinks,” Vernon messes up his hair, making the waves part in that little coiff that makes his jawline look sharp. “I heard Yerin really wanted me to come, so.” 

You can’t help the little middle school coo that comes from your lips, causing Vernon to giggle and throw a pillow at you. “Yerin’s cute!” you declare, remembering the petite girl in overalls who’s all about pops of yellow and violet, “you're into her?” 

“Nah,” Vernon holds up two hats in his hands, gesturing for you to pick one. “Just figured it was a push in the right direction.” 

Crawling out of his bed you stumble in your oversized t-shirt, tucking a finger under your chin as you decide between the emerald bucket hat and the red Ralph Lauren baseball cap. You pull out both hats from his hands and set it down on his vanity, opting to smooth out the flyaways and ringing your fingers through his soft curls. “And what direction would my free-flowing friend be going today?” you ask aloud, “you look better with your hair out,” you declare firmly, “makes you look like a fluffy CEO.” 

He laughs at your silly comparison, and he gently moves your hand away from his hair when you linger a little too close to him. His gaze is solemn as he regards you with a gentle smile, “Keep your distance, I’m tryna get over someone,” he says simply, and your arm falls limp at your sides. 

Your heart thuds in a different direction, your mouth parting but no words coming to the surface. When was the last time you asked about Vernon’s needs, wondered if he was doing alright, making sure you two were on the same page—

“You’re spiraling,” he reads you like a playbook, smoothing down your hair to press a kiss to the crown. Suddenly you feel guilty for not having sparks in your belly, shaming your conscience for not even considering his sacrifices in your self-absorption these past few weeks. “Like I said, I wanted to help you. Stop looking like a kicked puppy, it’s okay to be selfish.” 

With transparent tears the two of you pack up and head to your next destination. Hands ghosting between each other you make your way to the exit of Vernon’s apartment, him to meet up with his friends while you have to unpack your new apartment. With a hug you tell each other you’ll see them on Monday, and as easy as that you go your separate ways.

Hey Pretty Girl—

I kinda wanted to tell you this in person but I know how much you liked Mamma Mia and all those other movies that have grand gestures in writing so I thought hey, might as well shoot my shot on paper. 

Not gonna tell you all the details, because you deserve to hear it in-person. But mayhaps this letter has something to do with how much I like studying with you, watching movies with you, doing absolutely nothing with you and all of that in-between. 

There’s a gift card to our spot attached. Meet me at McDonalds @12 tonight, so I know it’s real 😎

Hopefully yours, Jungkook

P.S. if you haven’t noticed already, I sprayed a little cologne and stole Taehyung’s fancy paper from Muji. That’s how serious I am about you. 

“Joon, we live in a bonsai garden. We’re like giants in a forest.” 

“Can you—can you stop spitting at them? Let them breathe, dammit.” 

“Not my fault they’re so tiny! I literally have to zoom 200% just to get a good look at ‘em.” 

The two of you are huddled in what used to be Namjoon’s balcony, now a sunroom for his succulents and bonsais. Your heart feels pink and swollen with affection as you regard Namjoon with interest, absorbing every bit of information you can as he teaches you how to care for his plants. After all, you’re co-parenting now. 

Having your Wusband co-sign as your roommate for the next year is probably the best decision you have made this year. Everyday is like a breath of fresh air. With Seokjin gone for the year to tour his restaurant franchises, his room is yours for the taking. The two of you are easy going roommates, filling the apartment with color and vigour whether it be in the form of baking sweets or watching Netflix documentaries. 

The only drama you ever have is when you two are having a meltdown over the same work-related issue, as if you two somehow share the same brain cell. It’s significantly less stressful, no need for unnecessary anger when  you have someone as mediating as Namjoon.

After today’s plant lesson, you two go back to the living room to finish up your work for the evening. Another perk of living together is that you can go home at normal work times and continue where you left off with the comfort of your couch and eating a whole pizza pie with no shame. 

Namjoon’s phone pings with a new email from corporate. “We got the new concept for next month’s spread,” he gestures to you with a grandiose wave of his arm, “drumroll please.” 

He pulls up the newsletter from corporate with a flick of his thumb. Your company put out every month’s concept out in an Evite, like every month was a themed party. A stressful, month long work party. In seconds, the page loaded and you’re met with next month’s title bathed in electronic glitter. 

The Most Beautiful Moment in Life: Class of Youth

The two of you say silent, absorbing the concept like a cookie to milk. It’s a personal spread this month, a real treat for the team to show off their normal non-professional life. A spread that reveals the masters behind the ink and text. Last year’s personal spread was about the staff’s vacation destinations, but this year’s is much more intimate. You can imagine all the ideas that will be thrown around on Monday’s meeting: pinning down shared ideas like Throwback Thursdays, late night munchie runs, drunk stories, and all the crazy college nostalgia that you’ve been trying to avoid as of late. 

But now it’s presented to you in a gold chalice, and while you’re sick of the past you think it’s about time to face it. You’re excited to tackle the dark monster you’ve suppressed since Jungkook and Jisoo’s breakup. 

“Did I ever tell you I was president of my university’s Mock Trial?” 

“No, I always thought you’d be president of the Comparative Literature Club or whatever. But Mock Trial is equally as nerdy.” 

“I’ll have you know Mock Trial got me tons of action,” he winked, “made me very convincing.” 

“Gross,” you sneer, “so that’s what your spread will be about? How the co-editor of the Arts & Entertainment section managed to bag with his skills from Mock Trial?” 

“Nah, I went on a penniless journey with Jin during spring break. Six days around Malta.” 

“That does sound so you,” you sigh, fingers slipping between the cracked screen as you mull over the overly happy Evite, “sounds like a cool story.” 

“I know that look,” Namjoon quips, snatching his phone under his nose, “don’t overthink your spread just yet, it’s still the weekend. Now to more important things, what do you want from Taco Bell?”

And because you can’t refuse the combined efforts of nachos and Namjoon’s dimples, you relent for the night and tack the unmade idea to the next workday. 

Unfortunately the next workday is just as disheartening. Today’s work meeting is the antithesis of icing on the cake. While your college life isn’t anything remarkable, you didn’t think it was a painfully dull time. With every passing moment and every excited co-worker throwing memories back and forth like ping pong balls, the more you felt inferior by competing with their amazing memories. 

“Who can even afford Aruba at twenty-one,” you mutter under your breath, stalking back to your cubicle. 

Filling up a whole spread is daunting to you, the thought of Victoria popping her head in your cubicle to ask what you’ve got for the day is practically eating you from the inside out. Maybe your college life was in actuality, super boring? You have no crazy drug trips to tell, any vacations that gave you a life-changing perspective, or an epic love story. 

“What’cha got there, partner?” 

The third musketeer of your editing team’s caramel eyes peer into your cubicle, causing you to jump in your chair. Vernon wheels around, chair and all to push you into your already cramped space. His gold button up gleams in the sunlight, effectively blinding you. 

“If by something you mean nothing, then yeah I got nothing,” you frown, spinning around your chair. “What are you writing about?” 

A fond smile melts onto your friend’s face, and you can’t help returning a smile that mirrors his own. You two have fallen back into a good place, as far as you know. He’s still easy, simple, sweet Vernon. When you dropped some boxes off in coloring, you heard that Vernon and Yerin have recently started seeing each other. 

“Thought of the idea as soon as the Evite came out. It’s more of a photo spread, but I’m gonna write about my study abroad in NYU,” Vernon ticks a pencil on his forehead, “a self-identity piece talking about how I felt like, not-white around my family n’stuff. And then felt not-Asian at the same time, s’complicated but I think I can make it work.” 

“Deep,” you pat his shoulder caringly, knowing that Big Hit is a good outlet for these kinds of subjects, “alright City Slicker, since you’re so full of ideas then tell me what to write about.” 

Vernon sits up straight, regarding you with narrowed eyes, “Aren’t you gonna write about your little love triangle with Jisoo and Jungkook?” and it seems like he’s already storyboarded the idea in his head, gesturing to the air as if he’s writing down a timeline, “I can see the headline now: How to Steal a Heart,” he’s grinning, nodding fervently as you cross your arms in distaste. 

“Vern, are you suggesting that I exploit Jisoo and Jungkook’s personal lives?” while the journalism business didn’t pride itself on sincerity, it did feel wrong to drag in your personal life to that extent. 

“Babe, you don’t understand. You have the perfect slice of life story. Everyone’s writing about expensive vacations and that one time they got cross-faded and ended up in Busan,” he squeezes your hand, “but your story, it’s relatable. It’s romantic. It’s angsty. It has closure. No one’s gonna be able to relate to an impulse spending on daddy’s money to Aruba. But first loves? Unrequited romance and all that ish? Everyone can speak to that. And you’re a beautiful writer, they’ll eat up that story like honey.” 

“I don’t know, it still doesn’t feel right.” 

“Change up the names, twist the story,” he offers easily, knowing you’d put up a fight, “besides, it’s not like you’re planning on talking to Jisoo or Jungkook ever again,” you open your mouth to retort, but Vernon’s phone beeps to the Star Wars theme song and he’s flying out of his chair. “Shoot, gotta go help Joon upstairs. Just think about it, okay? Good luck!” and he’s kicking his chair out with a brown loafer, leaving you with breathing room in your cubicle. 

Five seconds later Vernon is jogging back, pointing a finger at you, “And if you do choose to write it, you have to add that Jisoo copped your McDonalds gift card. Like, who does that shit? Couldn’t she have just given it to you and say it was from her and not Jungkook? Seriously fucked up.” 

For the next ten or so minutes you mull. Out of all the memorable college events you’ve participated in, the largest one by far is your (now defunct and debatable) friendship with Jisoo, and your (un)requited love for Jungkook. Reluctantly, you must admit Vernon has a sharp idea, busting in like a hero and offering you the most writable piece on a silver platter. 

It doesn’t feel morally right just to start writing, because ultimately you can’t feel comfortable until you get the consent of Jungkook. While you don’t want to touch Jisoo with a ten-meter pole, you do want to start talking to Jungkook again now that the waters have calmed.

Your life has moved gracefully up until this point, and you’d like to start being friends with him again. Decision made, you pull out your phone and make an important call.

“Hey Yoongi,” you say nervously. Min Yoongi is Kim Namjoon’s equivalent, Jungkook’s Wusband and former upperclassmen in college. 

Said man hums noncommittally on the other line, “Whaddya want, it’s been awhile.” 

You stifle a giggle at his apathetic attitude, knowing he’s someone who wastes no time in getting straight to the point. “I just wanna make sure Jungkook’s address is still the same? I know it’s been a couple months, but I need to send him something and I wanna make sure it gets to him ASAP because—”

“Because last time something was sent, your crazy roommate intervened and Jungkook ended up in a two-year half-toxic relationship? Yeah, let’s make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

“Yoongi,” you say slowly, “where are you?” 

“Working in the studio,” he tuts, “Jungkook says hi, by the way.” 

Typical, cat’s out of the bag. With a roll of our eyes you reply, “Thanks for outing me, Yoongi. Talk to you later.” 

“And y/n? Jungkook says he’s waiting.” 

With a stupid smile slapped onto your face, you hang up the phone and pull out your stationary kit from under your desk. You pluck out a vermillion red envelope, a color so bold and begging to be seen, you know it can’t possibly get lost in transit. Feeling a little bit like a high schooler as you pull out a glitter jelly pen, you get to writing. 

Hey Pretty Boy...

Jungkook and Jisoo are no longer together, evidently. 

Their social media runs in different directions, with Jisoo sporting absolute elegance in her work at her family-owned boutique. Her posts are full of shiny outfits and soulless gazes, betraying any pinch of emotion she may have felt over these past few months. Her profile is wiped of any personal posts, all traces of you and Jungkook evaporated from her page. You must admit that she looks good, like a real fashion mogul, but only at the surface level. 

Conversely, Jungkook is thriving. It’s evident. Normally he isn’t the type of guy to post so frequently, his habits being often sporadic and limited to sweaty gym stories. But whenever you scroll, it’s pictures of him smiling. Big bunny teeth broken into a genuine, full-bellied laugh. Cute selfies of him and his co-workers. You notice two familiar co-workers in those posts, Irene and Seulgi, two beautiful women Jisoo always felt intimidated by whenever she ranted to you. You conclude positively that Jungkook doesn’t feel tethered and can hang out with all the friends he wants, female and male alike. Jungkook looks free, and you’re happy for him. 

It’s another Instagram-worthy moment tonight at McDonalds, where you and Jungkook proposed to meet each other at 12AM. 

This time, the letter makes it to its desired destination. You make sure of that because this time you hand-deliver it, slipping under his apartment door knowing he lives alone and no one would be able to access it except him. 

You’re parked in an obscure corner, but you can see that Jungkook is currently having a great time with his co-workers for an after work meal. Yoongi is unbothered on his phone, while Jimin and Seulgi are taking turns throwing fries into each other’s mouth. Jungkook is squished between them, scrunching his nose cutely as he tries not to get in the fray of their fry-war. 

Your phone pings, and you laugh at what pops up on the screen.

Yoongi: come inside, u loser. 

You: can’t ur friend group makes me nervous stop being so dang cute

You: dw i’ll wait, it’s only 11:50

Instead of replying, Yoongi puts his phone down and resumes eating. In turn you pick a playlist, deciding that “summer time high mix✨✨✨” is a theme you need to subscribe to for the rest of the weekend. 

Busying yourself by sending some texts to Namjoon and checking some emails, you relax in your seat as you let your brain turn to sludge for the weekend. You’re tired, eyes glazing over as you watch Yoongi elbow Jungkook harshly, forcing him to look out the foggy window. 

Jungkook’s eyes light up like it’s Christmas Eve, but instead of Christmas lights it's your car’s lowlights. The graphic designer  pays no mind to his friends as they wish him goodbye and goodluck, throwing on his jacket with a wave. 

The night air whizzes by, Jungkook’s floppy black strands bouncing with each step as he bounds to your car. He throws your door open, bringing in the cold air as he regards you as easily as an old friend would. 

“Hi,” he chirps, placing his tattooed palms by the air vent, “c’mon, let’s order.” 

“You know, you could’ve ordered inside and brought it in here.” 

“Yeah but then it would take longer to get to you,” the cheeky grin that Jungkook throws at you is unmistakable, “c’mon, get out the car and let’s switch.” 

“Huh?” 

“You look tired, you didn’t come back from the office again, did you?” 

“I did tonight,” you say, “I just really wanted to get the soft copy of the article done and—” 

“Out, out!” Jungkook clicks your seatbelt off and he’s coming out of the passenger side, opening your car and pulling you out by the hand, “c’mon, I’ll drive.” 

You shake your head, hiding your smile in your hand as you let Jungkook do what he wants. Normally you’d be insulted that anyone suggests they should drive your car but Jungkook would always drive you around, saying he loved long rides. Above all, if you could trust anyone to drive your car, Jungkook is at the top of the list. 

Buckling in, you bite the inside of your cheek as Jungkook easily pulls out of the parking spot one-handed. His jacket is pulled up to his elbows, exposing his veins as he expertly whirls the wheel in the direction of the drive-thru. Since college he’s always looked very attractive driving.  

Doesn’t mean you have to act like you’re still in college. You tamp those feelings down, knowing that your article probably has you feeling stuck in time. 

“—coming along?” 

“Wha?” 

“I said, how’s the spread coming along?” 

“It’s pretty much done, I think. I’ll send you the hard copy when it’s ready,” you tap your fingers against the dashboard, “but are you sure you’re okay with me writing it? I know I’m using a pseudonym and everything for you two but I still feel weird—” 

“It’s fine, I think it’s a good thing,” and you still squirm in your seat when he flashes you a genuine smile, “I mean, it kinda is a funny story and I think it’s good for both of us. Like closure, y’know? Moving on and—hi, can I get two Oreo McFlurrys and a large fry? Thanks!” he pulls out his wallet to scan the total on the e-reader.  “I mean, didn’t it feel good writing it?”

“Yeah,” you replied honestly, relaxing in your seat, “like, college was fun and all, but when Jisoo kinda ruined all that… after awhile I didn’t think it was ruined after all, y’know? I still made amazing friends and ended up where I wanted to be. I want to show the readers that shit happens, and that’s okay. And if things are really meant to be, they’re meant to be.” 

The summer playlist hums in the background as Jungkook pulls up to the pick-up window. He thanks the worker and hands you the tray, and you make quick work to put the fries in the first cup holder for optimal sharing. He doesn’t park at McDonalds, but instead smoothly pulls out of the restaurant into the direction of his apartment. It isn’t a particularly long drive, but you figure it would be easier for Jungkook to go home first if you’re already parked at his complex. 

“What do you mean by that?” Jungkook parks in the driveway of his apartment, taking his McFlurry from your hands. 

“Mean by what?” 

“If things are really meant to be, they’re meant to be.” 

“Well, we’re here now, right?” 

Jungkook pops his spoon in, swallowing vanilla and a silly smile through his coral pink lips, “We’re here now,” he repeats. 

The night air is cool and your conversation is warm. You promise Jungkook that you’ll send him the final copy of your spread as soon as it’s done, and you two eagerly deviate away from the past and focus on the present. 

You can’t help the eagerness that flows between you, as if you’ve never spent time apart like this and it’s only now that you’re reuniting. It must be absence that makes the heart grow fonder, because you swell with affection and you find Jungkook’s presence sweeter than any kind of ice cream. 

Are you dating now? Maybe. You and Jungkook are going on dates, everything without the title. McFlurry runs, marathons of HGTV’s Design on a Dime, having lunch at each other’s respective buildings with the Wusbands. Whether these dates are exclusive or not is unknown, but you figure the question will present yourself one way or another. 

You’re in a good place right now, potential relationship or not. After all, your priorities are simultaneously positive and in order: family, work, friends, and any potential romantic trysts are at the very bottom. You could kiss the cover of this month’s issue (and trust, you have kissed your own copy multiple times) if it is not for the fact that this specific issue is for Jungkook. 

So, romantic trysts and friends have a tendency to flip-flop on your priority list, but only because it’s Jungkook. 

Unsurprisingly, there’s no guilt knowing that you’re dating your former best friend's ex-boyfriend. 

After a much deserved early work day, Namjoon and the crew arrange a hearty happy-hour filled with good food and enough relaxation to last the weekend. With your combined successes, your team felt like they made the best issue yet. At the heart of it, The Most Beautiful Moment in Life: Class of Youth became a reckoning of each other’s young life. Despite the love and the growth that occurred from your college years up until this point, you’re glad to close that chapter and move forward. 

You did not tell Jungkook when the issue would come out, so you think it’ll be a fun surprise for him when he sees it magically show up at his apartment. Bending down you move to slip the issue under his door, one hand pushing it under while one hand braces against the frame to steady your balance. 

Just as the shiny cover glides under the door it swings open, and you fall flat on Jungkook’s feet. 

Being the little shit he is, he simply giggles at the blunder, looking at you with excited eyes. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he says. 

“Creepy as hell, Jeon,” you mutter under your breath, brushing the dirt off your aqua pencil skirt. Looking at him from your spot on the floor and his large height, you grimace. “You look like a middle-aged serial killer looking outside your peephole.” 

“Now, we know that’s not true.” he finally offers his hand, easily pulling you up to your feet. You follow him into his kitchen, where he’s cutting up fresh fruit. He throws your issue on the counter, gentle enough so it doesn’t slide off the granite. He gestures to himself with both hands, “me, a dashingly handsome late twenty-something in Nike sweats who can bench-press two of you? Totally not a middle-aged serial killer.” 

“It’s in the eyes,” you chastise, “you look crazy.” 

“Maybe I’m just crazy excited to see you,” he says with a cheeky grin. 

You try your best not to choke on your spit at the cheeseball comment, throwing a blackberry in your mouth. Savoring the burst of tart flavor that fills your mouth, you wait for Jungkook to plate the fruit before meeting him on the couch. He’s holding a prettily arranged plate of berries, bananas, and mango with a huge dollop of whipped cream in the middle. In his other hand is Big Hit’s magazine. 

Throwing your blazer on the couch’s arm you don’t hesitate to cuddle up next to him, eagerly waiting for him to read your spread. 

The cover gazes back at the two of you like a reflection. The entirety of the staff is posed on the cover, made to look like a class photo. Some of you are holding balloons in your respective school colors, many of you grouping up with whoever happened to go to college together. You and Vernon are wearing matching university sweaters with silly grins on your faces. In the middle of the issue is the editor-in-chief, Victoria Song holding a placard that reads: Class of Youth. 

Jungkook spares you a glance from the corner of his eye, your head naturally tucked into his shoulder. With an exaggerated sigh, he fiddles through the glossy pages, “Hmm, which one should I read first?” 

“Of course you’ll read mine first,” you pout. 

“Ah, Namjoon’s looks really fun. Or Vernon’s? New York looks pretty cool,” he flips to a random page, “wait, Yerin’s spread is a Korean cookbook! I definitely want to make some tuna rice...”  

“Jungkook,” you whine, “read mine.” 

“I don’t know,” he taps his finger on his lip, “I mean, I pretty much know your spread because I’m already in it. It would be kind of redundant to read it.” 

“Kook, you’re being mean,” you glower, rubbing your cheek against his soft sweater. He’s just so damn comfy. 

“I’m kidding,” he tugs at your cheek, “where’s the table of contents, first page?”

“I’m on page eighty-three.” 

You speed up the process like an impatient child, leaning over to brush the pages to the desired spread. You even dog-earred it, a habit that drives Jungkook crazy as he immediately fiddles to iron out the crease. 

“Are you gonna read it to me too, mom?” he teases. 

“Okay fine! I’ll be quiet, but don’t take too long.” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

Eyes fluttering, you let Jungkook take his time to absorb your piece. A roommate by any other (rude) name: the lost letter. A cheesy, gimmicky title that Victoria insisted upon that you had no choice but relent to. The rest of the spread thankfully has a very authentic edge to it, your story laced with photos of you and Jungkook, your internship with Vernon, and most importantly, a scan of the lavender letter that got left in the past. 

Jungkook’s not silent through his read-through, either. He laughs at all the right parts, fueling your ego as his smile grows at your favorite lines. While he doesn’t directly engage in conversation, his positive energy is enough for you to make you feel like you’ve done your job right. It’s one thing to write about unknown celebrities and unnamed artists, but for people like Jungkook, the validation is personal. 

“It’s beautiful,” Jungkook says when he’s read it thrice through, running his thumb over a picture of you. “Really organic. Really, real.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he chuckles, having run out of adverbs. “It’s funny, too. I liked your little internal monologue. I wish I knew how you felt back then.” 

“I wish you did, too.” 

You’re quietly munching on a strawberry, looking over a polaroid Jungkook took. It was  sometime in the beginning of senior year, where you’ve fallen asleep on his mattress, drool drying on your mouth. Normally you’d be opposed to having such unflattering, grainy pictures amongst your writing, but it encapsulates the youth you’ve tried so hard to chase away. 

“How do you feel?” Jungkook says, switching out the magazine for the plate of fruit, placing it on his side. 

“Feel great, actually,” you muse, smiling to yourself. By no means are you a hero writing some grand gesture in an entertainment magazine, but you feel like you’ve saved yourself. You’ve savored your youth in four thousand words, cutting out the poison and keeping the moment as sweet as it can be. 

“I’m proud of you,” he reaches to ruffle your hair, and you don’t even get mad when it tousles out of your pinned style. 

Reveling in the attention, you simply close your eyes and feed yourself a handful of blueberries. 

“Love that I make money, but I definitely miss college from time to time,” Jungkook stretches, jostling you out of your comfortable position. “Like I remember Taehyung and I would take turns bringing backpacks to the dining hall so we could stuff fruit in it for later.”

“Yeah, but as much as I loved college I wouldn’t go back,” you nod to yourself, “I’m happy where I am now.” 

“What about when we stayed up for midnight breakfast? The dining hall was filled to the brim with food. Remember when I tried to eat a whole stack of pancakes?” 

“Jungkook…” 

“Or when our classes got cancelled and we went to Lotte World? You ate way too much funnel cake and I had to carry you to the car!” 

“Jungkook—” 

“And that one time we snuck out to the music hall’s rooftop?” words gush out of Jungkook’s mouth like a waterfall, unable to relent, “that’s when I realized I liked you. I liked you so much, I tried to tell you that night but choked—”

“Jungkook!” and he immediately zips up, frowning. You straighten up, on your knees as you reach over to run your hands through his onyx tresses, moving the styled strands to the back of his pierced ears, “Jungkook,” you repeat softly, “I’ve heard all these stories, I was there for most of them. As much as I love the past… can we talk about something else?” you give him a small, tentative smile to show him you’re not mad, but a little uncomfortable at his reminiscing. 

He leans into your touch, pressing your palm against the soft swell of his warm cheek. “Okay,” he agrees, resting one hand on your thigh. 

You’re roped in his gaze, and you have to force yourself to breathe when Jungkook moves closer to you. He hooks a leg behind his back, and another across his lap. A cool breeze kisses your inner thighs when your skirt exposes your cotton underwear. You should be embarrassed but instead you’re fixated, unable to understand what he’s trying to accomplish. 

“Then I’m gonna talk about the future,” Jungkook traps you between the couch, his thumb running hot circles to where your skirt has hiked up. It exposes a slip of the thigh that Jungkook has seen a million times. He’s seen you walking around your apartment in a large shirt, ridden up to your boyshorts. It’s different now, you feel exposed and tingly, thrumming with excitement. “I like you, obviously anticipated news and old news. I can’t stop thinking about how much I want to go on dates with you, re-watch Avatar, grumble when I force you to come to the gym with me,” he bumps noses with you when you scrunch yours, “I wanna be with you. Heck, I’ve even cleared space in my spare room so you’d have closet space for all your fancy designer suits if you ever need it.”

“You cleared space?” you manage to choke out. Visions of a shared apartment roll through your brain. Cooking meals together, having two toothbrushes side by side, and waking up to his face. 

“Of course I did. Do you know how financially attractive you are?” he says lightheartedly, “you’re a sexy working woman and it’s crazy to imagine you’d want to settle for me and my little apartment. But I have to try now because if I don’t, it’ll be too late.” 

“That’s not true,” you retort, “you’re not someone I’d settle for. I want you, and no one else.” 

He chuckles, running a thumb over your cheek. “Then what are we waiting for? Your key’s hiding under the mat.” 

“Jungkook…” on the tip of your tongue lays the words you’re going too fast but it doesn’t make its way to the air. 

“But do you really think it’s too fast?” he reads your face clearly, “these feelings never went anywhere. They were locked away, sure. And I loved her,” he can’t even say the name, not when you’re warm and flush against him, “but I loved our friendship more.”

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you breathe, letting the cogs in your brain roll until sparks develop. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” he concedes, “I just wanted to let you know. Could’ve done the letter thing all over again and let the past repeat itself. I know Namjoon wouldn’t hide a love letter for two years, but if I left another damn letter he’d definitely make a copy and tease me about it.” 

You snort, pressing your forehead to his. You’re practically buried in the couch now, tingly and vibrating with happiness. “And I’m not going to leave you hanging. I do want to say something,” and he looks at you expectantly, licking the leftover berry juice on his lips, nearly making you miss your train of thought, “I like you too,” you say, the other L-word is also applicable, but you feel like that phrase is reserved for another time, “I want to show you off on work vacations, bring you along as my date and show them you’re my muse,” you confess, “I wanna play video games with you ‘till 2AM, and eat ice cream in the comfort of our apartment instead of our cars because we’re too stubborn to admit we don’t wanna go home without each other.” 

Jungkook absolutely preens at the affection, sending you a heart melting smile that has your stomach doing backflips.

“Jungkook, I want to fall in love with you again.” 

Your squeal of surprise is swallowed by Jungkook’s lips, tasting of mangoes and berries as strong hands cup your backside, easily lifting you onto his lap. You plop under his strong thighs, feeling them flex against yours. The both of you are pouring in this kiss, raining with promises and hopes for a future with each other. His taste is concentrated, and you can feel the devotion practically injected in his embrace. 

When he pulls away his lips are cherry-red and shiny, looking up at you through clear coffee eyes. “This isn’t a dream, right?” he looks at you up and down, unable to decipher fact from fiction, “because I distinctly remember two wet dreams that involve you looking like this.” 

Looking down, you heat at the disarray you’re in. Hair wild and parted in different wavelengths, tired of the day’s efforts. Your slightly sheer dress-shirt is rumpled, the lace collar opened with two popped buttons revealing your cleavage, and your skirt is stretched so tight that it’s ruched all the way up your thighs. Sprawled across Jungkook’s lap, you’re dangerously close to something long and hard. 

Emboldened, you clutch at Jungkook’s collar, pulling him closer. 

“Show me what happens in your dream,” you whisper into his ear, barely brushing your clothed core against his crotch, “maybe we can make it come true tonight.” 

You can’t see his face, but you feel something dark and sensual overtake him. The grip on your ass tightens, a delicious pain that has you pressing your breasts against him and nipping on his ear, your tongue darting sensually through the cold silver hoops that dart through his skin. 

Within seconds, he rips you away from his neck and demands, “Open.” 

Dazed, you barely get a centimeter of your mouth open when Jungkook presses something cold and sugary against your lips. Whipped cream. You manage to take a small bite of the tart strawberry that he holds by the viridian stem, rolling the flavor between your mouth as Jungkook paints the leftover whipped cream over your lips. Once he’s satisfied he then creates a white trail that leads to your cleavage. 

Better than any dream, his eyes drink you in like the last glass of water in a desert. Your lips are swollen and parted like a baby kitten, covered in the creamy confection. “So pretty,” he exhales, his hot tongue licking from your cleavage to your lips, swallowing the flavor of you and strawberry juice, “such a pretty girl you are, and all mine.” 

“Yours,” you submit easily, rolling your hips against his. 

At that moment you think you’re meant to fall in love this way. You can’t imagine the shy, fumbly Jungkook and your equally confused self waltzing around a relationship when you barely had your lives together. The two of you still had growing to do. The wait is certainly worth it, because as you feel his arms tighten around you, you’re sure this love will stay strong.

It’s difficult for you to find a rhythm at first, what with Jungkook’s strength and need to be satiated, both of you are sloppy but the friction is nothing less than delicious. Your finger reaches over to swipe at the leftover cream on the plate, and you press your finger to Jungkook’s mouth, and he immediately complies. A dollop of sweet cream leaks out of his lips and your panties dampen further when you feel his tongue lick you clean, imagaining how good it would feel if it was your pussy he was licking. 

Your mouth waters at the feeling of his dick lining up against your core, as sticky as the strawberry juice that clings to your bodies. 

“C-can I make a confession? I—oh, Jungkook…” your mind is all fuzzed up when he snaps his hips against yours, causing you to shamelessly bounce on his length. 

“Yeah?” 

“I… I like it when you use all your strength like that,” his hips slow as your words sink in, but you don’t mind as it gives you time to make a long drag along the entirety of his member. “Everytime you pull me up when I trip, or you come back from a workout, I like it when you carry me around like I weigh nothing.” 

“Do—do you think about it a lot?” he grunts, and you stifle a moan when he does a slow, hard drag against your wet folds. “Tell the truth.” 

“It’s, it’s embarrassing,” you whimper, unable to think straight with the amount of stimuli you’re receiving.  

“Please, baby.” 

“Yes mm—oh! I do,” you try to get the words out as quickly as you can. He stops moving, and you groan in frustration so you just lay it all out on the table. “I, I love it when you hold me in your strong arms. And, ah, uh w-henever you come back from the gym you just look so sexy fresh from the shower. Sometimes I think about how you’re too damn nice for your own good but I bet you’d be so rough in bed.” 

“Really?” and then he’s shoving you onto the couch, air brushing against your bare thighs as your back hits the beige throw pillows. He’s hovering, dark eyes starting from the tip of your toes to your damp lips. “You like it when I manhandle you? Throw you around like a little doll?” 

“All that strength, and for what?” you try to keep your snappy remarks in check, but it’s hard when he’s pressing his straining dick against your thigh, weeping and needy. 

“You’re not gonna be joking about my strength anytime soon, baby,” emblazoned, he easily throws your leg over his shoulder, pushing your panties to the side to let your wetness leak out and onto his fingers, “are you gonna complain or be a good girl?” 

“Yes, I’m ah—” you wince when he inserts a finger, “I’ll be good for you,” 

“My good girl,” he revels in the way you melt under his touch, your previous sarcasm quickly dissolving into a puddle. You always had an inkling that Jungkook would be a sneaky fox in bed, all that muscle hidden behind a kind smile and a penchant for tea with milk and honey. 

Jungkook slips in another finger, stretching you and preparing you for what’s to come. He’s scissoring you at a sensible pace that has you squirming and wanting more. To prevent you from shimmying off the couch he holds you down with his free hand, and you love the way he practically feeds you to the couch, hands dancing over your neck as he shoves you further into the furniture. 

“You look so gorgeous,” he says, causing you to moan and keen at his attention, “you’re such a strong, gorgeous woman. Having you sprawled out like this, ready to do whatever I want to you is so fucking hot.” 

“I’m—I’m only weak for you Jungkook,” you say honestly, tears pricking when he dips another finger. The stretch burns deliciously, and your folds eagerly swallow him up until you’re filled to the brim. Your fingers or toys cannot compare to flesh, and you sigh in relief when you see his inked fingers pick up the pace once more. 

“You’re damn right,” Jungkook husks, and with a grain of love he murmurs in your ear, “I’m only weak for you, too.” 

And that’s when he snaps, thumb rolling against your bud as he slams his other fingers against you, going at a brutal pace. You cry out, not caring whether his neighbors hear as he pulls you back and forth through pleasure and pain. 

“T-too much, Kookie,” you mewl, your hand warbling to find his, “I, ah, ‘m gonna cum!” 

“That’s the plan,” he only goes faster, stretching your band further and further before your desired high is reached. His hand trails up to force your chin straight, looking up at him, “let go for me, baby. Wanna feel your pussy clench around my fingers.” 

In seconds, you gush. It has you in a slight panic, drunk on endorphins as you try to lift your head up but Jungkook’s hand is firmly pressing you on your shoulder as he fingers you efficiently through your high, the wet squelching sounds only increasing with your cries. His lap is drenched in your arousal, along with his chin and lips glistening with your essence. 

He finally releases you when you’re practically shaking, his hands sticky and creamy. You moan when he shamelessly licks them within your view, making sure to wrap his tongue around his ink-stained digits. 

“I,” your mouth is dry when you feel the dampness that hits your bottom, “I’ve never, I don’t remember ever—” 

Your babbles are lost between your throat and Jungkook’s tongue, shoved deep into your mouth. Tasting your arousal has you practically vibrating in your place, as you two rut against each other like hungry bunnies. 

“God, you’re amazing,” he says between pecks, kissing away your face of any tears you may have pricked, “Amazing, adorable, absolutely beautifulIadoreyousoso—” 

“Pleasepleaseplease,” you press your hips up, wiggling for more attention, “please fuck me, Jungkook.” 

You can’t help the witchy, satisfied smile when Jungkook’s eyes darken to a thick coal, “Anything for you,” he murmurs, swinging your legs between his arms as he lifts you like a feather. 

On his lap again, you soon accept that the way you two mesh like puzzle pieces is one of your favorite positions as it gives you both equal space to ravish each other. 

Just when your hand trails to the waistband of his boxer briefs and you’re rolling your thumb over its collected moisture, the moment is shattered when the doorbell rings. You jump in his arms, unprepared for your moment to be interrupted. 

He groans into the crown of your hair, and you soften in his relaxed hold, “I ordered us pizza,” he nearly forgot. 

Perking your head up to look at him you regard him innocently, as if you didn’t release a waterfall on his sweats two seconds ago. “You got us pizza?” 

“I knew you’d be coming over tonight,” he’s pouting into your neck, regretting ever having called the pizza guy if he knew this would happen, “Victoria posted the publish date on Twitter. I just didn’t think,” he gestures vaguely to the mess on his pants, “this would happen.”  

“Damn, and here I thought I was being sneaky,” you chuckle, flicking his ear playfully. 

He gives you an uncharacteristically subby whine, shamelessly upset he has to let you go so fast after he’s given you your first of many highs. Before he weakens further under your beauty, he unceremoniously shoves you off. “Sorry, pretty girl,” you melt at the easy way his pet name rolls off his lips, “can you wait in my room for a bit so I can pay the delivery guy? I don’t want them to see you like this.” 

“But I want to eat pizza,” you declare stubbornly, standing up to button your blouse and pull down your skirt. 

Before you could fasten one button or pull down one centimeter, his hand darts out to snatch your wrist away from your body. It doesn’t hurt much, but it causes your body to heat in more places than one. He’s sexy like this, demanding your attention. “No,” he rumbles definitively, “my room. Now.” 

“Why?” you throw your hands in the air, yelping when he slaps your ass. He makes sure to make it sting, cupping you fully. 

“Because,” he says firmly, “you don’t get to eat until I eat,” you whimper when his hand reaches to cup your sex, panties wet and cold without his warmth as he pushes you in the direction of his bedroom. 

Oh, you can’t wait for both of you to eat tonight. 

some time later.

“Ohmygod the view is beautiful!” Krystal, who works in advertisement, squeals. “No filter needed!” 

“Alright alright, make room Princess,” Namjoon teases. With a bump to Krystal’s tiny hips Namjoon shoves you two across the pavilion, putting his arm around you once he finds the perfect angle, “Umji, can you get a pic of me and my Work Wife? I want this on the Big Hit Instagram!” 

You hold your straw sunhat down from the salty wind, smiling beautifully as Umji takes multiple pictures of you and Namjoon from her Nikon. Another successful year under your notch, ending with a successful work retreat. 

“Namjoon, can I take a picture with my actual wife now?” 

“We’re not married, Jungkook,” you chastise, patting the chest of Namjoon’s floral printed Hawaiian shirt so he can switch. Instantly, Jungkook slides up next to you like a picture perfect stock model piece, and you wrap your arms around his trim waist, “we’re not even engaged.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he pouts, looking over the pavilion and adjusting the both of you so there’s a good amount of you and the resort in the background. The sun may be scathingly hot, but it looks beautiful perched over the crystal clear waters. “Namjoon, you got it easy,” Jungkook says when he hands him your phone, “every angle is our good angle, so you can’t mess it up.” 

Being the honest man he is, Namjoon knows better and doesn’t say anything to that. Instead he shoots down whatever pineapple-flavored concoction is offered to him on a silver platter, and starts shooting. 

“Is this swimsuit new?” Jungkook murmurs into your ear between shots, flicking your little red number by the strap connecting the back, “because I didn’t see this in the luggage.” 

You smile big, pearly whites as Namjoon demands to pop out your butt and work it, pressing your body closer to Jungkook’s. “Tiny enough so I could hide it in my purse,” you reply proudly, voice low for only each other’s ears, “why, surprised?” 

“Definitely not prepared,” his fingers dig deliciously in your bare flesh, “would Victoria fire you if she catches us doing it in the cabana?” 

Amused that your boyfriend now shares your combined awe and fear of your boss, you twist his nipple lightly. He yelps, and from Namjoon’s guaff he’s definitely got that on camera. “We didn’t come to Boracay to fuck in the cabana.” 

“Then the hotel room?” 

Namjoon hands you back your phone when he considers his job done, letting you and Jungkook have some alone time. You wave your phone in his face, trying to get him to focus on the task at hand. You wanted to post some cute pictures of you and your boyfriend, one to impress the family back home and the Big Hit interns back in Seoul who are absolutely pining for your position. 

“Jungkook, they have the water ski thing where you can flip in the water mid air! Doesn’t that sound fun? Or we can go scuba diving, have Filipino food, or get massages. LIterally, we’re on Big Hit’s dime, and the first thing you want to do is go back to the room?” 

“Yes,” he pouts petulantly, leaning into the hollow of your ear and whispering, “got a chub on.” 

Discreetly so, your hands brush against his navy trunks and you note yes, he’s half hard. “No!” you shake your head definitively, pushing him out of your arms. You’re not letting sex get in the way of your hard-earned vacation, you’re on company dime and you intend to milk every peso of it. “Namjoon, take him away!” 

You blow him a kiss and follow another group who’s decided to go eat, watching your boyfriend get dragged away by Namjoon’s long arms. Krystal, who’s been mildly watching the whole ordeal in-between taking selfies, looks at you in awe, “You got it good, bosslady,” she says, and you happily link arms with her in the direction of the restaurants. 

You and Jungkook definitely have it good. You don’t see him until dinnertime, looking utterly relaxed as he sips on a mango-muddled concoction. He must’ve gotten a couples massage with Namjoon, cute. Splitting up was definitely a good idea, by the time your meal arrives the two of you are practically leaning against each other, telling each other what events you need to do tomorrow and events you think will be fun to do together. 

“Joon,” Jungkook is throwing an arm over your Wusband’s shoulder, mildly tipsy. The image is adorable, as Jungkook long ago previously confessed that he felt a little jealous of Namjoon’s work relationship with you before you were dating. Now, it feels like they’re best friends and you’re third-wheeling. “What do you think about having halo-halo tomorrow? It’s like bingsu but with a bunch of other good stuffs. There’s red bean, mango, ube, ice cream…” 

Just as Jungkook begins his tirade of dessert ingredients, you pull up your phone to check on your social media. You smile back at your profile, seeing your latest Instagram post at the very top of the feed. Not to flex, but the two of you look pretty smokin’ since you’ve been keeping up with Jungkook’s insistence to join him at the gym. Jungkook and you are leaning against the pristine veranda, overlooking the clear blue water and a cloudless sky. The smiles you two sport are genuine and utterly in love. 

You scroll down the comments, most of them filled with sweet messages but one of them has you doing a double take. 

@sooyaaa__: 😒😒😒 knew something was goin on behind my back… good riddance

The smell of Jungkook’s detergent overtakes your nostrils, and you turn to him. He’s stopped talking, now immersed in whatever’s going on in your phone. 

“The nerve of her,” Jungkook scrunches his nose, disgusted at her latest comment. “As if anyone would believe her.” 

“Yeah,” you echo, “I feel bad for her, though. She’s probably lonely.” 

“Her loss, she put this upon herself. Not us.” 

You pout, “I know, but she was my friend at one point.” 

He frowns, putting an arm behind your backrest. It would be easy for him to say yeah, and she was my girlfriend and one-up you, leaving it at that. But now he knows better, and that friendship is a much better value than an ill-fated relationship. “Sorry baby,” it’s not his fault, but he sees your disappointment in putting out hope for an old friend. He gives you a little smooch on your temple, “do you miss her?” 

“The old her, yeah,” you sigh, clicking on her profile, “but now? I can do without her negativity.” 

“Okay,” he takes your phone from your hand, “have you ever blocked a person before?”

“No.”

“Well, today’s the day,” he says it so coolly, you barely have time to think when he clicks the ‘block’ button on Jisoo’s profile, then clicking off his phone to put in his pocket. “No more phone for today,” he proceeds to take your plate that was recently served, taking the time to cut your large vegetables into smaller portions. “Like you said, we shouldn’t waste your vacation time.” 

Your heart swells with butterflies for Jeon Jungkook, who’s meticulously cutting your food and telling you to relax and stop dwelling on the past. He’s right, if Jisoo’s not going to stick around for the future and continue to cause negativity in your life, why not keep the positives in the past while it lasted? 

“You know I love you, right?” 

He ceases cutting, and looks at you to pop a sweet potato in his mouth. “Love me enough to do it in the cabana?” 

He’s still on that? “Jungkook,” you warn, pretending to get up, “forget I said anything. I’m gonna go karaoke with Umji.” 

“Kiddingggg,” he whines, pulling you back down with an outstretched hand, “you know I love you too.” 

“You’re terrible.” 

“Only this way because I’d know you’d totally be into cabana sex if we were vacationing by ourselves.” 

“Yes, but you’re still terrible,” you giggle when Jungkook steals a kiss, just as easy as he’s stolen your heart.  

[itgirlification]

supermodel | jjk

the last three months have been hell for you, but Jungkook seemed to be living his best life.

pairing: ex-bf!jk x thick!reader

warnings: explicit mentions of body image and insecurities, infidelity, anal sex, oral (male receive), foul language (kinda), etc.

now playing: supermodel by sza

part two part three

Exactly three months ago, your and Jungkook’s 2 years relationship officially ended. Unofficially, it ended about 5 months ago. And for about one month now, Jungkook’s been seeing someone else.

Your heart and mind told you not to do it but you couldn’t help calculating. Three months ago, you were still dating, two months later, he started dating someone else. That must mean he’s known her for a while. Did he cheat on you with her? Well, it’s not like it matters now anyway, does it?

Her name was Yuki, an undeniable Japanese beauty. You were still in college, studying music and she was a famous model who appeared in internationally known magazines. You assumed she met Jungkook during a photoshoot since he was a professional photographer who often worked for companies like Vogue and Playboy. You couldn’t help but compare yourself to her.

It wasn’t the fact that he moved on so quickly that hurt you the most. It was the fact that he knew all about your low self-esteem and how you lack confidence. Especially about your body. And he still went and dated a model, of all professions in the world. He was definitely over you.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he did it on purpose. But thankfully, you knew better, he looked too happy for that to be even considered. He forgot about you.

You’re making yourself sadder by remembering all the times he assured you you were beautiful and your body was nothing to be ashamed of. The times he let his fingertips run over the lines of your stretch marks, whispering in your ear how much he loved them and how they reminded him of Tiger stripes. The times he caressed your jiggly thighs and told you how sexy he thought they were.

Then your mind would drift back to the phone in your hand, the Instagram page of Yuki Sakurai opened, careful not to accidentally like anything and expose yourself. Not that she’d notice anyway, she had 3.7 million followers, while you had a private one with 500 followers and no posts, and she gets around 300 to 700 thousand likes on each post, depending on whether she posts random photos or pretty pictures of herself. Or newly, your ex-boyfriend, Jungkook. Oh, how crazy everybody goes whenever she posts him. People love them together. You couldn’t blame them. Two attractive people? Of course, they’re gonna look great together.

Fucking great.

That the end of your relationship with Jungkook would look like this was semi-predictable from the beginning. He did admit to you that he never thought he’d date someone that looked like you when you first dated. And your heart broke a little. But he also made up for it in those two years, it was a beautiful relationship nonetheless.

While you weren’t exactly his ‘ideal’ type, he was definitely yours. You always heard from other women ‘when in a relationship, the man always has to love the woman more than she loves him. Otherwise, it won’t work.’ You never really got the saying until your breakup with Jungkook happened. It was the fact that you clearly loved Jungkook more than he loved you that lead to this.

“Oh my goodness!”, your roommate, Jane, dramatically exclaimed. “Will you stop feeling bad for yourself and do something? That’s not what hot girls do, sis.”

Jane was a lovely girl with a not so lovely temper. She always means well and you got along perfectly as soon as you met. Which was around 3 and a half years ago.

She looked over your shoulder to see what you were looking at. You obviously didn’t want her to see you snooping around your ex-boyfriend’s current girlfriend’s Instagram but it was too late.

“Seriously, yn?”, she took your phone in her hand and threw it on the bed. “Let’s go somewhere, you can’t do this to yourself anymore. I’m not letting you.”

Jane was clearly worried about you at this point. The only thing you did these last few weeks was eating, shower, cry, sleep and miss a whole bunch of classes. This wasn’t good at all.

“Where?”, your question was short.

“To the mall? Or the nail studio? Anything that’ll get you out of this fucking dormitory.”, Jane sighed, pulling the blanket off of you, making you whine a little. “C’mon, go put on some cute outfit and we’ll go.”

You felt bad since she was trying hard to make you feel better. But it didn’t really work.

You nodded, standing up from the bed, nonetheless. You picked out a cute two-piece dress, that brought back blurred memories of the time you went on a date with Jungkook, wearing the same two-piece. Bet Yuki would look cuter in this...

‘Shut your petty ass up, yn. It’s embarrassing, the way you’re stuck on a taken guy who wants nothing to do with you’

You wish you could change the way you think, even if it’s just for an hour or two. You wish you would stop imagining Jungkook judging you when he saw you naked or when you told him that you wished you could cut off some of your fat with a pair of scissors.

You were beyond ashamed of yourself. Why wasn’t it easy for you to just stay by yourself? why were you so desperately in need of Jungkook by your side to the point where you’d lock yourself in your room for a month just because he isn’t there?

You needed Jungkook. You became so attached to him in those two years, because you always saw him as a permanent, a forever. Not just a temporary, not just a distant memory. You already saw him as the father of your children, as the man you’re gonna marry.

You were so blinded by the fact that you had him, that you forgot you could lose him anytime.

“I’m done, let’s go.”, unenthusiastically, you announced to Jane, who was already waiting for you.

“Let’s get the fuck outta here!”, In contrast to your spirit, hers seemed to be all roses and daisies. “Lord knows you need it...”

__________

“Look at this cute ass skirt, girl”, Jane pointed at a chic, wine mini skirt she was holding. “You know, when I saw it back there I wanted to have it, but it’d look so much better on you”

You took a few seconds to admire Jane’s beauty. She was about 3 cm taller than you, had a great posture, and almond, dark brown eyes that suited her dark skin tone perfectly. Her body leaned more towards the slimmer side.

“Shut up! No, it would not”, you let out a small giggle. “It would look gorgeous on you, buy it.”

She smiled a little at your laughs. She was happy to see you at least a little cheerful again. “Yeah, but I think it’d look better on you. I’m entitled to my own opinion, am I not?”

You knew this debate was gonna go back and forth, because of her stubbornness. “Let’s both buy the skirt.”

You ended up doing so, added by a bunch of bags full of clothing. This may’ve turned into your new coping mechanism. Who needed therapy when you can go on a shopping spree?

Two hours were spent in boutiques and clothing stores and Jane decided she was tired, wanting to visit the local spa.

“No, seriously, these Riverdale seasons just keep on getting worse and worse. Netflix needs to step up their game ASAP”, Jane ranted, making you laugh at how serious she takes it. “It’s getting embarrassing. I’m being for real.”

The two of you were sitting in the whirlpool at the spa, relaxing your whole bodies a little.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, I don’t watch these new Netflix shows anyways. Been stuck on the vampire diaries for the last 7 years”, you chuckled, knowing you hated trying new things. “Can you pass me one of those magazines?”

Jane nodded, grabbing a random one from the table next to her and handed it to you, without looking at it.

The cover of it caught your eyes immediately. How could it not, when your ex’s new girl looks absolutely dazzling on the front page of it.

‘Supermodel Yuki Sakurai talks summer fashion tips, struggle with self-love and most importantly, her hot, new boyfriend the media is going crazy over’ was the headline of the Harper’s Bazaar Magazine cover.

You felt your stomach getting sick and your breath getting heavier, but you still flipped the pages until you found the one with her interview. You began reading it, skipping the boring parts.

‘Int: so, we see you have a new boyfriend. Tell us, how did you guys meet?

Yuki: Yeah, he’s an amazing guy. We actually met about six or five months ago at one of my photoshoots, since he’s a photographer and we exchanged numbers and stuff, and then we made it official mid last month.’

About six or five months ago? You were with him back then, but her answer was too unclear to find out if he cheated or not.

“Woah, yn, you okay?”

You entirely forgot about the fact that you were with Jane, let alone somewhere other than your bed.

Before you could react, Jane snatched the magazine out of your hand.

“You really can’t escape them, huh?”, She sighs, taking you in her arm. “It’s gonna be okay, baby. In a few months, you’re gonna look back to this and think wow I really was stuck on a guy who’s scared of microwaves and cried like a bitch when Iron Man died.”

You laughed, punching her arm playfully. “You know, I actually love these things about him. Shows his sensitivity and the way he perceives things.”

Jane looked at you as if she didn’t believe you were actually saying that stuff. “Girl, you’re overanalyzing this. Let’s just throw this shit in the trash, okay?”

She put the magazine aside.

“I just don't know what I did wrong.”, You murmured. “I know we weren't the best, but we didn't even fight that much. We could’ve talked it through.”

Jane pursed her lips and cooed. “You know, relationships are complicated sometimes. The reason why he broke up, to begin with, is probably not your fault.”

“Well, what if it is? I mean what if I was too fat or too ugly for him?”, you asked. “If he wanted a skinny girl so bad, I could’ve lost weight for him, I don’t get it.”

Jane looked at you like you lost your mind entirely. “I can’t believe you just said that! Even if that was the reason, which it wasn’t, you shouldn’t make yourself suffer because of it. That’s his loss. You’re beyond gorgeous and you have an amazing body.”

“You’re just saying that.”, tears slowly started coming up in your eyes. “But the thing is Jungkook knows all about my insecurities. Why would he do that to me? I know he knows that I’m still not over him.”

You usually didn’t like crying in front of other people, but you didn’t really care at the moment, besides that was Jane. You trusted her with your life.

“Girl, men are trash, I can’t believe you’re crying over one right now, seriously.”, she wiped your tears and held your face between her hands. “You know, honestly, I’ve read so many articles about how models actually hate themselves and have like the lowest self-esteem so in conclusion, no matter how miserable you are, his new girl is even more miserable.”

You knew Jane didn’t mean it in a harmful way, but it sounded harsher than needed. “I don’t hate her, she probably doesn’t even know about me. I’m just really insecure. He upgraded from me. He’s dating a whole model now.”

The situation just felt like a deja vu of these last few weeks laying in your bed, even though you were at the spa with your friend. You were supposed to have fun, yet you didn’t feel like having any.

“Why would you feel insecure when all you’ve seen of her are Instagram posts and red carpet pictures? She’s supposed to look beautiful, it’s her job.”

To a certain extent, Jane was right, but that didn’t really help your situation, you still felt bad about yourself. You stayed silent.

“C’mon, this isn’t fun anymore. Let’s leave.”, Jane mumbled.

_______

it’s been two days since the incident at the spa and you felt a little bit better now.

Those days were spent reading the same three book series you’ve read your entire life, overthinking, hot Cheetos, Indian takeout, and Netflix. It really wasn’t as miserable as it sounded.

You were just taking a little rest before term break ends and you have to go back to the shithole college again.

Jane was using the time until college starts again, but in different ways than you were. She was planning on going to some frat party in an hour and forget about the world’ for a minute. Or till 4 in the morning, where she will most likely drunk call you and ask you for a ride back to the dorms, because the friends she went to the party with were shit-faced as well and were in no way capable of driving anywhere without the cops stopping them.

Going out partying on a Friday night was a Jane tradition. In the past, you’d sometimes go with her, but you mostly spent your time out with Jungkook doing something more fun than partying could ever be. Now you can’t do that anymore, but laying in bed is more ideal than a party for you at the moment.

“How do I look?”, Jane twirled around to show off her black cocktail dress. She looked beautiful.

“You look beautiful.”, you responded to her question. “Are you leaving now?”

“Hm”, she said, to which you nodded. “You sure you don’t wanna come with me? It’s gonna be really fun.”

You shook your head no.

“Alright”, she shrugged, making her way out of your bedroom. “But I told you, it’s gonna be fun.”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes. “I’ll stay here, I have shit to do.”

“Yeah, right, like binge-watching the vampire diaries and taking 5-hour naps”, she said in a sarcastic tone. “Anyway, bye-bye, Vic’s already waiting for me in the car.”

Victoria was perhaps one of the most obnoxious people you know, yet she was too much of a nice person for you to talk shit about her. The voice of your intrusive thoughts couldn’t help but to, though.

“Alright, bye, take care and say hi to Vic from me.”

After Jane left, an hour went by like it was just a couple of minutes. You were starting to get real bored and decided to watch some regular tv in hopes to find something you enjoy. You ended up not finding anything fun, but you still watched it, because you didn’t have anything else to do.

A few moments later, the doorbell rang and you were suddenly worried. Either this is a serial killer or Jane forgot something.

But to your surprise, it was neither, but it was none other than

“Jungkook?”, truly, those were the only words you were able to mutter out at your shocked state. “What are you do-“

At the speed of light, you were interrupted by your ex-boyfriend pressing his lips to yours. He didn’t say a word.

You weren’t expecting him. Not knowing how you were supposed to feel at the moment, you just let it happen. You were sure your mental state couldn’t get any worse than that, no matter how this will affect you in the end.

“Is Jane home?”, for the first time in 3 months, you’re hearing his silky voice again.

Jungkook knew Jane always had some type of special hatred for him with her killing stares and her bitter comments. You didn’t notice either though.

He also knew she must hate him even more after your breakup. Or maybe she liked him more now since she was able to get rid of him without killing anyone.

“No”, your answer was short and it made a weight fall from Jungkook’s shoulders before he continued kissing you.

It wasn’t anything you haven’t done before, yet it felt like it’s been ages since it last happened. Your mind drifted to the thought of Jungkook and his model girlfriend. You were asking yourself what their sex life was like, if she was tighter than you or if she had stretch marks and scars.

Jungkook’s lips were moving south, giving your neck wet kisses, while you were wondering why he broke up with his model girlfriend. Or if he even did. You felt selfish for not caring.

Removing your clothes one by one, you were left in your underwear, while Jungkook only had his boxers on.

This body was yours. You knew it inside out. Where he liked to get touched and where he preferred not to. You knew him better than anyone else. You were sure.

You already moved to your bedroom, since Jungkook effortlessly carried you there. You were sat on his lap, facing him and your hands were in his messy hair. His hands were around your waist, he was slightly smiling into the kiss, as you started grinding on him. He loved how easy it was for him to turn you on. You were still his.

Cutting off the kiss, he looked you in the eyes, while his hand was on your cheek. “Say aah.”, he said.

You widened your mouth obediently, which was followed by him collecting as much saliva as he could in his mouth and spitting it into your mouth.

“Swallow.”, demanding, he spit on your face, his eyes become darker with every passing moment. You did as he said.

You looked at him with big eyes. He knew you loved it. You’ve always had a thing for him degrading and humiliating you during sex.

He started grinding on you almost desperately. You knew exactly what he wanted.

Getting out of his grip, you dropped to your knees and freed his hard dick from his drawers. You reached for it and started pumping it, and licking it. Your spit was leaking down his dick as you used it for lubrication. Then you started sucking on it, just the way you used to.

Jungkook’s groans and satisfied sighs were enough to make you even wetter than before. You enjoyed giving more than receiving.

Your mouth was wet and warm around him, giving him a feeling of familiarity. You lick over the tip a few times, then proceed to fully take him into your mouth.

The bulge in your throat could be seen and the way your eyes were tearing up a little wasn’t bothering you at all. You loved giving.

Jungkook started thrusting in and out of your warm, welcoming mouth, his tip hitting the back of your throat multiple times.

“Fuck”, a throaty moan left Jungkook’s mouth, giving you hints that he was about to cum. And he did, releasing in your mouth before you swallowed it. “Shit, baby, that was so good.”

You felt your face heat up and a sheepish smile made its way to your face. Your throat was sore.

The two of you were on the bed again. To you, it felt like it was the times before your breakup again, when you’d purposely start an argument just for the makeup sex because Jungkook wasn’t giving you any anymore. It was like sex was the only thing to look forward to.

You felt attached to Jungkook to a point where it was dangerous. You weren’t okay when he wasn’t around. He affected every part of your life and God knew it wasn’t always a positive thing. Maybe it was the fact that he took your virginity. Maybe because he was your first boyfriend, the first guy that made you believe you were worthy of love and that someone was actually capable of loving you. One thing you knew was Jungkook had an expansive influence on your life.

While you were practically drowning in your own thoughts, Jungkook was busy taking off your underwear.

“You okay?”, Jungkook calmly asked you, looking at your riddled face.

“Huh? Yeah, I’m okay.”, you sounded distracted, Jungkook wasn’t sure about asking you what it is though. He didn’t feel like getting personal.

So he shrugged it off and started kissing you again, his dick was unsurprisingly hard again as he played with your tits. He drew lines over the stretch marks of your thighs and kissed them.

“Can I fuck your ass?”, Jungkook’s raspy, tired-sounding voice casually asked, to which you quickly nodded, knowing that Jungkook’s favorite position had always been anal. He was massaging and gripping your ass firmly.

“This is gonna hurt at first, but I promise it gets better.”, He warned calmly into your ear, while putting some lube on his dick and just went right into your ass, slowly thrusting so you don’t feel as much pain.

He was right, it did hurt a lot when he first put it in, but the pain just changed into pleasure in a matter of time and his slow-paced thrusts helped with the adjustment.

“Fuck, I missed this ass”, he practically growled into your ear, as he kept on thrusting in and out, steadily gripping your wide hips with his big, veiny hands. “It just doesn’t feel right when I’m inside her ass.”

You knew your confidence shouldn’t rely on Jungkook bringing his girlfriend down, but you couldn’t help but feel good about your body when he said that. It’s been a while since you felt even a tiny spark of confidence. You weren’t so fond of him mentioning her while he was inside of you.

Your soft moans rang through the whole room like sirens, while he watched your ass jiggle against his pelvis, thrusting in and out faster every second. He missed this.

You had always thought you were indecisive, but you knew exactly what you wanted. You just couldn’t have that, so you’d eventually have to settle for less.

Jungkook wasn’t to blame for it, you just couldn’t concede your shortcomings. The movie’s villain wasn’t always the real villain.

Your hands traveled to your pussy to make sure you’d orgasm as well, when you heard Jungkook’s breathing getting heavier and his thrusts getting gentler than before, indicating that he was gonna cum soon. You were certain he could make you cum with just anal, but you wanted to cum with him.

With furrowed eyebrows and drops of sweat dripping down his body, Jungkook looked down at your arched back. The whole scene was sticky, especially when Jungkook presses his upper body to your back, whispering sweet nothings into your ear and kissing the spot.

It was kinda odd, having sex with your ex-boyfriend you were crying over just a day ago. There was a certain intensity to it though. Like your long-lasting nostalgia was finally fulfilled.

You’ve realized you couldn’t imagine yourself being intimate with anybody else. Jungkook already knew your body, how it looked without the material protecting it, the strawberry skin, the slightly sagging breasts you swore you’d surgically remove once you had the chance to but didn’t. He knew where you liked being touched, he was the first one to even touch you in those places.

You were unsure what you’d do with yourself when he leaves.

Jungkook’s thrusts slowly started stopping and you too felt the familiar sensation in your stomach.

Suddenly, you two were nothing but desire, fear, and pleasure. And faster than you could process, you came together.

For minutes after your orgasm, you were just laying on the bed, thoughtless. Maybe a little regretful. Not you, but him.

You weren’t facing each other, but you could hear each other’s breathing. Your stomach was filled with something you’d describe as post-sex melancholia.

All of a sudden, Jungkook stood up from the bed, startling your resting self a little, but you decided to keep quiet, wanting to see what he was going to do.

He made his way to the door to leave what he thought was your sleeping body laying there. You couldn’t keep quiet anymore.

“Where are you going?”, your soft voice suddenly rang in his ears. “Don’t you wanna stay?”

He didn’t know how exactly to tell you. You’ve always been a gullible little girl, you were the type of girl to think fucking equals love. Little did you know that wasn’t the case at all.

“Yn.... you know I can’t”, Jungkook responded, you knew it wasn’t gonna be good when he said your name like that. “I got a girl at home and I don’t wanna mess shit up with her.”

There it was. Your suspicion was corroborated. He was still going out with the model and you were a certified home wrecker. Great.

You physically felt your heart breaking. “Bu- but why are you here then?”

You were incapable of being mad at him at the moment. It was your fault for letting him in, again. After breaking your trust and your heart.

“This was a mistake”, he declared, not looking into your eyes. “I’m sorry, yn...”

He’s moved past your room now, already at the exit of your dormitory. He was about to leave.

“You already ruined shit with her when you came here and fucked me.”, your voice was small, but your words were heard.

Without looking back, he left.

And you went back to your room, standing in the middle of it for a minute in silence before your brain fully processed what had happened and your tears started pouring.