#omg same lets burn stuff down!!!

[abbotjack]

lease write more abbott it’s a blessing 🙌🏻 maybe something to do with phone sex? he’s away at a conference?

omg yes! 18+ ONLY. Do not interact if you’re a minor. Jack’s in Boston for a trauma conference. You call. You say it’s because you can’t sleep. But that’s only half of it.

warnings/content: 18+ only (NSFW content), established relationship (married), emotionally repressed longing, slow-burn smut, phone sex, voice kink, dirty talk, mutual masturbation, married tension

You hate how quiet the house gets when he’s gone.

It's not the kind of quiet that happens at night—but the kind that sinks into the space he usually fills. The sound of water running after midnight. The low thump of his steps down the hallway, deliberate, uneven—his right leg always just a little heavier. The comfort of knowing his hand will brush yours when you reach for your toothbrush at the same time.

You feel the absence of all of it.

Jack’s in Boston. Trauma conference. Just a few days, he said. Routine stuff. But it’s late now, and your body knows what’s missing.

You’re curled up on his side of the bed, wearing one of his old army shirts. Not a clean, folded one from the back of the closet—this one’s threadbare and warm from too many washes, the collar stretched, the fabric soft. You only wear it when he’s not home. When the smell of him is the only thing that helps you fall asleep.

You haven’t yet. It’s close to midnight.

You don’t plan to call him.

You just… do.

He answers fast. Not rushed. Just ready.

“Yeah.”

You blink at the ceiling. “You busy?”

A pause. Then, quieter: “No. You alright?”

You nod before remembering he can’t see you. “Didn’t mean to bother you.”

“You’re not.”

Another beat of silence. You can hear the faint hum of hotel heating behind him, and the quiet rustle of fabric. He’s probably sitting up in bed. You can picture the way he runs a hand over his face — tired, but not surprised to hear from you.

“You sound off,” he says.

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t lie.”

You exhale. The kind of breath that says more than you want it to.

“I just couldn’t sleep.”

You roll over onto your side, pulling the covers up. His pillow doesn’t smell like him anymore. Not really.

“I’m wearing your shirt.”

He doesn’t answer right away.

“That old army one,” you add, quieter. “The one with the stitching in the sleeve.”

Now he exhales — low and tight.

“Fuck.”

He doesn’t say anything after that. You don’t need him to. The silence stretches between you — familiar, warm, heavy. The kind of silence you’ve only earned through years of knowing each other like this.

You shift under the covers. The shirt rides up, exposing the backs of your thighs to the cold air. You leave it there. He always liked the way your legs looked like that — one bent, one straight. Like you were already waiting for him.

“You touching yourself yet?” he asks.

“Are you?”

A beat. Then: “Yeah.”

That makes you ache.

You slip your hand beneath the covers. Your fingers meet warmth. Wet. You drag them slow — lazy, teasing — and your thighs twitch with the contact.

“God, Jack.”

“I know exactly what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing?”

“First pass. Testing how wet you are. Finger sliding just under—”

You gasp. “Yes.”

“I’d be kissing your stomach if I was there,” he says, lower now, strained. “That soft spot just above your hip. You always flinch when I do that.”

There’s a pause. His breath hitches.

“What about you?” you whisper. “Tell me.”

You hear it — the shift, the subtle slide of skin on fabric.

“Boxers are down,” he mutters.

“Back against the headboard?”

“Mhm.”

“Using spit?”

He groans, deep and low in his chest. “Jesus.”

Your hand moves faster. Controlled. You know exactly how much pressure you need — and how much you want to hold back just to stay here with him.

“You’d be on top,” he says. “Knees on either side of me. I’d let you move at your own pace for a while.”

“Then?”

“I’d grab your hips.”

You press harder. He grunts softly — just a breath, but you feel it.

“I know how you sound right before you come,” you whisper. “You get quiet. Then you curse. Just once.”

“Yeah,” he breathes. “And you go completely still. Just for a second. Then your whole body shakes.”

“I’m getting close.”

“I am too.”

You whimper. “I don’t want to finish without you.”

“You won’t.”

“Tell me when.”

Silence. Then:

“Now.”

The release is sharp — full. You cry out, hand working through it, legs flexing. You hear him too — a quiet grunt, drawn-out breath, the faintest curse under his breath as he falls with you.

It’s quiet for a while. Just your breathing. His.

Then Jack speaks again. Lower. Rougher. Real.

“You okay?”

You nod, still catching your breath. “Yeah.”

“I hate being this far from you.”

“I know.”

Another pause.

“I’ll be home tomorrow.”

You smile. “I’ll leave the shirt on.”

He exhales. “Good. I want to take it off you myself.”

[taegularities]

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

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

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

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

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

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

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

“Angel? Breathe.”

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

Sighing, you ask, “Are you okay?”

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

“Yes… I know.”

“Let’s go?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes.

Has he been keeping up with stuff?

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

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

“Oh, I’m…”

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

“What’s that mean?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

In some sense, it’s worse.

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

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

You follow.

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

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

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

And in the end, it’s still his dad.

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

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

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

You’re incorrect.

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

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

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

“Mhm,” Jungkook merely responds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The city called and it kept them.

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

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

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

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

“Ah. Is it that pretty?”

“It’s pretty amazing.”

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

“I’m trying to, really.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s unnecessary.”

“Okay.”

Tense. Quiet. Gulping.

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

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

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

“I was.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Damn, Kook.”

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

“Yeah. I really like it here so far.”

“Good.”

“Are you?”

“Yeah. It’s okay.”

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

“Good. I think we cou—”

Pause. 

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

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

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

“Helloooo!”

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

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

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

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

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

You giggle. Goodness.

“Gosh, sure!”

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

Weird.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She’s not going to…

No.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s crazy.”

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

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

“What is?” you ask.

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

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

The weeks of insecurity and then the trials of life.

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

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

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

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

Yeah… yeah, it sounds like him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Some people I knew…”

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

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

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

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

“You say it so… weirdly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She calls, “Ah! You’re finally here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hum, “I’m getting tired, yeah…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yearning.

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

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

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

Reminiscent of a youth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Victoria’s Secret?”

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

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

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

“Never threw it away, though.”

“Never thought of it.”

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

“You okay?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then again…

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

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

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

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

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

“Baby!” he exclaims back.

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

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

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

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

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

“Gureum?” you repeat.

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

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

“Okay. Okay…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This is so pretty,” you say.

“Right?”

“Was this the surprise?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You could take him to the city.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s old?” you wonder.

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

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

He just is… He just is.

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

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

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

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

Jungkook…

He took you strawberry picking.

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

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

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

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

“Oh— Really? How so?”

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Try it, too,” he then instructs.

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

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

“You’ll have to eat mine, then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That too.”

Oh.

“What else?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course. Gotta wash them, though.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Right?”

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

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

“No bullshit berries indeed. So good.”

“You picked good ones!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh… yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You understand.

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

The affection is unfiltered and crystal clear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can wait. Things can wait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I really wanted to help, though.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Offended indeed. You learned this?”

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

Junghyun chuckles. “Even I remember.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nonsense.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jungkook—” Junghyun interrupts.

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

“What are you talking ab—”

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

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

But it’s hard to listen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Watch your mo—”

“Or wha—”

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

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

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

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

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

The fire in his eyes is blue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kook…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know. It’s okay.”

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

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

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

Why can’t he love me?

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

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

But he keeps believing—

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

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

“Your mother doesn’t either…”

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

“Didn’t you… hate me, too?”

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

“Not for a second,” you say.

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

“Yeah. I’m okay. We’re okay.”

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

“I know. I love you, too.”

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

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

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

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

And it does fifteen minutes later.

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

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

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

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

“It’s okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah… yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hmm…

“What did he go down for?” you ask.

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

After a fight.

Like the breakdown last night. You understand.

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

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

“Sure!”

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

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

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

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

You’re thankful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She’s so wrong. Both she and him.

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

You remember…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit…

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

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

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

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

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

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

You walk down the steps to the basement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uhmmm, just looking through old stuff.”

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

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

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

He does this often. Zone off like this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Too much of a fool for you, yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

“Ah. That’s kinda sweet, though.”

“Isn’t it?”

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

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

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

“Yes, I did. Don’t be a brat.”

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

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

Make up, probably.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Does he feel the same about you? Probably.

Because he curses, “What the fuck.”

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

“What are you even?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He chuckles. “They can try.”

“They? Well, shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Damn it. Both of them deceived you.

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

“And I got it for you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’ll suit you.”

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

“Ah… I can try.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A tease here, a flirt there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah.

Ah…

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

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

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

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

Ahhh…

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

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

Come on. Unrealistic.

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

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

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

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

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

What? When?

“When?” you echo.

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

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

For the very first time.

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

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

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

Fuck, what if it happens again?

“I’m going to panic,” you tell Ria.

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

“But now I might keep thinking about it.”

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

“No… no, it’s okay. You should’ve.”

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

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

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

Well. Okay.

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

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

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

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

You smile.

Okay…

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

Okay.

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

Breathe in. Breathe out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You take a deep breath.

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

It’s not too much to ask, you reckon.

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

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

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

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

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

You soon meet the first one of the latter kind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Up and down. Smile telling. Uncomfortable.

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

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

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

“Nice. And wait, sorry, you were…?”

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

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

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

“Lucky. You look pretty together.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook nods. “Christian Yu now. Yup.”

“Right.”

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me neither,” Ria confirms.

Of course he didn’t like it.

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

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

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

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

“Okay.”

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

Ah…

“Hm?”

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

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

“Oh— Kook—”

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

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

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

Well… at least now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve been thinking it all dead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I tell you something mainstream?”

You hum, “Hm?”

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

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

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

I’ll spend my life with you.

Not a question. Not a need.

But a confession. A goal. A plan. 

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

It’s a song.

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

“You probably do.”

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

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

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

“You did? Then she must’ve…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This… this is it.”

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

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

[hexgirl13]

hold me now

wc: 1,188

summary: after witnessing punk lose, you make sure that he knows he's not alone

warnings(?): cussing, established relationship, punk is honestly raging in this but who can blame him? age gap (punk is 46, reader is in her late 20s), use of y/n, sorta suggesting ending??

a/n: omg i was so livid when i saw that he lost bro i can't explain it "he should've won!!" i scream as they drag me back to the padded room

for the past forty minutes you had practically been on the edge of your seat. watching as cm punk, your boyfriend, fought for his life in a triple threat against roman reigns and seth rollins. you wanted him to win. he needed to win this. in his over two decade career, he was finally main eventing wrestlemania. when he came home to you and told you the news, you were over the moon for him. wrestling’s hottest couple had huge matches during one of the biggest wrestling events of the year. in the previous match, you defended and regained your women’s world championship against charlotte flair. and you practically rushed to punk’s changing room to watch his match.

his promo video nearly brought tears to your eyes. as a huge wrestling fan growing up, and a fan of punk himself, you were filled with nostalgia hearing ‘this fire burns’ fill the backstage area and watch some of his biggest moments. only for in living colour to perform ‘cult of personality’... this was truly what wrestlemania was about. how could they not let him win?

as you saw paul heyman grab a metal chair and slide it over to punk, you leaned forward to focus. you began to bite at the skin of your nails, freshly manicured nails be damned. however, when you saw paul hit punk with a low blow, it felt like the whole world had collapsed around you. punk laid there, completely broken, watching as roman picked up the chair and got ready to hit seth, only for paul to do the same thing to roman.

after that it all felt like a blur watching it. seth pinning roman, punk’s arm attempting to stop the pin, but barely coming up in time. one, two, three… match over.

seth rollins had won because of paul heyman’s help. punk sat in the middle of the ring, feeling and looking completely defeated. you couldn't keep watching this, so you grabbed the remote and turned the tv off, slamming it down. you stood up from your chair, and began pacing, still picking at your nails. you knew you shouldn’t have trusted heyman. the second you saw him, you had this feeling in your gut that he wasn’t to be trusted. it seemed like tonight proved that.

you stopped your pacing when you heard the changing room door slam open, nearly causing a dent in the wall. punk was pissed. who wouldn’t be? but i’m talking smoke coming out of his ears, face red kind of pissed. when he was angry like this, you knew better than to try and intervene. he slammed the door shut behind him, and almost immediately began throwing all the shit he could get his hands on. kicking over the chair you were previously sitting on, yanking his luggage off the counter, spilling all of his stuff onto the floor. throughout all this, though, not a single thing touched you.

he was breathing heavily, hair undone from the nice slick back it was previously in. his back was turned to you, giving you a full display of his tattooed and defined body. slowly, you walked up to him. one hand outward like you were approaching some rabid animal. your nails glided across the span of his shoulders, gently scratching them along the way. “hey, baby. you okay?” you whispered.

it was a stupid question. of course he wasn’t okay. you just didn't know how he would react to anything else. his body turned towards you, and you could see just how tired he looked. the second his big, brown eyes met yours, he broke down. gone was the cm punk that the world knew, or the one who was just previously raging, it was the one that only you got to see. he practically collapsed into, wrapping his arms around your waist and dropping his head into your neck.

you could feel warm tears dripping down your neck, wettening your shirt, but you didn't say a single thing. you just let him cry it all out. one of your hands scratched up and down his back, while the other played with his hair. “shh, it’s okay, honey. i’m so sorry. i’m so so sorry,” you repeated over and over in his ear with a soft voice. eventually, his quiet cries had subsided, and all that was left was his sniffles. his hands gripped the back of your shirt like it was his lifeline. “i can’t believe he fucking did that shit. i… i trusted him, y/n. i thought he was my friend,” he said, words muffled by your shirt.

you nodded at his words. “i know, baby. that isn’t fair to you. you deserved that win fair and fucking square. but, hey,” you pulled his face up and made him look at you, “i’m so proud of you, baby. you still main evented wrestlemania. you know how many people make it that far? barely anybody. you made it that far. and i’m so glad that you are one of those people. win or lose, i’ll always be proud of you, honey.”

his puppy dog-like eyes bore into yours as you spoke. your words hit him directly in his heart. he could feel himself just overflowing with love and admiration for you, ten times more than before. you were always his biggest cheerleader. always in his corner and with support no matter what. he couldn’t bring himself to say anything, all he could do was lovingly stare down at you. noticing his silence, you tilted your head to the side. “punk? you oka-?” you weren’t able to finish your sentence, before he slammed his lips against yours. a sound of surprise was muffled by his mouth, until you relaxed into the kiss. your arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, pulling him even closer. his hands tangled into your hair, gently tugging on it. he wanted you close. needed you close. he needed to know that you were here and real. after a few more seconds, you pulled away first, but not too far. his forehead pressed up against yours as you breathed heavily, trying to gain your composer from that bruising kiss. “what was that for?” you whispered.

he shook his head, focusing his gaze on your swollen, kissed lips. “nothing, i just… i love you so fucking much, baby. you know that?”

you giggled, ducking your head to hide your blush. “yeah, i know a little something about that.”

he quirks his eyebrow, tilting his head. “only a little?” you nod in response. he clicks his tongue, a smirk gracing his rugged, yet handsome face. “nah, that ain’t enough, baby. i gotta show you that it’s much more than a little.” gone was his previous anger towards him losing his match, all that was left was admiration and love for his girl.

using his strength, he grabs the back of your thighs, lifting you up to wrap them around his waist. you let out a squeal of shock. “punk, what are you doing?”

“i’m showing my little champion how much i love and appreciate her.”

[dxxdhood]

Okayyyyyy your sub!Wade Wilson fic literally destroyed me and I need like a million more consider yourself my new dealer

(If reqs are open can I get uhhhhh Wade Wilson where he's needy but has no idea what he wants so reader has to shut his brain off and figure it out for him pls and thanks)

hi anon, i love this idea so much omg! i may have played around with it a bit but i think i still kept the same core idea. i went with fem! reader on this, but if you want a similar request with gn! or male! reader, let me know! pls enjoy!!!

rough night

pairing: wade wilson x fem!reader

summary: wade needs your love and attention, and luckily, you're always there to help him out.

tags: smut (18+), sub!wade wilson, dom!reader, dirty talk, praise kink, light bondage, grinding, clothed sex, oral (f receiving), exhibitionism, car sex

wc: 2.0k

“Okay, babe, hear me out: the ending to the stage version of Little Shop is leagues better than whatever deus ex machina crap they had to throw into the last two minutes of the movie. Cowardly movie-goer audiences can not handle true stage-level tragedy–”

“Wade!” You shout, nearly swerving the car as you double check the directions. Past midnight on the freeway after a long day, you barely had the concentration to drive in silence– much less in a car with your partner in it. “Can you help me get us home first before we start arguing over musical movies again. Please?”

Wade hums, tapping his scarred hand against the console, “That’s a big ask, I’m not so sure I can, to tell you the truth. You wanna talk about musical movies? Can we talk about how big The Greatest Showman got when the score is nothing but pop songs? Look, I get the lead actor looks like my crazy-hot new best friend, but the 2010s had way better stuff coming out.”

Turning his head so you could see the shit-eating grin plastered on his face, he whistles a note before speaking. “You missed our exit, by the way.”

“What?” You double check the GPS to make sure he’s not lying. Sure enough, he’s right. “Why didn’t you warn me?”

“Oh, you know. Typical Deadpool, just pissing off everyone around him all the time for no reason,” he chimes in again, and something about his tone sets you off. You speed across the next available ramp, and after the few seconds it takes for you to end up on a deserted road, you stop the car.

Taking a deep inhale, you make sure to hit the inside light so he can see you properly, and you grab the arm still fidgeting next to you. “Wade, what’s up with you?”

His eyes go large, and his expression loses all the mischief immediately. Shaking his head a little, he purses his lips. “Nothing. Nothing’s up.”

“Let’s just get home,” he says after an empty moment, almost like he’s booting up again. “You can yell at me the entire way back, okay? I was being a pain in the ass. I’ll take it lying down, promise.”

Seeing him in the dim, yellow lighting, he’s trying to retreat into his hoodie. He’s pulling away from you even as he speaks, and it makes your stomach turn.

“Let’s–” you start, unbuckling your seatbelt before gripping the door handle.  “Let’s just take a second first.”

You catch a wash of confusion on his face, but you exit the car and walk over to his side before he voices his thoughts out loud. Opening his door, you quickly envelope him in a hug before he can try to pull away again.

You swear you heard a whimper, but it was so quiet, you nearly missed it. Almost instantly, Wade buries his head in your neck, and his arms wrap around your middle tight. 

The two of you stay there, alone, with the gentle sound of crickets chirping in the background for what feels like a small eternity. You know it must have only been a few minutes, because shortly, your thighs burn from the angle you’re bending at, so you gently pull away. You decide not to mention the wetness left on your shirt.

“What do you need?” You ask.

He shakes his head again, but faster this time. “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t even know why I was trying to piss you off.”

“Today was fine, right? I thought so, but all of sudden everything felt like it was going to shit. In my head, I just started going around in circles, going over all the little ways I kept fucking up, and – I don’t know – it got to me.” Wade brings a palm to his forehead. “It’s just one of those hate-yourself days, I guess.” 

You nod, taking one of his hands in yours as you stand on the dying grass surrounding the road. Rubbing his palm with your thumb, trying to transfer some of your warmth to him, you’re suddenly met with an idea so good, you can keep inside the chuckle. 

“Sorry, sorry!” You choke. “Not laughing at you, I just– I just think it’s funny where my brain goes.”

“What do you mean?” He looks up at you with pupils so big, you just want to go back to squeezing him. 

“Well, we’re all alone out here.”

You can almost see the loading screen in Wade’s mind when he breaks out in a laugh. “No way, I finally found someone worse than me.”

“Would you want to?”

He’s nodding before he can even process, but after a second a frown sets in. “You know I’m always down to clown around, but I’d just be a burden right now. I’m all sad and icky and touchy-feely. I don’t even know what I–”

“You want me to handle it?” you interrupt. “I’ll just do stuff we’ve liked doing in the past. You don’t have to worry about a thing, I’ll make it all good for you.”

Wade turns his head away, and for a terrifying moment, you believe you’ve made him uncomfortable. But a part of him wins whatever fight is going on eternally, and when he faces you again, a blush coats his cheeks.“You’d do that?”

“You think I’m offering ‘cause I like hearing myself talk?”

“You have the sweetest voice I’ve ever heard,” he smiles, and not having learned anything, you bend down again to kiss him. He responds fast, bringing a hand up to cup your cheek as he pulls you in closer. No matter how much of you he gets, he always finds himself needing more.

You push his hood down and you carefully run your hands across his scalp, cradling his head, as you deepen the kiss. Licking inside his mouth, you feel more than hear a rumble build in his chest.

Breaking away, you pull your sweater off before laying it on the ground in front of the passenger seat. Stepping to the side, you give Wade a second to process before you order him.

“Kneel.”

He definitely mumbles a soft “holy shit” as he slips out of the car and drops to his knees. Briefly, you run your hands across his shoulders, kneading at the intersection between his shoulders and neck, feeling the tense muscle there. Typical Wade to cause problems instead of talking about his own. Just how long was he carrying around all of this tension? Maybe when you’re both home later, at what will probably be the crack of dawn, you can run him a warm bath or give him a better massage.

For right now, you slip past him and sit in the car seat above him. Angled so your legs dangle out the car door opening, you place a hand around the back of Wade’s neck and urge him closer.

“You ready?” You whisper. “You want to eat me out, Wade?”

He buries his head into your thigh at your words as he lets out a groan, “Yes, please, oh my god.”

Grabbing both of your legs, he lifts them onto his shoulder and he already starts to move his head closer in between them.

“Hold on,” you grab one of his hands, interlocking your fingers. “Here, help me move one of my legs off your shoulder and against your dick.”

To his credit, he does, even as he shivers at your words. As he scooches around, trying to get comfortable or maybe just hungry for more sensation already, you feel his cock half hard.

“You’ve been wanting this, huh? Wanting me to boss you around a little,” you whisper, inching your head closer to his so you can whisper in his ear. “Wanting to hear dirty things in my voice?”

“Yes!’ he shouts. “Yes, please! Can I eat you out, babe? I’ll be good!”

“”Course you will be,” you smile. “You’re always so good for me.”

With a little maneuvering around your legs, you manage to slip your shorts and underwear off, accidentally tossing them into the darkness.

Wade frowns, his brow creasing, “No, I haven’t been very good lately–”

On command, you grab his chin and tilt it so his gaze rests on yours. There’s no hiding from your words now. “Don’t say that. Stop talking.”

“You don’t feel good?” you smirk. “Then prove to me right now how good you can really be.”

He needs no further encouragement as he buries his face between your thighs, already licking across you, teasing you even now. His pace is quick, desperate, but he’s still careful to avoid where you need him most.

With one hand perched at the top of his head, you scratch the other down his neck as a warning, but all it does is draw a moan from him. You can feel the vibrations through you, and it causes you to grind across his mouth.

Panting heavily, you decide to even the score. You press your calf up against his hard cock, inching it backwards and forwards, bit by bit, and that’s all it takes for Wade to remember his own needs. Wanting  you already, he slowly grinds against your leg, and though it feels harsh through his pants, from past experience as well as the wet groans filling the air, you’re sure Wade enjoys it.

Suddenly, he decides to circle your clit in earnest, and it draws a loud moan from you. You begin to grind yourself against his tongue, still somehow working you with coordinated movements despite how out-of-control he humps your leg.

His whimpers slip out of him, as if he’s been completely fucked dumb just by getting off on your leg. The power is heady, and you move your hands to his, wrapping them around his wrists and bringing them in front of him to settle right in front of his stomach. Once you’re sure you’ve got a secure grasp, you bring one of your hands away to tilt his face up to yours so you can kiss him again.

You taste yourself warm on his lips, and the thought causes even more heat to pool at your core. All too soon, you pull away from him and shove his head back between your thighs. 

“Fuck, Wade, so good. You’re so good for me.”

He’s whimpering right into your core and involuntarily, the hand restraining his wrists clenches. The harshness only turns him on further, and he continues rubbing himself along your leg so quick, you’re sure it must be starting to sting.

“Yeah? You like fucking my leg, Wade? I love seeing you grind on me, sweetheart, you’re so pretty.”

His pace increases, and he starts letting out frequent moans in between the warm breaths he exhales onto you. Your thighs are shaking – his speed for you has never faltered – and you shove his face towards you with the palm against his head.

“I’m gonna come. You wanna be my good boy and come with me, huh?”

At that, he releases a loud groan into your pussy, and you feel yourself coming, dripping onto his already soaked face. At your wetness, his grinding only increases, and after only a few more seconds, Wade finishes, cum seeping from his pants onto your leg. 

The two of you stay silent with only your breaths slowly returning to normal to fill the air. Wade’s eyes are large, gazing at you like you’re all he could ever want, and it’s almost too overwhelming for you to return.

Shakily, he pushes off the ground and makes it to his feet before he stumbles to the side. On instinct, you jump from the seat outside to catch him, your arms wrapped around his waist. You’re still afraid that he’ll fall, but Wade lets out a light giggle.

“If you couldn’t drive us home before, I’ve got no clue how we’re making it back now.”

You lightly slap his arm, “You could be nicer to me after I made you come, bitch.”

He lets out a groan that would sound exaggerated if it came from anyone else, “Shit, call me that next time!”

“Next time I wreck you in the middle of nowhere?” you smirk.

“Just name a time and place.”

[eclipixels]

Hi! Can I request Reo x poor reader where the reader is not used to all the luxury and stuff :) thank you

Opulence

Reo Mikage x Reader

[1,770 words]

      You have always been poor. It wasn’t something you were ashamed of, but it also wasn’t something you went around advertising. You worked hard, saved what you could, and made do with what you had.

      But then there was Reo.

      Reo Mikage, the boy born with a silver spoon in his mouth. The boy who had everything—money, talent, charisma—except you.

      And that was a problem.

      A big, fat, huge problem.

      Because Reo had a massive crush on you.

      When you smiled? It felt like you only smiled for him. When you laughed? It played on repeat in his head for days. You were the one thing in his life he couldn't just buy, and that made you priceless in his eyes.

      “Dude, you’re drooling.”

      Reo snapped out of his daze, blinking rapidly as Nagi stared at him, unamused.

      “S-Shut up! You drool all the time when you’re sleeping,” Reo shot back, flustered.

      Nagi hummed, gaze flickering toward you. “She’s looking over here.”

      “Omg, really!? Where?” Reo’s head whipped around so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash.

      Only to be met with Nagi’s lazy, amused grin.

      “…You liar.” Reo grumbled.

      Reo didn’t do anything small. So when he confessed, it was big. Like, romantic-movie-big. He had a private setup at one of the fanciest places in town, rose petals, and even a violinist.

      Unnecessary? Maybe.

      Effective? Very.

      Because you said yes.

      And that’s how you found yourself sitting in Nobu on your first date.

      “…N-Nobu?” You asked, staring up at the fancy golden sign in disbelief.

      Reo beamed. “Yeah! My grandparents knew the original owners when they first founded the chain.”

      You almost laughed at how casually he said that.

      “This is…” You trailed off, feeling so out of place.

      “Oh, do you not like it? I should’ve asked where you wanted to go, I—”

      “No, no! I like it,” you reassured quickly. “This is… more than nice. Wow.”

      Reo let out a relieved sigh, grinning. “Phew, okay! Thought I messed up there.”

      You sat down, staring at the menu. And then your stomach dropped.

      Because nothing on this menu had prices.

      Which meant it was one of those places where if you had to ask, you couldn’t afford it.

      You swallowed thickly. What the hell do I even order?

      Reo must’ve noticed your hesitation. “Mmm, why are you so quiet?”

      “…I just—well, I don’t know what to get,” you admitted, embarrassed.

      Reo tilted his head, then chuckled. “Don’t worry, take your time. I’m paying, of course.”

      You let out a small laugh, trying to shake off your nerves. “I mean, you usually pay when you’re on a date.”

      That’s when you saw it.

      The way Reo’s smile faltered, his ears turning pink as he suddenly looked a lot more nervous than before.

      “Um,” he started, rubbing the back of his neck.

      You blinked.

      Then it hit you.

      “Oh.”

      Oh.

      And suddenly, the restaurant, the violinist, and the fancy setup all made sense. Your heart pounded.

      “I like you, Y/N,” Reo said softly, meeting your gaze. “A lot.”

      And then he asked you out. You stared at him, warmth creeping into your chest. He had no idea how unnecessary all of this was. You didn’t need expensive dates or fancy meals. You just needed him.

      You smiled, reaching for his hand across the table. His ears burned, but his fingers laced with yours all the same. Yeah. This was more than nice.

      Little did you know what you got yourself into.

—

      "Reo, what is all this?" you asked, staring at the bags upon bags of high-end brands sitting on your bed. Chanel, Loro Piana, Versache, brands you had only ever admired from afar.

      "Clothes," he said simply, plopping down next to you.

      "Yeah, I see that," you deadpanned. "But why?"

      Reo blinked. "You needed new outfits, right?"

      You frowned. "I never said that."

      "Yeah, but I noticed you keep wearing the same hoodie," he pointed out.

      Your face burned. That was because you couldn’t afford to buy multiple jackets just for fun.

      "...Reo, I can’t accept all of this," you said, voice small.

      Reo tilted his head. "Why not?"

      "Because it’s too much!"

      Reo looked genuinely confused, as if the concept of too much had never once occurred to him in his life. "But I like buying things for you."

      You groaned, face in your hands. How were you supposed to argue with that?

      “Besides,” He smirked, pulling out something from a pink shopping bag with the Victoria's Secret logo on it. “I really wanna see you in this.”

—

      “Let’s go on a casual date” Reo texted you one morning. You agreed. But you forgot that Reo had a habit of dragging you into stores you would never set foot in on your own.

      Today, it was a jewelry store.

      "Uh, Babe?" you said hesitantly, eyeing the five-star building like it might bite.

      "Yeah?" he smiled.

      "...You said casual."

      "This is casual."

      "For who?!"

      "Pick something," he said nonchalantly, gesturing at the glittering displays.

      You nearly choked on air. "Pick something?"

      "Yeah, anything you want."

      Your eyes darted to the price tags. Five digits.

      You gulped. "I don’t—"

      "Okay, what about this?" He grabbed a delicate bracelet with small diamonds embedded in the band. "It would look so pretty on you."

      Your heart raced. "That’s like... a semester of tuition."

      He blinked. "Huh? Oh, don’t worry about that."

      "Reo."

      You gave him the most exasperated look you could muster. Reo sighed dramatically. "Fine, fine. We don’t have to buy anything. I just wanted to spoil you a little."

      You softened. He looked so disappointed. You reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. "You already do. You don’t need to spend money for that."

      Reo’s ears turned pink, and for once, he was the one flustered.

      "...You’re unfair," he mumbled.

—

      "Hey, want to go on a trip?" Reo asked one day.

      You nodded. "Oh, that sounds nice. Maybe a little road trip? A weekend getaway?"

      "Yeah, something like that," he hummed.

      Again—you should have known better.

      You found yourself in a luxury resort, with an ocean view suite, a private pool, and a staff that treated you like royalty.

      "Reo," you whispered as you took in the sheer opulence of the place.

      "Yeah?" he smiled, setting your bags down.

      "...What part of this is a little weekend getaway?"

      He blinked. "All of it?"

—

      You were sitting on the couch, stomach grumbling, when Reo stretched and said, "Wanna eat? I can call the chef."

      You snorted. "Yeah okay, sure."

      Reo blinked. "Okay, I’ll text him now."

      You froze.

      "...Wait, what."

      Reo, already on his phone, looked up. "What?"

      "You’re serious?"

      "Yeah?."

      You stared at him like he just told you the sky was orange. "REO, NORMAL PEOPLE DO NOT HAVE PRIVATE CHEFS."

      Reo tilted his head. "So no to the food?"

      You groaned, burying your face in a pillow. "This is insane."

      Thirty minutes later, a chef arrived and prepared a meal better than anything you had ever tasted.

      "...Okay, fine," you admitted. "Maybe this is a little cool."

      Reo just smirked. "Told ya."

—

      You and Reo went grocery shopping for fun. (His idea. Because "normal couple stuff is cute!")

      Everything was going great until you realized something.

      Reo never. Looked. At the price tags.

      Not once.

      You tested it, watching as he grabbed the most expensive imported strawberries without even glancing at the cost.

      "Reo."

      "Yeah?" he said, tossing some fancy-looking truffle pasta into the cart.

      "Do you even know how much that costs?"

      Reo shrugged. "I dunno. Does it matter?"

      "Yes it matter??"

      "...Oh," he blinked, genuinely confused. "I just grab whatever looks good."

      You grabbed his shoulders dramatically. "What is it like to live in your world?"

      Reo laughed, kissing your forehead. "Pretty nice, actually. You should stay in it forever."

—

      "Reo, can you pick me up after class?" you texted.

      "Of course! 😊" he replied.

      Simple. Easy. No big deal.

      Except when you walked outside, there was a Porsche waiting for you.

      You stared at it.

      Then at Reo, standing next to it, waving enthusiastically.

      Then back at the Porsche .

      "Reo."

      "Yeah?" he blinked.

      "Why is there a Porsche 918 Spyder?"

      "Because you needed a ride?" he said innocently. “...and the keys to the Ferrari were too far.”

      "I meant a normal ride in a regular car." You said which was dumnb now that you thought about it because the Mikages don’t own anything normal.

      "But this is more comfortable," he said, opening the door like a prince.

—

      You were having a rough week, stressed from school and life.

      Reo noticed.

      So he handed you an envelope with a sweet little note attached:

      "For my love! Hope this makes your day better. 💜"

      You smiled, touched by the gesture. Then you opened it.

      And nearly had a heart attack.

      "Why is there 750,000 yen?"

      He blinked. "It’s just a small gift?"

      "Small?"

      Reo frowned. "Do you want more?"

      You groaned, throwing yourself onto the couch. "No!"

      Reo laughed and kissed your cheek. "Well, you are priceless to me, so..."

—

      You jokingly told Reo he needed to learn about budgeting.

      Big mistake.

      Because the next day, he proudly showed you his "budget plan" on his phone.

      You read it.

      And then you screamed.

      "Babe, this is not a budget."

      "Yes, it is!" he huffed.

      "WHO SPENDS $10,000 A MONTH ON ‘MISCELLANEOUS FUN’??"

      "...Rich people?"

      "REO, THAT’S NOT HOW BUDGETING WORKS."

      He pouted. "I don’t like this budgeting thing."

—

      One day, Reo casually said, "Hey, let’s fly somewhere for the weekend."

      And without thinking, you replied, "Yeah, sure, where?"

      There was a pause.

      Then Reo smirked. "Oh? You’re not even gonna fight me on it this time?"

      You froze.

      "...Oh my god. You’ve corrupted me."

      Reo just pulled you into his arms, laughing. "Nah. You’re just finally living like a Mikage."

      You laughed at him. "Pft, living like a Mikage?"

      "Yep," Reo grinned. "Took you long enough."

      You crossed your arms. "Well yeah, at some point I just gave up."

      He shrugged, wrapping an arm around your waist. "Might as well make it official, then."

      You blinked. "Official?"

      Reo smirked. "If you married me."

      Your face heated up and you nearly choked. "Reo."

      "What?" he laughed. "Think about it. Unlimited spending, luxury vacations, and—oh yeah—me. Forever. Pretty good deal, right?"

      You shoved him playfully. "Ask me again when you don’t sound like you’re trying to sell me a subscription plan."

      Reo chuckled, pulling you closer. "Fine, fine. But just so you know... when I actually propose you’re not allowed to complain about how much I spend on it."

[rivalswrites]

Hello :3 How would Rivals characters react to their s/o being famous and appearing in ads and stuff (you choose which characters :3) I love your writing and cant wait for more😼

Them and you being famous!

Before you read, please be warned that I'm writing based on my impressions of them not only in the game (though it's the biggest inspiration), but some of them with the movies/shows in mind too.

Tysmm! I don't think you guys get how much it means to me when you guys tell me you guys like my writing (I imagine it's the same with other writers?)

I'm feeling the burn out due to school being back in session, but we prevail!! Who's excited for season 1?

Masterlist

She loves it, and is absolutely your number one supporter! Definitely the type to never skip anything you're in online- even if it's an ad for something she's so not interested in. And she's one hundred percent got some sort of merchandise of you, like a cut out magazine that's hung up on her wall with little hearts around your face.

Ever the supporter, she loves coming on set and watching you work. Be it a photoshoot, ad, or film of some sort, she's always there to support and cheer you on (she has definitely got in trouble from the people in charge for being a little loud).

Definitely a bragger, telling anyone who'll listen (poor tippy-toe) about her amazingly beautiful partner that's world famous (in her heart). Can't help but gush over you, it's almost natural at this point to her. Anyone who knows her, knows you and has seen at least one film you're in.

When the day is over and you get home, she's ready to help you relax! She's got a nice warm bath already run, a warm towel ready when you're done, and warm cuddles and movies while you both eat whatever junk you want (to hell with your manager and supposedly “needed” diet).

Overall: She is so supportive, and no matter what it is will be there to cheer you on and help wherever she can!

Fame isn't something huge to him- rather it's not something he pays much attention to. Status doesn't do much for his opinions to people, but that doesn't mean he won't look at your career.

He definitely has a magazine or poster of you in his main office somewhere, even if it seems a little inappropriate for a king to seem like such a fanboy. His sister will not let this go, and most certainly teases him about it.

Even though he's a busy man, he always makes time for you. He'll go to red carpets with you if that's something you do, he'll sit down and watch movies you star in during his free time. He'll even go out of his way to watch a dumb laundry ad you make a two second appearance in, because he loves you so.

While he works hard, he knows you work just as hard as he does- and he respects that. At the end of the day, the two of you will sit and relax with a nice dinner, cuddling up after in silence. He'll probably be reading a book while you do whatever you want- as long as you stay by his side until bedtime. Sometimes he'll stray from the pages and to your face and he'll think to himself- yeah, they're gorgeous, the world was right to make you famous.

Overall: He'll support your career from the sidelines, as much as he can. He loves you, and while he's busy, he makes time to see you bloom like a beautiful flower.

||•STRICTLY PLATONIC•||

She's totally freaking out when she finds out!! Like oh my gosh, her best friend/found family is famous? She knew she recognized you from somewhere, it was totally from that one movie you did! It's one of her favorites, you know.

All the time she'll ask you what it's like being famous like that, like yeah she is too but not like you are! Always asking questions about how the filming process of movies and even ads go.

Absolutely overjoyed when you invite her to join you on a photoshoot set, like omg yes she wants to see you strike some poses! She'll even try and copy you behind all the cameras and crew men, the smile on your face in those photos are definitely real. One time you asked her to join her for a photo and she basically popped like a balloon, she was so honored. (And yes, she reacted the same way when she saw those pictures were actually used in a promotion or magazine.)

Overall: She is so so supportive!! You're someone she looks up to and definitely has merchandise of you and posters up in her room.

He's used to it- fame. He's famous himself, why should he care if you are too? The mentality definitely isn't the best, but give him time- relationships are difficult for him. He'll get there eventually.

Has, and will always, go to red carpets with you- whether he got the invitation or you. And he only makes sure you two are in the best clothes money can buy (and he's got plenty to spare). The two of you are always the best dressed and most elegant people at the function.

All of your films or shows are on his watch list, and he watches them while he works. He's got an AI system that keeps track of any news about you (films, photoshoots, etc.) and notifies him about anything new. He's obsessed with you!

He definitely points you out in any type of media no matter where you are, and probably sends you a picture of it. Everyone around him is so tired of him pointing at a screen and yelling about his partner.

Will absolutely pay paparazzi to take pictures of you so he can keep them for himself - is that weird? Yes, but you probably do the same…

Overall: Loves your career and always keeps track of everything you do. Always supportive about whatever it is you do. Definitely the Internets otp.

Oh my god, yes! She gets you, and you get her!! The two of you definitely have each other's merch and often wear shirts with each other's face on it (paparazzi can't get enough of that).

Collaborations are always on the table, no matter what it may be. Photoshoots? Tell her what the theme is! Movie? She'd love a cameo! Want to do a collab song with her? It'll be the most cheesy romance song ever!

Your managers are so goddamn tired of you two asking for some sort of collaboration that they don't even check anymore- do whatever you want.

The Internet loves the two of you! Fan edits of you guys are insanely popular, especially when you guys do interviews together. Fan art and shitty fanfiction is extremely popular too, and it's adorable.

After long hours at work, the two of you sit on the couch in the most comfortable jammies you have and eat anything you want! Watching some god forsaken show with a horrible love triangle plot.

Overall: It's great, having someone by her side who knows how she feels about being famous. She loves hanging out with you, be it for work or at home.

[hugemilkshake]

hii! okay sooo....

seeing you write a Yandere Ancients x Reader....that got me thinking....what if it was the Dragons? YANDERE dragons? OMG SCREAMS AAAAAAAARGRHRGRRGRH ( im obsessed...i love yanderes sm they make me crazy MUAHAHHA i crave for more yandere dragon cookies content YUMMY )

same plot, basically the dragons (yandere) react to reader's rejection to them and pushes them away or something? or what if reader prefers someone else? i would really LOVE to see their reactions heh....IF U SEE THIS I BEG OF YOU- it would be the happiest moments of my LIFE if u do this RAHHHH anyways...THANKIE AND GOODBAI COOL PERSON !1!1 *skedaddles away*

(ok seriously i love they way u write the dragons. i crave more of ur amazing content hshshshsh)

Enjoy the milkshake! I’m a slow writer lololol and also my jaw hurts-

I would do Lychee and Longan but I can’t think of any ideas for them rn </3

Pitaya, Ananas and Lotus getting rejected

-Romantic-

!TW! Under the cut there will be stuff like guilt tripping, arson, punishing innocent people, forced starvation, implied cheating, manipulation and obsessive behaviors

Pitaya Dragon

You were already happy with the cookie you were with, your life was practically perfect.

But The Great Red Dragon thought that you’d drop everything just to be with them. I mean imagine being with one of the strongest characters on earthbread! You’d be treated well!

But… your more loyal than the dragon thought.. Your loyalty was something admirable but Pitaya hated that it wasn’t for them. You saw the dragon try to play it off normally but there was and underlying rage.

A month goes by you lived your normal life, the confession occasional coming up in your thoughts. Today was an average day, a clear sky and cool wind.

But then… you smelt it… smoke..

Smoke and the stench of burnt butter. You eyes gaze up at the sky and you see the smoke drifting across the blue sky, staining it in a dark gray. You look and spot that the smoke is coming from the local village, that same village your partner was visiting…

—————————————

When you rejected Pitaya, they were very angry. For days they burned and destroyed their cave.

But after they cooled down a bit they cleaned their cave up. Not because they accepted your rejection, but because they had a plan

They see how horrified you were at the sight of burnt cookies and homes, but most importantly… your partner being held up by the collar.

You had an ultimatum. Either save your partner and go with Pitaya or you let your partner and more cookies die, I mean… you wouldn’t want to be the cause of so many deaths right?

If you go with Pitaya, you are always in their vicinity. The dragon is quite clingy to you. They have their tail wrapped around time or your resting in their lap

They feel a little bad for forcing you to come with them, but not bad enough to let you go.

Ananas Dragon

A rejection to The Golden Dragon is quite the insult, but a rejection in favor for another? That’s just blasphemy.

After your rejection, your tribe started to suffer. Fruit stoped being produced, fish avoided the tribes hunting grounds and cookies started getting sick.

No one knows why, other tribes aren’t experiencing this, so why is yours?

Some cookies start to suspect that you have something to do with it, why else are there so many golden treasures and trinkets around your home?

Some cookies think about sacrificing you to the Golden Dragon, others think you did something to anger the dragon… which is exactly what Ananas Dragon wants…

—————————————

Your rejection was the most disrespectful thing Ananas Dragon has heard. I mean, you would be spoiled in riches beyond your wildest dreams! And yet, you choose some.. BORING old cookie over them?! Blasphemy.

The only thing that they could think of is to punish you. Your tribe had it good for too long. It’s time to bring some trouble.

All food sources started to die out. Anything you’d grow would die, all and any fish would be no where to be found.

Cookies of your tribe had to start rationing food and even eating plants that wouldn’t be considered edible, just to avoid starvation.

But due to the food situation, cookies were starting to get sick.

But while this happened, the more gold was left at your house. Cookies started to think you had something to do with this

The more who think you did something… the quicker Ananas Dragon will get you in their grasp…

Lotus Dragon

This confession didn’t happen immediately. It happened when you were head over heels. Yes, you have a partner but that doesn’t mean you can’t fall for someone else right?

It’s slow but Lotus is very patient. They can wait for their wish to come true. But while they’re waiting… why don’t you listen to them play their mandolin for a bit?

Don’t worry about your partner! They didn’t think about coming with you, they might not be as loyal as you think… but that’s probably not the case!

Right..?

—————————————

Lotus knows you’re loyal to your partner, and they know that you’d reject them, so unlike some other dragons, they would make you and your partner fall out of love.

Friendship. That’s where all love usually starts.

To befriend a dragon is quite a great feat. Others are envious and amazed at your friendship with the wish giving dragon

But… Lotus whispers doubts about your partner… like why don’t they spend time with you? They don’t seem to notice when you’re upset so why do they stay with you?

And unknown to you (and lotus) cookies tell your partner that they aren’t good enough for you since you are apparently friends with a dragon.

In a matter of time… you and your partner are broken up and you actually accept Lotus Dragons confession

But be warned… if you even come close to figuring out that they aided in breaking you and your partner up… you might get locked up…

[majoryeager104]

Hello again I hope you are doing well!! Could you do what Dabi x reader night time routine would be like? with it ending in reader sleeping in dabi’s arms. I just want him to cuddle me rn so bad😪

gahhh same he seems so cuddleable (he’d burn us both alive for saying such things but it’s worth it)

✦••······················••✦•······················•✦••······················••✦

The thing about working in the league is that everything was always so damn messy. Every single mission or job you were sent on, you had to go perfectly unnoticed or else seemingly all of Japan would be out looking for you. The league is infamous, the danger came with the role and you’d expected it, but that isn’t to say you’d always return to base sore and worn to your limit, slouching inside and going straight to bed.

And Touya did the exact same, except sometimes you’d wonder if it was harder for him. You were close, you knew how badly his fire effected him, and every one of those strenuous nights when he’d come back as exhausted with you, he was always hacking up his lungs from all the smoke he’d inhaled. It was why he’d always end up in your room, because having you around to pass him water and rub his back had always been quite a comfort to him.

Your night routine with Touya was a short one; you’d make tea for the both of you, and he’d make the bed, coughing and muttering curses as he did. It seemed miserable, but he’d always swear up and down that it was worse to be alone. He meant it of course, but, well, he’s Touya, so you were never really sure. Next, you’d drink tea and sit together, talking about your missions, your days, that new noodle place that was built down the block that Touya insisted on dragging you to as soon as it was open. Then you’d brush your teeth in silence, the usual hygiene stuff- one thing I almost forgot to mention was that you’d gotten him into skincare, and sometimes you’d do masks together. Sometimes. (If you were to ask Touya himself if this was true, he’d growl and walk away with his hands stuffed in his pockets, muttering to himself as he stomped off like a toddler)

Your favorite part about this night routine of yours was going to bed afterwards (real), but Touya’s favorite part was actually just before that. Most nights, if you let him, when the two of you finally get to bed, he always likes getting your hairbrush off the nightstand and just combing through your hair- untangling, smoothing it over, eventually braiding it when you taught him how (sometimes, but he has a hard time doing it and sometimes just gives up before he can finish) but in summary, to him it’s the most calming part of the night.

Then, after everything else has been settled, he turns out the light and gets under the sheets with you. It’s no secret that he is definitely the big spoon, but most nights he actually prefers just laying completely on top of you, his head in the crook of your neck. Sometimes the two of you just lay there and chat, sometimes you lay completely silent, but one thing he always does is plants kisses on your skin at random intervals till he falls asleep, his soft snores filling the room as you stroke your fingers through his hair.

✦••······················••✦•······················•✦••······················••✦

not me daydreaming the hairbrush part omg

[brokeaesthetic]

Please yall Please 🙏🏾 retire the freaky fics for a day and put some serious thought towards a mini series. I can't take the freaky onshots anymoreeee Please feed me some real food. I can't take it anymore. Like I love what yall are doing, but when I go for my daily dose of fan fics i want a lil more yk( Not saying people aren't writing sfw and fluff they are, i just see that there's a lot more smut, Not saying I avoid smut or hate it but sometimes I just want more substance, Ive been feeling like fan fiction has been oversaturated with smut the past couple years but didn't want to say anything). I am so thankful for the 2 sevika series I'm reading rn. Forgot the titles, but one is about a zombie apocalypse, and the other is kind of a slow burn, but one of the readers' legs is kind of messed up. " Why don't you write some yourself?" If you scroll down, you'll see. I've said this before, but heres the updated reason.. I write like shit, I would probably drop it after like 3 chapters, and I learned the hard way that I'm more for reader than a writer. I'm sure if I locked in, I could really do something, but I'm in Uni😔 so im locking in on these classes. I'm just begging you all to hear me out real quick

Here are 2 ideas

• Vi isn't just looking for powder after she gets out of prison but reader/oc ( Either they were dating before she got arrested or They had a complicated relationship maybe with feelings they couldn't explain, but they were close, you know something along those lines.) There's so much you can do with that and make it a series and even continue it into the second season. ( The relationship is rocky at first because they're both super traumatized, but they still love each other to a certain extent, so they kinda make it work. Then because they're traumatized. They keep making mistakes, yk the typical stuff keeps working, then not working. But Caitlyn isn't completely discarded, they also have a complicated relationship it doesn't have to be romantic, but it's a little interesting. But reader isn't a big fan of their relationship at all because Caitlyn is an inforcer ( Let's say reader also lost her parents to enforcers.) So she's having a really hard time with Caitlyn and vi's relationship. But it's not giving she's playing both of them, or she's dating both of them. Basically, everything is so complicated. But you can tell the reader and vi are gonna end up together at the end.

• This one kind of takes from the story of my oc x sevika story ( but I don't really give a shit I'm not writing about it anytime soon) Basically before all that bs happened with sevika losing her arm she had a fwb/fling/situationship going on, and it was kind of getting a little serious between them. But all the stress of the enforcers coming down ( We all watched the same show there's no need to explain) While all that is happening, they begin to slowly distance themselves from each other because of stress or whatever but then sevika loses her arm, and reader is all like "omg bae your arm why didn't you let me know, You could have died and I would have never known." And sevika is all like " Why should I have told you? I don't need your pity or anything. I would have let you know if I felt like you needed to know." And reader is all like "wtf is with this attitude, You know, you should have told me. I would have been there for you. What's going on right now?" ( By the way, reader isn't just some push over, she's a little sassy ( I love sassy reader so much) So she usually doesn't let savika talk to her any type of way) the story's basically building up trust with any other exploring a relationship and going through the events of season one together, and maybe even season 2.

That's all the ideas I have for right now.But you can't tell me that wasn't fire. If you thought it was fire and you wanna see what you could do with it, Tag me or talk about it with me, I would love to expand on everything.

Just feed me something other than smut fics(ngl ive been eating them but im just tired of it and want something new💀), and please, if you could be let it be a series IM BEGGING 😔😢😢

Sorry for any grammar mistakes

[strawberryraviegutz]

When getting back into crk I never realized just how toxic/unhinged ppl can be in this fandom about ships…if someone wants to ship golden cheese cookie with burning spice cookie then let them??? Same goes for burningmilk and the shipping of the ancients with their beast counterparts and or cookie run ships in general(unless it involves pedophilia and incest of course)

Idk what the issue is. I also saw someone call the golden cheese x burning spice ship racist which makes no sense at all cuz both golden cheese and burning spice are poc coded.

Golden cheese is clearly black coded due to both her skin tone and the golden cheese kingdom being heavily based off of Egypt which is apart of Africa, and burningspice is desi/Indian coded due to his design being based off of a Hindu deity..

there’s also ppl calling the ship misogynistic too which also makes no sense cuz the types of fanart these guys are talking about burningcheese getting, ive seen it loads of other ships too wether it be shadowvanilla, mystic flower x dark cacao, and so much more ships.

That’s most likely gonna be the same thing with holly berry x eternal sugar, and or white lily with silent salt when it’s their time too. Plus golden cheese is a powerful woman.

Shes extremely powerful just like burning spice and is literally the queen of an entire kingdom and doesn’t just let ppl walk all over her along with not going down without a fight

(even if golden cheese was a more “softer”meek and or shy character it still shouldn’t/wouldn’t be an issue either cuz there’s nothing inherently wrong with those types of female characters either especially since we as black women are constantly hypermasculinized and don’t get to be seen as pure, cutesy, bubbly, nor dainty little things)

Enemies to lovers in general isn’t all peaches and cream. That’s why it’s called ENEMIES to lovers. I’d argue it’s more racist to not let us black girlies have our enemies to lovers/yandere type stories/ships with a character that looks like us that we can project ourselves onto.(in this case I’m talking about golden cheese) and or assuming automatically than any ship involving a black woman x a nonblack character is automatically racist/toxic. The same thing happened with Namor and Shuri from black panther.

Obviously there’s nothing wrong with non black enemies to lovers stories I love all enemies to lovers stories/ships regardless of r the races of the characters, but the way ppl get so angry at black/poc characters(black women especially) being in enemies to lovers situations is hella weird to me even if said anger comes from a supposed nonbigoted place.

White ppl get to have loads of enemies to lovers type dynamics within stories and or ships but the minute we get an enemies to lovers ship/dynamic for us where the ship involves a black woman yall are so quick to jump and call the ship racist and or bad/toxic while treating ships involving non black and or male characters that have a similar dynamic as “more pure/wholsome/making more sense” or “the proper morally correct ship”

I swear yall can’t let black women have anything…Even then there’s most likely so much more nuances with the dynamic of golden cheese and burning spice that the shippers like to explore(like shadowvanilla) that you guys most likely choose to ignore cuz you can’t get past your hatred for a ship..

It’s fine if burningcheese is not your cup of tea and I’m not saying this fandom doesn’t have issues involving racism and or misogyny, trust me I know(all fandoms/communities have these issues). But that doesn’t give you the right to harass/attack/bully or DOXX ppl who ship it nor is it ok to assume that someone is a bigot over a FICTIONAL SHIP BETWEEN TWO ADULTS THAT ARE BOTH SUPER OLD LIKE GOOD LORD CAN YALL PLEASE JUST LET US BLACK WOMEN HAVE SOMETHING FOR ONCE??? I swear im losing hundred of braincells per second like omg can you guys just let us have this along with just blocking/muting stuff you don’t like instead of attacking ppl-

(Also no spoilers plz I’m not on buring spice’s episode of beast yeast nor am I done with the golden cheese kingdom storyline).

[pedrosyouknowwhat]

Hi beautifulllll I have a request whenever you have time!

For Falling From Grace, what if reader asks them to cum on her tits or face, whatever but for HER pleasure, because she wants it.

Like, one of them does it to her first and she realizes she likes it so much she asks for all of them, on their days, to do it to her.

And it'd be more of (I'd leave this to your choice, obvi) one sentence of their reaction, either words or their actions but in one sentence.

So, I'm thinking Whiskey'd be like

"Attagirl, open up that pretty mouth wide"

or Marcus Acacius just...

Slaps her face roughly as if she just demanded the most outrageous thing because who does she think she is to draw pleasure from his pleasure?

THANK U IN ADVANCE LOVE YA

omg gorgeous what a mindddd

dark! stuff below the cut!!

deep in stockholm syndrome, already broken in reader.

Joel Miller

He's up till late, fixing some batteries or some shit like that

You are huddled between his thick thighs, mouth bobbing gently along his cock- as he told you. "No fancy stuff, puppy, just need a place to stuff my cock."

Your jaw aches, and the way you pick up your pace when you realize your eyes are fluttering for sleep has him bouncing soles against the floor.

He's about to grab a fistful of your hair and get it over with when the loud pop surprises him, followed by the cool breeze over his wet dick.

He looks down at your shape, obscured by the table. Your lips are swollen and your naked body almost shivers.

If he moved his boot an inch or two it would be just under your naked pussy.

But his gaze flickered back to your hesitant eyes, intimidated by his scowl.

The silence was a sign to continue.

"C-can you cum on me?"

Your voice barely above a whisper, barely audible at all.

He froze. Tempting idea.

Your nipples pebbled as you rose up bit, ribs digging against the chair he was man spreading in.

You propped your elbows on his thighs and carefully wrapped a hand around his spat on cock. You angled his cock towards your chest, searching for approval in his face.

Wrong. His grip on your hair brought you to your feet, as sudden as the attack of a snake in the grass.

Loose bits of wire and tools dug into your back as he pressed you over the table.

You whined as his heavy body slotted right over yours, spare hand aligning his cock with your swollen cunt.

"Wanna waste my cum?" He barked at your ear, and your scalp burned. "Got all the other boys to cum on your slutty body, not me baby."

He pushed his cock in with no kindness, and you realized you had fucked up.

Javier Peña

Baby boy needs to make sure he was hearing right, your breathy little moans filling his head with air

"cum on my ass." You mewl, almost loosing your grip on the blanket. His cock pistoned in and out, and then stuttered.

His thick arm reached around your front, pulling you against his damp abs. His cock dug impossibly deeper, and your head reeled into his shoulder

"Huh?" He groaned, before licking a stripe against your cheek. you squirmed.

"C-cum on my ass, please." You repeated, shame spreading against your cheeks.

He let you go, still impaled in his cock, and your body jerked against the sheets

You moaned as he slipped his cock out of you, clenching around painfully nothing

His hand groped your ass tightly, spreading you open as he aimed with the same ability he had done years ago

Hot, wet cum spurted all over your holes, and you eyes shut in bliss

"Que preciosa te ves empapada."

Agent Whiskey

He's fucking your throat first thing he does when he's back from work

Preening at your enthusiasm, he curses "There there, pretty whore, milk my fucking cock dry."

You are unable to speak clearly as the pubic hair nestled on the base of his cock tickles against your nose. But he hears your pretty little whimpers and babbles, and pulls away, letting you catch some air.

"On-On my face." You plead, between gulps of breathe. His eyebrows scrunch.

"Don't like the taste honey?" He asks, a bit offended. You shake your head hastily, fear mingling in your action.

"Like how it feels." You whisper shyly, forcing a grin to tug at his lips; just under the well groomed mustache.

He holds your hair in a makeshift ponytail, his cock tapping at your lips as he beguns fisting

"Attagirl, open up that pretty mouth wide" He growls. "Don't wanna waste all of it."

Oh he loves how your face scrunches with excitement and nerviousness, lips parting coyly, it's just enough to send him over the edge, painting your face in white

Oberyn Martell

Your face is planted against the pillow, etched with concern as Oberyn's broad shoulders cage you into the bed

His weight is warm and suffocating, each slow and sensual rut of his hips sending your eyes to the back of your skull

"Tell me, my darling," He purrs, flicking strands away from your hair. "what is it you desire?"

Your thighs spread, almost begging for more, and your voice is slurred with sex. "Oberyn."

He chuckles, inhaling the scent of your hair as his knees support his tortuously slow fucking

He knows what he's doing, he wants you to beg

"cum on- whine- cum on my- cum outside my pussy."

He tuts, a deep stroke making you bite the pillow case.

He picks up his pace, and you squirm at how quickly he does.

"Nah baby," He mutters, leaning back onto his heels as his thighs encase yours, holding you still. "this cunt is made to take my cum, to have it clenching around me as I keep you filled."

You hum, his words setting you on fire.

"Don't want to carry my bastard, is it that baby?" He presses, and you are too fucked out to string a sentence together, but you shook your head against the silky pillow case. He sighs, intrigued. "such a dirty girl."

Marcus Acacius

You'd be too terrified to even ask

His body dwarfs yours, and your knees almost falter as his cock plummets in your ass

You know the two digits he has shoved into your cunt aren't for your pleasure, but you soak them thoroughly.

Despite the way your hole envelops him, he wishes to cum in your warm, wet pussy- but the idea comes a second too late, and the way your ass clenches around him as he pulls away is enough to have him painting your globes round

You gasp at the sensation, hips buckling back and pushing his fingers deeper, his knuckle grazes your clit and it's game over

You cum around his fingers- a thing Marcus, for some reason, hates

The conversation he had that morning with Joel resounds in his ears. "The little whore asked me to cum all over her, don't know who got those ideas on her head."

He had grumbled something back, "Probably Catfish."

His nostrils flared as red hot anger licked at his fists, curling his fingers deep inside her, enough to send her wailing

He abruptly pulled his hand away and used the wet heel of his palm to slap at your cunt. Cum, arousal and redness smeared all over your back side.

With an iron grip on your locks, he turned you around, using the same hand to slap your face to the side

"Sloppy slut," He howled, seeing how tears bloomed from your eyes. "I'm gonna leave you drenched, let's see how much cum you can take."

Frankie Morales

"Cum on her face." Joel orders. and Catfish has to pretend not to understand.

He looks away from the wall -where he had perched his gaze in an attempt not to look at what was happening before him- and over his shoulder, to Joel.

He holds that dangerous glint in his eyes as he sips the amber liquid from his glass.

"You heard me." He repeats, and his eyes linger on the growing tent of Catfish's jeans.

He has to look at you, spare you some dignity. Your bruised body draped over the coffee table. Your eyes flutter open, looking for him in the dimly lit room

He holds room for a moment of hesitance, almost flinching when Joel sighs and plants his glass on the table

From the second his boots plant on the floor in front of you and you get on your knees, he feels remorse all over him

You flinch at the zipper, but your eyes stay observant, and the flicker of eager goes unknown to him

He's like a god, and you are his foolish servant, waiting for a drip of his mercy

He get's it over with quickly, hand fisting his cock in quick motions until he grasps your chin gently and aims at your cheeks

Your eyes clench but your mouth parts with a silent gasp, the thick substance coating your face; his groans echoes in your ears, a sweet melody

He doesn't see the way your tongue darts to lap at his juice, but Joel does

Dieter Bravo

Of-fucking-course Javier would be bragging about how you asked him to cum all over him

Whiskey would say something similar, and it woudl get him reeling

The clock strikes 12 on friday and he's hauling you to his room, slamming you on the bed and locking the door - against Catfish's wishes

He's been pounding into you for fifteen minutes when he speaks up, voice hoarse and groggy "Why the fuck haven't you asked yet?"

Your tired face scrunches in confusion, attempting to escape his grip. "What?"

His hand laces into your hair and pushes your face into the pillow, fucking into you with a renewed- fueled by hate - vigor

He seethes, slapping your bruises backside "To cum all over ya, cumdump."

Your face warms and you shake your head hastily, tears blossoming from shame

Now he has a plan

Your hands are bound to the bed frame, and almost every inch of you is covered in him by next day's noon

You body shivers with unease, trying to rub off the flaky sensation

"Finally ready to beg, whore?"

[crimsonbowphight]

My Illumina headcanon hehhhe

It’s a bit boring but anyways.

—————————————————————————

-Illumina once destroyed the realm because he was mad at something and it takes like decades to fix the realm so it’s the best to not anger him.

-whenever Illumina was in a loud place or noisy. He would just walk away from the place and grumbles to himself.

-does not know how to cook and once almost burned down the kitchen but still came out like nothing happened.

-he would have a snakes as his pet. (yes i love snakes too omg)

-would prefer quiet people than loud ones.

-he’ll mostly use hand sign language to communicate but only Ghostwalker understand him and help translate the meaning to the rest of the Deities.

-Illumina does have high attention span. Whenever something caught his eyes he would never break his gaze off from it. Even if the stuff moves.

-Illumina sometimes accidentally speaks Archaic language while he was in a conversation which it mades the opponents confuses a little bit on what is he speaking.

-Is the oldest out of the 7 deities. (Its a headcanon so pls dont jump me.)

-Illumina can easily lose the track of the time. (Bird sense./jjkjkkj)

-Illumina loves an interesting people.

-Illumina have sharp teeth.

-Illumina is a night owl. / aka sleeping late person.

—————————————————————————

[Extra one for a cute headcanons.]

just imagine you and him being in relationship alr?

(NOTE : VERY OUT OF CHARACTER FOR HIM!?!)

-Would never admit that he wants attention from you but afraid to ask you about it infront of the other deitys so he would normally ask you one if you’re one by one with him.

-big spoonersssss

-Illumina would just kneel down to the same height as you when you’re talking to him.

-When he randomly appears behind you and makes you scares the hell out a little bit. He find it amusing but keeps doing it anyways.

-whenever he cames home. The first thing he would look for is you. If he can’t find you he would just ask the other deitys right away.

• when he found you he would immediately pounces on you right on the spot you’re standing/laying/sitting at. No matter if it’s hurting both of you he just brush it off.

-introducing your friends or bestfriend to him? Well guess what? he ain’t letting you be taken away by them. He would do anything to let them know that you’re his.

-illumina can easily be jealous. (If you pay any attention to something else but him.)

-if he have a bad day. He would rambles all of it to you.

-he would ask you for a cuddle every night. But once you cuddled with him. Nahhh you aint getting out from his grip. He could stay like this for a days. Even worse. Week.

-illumina is sneaky on a hugs.

Example : you’re making yourself a cup of coffee but you don’t know what is going on around you. You’re just focusing on the coffee. He would sneak up right behind you anddd..yeah. A waist hug.

-he often came out of no where. Just to surprise you.

-he hates when someone touches his wing or his hair but you’re an exception for him.

—————————————————————————

this suckd….,,,,,take Illumina away from me pls

[jazeswhbhaven]

The Encounter of Two Flames | React | Spoilers

HOW WE DOIN' LOVELIES? We've got ourselves a Gehenna eventtttt<3 Why not have one during the anniversary of WHB launching? Satan was our first and he's here to tell us his story.

I for one feel like it's nice getting know "young" Satan and seeing this new sprite of his.

I waited for compile the first four days together because making a post for each damn day was becoming tedious lol. Sure it's good for spreading out screenshots but my adhd is k i l l i n g me.

Let's get started tho yeah?

"As they always do"....

Like good fucking lord Gehenna is always being attacked. I've said this once and I'll say it again like the angels really have fucking beef with Satan it seems. They barely touch the other parts of Hell.

Cameo from the bae, thank you for letting us know your thoughts boo. ʃƪ˘ﻬ˘) ♡´

So anyways Gehenna is under fire for a different reason today, it is none other than Sitri that's burning up the entire place and even his sprite is just nothing but blue fire.

In science class ya'll, we remember that blue flames are actually hotter than the orange ones. So I can imagine it's a good thing that Solomon or MC weren't here cause yeah they would of been instantly vaporized.

But all the devils are trying to put the fire out, can't cause water ofc won't help here.

I imagine Sitri's fire is more of a energy/essence sourced fire though so ofc it can't be extinguished by "normal" methods.

AND THEN HERE COMES THE BOO BEAR.

Young Satan is peak I swear. He's spunky, full of life, catty, I feel he's easily annoyed more, and just got that "it" factor. Not to say the older him is drained and used up, but definitely more mature.

So he goes to his demonic monster form, which as far as we've seen he's the only one that has a form like that. I'd like to assume the others do too but don't have to use it as often or at all.

cough we should have a h-scene with monster demon satan cough

So....why did Sitri burn up Gehenna??

Well it turns out that Sitri wasn't necessarily doing this on purpose.

Normally, our blue haired mr perfect shoes has everything together. Here he doesn't. Phew....Sitri I know something ain't right when your room is as messy as Paimon's (canon stuff that Paimon doesn't keep his room clean lmao)

Like? even Sitri's appearance is all kinds of fucked. Dry cracked lips, fucked up hair, like our baby is not doing well ya'll.

Andddd Belialllllll the bae <3 comes to visit. Jjyu and his loud mouthed self..

What kills me is that Sitri literally was like "I didn't hear you."

WHAT?

And then we find out through Belial writing it down because he didn't want Jjyu making shit worse (good call) that it wasn't Sitri's fault that the recent battle went all wrong and a lot of devils were killed in the process.

Sitri feels responsible for their deaths and is spiraling right now overthinking the past and thinking how it could have been better.

I feel sorry for him, because there was a time in my life where I would do the same and basically be so deep in my regret and guilt I neglected my health, my surroundings, my friendships...pretty much everything. It wasn't a good time so I know what Sitri is going through.

We even hear him mention that Zagan was badly injured (Astaroth too)

Jjyu shut the hell up omg lmaooooo

(him in response to Sitri explaining that Zagan could barely speak he was hurt so badly) Belial glares at him for that btw lmao

Satan also got injured it seems so it sounds like this battle went really bad.

Sitri even asks to be alone, and well Belial gets it and leaves promptly. I really like seeing Belial be more interactive this go around because we barely get that from the Gehenna devils in the main story and the last event in Gehenna was mostly just Minhyeok and Ppyong.

This gives me an insight as to how Belial is in personality, and really aside from Jjyu, he's really just chill and seems very pleasant to be around in general. I wish we could see what his eyes look like. It would change me forever.

So we're at the meeting that happens a few days later and well Sitri is still in a sullen mood. Since Zagan and Astaroth are out of commission, Amy was invited to come.

Oh so it seems Amy is going to be popping up since we got introduced. That's pretty nifty.

And Leraye is definitely worried about Sitri, wondering if he's sleeping, eating, and his condition has gotten worse. I imagine Sitri hasn't sleep in days since the event.

Paimon tries to lighten the mood but bless his heart it doesn't work when...

Amy starts going off about Sitri ordering him and his men to go east, and well that was the wrong call this time. I see it as a simple miscalculation but in the heat of war...perhaps things like this can't just be mistakes. lives are at stake, and devils aren't being re-produced anymore. Their extinction is literally inevitable during these battles.

Even if it weren't, lives were still lost and Amy takes this personally because it was HIS men who were affected the most.

I guess this seemed like the "best" time to bring up why Amy hates Sitri so much but it's like???? "because he looks like a girl?"

I'm just going to take this as Amy just not liking how elegant Sitri is with everything and how it compares to his rough and rash behavior. I don't think he truly would care if anyone looks more feminine.

And well because Amy started some shit, Sitri took a piece of paper, spat in it and threw it at Amy. So naturally...here we are.

Now a couple things about this scene...Zagan is present...and then there's a random devil there which this a private meeting for the nobles so why????

idk....let's just keep going lol

So Amy goes on to further berate Sitri and saying that he's aware that him and his subordinates have to follow orders once they get them from the center, so if the orders were better thought out his men wouldn't of died.

Sitri tells him why doesn't he kill him then since it was as if he did it himself and Amy is all like ????

And here we see more of their banter dynamic and it's almost as if Amy literally just holds back and only fights with words. Sitri physically maims and does things to him just as we saw in the previous event.

He even broke his wrist here like damn. And came in like-

Like good lord Sitri chill

And then Sitri starts to smack the shit out of him and cuss him out some more and Paimon stops the fight because Amy is literally about to give him a concussion at this point. Paimon invited Amy because he felt it would be good to go over the battle with him there but he realizes all it did was make things worse.

Leraye goes to even try and talk with Sitri to see if he's taking care of himself and well, obviously he's not. He's still focused on the battle and his mistakes.

A few days later happens and Sitri is front and center because Amy pretty much said he isn't listening to him anymore and doing what he thinks is best.

And Sitri isn't doing so hot in battle either. He's shooting without a plan or strategy, other devils are just standing around. Yes angel's are dying but he's just...doing whatever and hasn't had proper sleep or anything.

He's such a mess Satan had to come in and kick his ass in the middle of battle and set him straight.

So it's safe to say that Satan doesn't like tasteless and useless anger. There has to be a purpose for your anger and for him to thrive on it and he just ain't diggin' it from Sitri at the moment.

Oh boy...I don't have a good feeling about that.

So we go back to the time when Gehenna was up in flames. We have Leraye snippin' and doin' his thing and Ppyong helping with bringing over bullets. They then notice Sitri on the battlefield and he seems to be killing every single angel accurately but....our boy Leraye knows best.

He tells Ppyong to STOP Sitri because this isn't a planned attack, he is literally killing everyone that gets in his range. Doesn't matter if it's angel or devil.

Sitri is literally so damn tired he can't even notice or care anymore and is just going at it.

And that's when everyone notices the flames at the same time. They are erupting from Sitri's body.

Belial even uses his hoarse voice to call out to Sitri and we know that's serious.

And sorry like I know that Sitri is in a bad place and bad spot rn but he looks so pretty here. The blue and pink contrasts are definitely a Sitri signature look.

But yeah that fire is way too hot for anyone to do anything. Even Leraye is told that he can't help. So Ppyong runs off to find Amy to help.

Leraye does attempt though, but it's no use, and Paimon had to come and save him. (they're so cute I love them)

And ya'll it was THREE damn days that fires were going and THREE days that Sitri was like that just in the middle of the square. Also...damn why did it take three days for Ppyong to go find Amy? (he explains later that the teleportation talisman just couldn't keep up with Amy)

But the Gehenna bois are all going over how they don't blame Sitri, they blame themselves for letting him hold that weight of being responsible for everything that happens. It's that weight that led to his current state and now things were worse off for everyone but they feared most for Sitri's life and well-being.

But Amy finally shows up and well his attempts to help the situation were hopeful at first...but sadly...

Amy gets stabbed in the stomach with one of the iron maiden spikes...which at this point are surrounding Sitri like vines to protect him. This raw power is actually quite impressive if it weren't ya know killing everyone around him in a blind haze.

I wonder if he was able to tap into that while training in Hades?

But...yeah I was rooting for Amy to bring him back here because you know frenemies and stuff like that (or for those who ship them only Amy can bring him back)

BUT Satan comes to the rescue!

Poor Amy, I swear he's always gettin' tossed around and shit lol

Also as many times Amy has been slashed and punctured in the stomach you would assume he'd never recover from that.

But we have something important here that I'd like to talk about for a minute that Satan reveals...

He mentions that Sitri is dealing with depression and that he must have gotten it from him. If we remember from his info card he is the embodiment of depression in Hell. He is depression. So his right hand devil that's always around him? Yeah eventually he's gonna get bit by the bug.

And I like that Satan isn't the typical representation of depression either. He always seems upbeat, active, and doing everything and anything. But as we have seen in the main story he has emotional wounds that haven't healed and he wonders if they will. He was speaking of the loss of Solomon, but I'm sure there's more to it than that which existed way before he even met him.

Now we see that Sitri is literally not taking care of himself, wallowing, self destructing, that's what most folks usually see and demonize when folks are going through IRL depression. They never seem to pay attention to the person who has it all together because why would they have depression? they're doing fine right?

n o p e.

So here we are...knowing the source. And why Satan has decided to be the one to save Sitri. And well since he can't do that as himself he has to transform to his monster form to do it.

I'd just like to bring up that he's so damn cute here. The jokester.

But it seems that Satan doesn't take his monster form often. We've seen it first when he met Solomon to test him, we see it when he fights Mammon that one time in one of the comics iirc, and we see it now.

I wonder when was the first time he ever had to use his monster form?

But either way, he carries Sitri out of the flames, and even though Sitri is still on fucking fire burning on his back Satan can handle it. Even Astaroth is concerned and comes to see if Satan is okay.

Satan starts traveling somewhere..."where memories flicker" to go put out the fire though, and everyone is following him.

Satan keeps mentioning that Sitri kept a promise to him that he wouldn't die. And I think we will get to the root of that soon.

And that's when we go to a F L A S H B A C K

ALRIGHT TIMELINE SHIT TAHNK

So...with this bit of info this is what I've gathered-

-Satan, Belphie, Mammon, and Leviathan all were already here before Lucifer was

-Gehenna was not in existence yet, but Tartaros and Hades were

-This possibly happened around the same time that Mammon was trapped (or after)

S T O P fueling my damn SHIP (and by stop I mean keep doing it.)

So apparently in a land assuming early Gehenna there were rumors of a beautiful beast, and Satan was like "oh levi??? :D" but clearly not him lol

I just think it's funny that his first thought was Leviathan. (he'd be like yeah think of me first you idiot)

AND WE SEE EARLY RED LUMPLINGSSSSSSSSSSS

the babiessssssssssss

They must have been before Ppyong because I don't see him here. So hopefully we get to see when Ppyong arrived!!

So what Satan is doing right now is traveling with these three going to find what this beast is and if he can find his right hand devil in order to help him build his kingdom.

Coming of age story it seems...lol

Now this background made me be like oh....it's a pond literally full of rank ass blood.

Now i'm gonna gross ya'll out, but every time I see things like this I think of how period blood smells when it's been sitting on a pad for too long or in the trashcan with other bloody pads and it just smells really bad like tissue and blood because that's what it is....

But yeah I scrunched my nose because I'm like Hell is not the place for me and my nose I'd literally wish for sense of smell to vanish.

one of the red lumps throws up and well I don't blame him...lol

nice to know that he says that to basically everyone and everything even in his past lol

BUT it seems tomorrow we're going to see who it is he's calling out to, my guess is it's probably Sitri because well...the story IS about them meeting after all.

There we have it ya'll, day one through four! I think for the rest of the days I'm just going to do two days at a time for each post I make instead of waiting four days because phew this was lot of catching up and writing lol

I'm realllyyyy feelin' Satan's look here btw. I've mentioned that already but Imma do it again lol

But overall so far I think I'm learning a lot about Sitri in a way I'd like to know more about Bael or Foras tbh since they are the right hand devils. I know we had a Niflheim event that showed Beleth, but I want to know what it is he did to fall to Hell and what that scar around his neck is about. And for those who didn't get Beel's bathcard we do get some of Bael's lore in there but only a crumb.

But alas...possibly may or may not get this but we'll see...

ANYWAYS thanks for reading and see ya'll on the next react ^^

[sakuralovespossums]

🌹 Osamu Dazai x Wife Reader 🌹

I kinda based you and Dazai’s relationship off of Jack and Rosemary from The Walten Files, so expect lots of wholesomeness

You and Dazai met around the time he just left the Port Mafia and was trying to make a new life for himself. You had also recently fled from another shady organization and was keeping a low profile

One day while walking home from the store, you spotted a man attempting to jump off a bridge and quickly rushed over to stop him, causing you both to fall in the water

Luckily you survived but were left wet and freezing. You angrily dragged him back to your apartment and cleaned him up, yelling and scolding him the entire time while your gentle actions revealed your true kindness

Dazai was soon intrigued by your strange willingness to help a stranger like him and decided to stick around a bit to see how long he could mess with you till you grew tired of him

As time passed, he slowly realized what an angel you were and ended up falling HARD for you

I’m one of the people who believe Dazai’s ideal woman would be someone with an optimistic mindset and pure/strong morality. She would also have a unique way of looking at things that kinda sets her apart from others

Realistically, I feel like Dazai would never open up about his past/vulnerable side to anyone. He might open up a bit more around those he’s close with (Oda) but it will still take ALOT of time since you have to prove to him that he can fully trust you

Luckily you’re a pretty patient person who understands that about him. You accept that he may never tell you everything about himself or his sins and you’re fine with that. You love him for who is now and accept his flaws, which he deeply loves you for

You end up marrying shortly after his entrance exam in the ADA

You also work at the ADA as a clerk (suggested by Dazai)

You and Dazai are known as the cute couple within the agency (a lot like Junichiro and Naomi but not creepy)

Dazai already follows and clings to you like a desperate puppy wherever you go, so you can imagine just how chaotic and distracting it gets at work

He’s always ditching his paperwork to flirt with you and then try to get you to ditch with him

Kunikida seriously wonders why the president ever thought it was a good idea to let Dazai’s wife work in the same building as him

He gushes about you nonstop omg it’s so annoying

*Kicks open door* “Guess what lunch my gorgeous wife made me today?!~~”

*Angry Kunikida eye twitch*

I cannot state enough times just how much this man WORSHIPS you like your his goddess, his shining light, his angel

A lot of his acts of love are pretty dramatic and silly, but it comes from a genuine place

It’s your unwavering acceptance of him and his ugliness that really made him wanna spend the rest of his life with you

He never takes off his wedding ring

You do a lot of stuff together (eating, bathing, napping, errands, etc)

Only thing you don’t do together is cooking and cleaning since he always almost destroys the apartment

“Osamu, you are staying on that couch until I’m done cooking this soup!” 😤

“But belladonna, how can I ever help you prepare your delicious meal?” 🥺

“By not burning the place down!!!”

Your a lot shorter than Dazai and have a plump/curvy body type (I just really like the image of lanky Dazai having a short plump wife to pick up and cuddle 💕)

Your known for you sweet and patient personality, as well as artistic worldview that intrigues your husband

Your favorite hobby is painting. It’s something that helped you get through your dark days and your so good at it that you’ve sold a few paintings to your neighbors

Of course Dazai is your no. 1 model

Sometimes he’ll also paint something for you (he doesn’t paint as much since he’s more busy) and you decide to create a small art room to hang up both of your works

Fun fact: The real life Osamu Dazai was also a painter

Your no pushover though and can get pretty scary when angry (maybe not as scary as Dazai, but still intimidating)

If anything were to happen to Dazai, you won’t hesitate to do whatever or go wherever to save him. You don’t care who you have to face or how dangerous it might be, your fetching your husband back no matter what

Because of this, he’ll concoct plans ahead of time to best keep you out of harms way

Yeah, Dazai is still his manipulative self, but does it all out of love and what he thinks is best for you, wether you agree or not

God help anyone who even tries to lay a hand on you because Dazai will NOT hold back in letting them know what happens to those who try to harm HIS wife

I don’t really see you guys having kids. Your already happy enough just having each other (and also your dangerous professions)

Dazai doesn’t like you meeting any of his former Port Mafia peers and tries to keep you away from them

Though I imagine you and Chuuya probably have met at some point. He doesn’t give you much thought until he finds out you’re that idiot’s wife and he freaks out!!

If Akutagawa found out about you, I think he would also be shocked but then grow jealous of how close you are. How the hell was a weakling like you able to easily gain Dazai-san’s trust and admiration when he couldn’t?!

[velaenam]

strawberry chocolate parfait \ nanami kento x reader (ch.1)

word count: 1.1k tags: slight slow burn, pining, romance, fluff, added as i go! setting: you are a worker at a bakery that nanami kento frequents ♡ authors note: hello ^_^ i hope you are doing wonderful! this is my first time writing for nanami. pls enjoy! chapter: 1/? <next>

Chapter 1 - Vanilla Cake

‘Does this guy need help….?’

‘He’s staring real hard at the bread…. Omg- is it ugly? Aw hell- I made that this morning…’ 

Your thoughts were cut off by the towering figure of a man, with two loaves of baguette in one hand and one container of cake, that happened to be your favorites, in the other. You smile up at him, “Will this be everything?” He gives a stiff nod, locking his eyes with yours, then you giggled; “Then.. I guess I'll bag-uette up for you..” 

No? No reaction..Damn, tough crowd.. 

He thanks you and you bid him farewell and to come back soon. You could’ve sworn he almost smiled… maybe that was a look of irritation..?

After he leaves eyesight, You make haste by sitting down behind the counter, face flushed with embarrassment and agony. It made you cringe. Why would you say that? Your coworker giggled at you, making sure to add salt to the wound, “You tried.. That’s all it matters.” she gives you a head pat and continues,  “He’s a regular here. He’s probably gonna come back in another couple of hours on his way home or something.”

“Then how come I’ve not seen him before?”

“Dunno.. He’s been away for a couple months now.” 

“What’s his name?”

“You should ask when he comes back.”

“Isn’t that weird?”

“Oh but asking some other random person, who doesn’t know him at all, by the way, isn’t weird?”

She has a point.

You looked down at your phone and idly texted your friend Nobara about your day and fashion related topics. 

You met when Nobara came down to the bakery to get some pastries for her boyfriend. You hit it off right away due to shared interests, albeit you being 7 years older. Nobara enjoyed having an older sister with an affinity for style, love for shopping, and interest in all the cool girl stuff that Maki wouldn’t normally talk to her about. 

Right now you two are discussing weekend plans. Nobara and her boyfriend Yuji, along with Megumi, and their teacher Gojo were going to a karaoke room cause it had been a while since Gojo had gone out with his students. He was stuck on oversea assignments for the past couple of weeks and he dearly misses them, or so he says. As always, you had been invited and of course you said yes! 

You are very fond of the kids and Gojo. The 3 of them reminded you of your siblings back home, and well- Gojo is Gojo. Plus, if you had declined, Gojo would pester you non-stop. 

-

After a mini rush, you sit  down, tired, ready to bite down into your sandwich, when on queue, the door swings open, revealing the tall blonde man, taking his glasses off as his eyes pierce you again. You wave at him and he just nods. You get a bag ready as the man collects another slice of the same cake he had bought earlier. He also got another dessert, this time, a small vanilla custard tart w/ fruits on top, made by yours truly. He comes up to the counter, and you stiffen up  in shyness, “Is this everything for you?”

The man looked tired, but he let out a soft, yet stern ‘yes.’

As you rang up his order you looked back up to him, your lips curling into a small grin, “How was work?” This caught them both off guard, “Oh- I didn’t- I didn’t mean to assume-” I mean.. Unless this guy enjoys walking around in a whole business suit for funsies.

He actually lets out a chuckle, “It’s okay. It was a busy day.” 

You both stayed silent for a second before he asked in return, “How was your day, miss?” This made you feel warm and your smile only got bigger, “It was wonderful! I got to serve a lot of customers. They bought their kids in. It was so fun.”

‘And cause you came into the shop twice.’

“Ah sorry.. I’m trailing. I didn’t mean to ramble- you must be dying to get home.”

‘No, I could get used to listening to you.’  is what he wanted to say;

Instead he lets out a relieved sigh, “It’s alright. I’m glad you had a good day today.” This caused your cheeks to tint red. Dying from embarrassment because you just knew that your coworkers were listening in, she redirects the topic, and points at the cake, “Do you like those?” He nods again, “They’re the best I’ve ever had. Compliment the baker for me.” Oh your heart, you could hear it beating so hard from your chest. 

You do a mental fist pump before clapping your hands with glee, “Oh I’m so glad you liked them!” You go around the counter and grab another slice just for him. You stared up at him in absolute awe, because behind the counter was elevated by at least a foot. 

This man was tall, as hell. 

He just looks down at you eyeing your move. You push the cake towards him even harder, “This one is on the house!” He tilts his head in question. You double down and nod your head, affirming the choice. He grabs hold of the cake with one hand, “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

‘Ask for her name Nanami’ He repeats to himself in his head

“What is your name?” She beats him to the punch. 

‘Have you lost your touch?’-- “Nanami”

“I really like your name. It’s beautiful! My name is Y/N.”

‘Y/N, huh.. What a nice name..’

You give him his bag as he recollects his thoughts, “It’s nice to meet you. I’ve got to get going. Work” You shoot him one last smile before waving him off, “Thank you for coming! It was nice to meet you! Don’t work too hard!”

An hour goes by and it's time for the bakery to close for the night. You turn the lights off as the ladies load up the delivery car with food that wasn’t sold for the day so they could give it to the local kitchens and homeless shelters. You bid your coworkers farewell before hopping into your car and collecting yourself, before driving home.

After you get home you jump into bed, eager to text Nobara. 

[Txt]  Y/N - “I met such a cute guy today!”

A second later there’s an audio msg from her of Gojo;

[Voice Recording] “Wahh?! Y/N I wasn’t there today!”  in a whiny bit.

You laugh as Nobara actually sends a text;

[Txt] Nobara - “Tell me all about it when you come to karaoke… matter of fact, he should come!”

But you just met.. How are you going to pull that off… and will he even want to go is the better question… what if he thinks you’re weird … oh lord… so many overthinking possibilities.. Ok but what if he actually says yes?

[Txt] Y/N- “Are you sure?”

[Txt] Nobara  - “Yeah! Gojo-sensei is paying anyway.”

[golbrocklovely]

dating colby headcanon

requested by anonymous: Could you possible write a dating Colby headcannon with the reader? Thank uuu

A/N: even tho i'm not taking requests, i figured i can do this real quick since it's a headcanon and i'm in the middle of finishing up the next chapter of the chosen daughter. so hopefully this holds yall over a bit longer while i finish that up :) and this is all gender neutral so anyone can read it ! lmk what you think and hope you enjoy.

let's start with how you two met: i think you being a friend of a friend would be how it all starts.

maybe this friend in common gets invited to a party that snc are at, and you tag along. you get introduced to colby, and yall hit it off.

colby is very much into vibes and how well he meshes with another person. so for him to be interested, he has to like being around you. that man does not waste his time around people he doesn't care about.

and i think with colby, things would start off PAINSTAKINGLY SLOW. if you're into a slow burn… that's what your life will be like lol

colby hasn't dated in a long time, it's been almost exclusively hook ups and situationships. so i think the beginning stages will be a bit rough (in more ways than one *wink wink nudge nudge*). i think it would take a long time before anything major happened, just because he's not used to being vulnerable with someone.

that being said, i can see him hooking up with you once or twice before anything serious even remotely starts, since that's his usual go-to method. that doesn't have to be all the way - it could be like making out in the club or in a house party bathroom. a little hidden, a bit secretive, but that makes it all the more fun. it's exciting because he makes you feel like you are the sun in his galaxy, even if it's just for a few minutes. that's how intense he can be.

and maybe you realize, "oh shit i got feelings for him…. will this ever turn into something more?" and that's when you start hanging out with him more, or at least making plans to.

and i think as time goes on, he grows attached to you (because he is a clingy person, respectfully). and he enjoys the parts of his day when he gets to see you. and that's when he starts to feel the sparks. but knowing him, he probably won't act on them for a while.

but slowly, you two get really close, and eventually try to start something. once he can feel his walls crumble, and yours are also down, that's when yall truly start to have a wonderful relationship.

so as for dating him, what do i think that would be like?

colby is very busy guy, no surprising to anyone. so it's hard for yall to hang out as often as you want to (which would be like everyday if you could, and same goes for him).

but colby finds ways of seeing you or talking to you at least once a day.

even if it's just to check in on you, or ask you about your day. colby also likes to tell you about the stuff he was up to, give you little heads up on new projects before anyone else. but only when he knows they're happening bc he doesn't like talking about things that might not happen. very earth sign of him lol

i don't see him sending 'good morning' messages, but i could see him sending 'goodnight' ones. definitely with a black heart emoji somewhere thrown in there.

oooh, pet names. i'm seeing him using baby, babe, darling, sweetheart, love, and possibly honey. especially when he's drunk, he's extra affectionate.

when he goes on investigations, he comes back and HAS to tell you everything. he also loves being around you after because you make him feel so comfortable and at home. and he needs that after being paranormally hungover.

if you go with him on trips… omg, he will be protective. for sure. checking in on how you're feeling every couple minutes.

and if you get really scared, he's ready to send you home. he doesn't want to see you hurt or terrified at all. so sometimes he isn't the most favorable towards you going with him (unless you insist).

yall's biggest past time together: cuddling.

that man needs cuddles, AT LEAST, once a day. otherwise, he will be whiny lol (he might not show it at first, but once he's comfortable, he's gonna be a baby about cuddles, guarantee).

he needs to be touching you at all times, whether out in public or not. he doesn't seem like a crazy PDA type, so nothing too ~sexual~, but he will be holding your hand every chance he gets.

unless, of course, he's feeling a bit frisky… then you run the chance of having to go home early or finding a private area to have your fun sksks

i see him being the type to wrap his arms around you from behind, pulling you tight against him. especially if you're waiting in like a long line or something. he just wants you in his arms whenever he can.

like i mentioned before, he is a very busy man. so i see him doing a lot of at home dates. making pizzas together (or just dinners in general), setting up little pillow forts for movie nights, cute vibes all around. omg and of course - LOTS of camping outside and staring at the stars and talking for hours. that's 1000% for sure.

and maybe if you're the type that likes hiking, maybe you guys would go hiking together.

but i do see him also taking you out to exclusive clubs, bars, and restaurants since he has the hookup and the following to get into places that are new.

emotionally, i think you two would be so deeply into each other. i think being understanding and just getting one another is something major he wants in a relationship. so i think always being open and honest would be the main center point of your relationship.

he wants no drama, and wants love to come easy. and most likely you feel the same way, which is why you guys mesh well together.

physically… i mean, cmon. look at the material lol

he's definitely wants to make sure your needs are met. he's a people pleaser after all. and if you're his person, he's making sure you're pleased.

he's a very giving lover, is all i'm gonna say ;)