#palm tree bracelet

[saltyfreejewelry]

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[rainbows-caught-on-film]

I miss California...

[starsrosesglitters]

[gldrushh]

GUILTY AS SIN | JK

"You are stuck in time, and Jungkook doesn't stop running from it until he eventually does, and you learn that grief doesn’t wait for death, that love isn't all that dignifying."

→ Pairing brother in law!Jungkook × widowed fem!reader

→ Genre forbidden love! au, childhood friends to lovers, angst, smut

→ W.C 17. 32k

→ Warnings unrequited love :(, oc is in love with his older brother, early character death of the said older brother who is haunting the narrative, cute childhood sweethearts who are doomed by me, mentions of dealing with grief and acceptance, mention of cancer, a minor scene where harassment is attempted,emotionally troubled! oc, emotionally troubled and detached! jk, simp jk, pathetic man in love, he's so so lovesick, ceo! jk, protective jk, yearning, pining, loads of angst, fluff if you squint, breif yoongi mention, namjin yay!!,rich people party, mentions of anxiety,sexual tension,slow burnish,smut (omg everyone look away), kissing, unprotected sex (raw and deep, next question),dirty talking, oc is insecure,hickies,oral (f! Receiving), he cums in his pants,big dick jk, soft Dom Jungkook, fingering, penetrative sex, creampie, praise, cuddles if you squint again

→ Playlist Guilty as sin, control, killing me softly with his song, do I wanna know?

→ A/N the idea of this one shot came to me at 1 am when I was supposed to be studying for a test that probably my future depends upon and after much much complementing I'm finally posting it. To me, its very experimental and I was just trying to explore my writing style and writing things that I haven't before, like smut 🫠 so please please bear that in mind!! I hope you enjoy reading and if you did please comment!! It makes my whole day 🥰💕💕

P.S: cross posted on wattpad.

It is a believed fact that it takes three to four short months to fall in love. 

For you, it took one summer. The summer spent watching him sketch galaxies in the dirt with a twig, summer spent learning the way his laughter sounded after stealing popsicles from the freezer, summer spent holding his hand as they made paper planes under the blazing sun. It was the kind of love that grew roots so deep, you couldn’t separate where he ended and you began.

That summer, you met Minho. The boy next door with a mind as wild as his curls and a heart so warm it seemed to shine blindingly bright. He showed you how to climb trees, told stories he'd crafted all by himself, convincing you that the universe could be held in the palm of your hand. He shared his world with you, and you fell in love with it.

You kissed his cheek on the porch of your house one late July evening, bold and brimming with the kind of confidence only childhood summers could bring. “Now you’re gonna have to marry me, Min Min,” you teased, hands behind your back, your toes curling against the wooden floorboards.

He blushed, a shade of red that rivaled the setting sun, but his grin mirrored yours.

The porch of your house was a witness to many things. Your first steps, held your first scraped knees, your first dog and Minho's new brother; your new friend.

A boy of your age, younger than Minho had appeared from right behind him, his hands clutching onto Minho's flannel, his watchful eyes going everywhere all at once. The kind of boy who never spoke unless he had to, the kind who was more familiar with loss than comfort, lingering on the edges of things, unsure if he belonged.

Jungkook.

Now, Jeon Jungkook.

You and his brother had taken it upon themselves to bring him into your fold, turning your duo into a trio. With time, he laughed with you both, trusted you both, became one of you both.

The three of you were inseparable— in the backyard of your house, in elementary school, in high school. How could you not be? You had tied the promise in the form of handmade friendship bracelets around the wrist of both boys.

Even though what you wanted with minho was far from friendship. A bold dreamer, you always have been. But not so much when you turned sixteen. Sixteen; what a awkward age.

An age of overthinking haircuts, dreams, and the lives your peers are gonna live all at once. Visits to the school councilor are doubled. Relationships happen; Friends part.

But you only grew closer with Jungkook. He didn’t seemed interested in making a move on the timid, short haired girl who passed him notes in chemistry class, neither did he talk much about the future. When you asked him what he wanted to do, he’d shrug and say something like, “Whatever makes sense at the time.” He wasn’t aimless, exactly—just grounded in a way that made you think he didn’t feel the need to plan everything out.

Minho, though, was spiraling.

He now spent more time with the councilor that he spent with you both. Had this bitter look on his face every morning you saw him on the bus stop that will have you sharing a knowing look with Jungkook—Minho had been having a lot of fights with his dad, had been overthinking a lot more because the world seemed so much bigger than he had imagined.

Maybe for the eldest son and heir to a family that ran a company as old as the town itself, the world really was big. But to you, he was just a hopeful boy with all the colors in his eyes. The colors that you loved. The colors that didn't belong in a office, crunching numbers.

Your heart ached for him, but you didn’t know what to say. At sixteen, nobody has the answers.

Seventeen is a different story. It's a starlight dream. It's you acing the college entrance test. It's Minho surfacing back. It's Minho kissing you on that very same porch, promising, “One day, we’ll have our own porch, and I’ll kiss you there every day.”

And he was one to keep his promises.

You married him at twenty-five, in crisp autumn. To your family and friends, it was "About time." To you, it was nothing short of a dream as you walked to promise forever to the man you love, a vision in white. It was nothing big, just a dreamy intimate affair with soft twinkling string lights. Something you both agreed on. Because you were content with what you had, overjoyed actually after picking out a quite cozy apartment for the both of you and landing a job as a humanities professor in a university that wasn't too far from the said apartment. Minho was too and while things weren't the same with his father now, he did what he loved. Ever the artist at heart.

It was like everything you ever wrote in your middle school diary, everything you wished for was now laid under your feet like a carpet unfolding.

You were given a good time before it started pulling away from your feet.

At first, it was subtle. A missed dinner here, a canceled hangout there. Then he told you both he’d taken up an opportunity abroad to manage the family business, something Minho had no interest in, just on the night of your wedding after he had fulfilled his role of the groom's best man, watched you walk down the aisle.

You hadn’t seen the decision coming—not that night, not like this—but you couldn’t deny it either. Jungkook had seemed restless here, especially after finishing college.Conversations with him in those days had been brief, distracted, his eyes darting to the distance even as he smiled at you. It felt as you were trying to talk to the Jungkook who had appeared on your porch the first time. He hadn’t asked for understanding, and you hadn’t known how to offer it. His reasons were vague, more like placeholders for something unsaid. And so he left, quietly, with little fanfare, and though Minho seemed sad to see him go, you could tell he understood.

“It’s good for him,” Minho had said. “He deserves something for himself.”

Relationship happened; Friends parted.

You weren't sure if you understood. While you agreed with Minho, you couldn’t help but feel the loss of a friend now that his calls became less frequent until they stopped altogether. One day, he was simply gone, leaving behind only the memory of the boy who had once trusted you with his rare, precious smiles.

"You’d laugh if you saw me right now. I tried to fix the leaky sink in the kitchen, and now the entire floor is flooded. Minho’s being no help—just standing there laughing."

"Hey, stranger. Our anniversary is next weekend. We’re just doing a small dinner. You should come. Seriously, koo, don’t make me guilt-trip you."

"Saved you a slice of cake, but Minho ate it. You’d better show up next year, or I’ll stop saving you anything."

"Hey, Koo. Just checking in. Hope you're healthy and happy. Would love to hear from you"

You'd text him timely, in hopes that he still knows how to use a phone. But apparently, not.

Still, you had Minho. Your husband, your best friend.

Until you didn't.

Until the carpet was at last, snatched right down from your feet.

The diagnosis came in the spring. It started with a faint weakness in his voice. A shortness of breath he dismissed with a wave of his hand. “Just tired,” he’d say, smiling that same easy smile. But tired turned into tests. Tests turned into results. And results turned into a diagnosis that was oh so cruel.

Leukemia. Early stages. Aggressive.

The months that followed were a blur of hospital visits, treatments, and quiet nights where you held him as he cried. You tried to be strong, for him, for both of you. Told him what the doctor in the sterile white office will tell you. "They've caught it early so we're not at a great risk here." You'd reassure him. "You have yet to get away from me, min min." You'd try making him laugh but he had always been better at that.

Now, suddenly he wasn't. The next two years, your life was just the slow, agonizing process of watching the man you loved fade away, losing every bit of his lively soul to the cancer, holding his hand when he was too weak to hold yours back.

Perhaps it wasn't only Minho who was chipping away. It was you too.

You turned into the woman who knew exactly how to track medication schedules, who could list every side effect of his treatment in order of severity, who spoke with doctors as if reciting a memorized script. You learned how to bite back the frustration when he snapped at you because he was in pain, and how to smile when all you wanted was to scream at the unfairness of it all.

You started to measure time not in days or months but in cycles of chemotherapy, in percentages of remission and relapse. Life was divided into hours spent in sterile hospital rooms, waiting for results that were never as hopeful as you needed them to be, and hours spent at home trying to pretend those results didn’t exist.

You had stopped dreaming. And minho had stopped painting.

Grief doesn’t wait for death— or so you've realized as you often found yourself grieving the life you had built together, the one you knew would never be the same. You grieved the sound of his laugh, which became quieter as the months passed. You grieved the way he used to tease you about your love for terrible reality shows, You grieved the mornings spent tangled together, talking about everything and nothing.

By the time the end came, you had already lost so much of him that you thought you might be prepared.

You weren’t.

And then he was gone.

With an, "I'm sorry. I love you." He was gone.

The house was too quiet without him, the days too long. You withdrew, not just from the world but from yourself, letting grief shape the edges of your existence.

The world moved on, even if you didn’t. They tell you how long it takes to fall in love but not how long it takes to get over it.

2 years, 240 days. And you're still counting.

Time passed in pieces—fractured and unrelenting.

Your family, Minho’s family, even well-meaning friends—none of them knew what to do with the mess you’d become, so they did what people often did. They tried to fix it. To fix you.

Blind dates were their answer, little nudges toward what they called healing. The word had been said so many times it began to lose its meaning. Healing. As if it were something—a destination you could stumble upon.

You didn’t have the energy to argue anymore, so you let them dress you up, hand you phone numbers, and convince you that this—whatever this was—was what you needed.

But your heart wasn’t in it.

Because as the man sat in front of you in the dimly lit bar continued to talk about how his ex couldn't handle his success, the trials of being a man with ambition, you really couldn't even bother to pretend you were interested. He was nice enough—tall, well dressed (consdering the dingy bar) with a confident smile but your thoughts kept drifting, as they often did.

2 years, 240 days since Minho had died.

2 years, 240 days of waking up alone in your bed, his side untouched.

2 years, 240 days of trying to find your way back to the woman you used to be.

“Hey,” the man interrupted your thoughts, leaning forward with an eager grin. “I feel like I’m talking too much. Tell me about yourself. What do you do for fun?”

You forced a smile, your stomach twisting. “I paint. It’s... therapeutic.”

“That’s nice,” he said, reaching across the table to touch your hand. You pulled back instinctively, your stool scraping against the floor. His brows furrowed.

“Sorry,” you muttered. “I just—”

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said, but his tone was tighter now. He leaned back, shrugging as if trying to dismiss the moment. “You know, you should loosen up a little. You’ll never find anyone if you keep acting like you’re still married.”

The words hit you like a slap, your chest tightening as you struggled to process the audacity of his statement. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, ignoring the warning in your tone, “you should give people a chance. I mean, you’re here, right?” He smirked and stood, coming around the table. “Let me take you home. We can—”

“Stop,” you said sharply, rising to your feet.

But he didn’t listen. His hand reached for your arm, his grip firm.

Then, just as suddenly as he’d grabbed you, he was gone.

The man stumbled backward, a hand jerking him by the collar. The force was so swift, so unexpected, that it took you a moment to register what had happened.

And then you saw him.

“..Jungkook?” The name caught in your throat as you turned.

You took in the man standing before you, taller and broader than you remembered, the years etched into the sharp lines of his jaw and the set of his shoulders. His dark eyes were fixed on the man who had dared to touch you, glinting coldly.

His voice was low, dangerous. “She said stop. I suggest you listen.”

For a moment, the world tilted.

You weren’t in a dingy bar anymore.

You were standing at the edge of a memory—the first time you’d ever seen Jungkook, the quiet boy who clung to Minho’s shadow.

And the last.

The last time you’d seen him, a looming figure in an ocean of black suits. A barely recognizable shadow among the mourners at your husband's funeral.

Now, standing before you, he was real, tangible—and so was the flood of emotions crashing over you.

It was so loud, you could barely hear as the the man stammered out an excuse, something about a misunderstanding.

“Leave.” Jungkook snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut and bring you back to the moment.

The man hesitated, his mouth opening as though he wanted to argue, but one glance at Jungkook’s expression and he decided against it. Without another word, he turned and stalked out, muttering something under his breath that neither of you caught.

Silence followed.

Only then did you felt his gaze on you. His presence was larger than life, and you were suddenly hyper-aware of how much had changed. How much he had changed. You hadn’t registered that at the funeral. Now, you didn't know what to say, you could hardly manage to look at him. While he wasn't Minho's real brother, didn't share any resemblance with him, it still hurt you, sucked you back into those times when it was the three of you, when it wasn't.

He too didn't reply right away, his gaze searching your face, as though he was also trying to piece together the version of you he remembered with the one standing before him now. When it landed on the arm you were clutching, the arm that dipshit had grabbed, you saw his eyes glint again.

"Did he hurt you?" It sounded more like a demand rather than a question but you couldn't even deciper the words, too focused on how his boyish tone had turned sharper, harder.

"W-What?" You fumble out like a fool.

"Did he hurt you, y/n?" This time, you heard him.

Letting your hand fall, embarrassed, you shook your head, finally managing to utter something sensible out. “No—yeah. I’m fine.”

He glanced back at the door that man had fled from before looking back at you. Finally, he exhaled, his voice low and quiet.

“You weren’t answering your phone.”

You blinked. “My phone?” You don't remember getting a call from anyone but then you realize your battery had died down as you looked down to see your dead device laying flat. "Oh. I didn't realis—"

“Mom said you’d been gone a while. Told me where you were.” He interrupted. There was an edge to his voice now, faint but undeniable.

You feel more embarrassed now that you know it's because of your mother in law's anxious nature that he is here. Your fingers brushed against the strap of your purse, desperate for something to do, something to hold onto as he speaks again. "Are you ready to leave?"

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out before you could think them through. “I can get a cab.”

His brows furrowed, just slightly, and you noticed for the first time the faint shadows beneath his eyes, the hint of weariness in his expression. “It’s late,” he said simply.

"So?”

“So,” he echoed, his tone calm but unyielding, “I’ll take you.”

You hesitated, your pride and your exhaustion warring within you. Finally, you exhaled out in defeat, reaching for your coat. It's just a thirty minute ride. You reassured yourself. It'll be fine.

The cool night air wrapped around you and so did your coat as you stepped outside, and the streetlights cast long shadows that flickered as you walked toward his car. He opened the passenger door for you, his movements deliberate, and waited for you to slide in before closing it softly behind you.

The drive started in silence.

It wasn’t the silence of old friends, the kind that felt easy and safe. This was different—fraught, taut, like a thread stretched too tight.

You stole a glance at him as he started the engine, too aware of the small space you were packed in with him.

“I didn’t know you were back,” you said finally, your statement sounding more accusatory that you or he would have liked.

“Just for a little while,” he replied, his tone ofcourse, unfazed. “Business.”

Buisness. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at the word. If someone could look like that word, you thought, it'd be the man in the fine tailored suit with eyes fixed on the road ahead and a rolex that didn't look any more cheaper than the car he was driving and you wondered.

Wondered if the lines of his palms—the callouses from late-night basketball games, the way they had felt solid and familiar when he held yours to steady you on the wobbly bike Minho had convinced you to ride—had changed too.

Had they turned forigen, unyielding? Had time eroded their familiarity?

When the car slowed, you glanced out the window, expecting to see the acquinated sight of your apartment building. But instead, the streetlights gave way to a quieter, darker road. You frowned, turning to him.

“This isn’t the way to my place.”

“I know,” he said simply, not bothering to elaborate. "You're coming with me."

You felt your chest tighten, your pulse quickening as unease prickled at the back of your neck. “Jungkook,” you started, the word heavy with protest.

"Y/N." He ends, sparing you a glance that has you sinking back into your seat, arms folded across your chest like a petulant child that you could swear made his lips twitch at the corner, you could swear you saw your old friend who had grown a sassy tounge at the age of fourteen that'd earn smacks at the head from his older brother for a fleeting cruel second there. But that was it. It was gone as fast as it had appeared, summoning the return of the silence that felt like its own living thing.

The house was still the same.

That was the first thing you noticed as the car slowed down in front of the building that loomed at the end of the road like a memory waiting to consume you.

The overhead lights still flickered faintly, casting shadows across the steps where you and Minho had once sat, daring each other to stay outside until the stars disappeared. Even the smell was the same—faintly woody, with the comforting hint of whatever candle Jungkook’s mom always lit in the hallway.

You hesitated in the doorway, the memories rushing in too fast, too loud. It's not like you haven't been here in ages but since the year you celebrated your first marriage anniversary with Minho here, it felt like you have lived a thousand lives.

Lives that haunted you still, made you randomly pause in the grocery aisle and now before this house until you felt Jungkook’s presence press behind you as if silently urging you on.

Clearing your throat, you slipped out of your heels that have been as much as pain as the man you had been on a date with. The floor creaked softly beneath your feet as you stepped inside, the sound jarring. The same hardwood floors, polished to a faint sheen. The same floral wallpaper lining the hallway. The same photo frames arranged along the wall—a collection of childhoods captured and frozen in time.

But as you glanced toward the corner of the living room where the three of you used to pile up pillows and blankets for makeshift forts. The corner was bare now, save for an old armchair, but in your mind, you saw it vividly: Minho’s determined grin as he shuffled the pillows, Jungkook, always following the lead but never quite competing for it. You would snuggle a pillow to your lap, nestled between the two brothers, peeking from behind your fingers and giggling at the the way Minho’s face would light up in triumph when he won another round of rock-paper-scissors.

A type of smugness that came from knowing he’d get to flick Jungkook’s forehead next. But your smile would fade as soon as you would realize that it's your turn next. “Wait, wait!” you’d plead, wide-eyed, deploying the best puppy-dog look you could muster. It was the same look that had, on occasion, earned you extra TV time with your dad. Jungkook would glance at you and chuckle. Relent like your father would and sheild your forehead with his palm that'd have Minho pouting. "Hey! That's not how you do it!"

"Y/N?" A well recognized voice pulled you back to the where you were supposed to be, back from the fort of pillows and blankets.

You turned around and instantly found yourself wrapped up in a tight hug. You managed a small smile, letting your arms wrap around the warm frame of your mother in law, the scent of her jasmine oil and apprehensive energy pulling you in. "Mom." You greeted back.

Mrs Jeon hadn't always been this.. overbearing. Though after the passing of your husband, she had teamed up with your mother and been on a determined mission to make sure you are well and on a road to healing.

The next few minutes, she did what she had been doing best—fussed over you, asking how you’d been, if you’d eaten, if you were warm enough. In that time being, Jungkook had resigned to wherever his room was.

You planned to do the same, especially now that you could see on her face how she is on the brink of asking about the disaster tonight. You showed some obvious sign of weariness, in hopes she'd let it go for the night and tell you where you're supposed to go to bed for.

"Third on the left, my dear. And I'm gonna need you to stay for breakfast, okay?" You wondered if stubbornness was a running streak in this family.

Hours later, sleep had yet to come.

You lay awake, staring at the ceiling, counting the faint grooves in the plaster as if they could somehow lull you into rest. The trick didn't work. It hadn’t worked in your own apartment either—the one you and Minho had picked out together, picked the colors of the walls together, and argued over where the bookshelf should be. Yet, it was still your space. You could control how you faced the memories there, pacing them, deciding when and how to confront them.

There, at least, you’d managed four or five hours of sleep on a good night. Here? In this house that held so much of him, so much of them, you weren’t sure you’d manage even one.

The room you were led to was neat and welcoming, the kind of space that had been carefully prepared for guests. But there was no comfort to be found in the knowledge that two doors down lay Minho’s childhood room, untouched, a shrine to a boy who grew up into the man you loved and lost.

At some point, you gave up.

Sliding out of bed, you wrapped your arms around yourself as you padded quietly downstairs. The house was silent as you made your way downstairs, the faint hum of the refrigerator the only sound, the indistinct glow from the kitchen spilling into the dimness. You didn’t expect to find anyone there, but as you rounded the corner, your steps faltered.

Jungkook stood by the counter, a glass of amber liquid in his hand, his other resting on the marble surface. His jacket was gone, abandoned somewhere, leaving him in his dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Tattoos.

They sprawled across his skin, intricate designs etched into muscle and sinew, that you didn't think you'd ever see on him.

Perhaps you thought wrong. Perhaps you never knew. Never knew him.

He glanced up, his dark eyes meeting yours that looked just as caught off guard as yours did. For a moment, you didn't feel comfortable moving from your spot until he eventually spoke.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, his voice quiet.

You shook your head, stepping into the kitchen. “Needed some water.” You said and opened a cabinet, finding the glasses exactly where you remembered, and filled one with water.

Behind you, Jungkook leaned against the counter, his presence impossible to ignore. Funny, how he always preferred to blend in the background as a child, now his mere cologne—earthy and warm—demanded attention, filled the room before he had even entered.

“Do you… do you drink often now?” you asked hesitantly, glancing over your shoulder, at the way his fingers curled around the glass, the tattoos on his hand shifting as he tilted it.

“Sometimes.” he said, his tone vague.

If things were anything like before between you two or anything like before at all, maybe you'd have pushed further, asked him if this was growing to be a unhealthy habit.

Now, it didn’t seem right when there was an ocean between you—a chasm of time. Felt intrusive. And you know it would only sound hypocritical from your mouth—talking about unhealthy mechanisms. Hah.

You ended up only nodding and put the washed glass back so you could go back to counting the grooves in the plaster. Resume your restless attempt at sleep.

But Jungkook spoke again.

"How long have you been going on.." He started suddenly, setting his glass down with a quiet clink. His voice was calm, but the muscle in his jaw twitched as he spoke. "These dates?"

You blinked at him, taken aback by the question. "Uh—for a while now, I guess?"

“Are you willing, or are they forcing you?”

The question, the way he asked it—sharp, direct—left you off balance. So did the way he was looking at you now, his eyes no longer holding the casualty as they once did when he had the glass of alcohol in his hand.

“I—” You faltered. “They just want to help. They think it’s time.”

“And what do you want?”

To go back to your room. To ask him what did it even matter to him, after all this time.

But what came out was forthright honesty. “I don’t know,” you admitted, “I don’t know what I want anymore.”

He stepped closer, his feet padding softly against the kitchen floor—a contrast to his rigid frame that now towered just close enough. Close enough to see how his chest rose and fell with every breath. Close enough to see how his eyes lingered on you, like he was trying to unravel something he didn’t understand.

“You don’t have to do anything for them or anyone,” he said, his voice soft but no less rough. “Not if you’re not ready.”

You opened your mouth to respond, to deflect, to do something, but his gaze held you in place, tracing down from the dark circles that weighted your eyes to your parted lips. All you could feel was his gaze burning on you and hear your own pulse in your ears.

“Jungkook…” His name escaped your lips in a whisper, barely audible.

He lingered for a beat longer, his eyes searching yours, then he stepped back, his jaw just as tight. “Get some rest.” He clipped out before he turned and walked away, leaving you alone again.

You didn't got any sleep that night.

8:00'o clock. The time's a etched number in your brain ever since you started your job at the university.

It's a routine that needs no alarm clock. It's a number you keep waiting for as you blink at the time passing. And you're more than eager when the morning comes softly along with smaller needle stopping at 8, sunlight slipping through the curtains in streaks too gentle to match the weight in your chest.

With Minho, you were the one to wake up first but here you find that the house was awake before you.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee drifted through the air, mingling with the faint sound of voices coming from the dining room. Breakfast was warm and lively, much like your mother in law. She greeted you with a brightness that almost made you feel guilty for your somber disposition.

“Good morning!” she said with a smile that could have been plucked from a painting. Reaching for a plate of toast, setting it down in front of the empty seat beside her.

“Good morning.” you murmured, sliding into a chair.

Across the table, your father in law sat at his usual spot, his attention fixed on his phone, only looking up to give you a nod of acknowledgment. You had never fully understood him, not as Minho’s father, not as a man.

Perhaps, It had always been because of the sore spot between him and your husband, the way his father disapproved of his wishes—choosing art over business, passion over practicality. You remembered the arguments you thought would never hear after the age of sixteen, the way Minho would come home, his face tight with frustration. “He doesn’t get it,” he’d say. “He never will.” You saw the way it wore on him, the way he carried the weight of his father’s disapproval like it was stitched into his very skin.

Even now, as you sat across from him, you wondered if he ever regretted it—if he ever wished he had spoken softer, loved louder. But his face was as impassive as ever, his thoughts a mystery.

“Jungkook left early this morning,” his mother said, breaking the silence. “Something about a meeting downtown.”

You nodded, relief washing over you in a way that felt almost shameful. You hadn’t realized how much you were dreading seeing him until you knew you wouldn’t have to.

“Busy as always,” you said lightly, reaching for your coffee.

The conversation drifted into familiar topics—neighbors, extended family, stories you half-listened to with polite nods. The table felt both too full and too empty, the gazes of all the people that sat there never straying to the right one in the left corner, just right beside yours.

The older woman turned to you, her tone bright with enthusiasm.

“There’s a party this weekend,” she said, her smile widening. “Just a small gathering with some friends and business partners. It would be lovely if you came with us.”

The suggestion made you squirm uncomfortably in your chair. “Oh, I don’t think—”

“It’ll be good for you,” she interrupted gently, her gaze soft but insistent. “Everyone would love to see you.”

You hesitated, the thought of mingling with people, of putting on a brave face for strangers already making you want to go back to bed. “I’m not sure I’d be good company,” You glanced towards your father in law, half-hoping he might say something to discourage the idea, but he couldn't be any less bothered.

“Nonsense!” she pressed. “You don’t even have to stay long. But it would mean so much to us.”

There was no malice in her persistence, no attempt to guilt you, just a genuine desire to include you in their lives. You couldn’t bear to disappoint her.

“Okay,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll come.”

Her face lit up with a smile. “Wonderful. Jungkook will pick you up and bring you there. That way, you don’t have to worry about driving.”

You froze, cup midway to your mouth. "There's no need for that, mom."

"Oh hush." she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “He’ll be coming from the office, so it’s no trouble.”

You nodded slowly, your appetite not too great or you just wanted to get out of here.

8'30. You glanced at the rose gold wrist watch, your first anniversary gift. Your first class is due in an hour, the perfect excuse wrapped around your wrist which you use to excuse yourself from the suffocating walls that always feel like they are closing in on you.

You have come to prefer the morning buzz of the university more—the hum of young adults chatting in the hallways, the scrape of chairs against tiled floors.It was a rhythm you found comforting, predictable in its own way. Here, you were just a professor, the one who explained history and philosophy with hands that only shook sometimes.

The teenage year you would have thought predictable as boring but you— a woman gone through a dubious sets of events found a fellow feeling in it.

Found the task of grading thesis, making power point presentation better than you would have ever imagined.

But Gods, your students need to realize that they can't dump about their toxic ex in every essay. A woman can only take so much.

You were sorting through the said papers in your office when the door creaked open, and a woman peeked her head in, the light from the outside catching in her curly locks.

“You busy?” she asked, her voice light and familiar.

You looked up to see Mira, the economics professor and one of your closest colleagues, walking toward you with her usual warm smile. Mira was more than just a coworker though—being practically family, the wife of Minho’s dark haired cousin who didn’t talk much in family gatherings, and over the years, she had become a friend you could rely on and share lunch with.

“Not for you,” you said, smiling as you waved her in.

She dropped into the chair across from you, setting her bag on the floor. “You look like you didn’t sleep a wink.”

Was it that obvious?

“I didn’t,” you admitted, sighing softly. “I stayed at the Jeons’ last night.”

Her eyebrows rose, but there was something in her eyes—a softness, an understanding—that made you look away for a second. “How’d that go?”

You hesitated, picking at the edge of a notebook on your desk. “It was… fine.”

“Just fine?”

“Jungkook’s back,” you said, and her eyes widened slightly, the topic seeming to catch her attention.

“Really? I didn’t know he was in town.”

“Neither did I, until yesterday.” You shrugged, leaning back in your chair. “Just for a while, though. Business stuff, y'know?”

Mira tilted her head, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips. “And how’s that going?”

You frowned, caught off guard by the question. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged, but her eyes stayed on you, curious. “I mean, it’s been years, hasn’t it?"

“Yeah,” you said slowly. "It's fine, I suppose. We didn't talk much."

“Hmm.” Mira hummed thoughtfully as if tasting the question she was gonna ask on her tounge. “Are you okay with him being back?”

Were you okay with him behind back? Okay with him stepping in your vicinity after years of acting like you were not even family, let alone a friend?

“I don’t know,” you admitted finally. “It’s strange seeing him again after all this time. But he’s been… kind. Quiet, mostly.”

Mira didn’t press further, but there was something in her expression that made you uneasy, as if she knew something you didn’t.

You cleared your throat, desperate to change the subject. “There’s a party this weekend. His mom invited me. Please tell me you’re going.”

Mira winced, her smile apologetic. “Date night with the husband. Non-negotiable.”

"Oh." You tried not to show the dejection on your face but it was there. "Lucky you."

She studied you for a moment, her expression gentle. “Are you okay with going?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I feel like I have to.”

“You don’t have to do anything for them. Not if you’re not ready.”

If only he understood how much easier it was to do things for others than to face yourself.

“Y/N…” Her voice softened, and for a moment, she looked like she wanted to say more. Instead, she reached out and squeezed your hand. “You’ll be fine. And if you’re not, you can text me. I’ll make up some excuse to get you out of there.”

You smiled, grateful for her before bidding bye to her for her next class and focusing back on the pending work spread across your desk while simultaneously going through your closet in your mind.

Minho had always said red made the brown of your eyes excel more.

And you have really tried to believe it, looking at yourself from above your shoulder, from the side of your arm in the mirror but perhaps it's not only this red, off shoulder dress that's not doing your eyes justice. It's every color you have once known, once loved.

It's like, it's you that's not doing them justice.

As you stared into the mirror, your eyes flitting from one detail to the next—the slightly uneven tuck of fabric, the exposed skin of your collarbone—it felt wrong.

The little things were missing—his hands fixing the clasp of your necklace, his voice telling you not to overthink it, that you looked beautiful. That it didn’t matter what you wore, because it was you who wore it.

But he wasn’t here.

With a sigh, you adjusted the necklace you had chosen yourself, a simple silver chain that rested delicately against your collarbone. The mirror wasn’t forgiving, but you looked anyway, searching for something familiar in your own reflection. You smoothed your hands over the fabric, told yourself this was just another party, and dodged the doubts of this being a mistake.

The knock at your door came too soon, sharp and punctual, like everything Jungkook had become.

You felt your stomach clench, nerves twisting with something else you couldn’t name. Smoothing your dress one last time, you crossed the small space of your apartment, pausing just before the door.

When you opened it, Jungkook was standing right before you.

He had stood on the edge of cliffs where oceans met skies too, in countless countries at that, walked through streets that droned with history. Scrawled through the wonders of the world—the kind that made poets immortalize them in verse—but nothing—nothing—would ever measure up to this.

To you.

You, standing in the doorway, framed by the soft glow of the hall light, your hair falling in waves that he had memorized long ago.

His chest tightened, the memory of another doorway bleeding into the moment as gaily as if it had just happened. He had been in the room meant for waiting, where your parents had sat moments before, your mother sniffling into a tissue, your father pacing in his polished shoes. Now it had been his turn.

The thought alone of being the second person to see you before you walked away from him for good had made his tie that he had been trying to get the hang off felt too stressed around his neck, his palms clammy despite the air conditioning. He rubbed them on his pants, glancing at the small clock on the mantle every few seconds. The minutes dragged, each one seemed longer than the other.

What would you look like?

The thought ran circles in his mind, only for a creak of the door to startle him back.

Footsteps had echoed in the quiet, minimizing the distance until he could practically feel the nervous energy of a bride bounce against his. "Okay. You can turn around now." He had heard you speak, had seen the skittish smile on your face before he even turned around.

And when he did, he felt as if the air had been sucked out of the room.

The dress hugged you like it had been designed with only you in mind, its soft fabric flowing as if in defiance of gravity. Your veil cascaded behind you, catching the light, and your smile was small, almost shy, as you looked up at him, waiting for his reaction.

“Well?” you prompted, turning slightly, your hands brushing the fabric at your sides. “What do you think?”

What did he think? He thought the universe was wicked for allowing him to witness this and still expect him to let you go.

He had swallowed hard, forcing his voice to steady when he finally said, “You look—” His tongue had faltered over every adjective that came to mind. Beautiful wasn’t enough. Breathtaking felt like a cliché. “Perfect.”

You—Beautiful, Devastatingly, so.

You—who weren’t his to look at this way.

He feels his breath catch, his hands clenching at his sides to keep himself from reaching for you.

Because while that version of you had been a dream, this version—worn, weathered, but still so unmistakably you—was real. And the reality of you had always been what he wanted most.

Fuck. He shouldn’t be here.

He shouldn’t have agreed to pick you up, shouldn’t have stepped into this space, should have kept the distance he had spent years bridging.

But he has always found himself hopeless and running back to wherever you were concerned, hopeless in a way that had him studying for a test he didn’t even have to keep you company or show up.. here. Content to be near you in whatever capacity he could. He told himself it was enough. That it would be enough to watch you from the sidelines, to sit across from you at family dinners.

It wasn’t.

Because Jungkook wasn't a virtuous man. He never had been.

Virtue belonged to his brother—the one who could weave dreams out of thin air, who saw the world in colors Jungkook had never learned to name. His brother—Minho—who had been the light, the warmth that people, he gravitated toward. He had admired Minho, even envied him, resented him in ways he never admitted aloud and kept it in shadows.

When Minho died, the shadow became a man. And that man had spent years running.

Running into work, into unfamiliar cities, into the kind of purpose that left no room for thought. No room for the times when everything was right, when he tasted family and friendship for the first time ever, no room for the last time he tasted it when you walked down the aisle to his brother looking at him like he was the sun and how it burned, how he had burned with nails biting into his palms.

And only men with no integrity burn. Men who are cowards, restless, afraid of thier own greed try to run, in hopes that the distance would save them.

But distance didn’t save men like Jungkook.

Because here he was again, standing before you, the fire still smoldering.

“Hi,” you said softly, your voice pulling him back, creating a doubt in his belief.

“Hi,” he replied, his own tounge feeling heavy in his mouth.

“You’re early,” you said, your tone carefully light.

He cleared his throat, his hands slipping into the pockets of his slacks in an attempt to keep them to themselves. “Traffic was lighter than I expected. Are you ready to leave?"

You nodded and he stepped back, revealing his sleek Mercedes benz parked just right in front. He let you walk before him, watching how your movements were hesitant, as if the ground beneath your feet wasn’t entirely steady. He wanted to ask you if you were okay. He wanted to tell you it was okay if you weren't.

He settled for opening the car door for you.

“Thanks for this,” you said, your gaze fixed on the passing streetlights. “I know it’s probably the last thing you want to do.”

His grip tightened against the leather of the steering wheel with a force that made his knuckles ache. There was a rancorous way that you spoke to him, carefully restrained, that he couldn't even blame you for.

"It's not." He gritted out. "It's not a problem."

He had earned every inch of this gap between you, had spent years building it brick by brick, mile by mile. He's all to blame for. For carving the space between you with every ignored call, every excuse he made to avoid family dinners where you’d inevitably be.

For the leaving the wreckage in his wake—yours, his, theirs.

It wasn’t fair to hate the consequences of his own choices.

But hell, if he didn't outright loathed feeling like he was staring at a wall of frosted glass when he looked at you—where he could see the outline of you, but the details were blurred, distant. Like he had lost the privilge of knowing you from one glance, lost the privilge of having you speak up to him whenever you wanted, call him out, intoxicate him with your laughter that lightened up a room he wasn't even aware was dark. Found it fucking unbearable.

So much that he felt relief washing over him when the venue of the gathering came in view. A grand mansion, framed by manicured gardens and sprawling oaks that seemed to whisper old secrets to one another. It had a timeless elegance that made you wonder how many lives it had seen pass through its doors.

Small gathering, she said. You scoffed internally at rich people and their definition of small.

“Nice place,” you murmured as you walked beside him, your steps careful on the stone path after the car was eased into a parking spot.

“It’s the Kim's family home,” Jungkook said. You nodded, though the name didn’t spark much recognition. The Kims had been mentioned here and there at family dinners—names dropped in passing between sips of wine and shared laughter. You had barely paid attention then, too busy suppressing laughs at the jokes that Minho whispered near.

The front doors were open, the faint scent of fresh flowers and expensive cologne wafting out to greet you. Inside, the space was as opulent as expected—high ceilings adorned with crystal chandeliers, polished floors that gleamed under the soft light, and clusters of well-dressed guests milling about with drinks in hand.

A tall man stood near the entrance, his broad shoulders and sharp jawline making him impossible to miss. Beside him, another man stood with a softer air, his eyes crinkling with warmth as he leaned into the first man’s side.

The taller of the two men turned, his expression lighting up as he spotted Jungkook. “There he is,” He said, his deep voice carrying effortlessly.

"Hyung." Jungkook softened, clasping hands in a firm shake before pulling each other into a brief hug, the kind that spoke of collaboration and respect.

You shifted awkwardly on your feet, your fingers curling around the strap of your purse as you wondered whether to step back and leave him to his conversation or stay and risk being out of place.Would it be rude if you chose the former?

You were saved from your uncertainty when the two of them pulled away from Jungkook and took you in, a gleam of recognition passing through their face. Recognition, shock, then pity. You know how it went.

“You must be Y/N,” the taller one said, his gaze shifting to you with a warm smile.

You blinked, clearly caught off guard by the direct attention. “Yes, that’s me.”

“Kim Namjoon ” he said, offering his hand. “And this is Seokjin, my partner.” You smiled, nodding in acknowledgment before taking the hand of the charming one in the beige suit. “It’s nice to meet you, both. This is a beautiful venue.” You assume that they're the hosts of the party. The Kims that this house belonged to.

“Thank my father for that,” Namjoon said with a chuckle. “Sixty years old and still insists on hosting the most extravagant parties. He’d never let me live it down if I didn’t pull out all the stops.”

“Extravagant is an understatement,” Seokjin chimed in, his tone playful as he glanced at Namjoon. “I’m pretty sure half the flowers in the city ended up here.”

You smiled again, but it faltered when Seokjin's expression changed in a beat.

“We’ve heard a lot about you too,” he said gently, his gaze dipping briefly to Jungkook before meeting yours again.

You tilted your head, curiosity flashing across your face. “All good things, I hope.”

“Of course,” Namjoon assured you. “Your family is well-regarded, and we-we're sorry about Minho. He was brilliant in every sense of the world. We can't even imagin—"

“Thank you,” you said softly, trying really hard to not let the tightening of your throat strain your voice. “He was.”

Jungkook watched as your smile faltered, just slightly, at the mention of Minho. He decided to steer the conversation away but you recovered quickly, offering a polite nod and beat him to it.

There was a brief, loaded pause before you glanced at Jungkook. “I should find mom. She asked me to join her earlier.”

"Yeah, right.” Jungkook said, his voice steady despite the way his chest tightened again when he looked at you.

You walked by Jungkook, brushing close enough that your shoulder brushed against his chest, the faintest hint of your vanilla perfume that was so maddeningly you lingered in the air. He tensed, his breath catching before he could stop it. His fingers twitched at his sides, an almost imperceptible motion, but it was enough.

Subtle as he tried to be, he caught himself leaning slightly, his chest rising with a quiet inhale as though he could take the ghost of your scent and keep it for himself.

"Not as subtle as you think." Seokjin snickered by his boyfriend's side who also raised an eyebrow, his expression knowing and somewhat giving away his discomfort. “Is there something you’d like to share with the class?”

Shit.

Jungkook straightened, his jaw clenching as he avoided their eyes, fixing the collar of his shirt hoping they won't catch on the heat creeping up on his neck too. “Don’t.” he said quietly, his tone low and edged with warning.

"Maybe you don't sniff her like a dog in public? Maybe you have some decorum?" Seokjin judged, proud and loud.

"I have plenty, hyung." The younger male side eyed the older one, his eyes narrowed and the tips of his ears already crimson red like he was a boy caught watching porn for the very first time.

Namjoon sighed, though there was a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Let him be, honey.”

But the look he gave Jungkook was far from dismissive. It was the kind of look that saw too much, that peeled back layers Jungkook wasn’t ready to confront. Gods, he needed new friends.

He turned his attention back to the crowd where you disappeared.

The soft hum of conversations and the faint clinking of glasses followed you as you weaved through the grand hall, your eyes scanning for your mother-in-law’s familiar figure. The air in the mansion was heavier than it had been when you arrived, the brush of silk against silk, the way every movement seemed calculated, observed, and weighed.

You navigated through the crowd like a ghost in a gallery, your steps measured and slow, eyes flicking to the floor more than once to avoid the speculative stares. With rich circles came dirty gossip—whispered words disguised as laughter, false smiles that hid daggers. You’d learned to let them roll off your back, like rain on stone.

The Jeon matriarch had mentioned being near the back, closer to where the banquet tables were set. You followed the direction she’d gestured toward earlier, passing servers who moved seamlessly with trays of sparkling champagne.

Halfway through the journey, your steps faltered as your gaze landed on the centerpiece of one table—a chocolate fountain. Warm, rich, and cascading like liquid satin, it stood surrounded by an array of treats. Strawberries gleamed like rubies in the low light, their surfaces polished and inviting.

You hesitated, glanced around as if expecting someone to berate you for indulging in something so ordinary, but eventually, you plucked a strawberry and dipped it into the cascading chocolate.

You let the sweetness settle on your tongue, closing your eyes for a brief moment. For the first time all evening, you found this place somewhat tolerable.

Free food always making things better.

“Excuse me, miss.” a small voice piped up beside you, tugging on the flowy end of your dress.

A boy, no older than six or seven, stood by your side, his wide eyes flicking between you and the fountain. He looked as if he had stepped out of a luxury children’s catalog, his little suit tailored perfectly, his bow tie slightly askew. “Can you grab one for me? I’m not allowed to reach it by myself.” he asked, pointing at the fountain. His voice was polite, but there was a hopeful edge to it, as if he wasn’t used to asking for things twice.

“Of course, love.” you said, your lips curving into a small smile. You picked another strawberry, dipping it with care before crouching slightly to hand it to him. "There you go."

“Thank you!” he chirped, grinning immediate and radiant, the kind that softened the edges of a hard day.

"What's your name?" You asked him, crouching down to his level.

“Do-yun!” came a sharp voice, the kind that turned your stomach before your brain even processed it.

Who you assumed was the boy's mother stepped forward, her elegance severe, her lips painted in a red that matched the strawberries. She took her son’s hand but not before her eyes raked over you, head to toe, with an expression that left no room for interpretation.

"What did I tell you about bothering strangers?” she scolded do-yun who stared at the skewer in his hand apologetically.

“He wasn’t bothering me,” you said gently, straightening up and having the woman’s eyes flicker to you again, assessing.

“He just wanted a treat.”

Her eyes flicked to the chocolate fountain, then back to you, her lips pressing into a tight smile. “how kind of you.”

There was no warmth in her tone, no hint of gratitude. Just a faintly dismissive air. And with that, she turned, her child in tow, leaving you with the faint scent of something floral and the taste of bitterness on your tongue.

You'd learned better than to expect warmth from people bound by history.

You'd learned not to mind it. To overlook it. To not pay attention to them at all.

"That's her, isn't she?"

“Such a shame, losing her husband so young.”

“Yes, but you know, they weren’t exactly power players, were they? He was an artist, wasn’t he?”

The words hung in the air like cigarette smoke, acrid and inescapable.

A laugh, soft and cruel. “I suppose she’s lucky the Jeons still keep her close. Poor thing, all alone now. Must be awful.”

You stopped in your tracks. The sharp sting of their voices cut through the party’s hum, louder than the music, louder than your own heartbeat.

You could feel your palms start to get sweaty, eyes suddenly unable to meet anyone's.

Breathe. You reminded yourself.

One: Find your breath.

Two: Focus on something neutral—the fountain, the floor, the chandelier above.

Three: Remind yourself: They don’t know you. Their words are weightless.

But weightless wasn’t the right word.

“Though, you’d think she’d be a bit more modest. That dress isn’t exactly… widow-appropriate, is it?”

You tried to focus on your numbers but you lost it.

You turned, your fists clenched, your lips thinned, the polite demeanor cracking away from your face under the weight of your frustration.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended. “Was there something you wanted to say to my face?”

The women froze, their eyes widening in surprise. One of them, a younger woman with a nervous smile, tried to backpedal. “Oh, no, we didn’t mean—”

“Because if you have an issue with me or my dress, feel free to say it outright,” you continued, your voice clear despite the way your heart hammered in your chest. “I’d hate for you to waste any more time whispering behind my back.”

The group exchanged glances, communicating in a language of their own, you couldn’t care less about. Atleast not in this moment.

“We didn’t mean to offend,” one of them muttered, her tone brittle.

“Of course you didn’t,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “How could I possibly take offense to strangers dissecting my life as if it’s some dinner party entertainment?”

Stupid old hags with no life of their own!

You kept that to yourself.

Then, without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and stormed away.

The chandeliers above blurred as tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Not here. Not now.

You weren’t looking for anything specific—just distance, just air that wasn’t thick with judgment and whispers. A bathroom, maybe, though you weren’t going to ask for directions not when your voice felt like it would crack the moment you opened your mouth.

People brushed past you, their scents of expensive perfumes swirling in the air, their muted voices blending into a hum you couldn’t quite focus on. One or two bumped into your shoulder, but you didn’t apologize, didn’t bother looking back.

You just needed to get away—you just needed out of here.

And then, as if the universe wasn’t finished testing you, a firm hand of another one of a frame you jerked into, closed around your wrist, halting your momentum.

You looked up, brows scrunched, eyes glossy and mouth parting, ready to snap but then you were met with a amicable pair of dark eyes.

A crease of his own wrinkling his forehead as he looked down at you. "Is something wrong?" He asked and you almost wanted to laugh mockingly.

Instead, you did what you initially wanted to do. Your eyes flicked to his hand, then back to his face. “Let me go.”

He hesitated for a moment, tounge poking his cheek, grip on your hand loosening but not releasing entirely. "What's wrong, y/n?"

“I said, let me go,” you repeated, your voice firm, frangible at the edges before you pulled your hand away from him and pushed past to walk away without another word.

The next random hallway you stumbled into was quieter, emptier, and for that, you were grateful, stretched ahead like an endless corridor of polished wood and muted gold accents. The noise of the party faded into the background, muffled by the thick walls and heavy doors.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to roam around mindlessly any further. This should be good enough, you told yourself and leaned against one of the walls, your forehead pressing against the cool surface as you tried to breathe through the wave of vehemence emotions that crashed through you.

One: Inhale.

Two: Exhale.

Three: Forget the words they said. Forget them.

But they echoed, persistent and savage, circling in your mind like vultures.

Poor thing, all alone now. Must be awful.

You’d think she’d be a bit more modest. That dress isn’t exactly widow-appropriate, is it?

Your chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, your hands clutching at your dress as if the fabric could somehow hold you together. But nothing could, nothing had. You had tried and tried and tried.. and fuck you didn't wanted to do it anymore.

Turning around, your head tipped back against the wall, the ceiling swimming in and out of focus as your vision blurred.

You shouldn’t have come here.

You should have stayed home, buried yourself in the comfort of your quiet apartment where no one whispered behind your back or looked at you with pity thinly disguised as deference.

Why did they care? Why did it matter to them how you dressed, how you existed, how you grieved?

It shouldn’t have mattered.

But it did.

You pressed the heels of your palms against your eyes, trying to will the tears away. Crying wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t change anything.

Your hands gripped your clutch tightly, the edges digging into your palms, and for a moment, you considered throwing it—hurling it across the hall just to feel something break.

But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

Because even here, in this quiet, empty hallway, you felt the silent expectation that you hold yourself together, that you keep smiling, keep nodding, keep existing in a way that made other people comfortable.

You hated this. You hated being you. You hated being the one who was left behind. And God you hated being alone. No Minho to make a quiet joke about the ridiculousness of it all and pull you toward something fun and irreverent.

Just you.

It will be always be just you. You've never admitted that to yourself but now that you did, you feel such panic rise in your chest that you don't hear him at first. Not until his voice broke through the haze.

“Y/N.”

It was soft, tentative, but it still cut through the silence like a blade.

You flinched, your head snapping toward the source of the voice. Jungkook stood a few feet away, his dark eyes searching yours, his expression shadowed with concern.

He had followed you.

“I told you to leave me alone,” you managed, your voice trembling as you turned away, willing him to disappear.

“I’m not leaving,” he said, his footsteps growing louder as he moved closer with a cautiousness that made you feel like a wounded animal. “Talk to me.” He added, the pleading in his voice almost running free.

"I mean it, Jungkook.. go away." You tried putting distance between the both of you again but far too quick for your slowed senses, he was now standing right in front of you, hands hovering in the air as if he didn't know what to do with him while also knowing.

"And I told you, I'm not leaving." His tone had coarsened and your dam had broke.

“Why now?” you cried, stepping closer to him, your fists balling at your sides. “Why do you want to stay now? You’ve spent years acting like a stranger, Jungkook. Years acting like I didn’t exist. And now—”

You shoved at his chest, your fists pounding weakly against him, but he didn’t move.

“Now you want to act like you care?” you yelled, your voice cracking as you hit him again. “Now you want to be here? Why?”

Jungkook stood still, his arms at his sides, his chest solid and unyielding beneath your fists. He didn’t flinch, didn’t step back, didn’t even try to stop you. He just let you hit him, let you pour out everything.His silence infuriated you, and yet it steadied you in a way you couldn’t explain.

"Why do you care now?" you repeated, your voice cracking, trembling like your hands as they hit his chest incessantly. Each word felt like it scraped raw against your throat. "Where were you, Jungkook? When everything fell apart, when I—when I needed someone. Where were you?"

“I don’t need you now!” you snapped, your tears falling freely now. “I don’t need you to come here and act like you care, like you’ve always cared, because we both know that’s not true."

“Because you left!" your voice cracked, the words laced with betrayal. The hurt from the breach of faith weakening you and your punches on his chest until they finally stilled, your hands trembling still as they curled into the fabric of his shirt. Jungkook caught your wrists, his hold firm but gentle, and for a moment, you fought him, your breaths coming in sharp and ragged. But when he didn’t let go, when he didn’t flinch or step back, the fight drained out of you.

Your knees buckled, and his arms came around you slowly, hesitantly, as if he were afraid you might push him away. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. You were too tired now. Empty hands that had been holding onto something for as long as you could remember were too tired, have forgotten the feeling of what it felt like to be held instead.

You allowed to let yourself feel that. You allowed yourself to feel someone else other than the woman you couldn’t even recognize in a mirror as you sagged against him, your head pressing against his shoulder as your tears soaked into his shirt, body shaking and shivering from the quiet sobs that you let out.

"I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, angel." You heard him say those words like a mantra against your hair, arms tightening around you, nestling you close against his chest.

For a moment, you heard pain there, raw and unfiltered, pain that felt similiar to your own in ways you hadn’t expected. You clutched his shirt tighter. You didn't wanted to be alone and Jungkook felt and smelled of times when you weren't. Earthy and Warm. Like that one time when he pulled you in to him after the death of milo- your first dog, and didn’t even mind your snort.

You had clung to those memories but it felt better clinging to him. A small, desperate part of you wanting to drag him closer, to cling to what little you had left of the past. The rest of you wanted to push him away, to keep screaming at him for daring to come back after all this time, after all this distance.

The sobs subsided slowly, leaving behind the kind of stillness that felt fragile, as if it might shatter with the wrong word or movement. Jungkook didn’t push you away, didn’t loosen his hold. If anything, he pulled you closer, as though he feared you’d slip through his fingers if he let go.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, your gaze searching his face. His eyes shadowed, a stupid perfect strand of his stupid perfect hair falling on his forehead with tension prominent in his jaw and you wondered if there was a time there wasn't.

You wondered if it would make you any more vulnerable that you are right now if you say the words that sit on the top of your tounge, sting in the tears that linger in the corner of your eyes.

“I missed you,” you said softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them. They felt dangerous, like exposing a wound that had barely begun to scab over.

His eyes darkened, a low sound rumbling in his chest—something between a growl and a sigh. “Fuck,” he muttered, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head as he pressed his forehead to yours. “I missed you too, angel."

The rawness in his tone made your chest clench, a part of you craving more, while another part shrieked at you to stop this before it went any further, gather whatever semblance has left of you and walk away, play his cards against him.

But you have never been too good with cards or walking away.

“Then why did you leave?” you croaked. “Why did you stay away for so long?”

His gaze dropped to the space between you before meeting your eyes again, his own breathing now getting uneven. You could feel it beneath you. Rising. And Rising. And Rising.

"I didn’t knew how to look at you and not feel like I'm.. betraying him." His voice trembles as he drews in breath and you're so close you feel the heat of it brush against your temple. "And I can not, not look at you. That became a problem."

Your body stiffened at the confession, the world around you shrinking until it was just the two of you, his voice echoing in your ears.

Your first instinct was disbelief.

This can't mean what you think it does.

This can’t mean what you think it does!

The words replayed in your mind, over and over, refusing to settle. Each repetition twisted something deeper, something buried in the hollow space that had once been you.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, needing space, needing air.

He didn’t move. His gaze followed you, his expression resolute, like he was determined to lay everything bare now that the first truth had slipped out.

But you didn’t even wanted to acknowledge it as something, let alone, a truth. “That’s not—” Your voice cracked, and you forced yourself to start again. "Are you drunk, Jungkook?" You found the thought so repulsing, you could only think of ways to brush this up, put all the blame on the champagne.

From the way his eyes narrowed and brow ridged, you could tell that it was not the champagne.

“Y/N.” he says with a warning. “I’m not fucking drunk.”

“Well, you sound like you are,” you shot back, your tone sharper than you intended. “Because that—what you just said—sounds like something someone says when they’re not thinking clearly. You're not making any sense, Jungkook!"

“It makes sense,” he was starting to get frustated now. “It’s the only thing that’s ever made sense to me.”

And you were starting to get scared. You needed him to stop talking. Anything and everything he said made you physically want to recoil. You took another step back, your arms wrapping around yourself as if you could shield yourself from the weight of unsaid words that are no longer so.

“Don’t,” you said, your voice breaking, hands tempted to cover your ears like a child. His confession felt like a pin pulled from a grenade, and now the blast was unfurling within you. “Don’t do this. It's not fair. It's-It's not fair to him. Or me. Or you."

I know. He admits quietly to himself because he doesn't think anyone knows better than the man who was holding the jagged ends of a once delicate thread. And he hates himself for it because hating you was as unrealistic as the existence of a greater being to him. He had tried. Tried turning to salvation. Tried to despise you for being the one thing that has turned him the best and worst person he can be but he just can't. He prefers hating himself better.

He wants this punishment, that is you. He wants to whisper I'm sorry- I'm sorry for leaving- I'm sorry for coming back in every crook and nook of your body for the rest of his life so you'd feel his expression of regret that could only be a product of love so consuming embedding into you.

Because it's truth. It's his truth, has been for years and years, before he even knew what are the consequences of being a honest person. Now that he is seeing you in front of him—you with a revolting look, a stray tear rolling down your eyes that is nowhere near as angry as it had been before, he understands that it's not a consequence he can take.

He dares to step forward again and even if takes a whole lot of power in him not to pull you into him again, he doesn't and only raises a hand and catches the tear with his thumb.

“You don’t get to do this to me.” you repeat, your voice low and trembling.

And so does his. "I know."

Jungkook didn’t know what he expected you to say, what he hoped for. Forgiveness? Understanding? He wasn’t sure he deserved either.

Yet when you don't pull away, look back at him with the same daring he had stepped forward with, a silence understanding passes between the space that is separating you from him. And he's done being separated from you.

He tilted his head down, his breath stirring your hair when he inhaled deeply, his nose tracing a path down until it rubbed against yours—softly, deliberately—as if giving you time to move away. You didn't and his eyes fell on your inviting mouth again.

Fuck it.

Jungkook surged forward, his hands cupping your face, tipping your face up to him as his lips crashed against yours. The way he kissed you was nothing like the way he had touched you. It was rough, desperate with the way tounge and teeth clashed, filled with years of pent up desire and regret and emotions too tangled to name.

He kissed you like the nights he’d spent staring at the ceiling in places too far from home, wondering if you’d be happier without him there to complicate things, wondering if things had been any different if he said something before. Will you have looked at him like the way you looked at his brother? Would that choice have saved you from years and years of tragedy? Would that have saved him from the weight of his guilt, his love—love that had been a silent, unwelcome presence in his life for so long that it felt like another organ, vital and inescapable?

When he felt you grip him again and kiss him back. Nothing else mattered. The world stopped spinning and he didn't wanted to run anymore.

His hands found your waist, gripping tightly. A low groan slipping from his mouth to yours at the feeling of how you melted against him when he deepened the kiss, tounge proding and exploring all that your sweet mouth had to offer. Gods, he was drunk now.

"Shit." He shuddered as the taste of you finally started to settle in, pulling you closer and closer, then pushing you back until your back met the wall of the hallway.

You should be scared, anxious and pushing him back. The mere thought of someone walking in on you kissing him, your supposed family. Should make you want to end this because you could only imagine the stake they'd pin you on. They'd be not wrong to.

This is traitorous—what you're doing, what you're allowing yourself. But so is a shameful part of you that had always reached for him. Something that whispered to you, so soft it felt like it came from inside your own chest.

It's not so bad. His lips feel good.

But oh, it is. It makes you sick from just thinking how bad it is. Anger, confusion, guilt—oh, the guilt—swirl together and make you so sick.

"W-We shouldn’t.." You gasp against him as your unpracticed lips suck on his in a contradiction.

"No, we shouldn't." He kisses you harder, his mouth only leaving yours to trail a train of kisses along the column of your accessible throat to him, making you whimper out loud that he takes as an sign to nibble and bite.

Your hands find their way to his shoulder and his to your hips. "Legs around me." He licks the length of your neck, narrowing your world down to the feeling of his provoking wet tounge on your skin, his calloused fingers squeezing your hips. It felt all too real now. And despite you being balant enough to start this in the first place, you're not sure if you're still feeling bold. What you are feeling is this sinful, unexplainable craving seeping into your bones, curling around your ribs, making it hard to breath and think. Or maybe it's him.

Whatever it is, you get yourself to pause his eager hands and hungry mouth and speak, your breath coming in short, hot puffs. "Jungkook.. I don't think-" He straightens up and the vulnerability in his voice and eyes is gone as he squeezes your hips tighter.

"Finally gave me that perfect mouth of yours and now you want to walk away? Do you like tormenting me, angel? Do you like knowing that I'd fuck my fist to only the thought of you when you do?" He growls against your ear and you feel yourself flush so hard you're sure he even feels the heat coming off you in ripples.

"Please, baby." He pleads unapologetically, fingers tugging you closer even when all of you is pressed against all of him. "I want you." So bad it hurts.

Gone is the man who had once been so armored, seemed so unreachable and untouchable. And left is Jeon Jungkook, who looks like he will crumble to the ground if you pull away now.

You wouldn't want that. But the words came anyway, right from where shame twisted in your stomach, tangling with the guilt that clawed at your throat. "Do you still want me even if I'm nothing like the woman I used to be?" It came out breakable and in segments, and the second they left your lips, you weren’t sure what to except as a answer.

For a moment, all you could hear was the ragged rhythm of your combined breathing.

You swallowed hard, pulling back slightly to meet his gaze. The intensity in his dark eyes was almost unbearable, raw and unrelenting as they searched yours.

"Don't ever say that again." he bit out, every syllable heavy. "I want you always. I want you with my every breath. There's always been only you for me, understand?" He added with a brief grind of his hardened arousal against your front, making you mewl.

The words, though, hit you like a physical forcek, breaking through the walls you’d built around yourself, the ones you’d convinced yourself were impenetrable.

Before you could respond, he moved.

His mouth fell onto yours again and with practiced ease, his hands slid to the backs of your thighs, lifting you like you weighed nothing. "Now. Legs around me, baby." he murmured in the kiss, and though your mind was a whirlwind of what seemed like every single thought you've ever had, your body obeyed.

You could barely figure out to where he was taking you, too engrossed in the kiss that you steered towards a softer, mellow one, fingers tangling in the hair that has grown a little bit on the nape of his neck. Feeling like you both were two audacious college students trying to find a space in a messy party where you both won't be interrupted.

When he halted in his steps, you assumed that he found it as he kicked it open with a firm nudge of his boot, the room beyond dim and quiet but he barely give you time to register anything else, his movements urgent and frantic as he carried you over to the bed in the middle after swiftly locking you both away. You bounced on the silk mattress as he set you down, though his intentions were grave, his actions or the way he held you was gentle, tounge swiping over his glistening lips like chasing the taste of you that made you want to give him once more.

Audacious, you were.

Your eyes on his face, shadows played along the planes, softening the hard edges of his jaw, but his gaze burned. Dark and piercing, it held you in place as if daring you to look away.

You didn’t.

Your eyes followed the sluggish movements of his hands as he reached up, his fingers deftly working the knot of his tie. The fabric slid free, whispering against the buttons of his dress shirt before he cast it aside, forgotten on the nearby chair.

Next came his jacket. He shrugged it off with practiced ease, the broad span of his shoulders rolling beneath the fabric. Your breath hitched as he discarded it, leaving him in the crisp white shirt that clung to his frame, the outline of him barely hidden.

And then his hands moved again, this time to his wrist.

You watched, mesmerized, as he undid the strap of his watch, the silver buckle catching the faint light. He pulled it free and set it down on the nightstand, the movement so fluid it felt almost rehearsed.

It wasn’t until he turned his wrist slightly that you noticed it—the worn thread of a bracelet wrapped around his wrist, faded from time and use but unmistakable.

The one you’d tied around his wrist when you were kids in an action of promise to stay friends for years to come.

But he still wore it.

He still wore it.

Your fingers twitched against the bedspread, the urge to reach out and touch him almost overwhelming.

And as if understanding your anticipation, he soon followed you down, your breath catching as he hovered above you. You waited for him to kiss you again because god help you, you liked a little too much but he only pressed a chaste one, smirking subtly at the pout that subconsciously formed on your lips that soon parted in a gasp when he started to suck on your neck again, this time with the intention to claim the spot with the scrape of his teeth.

He hummed against your skin, the sound deep and satisfied, before he drew your flesh into his mouth again, harder this time. The sharp pull sent a jolt of pleasure-pain coursing through you, thighs clenching together.

"My angel." he said softly, yet nothing was soft about the way he pulled down on the straps of your dress. The fabric slipped, baring the smooth skin of your shoulder, and he pressed his lips there, warm and firm, before trailing lower, his mouth following the path he’d just uncovered. "My undoing."

The red fabric gathered at your arms as he pushed it further, exposing the tops of your collarbones and the swell of your chest. His gaze flicked up to meet yours then, dark and questioning, seeking permission even though his hands were steady, his intention clear.

You nodded, perhaps with too much enthusiasm and earned a chuckle from him that you were sure was the reason for the wetness pooling between your legs.

You had missed that sound. You had missed him.

And he was hell bent on making up for lost time as he dived face first into your chest, humming again when he took in your pebbled nipple in his mouth, swirling his tounge around the roundness of you.

"Oh shit." Your back arched, hands finding their way to his hair again. Pulling and tugging. Urging him on until his hand was fondling the other, abandoned tit. Squeezing under his rough palms that made the heat lowering your stomach worse—all of it felt too much, too soon. And yet, it wasn’t enough.

It had been so long.

Too long since someone had touched you like this, with a reverence that made you feel seen, whole, wanted.

You told yourself it was natural, that anyone in your position would respond this way. That it wasn’t about him—it couldn’t be. But your body betrayed you before your mind could even catch up. Your legs wrapped around his waist once more as you ground yourself against him. Against the print of his bulging length you could feel pulsing against you.

"Fuck yeah.." You cursed low, head falling back on the pillows and Jungkook looked up, his own cock twitching at the sight of you, at the feel of you. Of everything he has ever wanted. Of everything he thought he would never have. But here you were straight from his flithest wet dream that would have him taking more cold showers that he could keep count of.

A goddamn miracle for him, this wasn't a dream.

"This here needs some attention too, hmm?" He rasped, hands slipping down from the curve of your waist, to bunch up your dress to your hips. Wasting no time in finding the wet mess you made of your panties. "Look at this." He grunted, hand cupping your clothed mound. "So wet."

You exhaled out like you'd been freed from shackles that felt too heavy and a whimper followed right after when he disposed you of them, exposing your deprived cunt to the cold air that had you clenching around nothing. "And so fucking responsive." He breathed against your bare sex after moving his head down.

You hadn’t expected that. You breath was bated, cheeks were flushed and heart was pounding at the view alone of his face between your thighs.

Then again, he was all about surprising you today.

Though, it didn't make it any less overwhelming.

The way his hands gripped your thighs, firm yet careful, as if he were both anchoring you and holding himself back. His fingers dug into your skin just enough to leave the faintest imprint, a reminder of where he had been, where he was. Your legs draped over his shoulders, trembling with a mix of anticipation and disbelief, as though your body was still catching up to the reality of this moment.

Never in your wildest dreams, it would have come to this. Come to Jungkook licking a greedy strip up from your folds.

"Jungkook—oh God!" You gasped and he groaned, feeling all of his restraint and the plan to savor this, to savor you, slip away from his tightening hands. One taste of you and he wanted to grasp every drop of like it would be his last.

And so he did.

Burying his face in your wanting pussy like a man with purpose, he lapped. His mouth wrapped around your clit, tounge swiping and licking with a reverence because you were something sacred, something he had put on a pedestal so high, others in his life barely mattered.

"Oh- mhm. Feels so good!" You moan out, mind in a haze of pure fog and he takes it as his cue to plunge his digit inside your dripping core. You're sure you've got no mind now. Grunts of his own leaving him at the thought of your heat wrapping around his aching cock instead.

He felt no shame in that. No shame in what he was doing right now. Because then you moved, your body arching toward him as if to erase every doubt. Your fingers found their way to his hair, tugging as selfishly as he fed on you, flatenning his tounge on your slit to take all he can get, to give you all he can.

A shaky exhale brushing against your folds. The sound was low, guttural, and filled with more longing than he knew how to contain. "Does it, baby? Sweet pussy's feeling good?" His fingers—knuckles deep now—worked you faster, curling and testing ways to get you closer to the edge.

This was more desire that he knew he was possible of as his hips started to rut on their own, seeking friction in a way that was both instinctual and helpless. Brain flat lining. Face drowned in the essence of you. Desperate, as you pulled on his hair. Pathetic, as he chased his own high from just the taste of you, from just how you enveloped his curving fingers. Ecastic, when you finally reached your breaking point from how he alternated between broad strokes and targeted flicks, making you come all over his mouth that kindles his face, that he swallow all because he refuses to let anything go to waste.

"Ah fuck—Oh lord!" You fingers tear in his scalp and hips bucked against his face, eyes rolling back until they whitened.

Oh.

Oh.

It was in this moment, with your thighs braced against his shoulders and his name spilling from her lips, that Jungkook knew.

He would never be the same again.

That he too would be coming in his pants like a high school boy.

It wasn’t enough—nothing would ever be enough—but it was all he had, and it drove him to the edge faster than he would’ve liked to admit. The tension inside him snapped before he could stop it, his body tensing and toes curling because he found everything else secondary to the sheer joy of watching you fall apart beneath him.

"Oh shit, y/n. Shit. Shit. Shit." He whimpers against your cunt, his hips finally slowing down their mindless movement. His forehead pressed against your thigh as he caught his breath. His chest heaved, his heartbeat thundered in his ears, and his entire body felt like it was vibrating, the aftershocks of his release making his muscles twitch.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry, and shifted slightly, pressing a kiss to your clit before leaning back up to feel another wave of release threatening to overcome him when he sees your content expression, hands loosening their grip in his raven hair, half lidded eyes meeting his own before they trail down. "Y-You.." You didn’t know what to say, couldn’t have spoken even if you tried.

A lazy smirk made it's way to his lips that caught the light before he licked whatever remnant what was left of you on his fingers.

"I'm a starved man, angel. Cut me some slack." He panted, pinching your bud in emphasis and moved back up before you could even process it, the warmth of his breath retreating, replaced by the cooler air of the room as he straightened. The absence of his lips against you left you gasping, your chest heaving, your pulse thundering in your ears or maybe it was you still riding your orgasm or maybe it was the knowledge that he came in his pants from just eating you out.

Then he was there again, his hands sliding from your thighs to the mattress on either side of you, bracketing you in like a secret he refused to let escape.

"Hi." He breathed against your forehead.

You felt a shy smile twitch on your lips. "Hi." You reply just as breathlessly.

He presses another kiss, this time to the tip of your nose. "I'm gonna fuck you now, yeah?" You couldn’t reconcile it.

How could he say things that made your cheeks flush, your body respond in ways you couldn’t control, while his lips brushed against your temple with a tenderness that felt like an apology?

How could he make you feel like you were unraveling and being held together all at once?

You wanted to know. "Mhm. Please." You mewl, hands softly going through the beautiful mess that you made of his hair.

"Please, what?" He demanded, lips on your cheek.

"Please fuck me." You whine and he bumped his nose against your face, chest rumbling from a sound so feverish that you can't help but grind against him again. Coaxing his cock back into hardness with your bare cunt against him, from the realization that you shared the insatiable urges with him.

It got his hand trembling when they reached down to unbind his belt, pushing the fabric down his hips to reveal predicament he's made of his boxers that were bounding his hard, leaking cock but hell if he had it in himself to care.

He had been bidding his time for far too long. Waited enough—longer than any man should have to wait for something that felt this inevitable, this right, this his.

Ridding himself of the last piece of clothing on him, other than the white dress shirt that flexed against his coiled muscles, he took himself In a fist, groaning when he pumped himself in one slow stroke. Eyes never leaving your wide ones like you weren’t sure if you should be impressed, intimidated, or both.

Your breath hitched audibly, and your chest rose and fell as your eyes darted from his face to the undeniable evidence of his arousal. Heat bloomed across your cheeks, but you couldn’t seem to tear your gaze away, couldn’t stop the thought that immediately took hold.

"You're too big." Your throat dry, and your fingers fisted the sheet beneath you, trying not too think too much about how thick he would feel down your throat. The sounds he'd make when you would lick him just right.

"And you're gonna take every inch." He said it like a statement, a prominent vein popping in his neck when he finally let go of the locked gaze and focused instead on compressing the tip of his angry, veiny cock to your slick folds.

"Won't you, angel?" He asks with a confident smirk passed your way for a second before his breath wavered again, brows scrunched together and if it wasn't for his tip nudging inside you, you'd thought him endearing.

But once his tip is actually is in, you're left with no thought. Rendered speechless, eyes falling shut when he starts to jab inch by inch.

"Dear lord—" You gasp out loud. The sheet beneath you not providing much semblance so you switch to his shoulders. And you swear, he feel him shake when he is finally all in. Closes his eyes and relishes in your heat stretching around. "Fucking hell." The sensation was overwhelming—heat and softness so consuming it felt like his mind short-circuited, every thought dissolving into static.

But you feel that its your pussy that feels like it's going to split apart any moment now that's stopping him from moving. And partly it is. "You're so..tight." He hisses out and squeezes your hips with great roughness.

"Been long since you've been fucked, eh?" He muses, dark hungry eyes devouring yours when he makes an attempt to move inside you like he was testing your limits. Your mind reels, caught between the sharpness of the initial sensation and the overwhelming desire that followed.

He felt impossibly big, like your body wasn’t prepared for the sheer intensity of him, and for a fleeting moment, doubt crept into your thoughts.

It’s been so long.

The thought came unbidden. Your body had grown used to quiet nights and cold sheets, to the impersonal hum of a vibrator and the absence of warmth.

"Been so long." You confirm, nails clawing at his shoulders, mimicking the roughness that only spurs him on. His lashes fluttered shut, his forehead drops to your shoulder and with a whine of disagreement from you, he pulls back fully just to (to your satisfaction) bury himself back to the hilt.

An unadulterated moan from you broke the silence, a sound so sweet it made him want to come right there and then again. But he'd much rather have you convulse first. Priorities.

His jaw clenched, a low groan rumbling in his chest as he started to move his hips against yours, slow and deliberate, like he needed to feel every inch of your.

Your legs tensed around his hips, pulling him closer. You couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop the way your body reacted to him, your mind a dizzy blur of heat and need and overwhelming sensation.

He pulled back again, the drag of him leaving you feeling empty, only to return with the same slow, measured thrust.

“That’s right,” he muttered, his voice rough and uneven, barely coherent through the sounds your free spilling moans and the fact that his face was buried in the crook of your shoulder. “You’re—fuck, you’re perfect.” His voice unrefined at the edges, raw with honesty and disbelief, like he couldn’t believe you were really here, with him, like this.

Your hands slid down his back, clinging to the flexing muscles beneath your palms. You suddenly didn't like that his shirt was still on. Wanting to map out his bare skin with every graze of your nails. But with each thrust, pleasure sparked at the base of your spine and spread outward, your thoughts scattered like autumn leaves.

"Yeah- Oh mphm! Just like that!" He flourished in your cries of encouragement, his grip on your hips tightening, his fingers digging into your skin as he was afraid he'd lose control too soon.

And you wanted nothing more. "F-Faster! Please go faster!" His pace was unhurried but devastating, every pull and thrust deliberate, designed to drag you to the edge and keep you there, teetering. You couldn’t take that anymore.

And Jungkook couldn’t take keeping you unsatisfied. His lips found the corner of your mouth, brushing against it in a fleeting kiss before moving lower, his teeth grazing your jaw. His hands moved to your thighs, urging them higher, wrapping them around his waist as he drove into you with more force, more intent.

“taking me so well, was made for this cock.” Were made for me. he praised, his voice sounding like a backdrop to the obscene sounds his hips snapping against yours as your own body moved with his, meeting him with the same intensity, the same desperate need. "Yeah." He grunted, punctuating his words with a squeeze to your boob. "Fuck me back. Use me. Feel me."

All you could possibly do was feel him.

He felt like fire and electricity all at once, a heat that spread from your core to the very tips of your fingers and toes.

“Jungkook…” you whispered again, your voice catching on the syllables when his head tipped forward, his forehead pressing against yours, his damp hair brushing your skin.

He whimpered in response, a deep, guttural sound that reverberated through you, and he pistoned his cock harder, pulling a cry from your lips that you couldn’t hold back.

"I-I missed you." You can feel tears gather in your eyes again. You don't even know why. Why you're repeating what you've already admitted. Why the words feel more vulnerable now. All you know that you missed him and the coil is tightening in your stomach.

Jungkook, too feels like he will break down any moment when he stares down at you. But he’s got a impending orgasm to deliver.

He kisses your eyelids, is tempted to lick the tears that slowly make their way down to your chin but doesn't. He's not sure he'll be able to handle the taste of your despair without feeling like he has to chastise himself for ever being the reason for it.

"I know. I know." His cock thrusts with renewed vigor. "I missed you too. I missed you." He says through his gritted teeth, feeling how your walls fluttered around him.

"Gonna cum now?" He knows what your answer will be. There's a smug underline tone in his rasps that gives him away. How he takes pride in knowing that he's the one to make you release all this tension; once on his mouth; then on his cock that is pulsing with an reoccurring ache.

You can only manage to nod, lips tightly tucked between your teeth, hands scratching and marking on his once crisp shirt that is now crumpled from the fate of your hands.

"Gonna soak my cock, huh? Go ahead, baby. Go ahead and come with me." He demands, his hand slipping between you to rub tight circles against your puffy clit that is just enough to tip you over at last.

"Koo.. ah..oh god!" The name you've always called him with a fondness falls unintentionally from your lips when your walls tighten for the last time and you release all over his cock that is now stuttering with it's every thrust.

"Oh fuck. Call me that again." He all but snarls. Cock turns firmer inside your heat that hugs him. And balls screw up.

"Koo.." You whine and that's all he needs before thick ropes of white hot cum is spilling inside you, filling you to the brim. "Mhm, take it all. There's my girl. Pussy looks so good stuffed with my cum." He grinds the best his spent body can into yours that still welcomes him and fuck if that doesn't make him never want to leave.

And he doesn't, for a moment, when he collapses onto you. Just not enough to crush you under his weight. Just enough to latch his lips where ever he can find and whisper words of affection. "Could'nt fucking breathe without you." He's yet to get enough of you. This life won't suffice, he thinks. Then finally pulls out his softening cock from your slick hole with a hiss.

You too feel the loss the of the connection that had pulsed faintly between you, leaving you achingly empty.

He moved with the same carefulness, reaching for the tissues on the bedside table. The room was quiet save for your mingled breaths as he knelt beside you, his touch impossibly tender as he wiped at the inside of your thighs. You shivered under the cool press of the tissue against your skin, the sensation making you acutely aware of the aftermath—the way your body still quivered, the way your breaths still came uneven.

You stared at the ceiling while he did so, the edges of your perception blurred as you tried to silence the tingles that still hummed across the length of your legs. A reminder of how throughly he had disentangle you, how throughly his very essence had penetrated into you.

You were ruined by him.

There was no going back from this. You knew that.

What scared you was the realization that you didn’t want to.

You just didn't know how to admit that out loud where everyone and he could hear you.

Your eyes seeked out for him as if that alone could answer all your questions. He returned back against you without a question. Hands finely adjusted the strap of your dress and drew you closer to him with a soft voice, hoarse from the strain of everything he’d given you. "Come here, angel." Bundled you up in his arms and then only did he breathe out.

Your breath stayed differing. “Why do you call me that?” Your voice was curious but tentative. “I don’t think I’ve ever asked you.”

You felt his lips curve up against your temple. "You were wearing this really pretty white dress the first time I met you." he began, his voice quiet, almost wistful. “Had these frills on the sleeves. I thought you looked like an angel."

You tried to piece together the memory. “That was so long ago."

It might be understood that it takes months to fall in love but Jungkook had been falling all his life.

[osamucide]

WHAT THEIR LOVE FEELS LIKE . . .

. . . ft. BSD men

⊹ ATSUSHI NAKAJIMA . . . freshly steamed rice, sherpa blankets, the moon in the sky during the day, well-loved dirt paths, comfortable sweatpants, clean kitchens, perfectly made lemonade, finding a dollar in your pocket, gentle cat paws, scratching a lover's back.

⊹ OSAMU DAZAI . . . used books with vigilant annotations in them, jazz music, charm bracelets, quiet and steady streams, lined leather journals, light rain, flickering flourescent light, cracking the spine of a new novel, knowing looks, linking pinkies while walking, caramel drizzle.

⊹ CHUUYA NAKAHARA . . . boozy chocolate-covered cherries, leather car interior, red sangria, gold jewelry, peeled clementines, extinguished matches, the peaceful room next door to a party, counting a lover's freckles, cupping your hands around a flame, divine geometry.

⊹ AKUTAGAWA RYUUNOSUKE . . . star anise, black lace, fig jam, perfect puddles of rainwater, vanilla ice cream, soft distant thunder, silver jewelry, blackberry-stained lips and fingertips, tracing sweet words into a lover's palm, the moment of silence and peace when you pass beneath a bridge while it rains.

⊹ RANPO EDOGAWA . . . shortbread cookies, wool socks, poppies, stray eyelashes, strawberry jam, argyle and pastels, candied fruit, chess matches, foil-wrapped chocolates with sweet sayings inside, when a dog at a party likes you best, collections of old keys, shooting stars.

⊹ DOPPO KUNIKIDA . . . peonies, perfectly pulled shots of espresso, letters with broken wax seals, comfortable routines, toffee and brown sugar, freshly ironed clothes, finding something that's been lost, completed to-do lists, cats sleeping atop stacks of books.

⊹ YUKICHI FUKUZAWA . . . photo albums hidden in plain sight, flickering candles, the breeze on a cloudy beach, stars on a clear night, perfectly steeped tea, crackling fireplaces, a safety net, clean sheets and pillowcases, crisp mountain air, packing a lover's lunch in the morning.

⊹ SAKUNOSUKE ODA . . . steam from a bath, soft and implacable floral scents, typewriter font, concentric tree circles, fallen bird feathers, uplifting newspaper headlines, children's laughter, protective hugs from behind, stratus clouds like blankets over the sky, dreams that make you want to sleep longer.

⊹ ANGO SAKAGUCHI . . . brown italian leather, vintage cameras, subtle gemstone details, warm french bread, fancy bookmarks, polaroids in your wallet, tying a lover's shoes, laughing at everything when you've drank a bit too much, dried rosemary and blood orange and pomegranate.

⊹ FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY . . . frost-covered cranberries, string music, coffee table books on classical art, accidental halos of light, perfectly toasted marshmallows, the crunch of fresh snow beneath your boot, coconut and dark chocolate, a stray cat trusting you to pet it.

⊹ NIKOLAI GOGOL . . . pistachio ice cream, mourning doves on a wire, strands of pearls, opalescence, sitting side by side at a piano, salt water taffy, blowing a perfect bubble with your gum, the television flickering as you sleep, cradling a lover's face, banana pudding trifle.

⊹ SIGMA . . . fresh linen smell, rose gardens, pressed flowers, sleek dress shoes, swan necks in the shape of a heart, satin and silk, bouquets in translucent cellophane, sleeves wide enough to fit someone else's arms in, lace folding fans, white chocolate truffles.

[dilfsfordinner]

honeymoon- nanami kento x wife!reader

a/n- in preparation for this week’s episode, this is my ode to my husband

warnings- fem!reader, unprotected sex, praise, missionary pos, mating press, belly bulge, nanami has a big d, implied breeding kink, fluffff

—————————————————————————

Nanami Kento had been dreaming of a vacation. Somewhere with sand and palm trees, warm weather, the ocean, you. Now it would take a lot for him to admit this because he’s not a dreamer, per se, especially with his strict work ethic, but the amount of times he had to catch himself during a shift from drifting off in a fantasy about sleeping in or relaxing on the beach, you could say he had started to reflect his child-like self.

Except every single one of those dreams could not rival the feeling of experiencing his honeymoon with you. He’d gotten what he wanted. A private villa, surrounded by greenery with a whole rainbow of colors blessing the space. Red, orange, pink, and especially white flowers would pop out from the dense leaves of the tropical garden that was essentially your front yard, their sweet perfume just light enough to not be too overbearing. The villa was perched in a cluster of palms, the white-sand beaches of the Caribbean literally at your disposal by a pathway from your bedroom, its wood-lined trail leading down to a private oceanside cove of sand and the most vivid aquamarine water you’d ever seen.

It had been five days since the two of you had arrived at your little oasis, 120 hours of complete and utter relaxation accompanied by sheer happiness. You could barely contain your excitement for the trip when he’d announced the surprise destination a month before your wedding, and that giddiness you were once feeling was multiplied tenfold. Kento Nanami was finally your husband. The man you had fallen for was now tied to you legally and emotionally, the two of you matching with the golden bands placed upon your fingers, yours just a tad bit more extravagant with the stone you had dreamt of forged perfectly into the smooth metal.

Your favorite gift you had received though was once again from your husband. It had been given on the day of your wedding, a little white, bow-tied box placed in your hands before the reception. Upon opening it, you were met with a pretty bracelet, a twisted chain of pure platinum so uniformly perfect, you knew your husband had picked it. Your favorite part however, was the tiny charm hanging from the chain, a cursive “k” inscribed into the precious material, a clear sign of your newly wed’s hand in the purchase. “I’m yours now,” he had whispered into your hair, kissing away a stray tear from your cheek before helping you clasp the delicate chain around your wrist.

For days you had thanked him any way you could for his kindness, the two new additions he’d gifted so beautifully thoughtful, gifts that certainly garnered a lot of attention, especially when it came to some.. exerting activities.

It was like the atmosphere had turned you two into animals, your bodies sore from the endless (sorry for lack of a better word), fucking, the tension so thick you could feel it heavy in your chest, the warm, salty breeze flowing through the mesh, white curtains of your bedroom doing nothing to help calm your lustful state.

It was nearly dusk and your current session had started about an hour ago, any and every position you could think of already tried, your body turned and flipped a multitude of times before you were placed on your back again, thighs pushed up against your chest, your legs falling over your husband’s broad shoulders.

Your throat was dry from the fountain of moans constantly spilling from your mouth, Nanami’s name starting to sound like an imaginary word from the amount of times you’d choked out the syllables. Don’t be too embarrassed though because he was just as knocked as you, his skin flush from exertion, sweat dampening his blonde locks, and his usually cool tone of voice had turned desperate, your own name a slurred grumble or groan every time he felt you clench around him.

Your silky, white nightgown had been discarded long ago, the little scrap of fabric on the floor reminding you of what had started this escapade in the first place. The memory of Nanami’s eyes darkening when you’d emerged for bedtime had your stomach tightening and eyes squeezing shut. You’d known him for who knows how long and he still managed to make you feel like a horny teenager with just one look.

“My perfect wife,” he panted into your neck, heavy cock nudging your deepest parts, you could feel him in your belly, could even see him in your belly, the area below your navel molding just slightly into the shape of his cock every time he would push into you.

Your skin was glowing from the last remnants of sunlight reaching through the gauzey curtains, the ocean waves gentle as they crashed along the shore, wrapping you in a cocoon of pure passion, the current moment so perfect and loving, one of Nanami’s hands snaking into your palm to ground you, the other resting beside your head as he kissed the tender curve of your neck.

He was a warm lover. Caring, romantic, a listener. Someone who focuses on giving instead of stealing pleasure. That’s why it was so easy to give him your trust, to open yourself up to him emotionally, and physically. Someone who easily outshined anyone when it came to choosing who to share your remaining years with.

Your ring fingers clinked together when he pushed into you with a particularly needy thrust, the golden bands once again twining as his fingers curled over your own in a firm lock. “Only yours,” you whimpered out, voice almost breaking from your very vulnerable position, your chest compromised as your legs were propped up, the backs of your thighs fitting against his chest, folding over his shoulders at the knees.

Not only did your words drive him crazy, but the little jingle he would hear every time his hips connected with your own had his eyebrows knitting with some primal need to actually make you his. The bracelet he’d gifted you had ended up clasped around your delicate ankle, the silver charm glinting his initial in the low lights, every little reflection catching his peripheral, spurring him on. You had done it on purpose. You had known he would have you folded sooner or later and you knew how much he loved to mark you, that piece of jewelry a literal signing of his name on you.

Your mouths latched onto each other, hurried kisses ending in heavy breaths against each other’s face or neck, eventually your foreheads being the place of rest as he continued to fuck you with every ounce of energy in his body.

“-love you, s’much,” you murmured, voice lilting with the rising pleasure in your core, his thick length prodding every ridge you had to offer, that spongey spot of nerves catching his head with every pass, eliciting a gasp from your lips, Nanami’s jaw clenching as he held himself back from completely plowing into you, your approaching climax drawing a rush of liquid from your twitching cunt, trickling onto his thighs.

“I love you,” he kissed you this time, his strong hand fisting the sheets beside your head, the other still clutching onto your hand as he knocked the breath from your lungs, his cock feeling like a full-blown spear impaling you, the only thing keeping you sane being his mouth on you, and the sweet-nothings groaned from his lips.

***

It was dark by the time you two had truly finished with each other, your body curled up in Nanami’s lap as he lounged with you on the large chairs placed outside the curtains of your bedroom, the moonlight bouncing off the waves as they continued their trek across the shore.

His nimble fingers traced gentle shapes on your back, your upper body covered by his blue shirt, dwarfing your form in a pool of fabric, Nanami modeling your “half-nakedness” with only a pair of boxers, his strong legs visible to your very sleepy, but eager eyes.

Some type of tropical, cricket creature hummed a pretty song, coaxing your eyelids to flutter, your body sinking further into your husband’s hold, your cheek nestled gently against the soft curves of his collarbone, his heartbeat steady in your ear.

Taking note of your drifting consciousness, Nanami smiled down at your curled up form, fingers slowly letting up on their brief massage session to brace his hold. “Let’s get you to bed,” he murmured, kissing the top of your hair with such tenderness you almost agreed to get up and listen, but he was just so warm and cozy.

Pretending to not hear him, you put on your best sleeping face, mouth opening slightly to really pull it off, the tiniest of snores leaving you in a very convincing manner. Silence followed your antics before a rumble vibrated from the chest of the man you lied on, a soft laugh leaving him as he took in your ‘sleeping state’, a laugh that had your lips twitching, a smile almost breaking out on your face.

“What a shame.. the Mrs. has fallen asleep on me,” he sighed, voice filled with faux sorrow, and when he relaxed back into the chair, you thought the victory was yours, nuzzling back against his chest to comfortably relax again. That was.. before your world was turned upside down, a yelp echoing from your throat as Nanami hoisted you over his shoulder, your bottom cradled by his large hand as he smiled that stupid smile of his and trekked back into the bedroom, all fatigue gone from the two of you, replaced with the teasing air of aching want.

——————————————————————————

[majestyeverlasting]

𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭

Pairing Rockstar!Eddie x Reader | friends -> lovers

Summary Eddie comes back to Hawkins during a break on his national tour, and realizes he lost touch with someone he cares about deeply: you [angst and fluff]

Word Count: 2.7k

Above, a blue sky melts into orange, bearing a falling sun that makes Lover’s Lake shimmer. Tree branches rustle in the breeze. Until Eddie showed up at your door, whispers of his return to Hawkins had been just that. If you were still in the habit of calling each other regularly, you reckon you would’ve been the first to know. There’s no skepticism now, as the two of you sit on the tailgate of a cherry-red F-150. It’d been a gift from him to Wayne that he had on loan for the outing. This is a spot where campervans usually staked out for the view, but the universe must’ve known the evening belonged to you two. 

There were so many things you told yourself you were going to say when he got back from the road, but the words were hard to find. Elation and confliction had decided that your heart would be the grounds for their tug-of-war. Time had a habit of doing that, muddling feelings. Blurring old lines.  

“Does it feel weird?” you ask. They’re the first words you’ve spoken in a while. It takes Eddie a second to realize you’re talking to him. 

He straightens up in apology. “Does what feel weird?” The hole in his jeans gives sight to the bruise on his knee. You study it, imagining the many ways it could’ve formed. Knee-sliding on stage, most likely. 

“Being back in Hawkins,” you say, meeting his gaze. 

The immediate answer that poses itself on the tip of his tongue is no. Then it occurs to him that what you’re really asking is if it feels weird to be back with you. To that, there is no concrete answer. No such thing as black and white. There’s only technicolor when it comes to you, so vivid and complex that he wished it was as simple as a binary. 

“I don’t know if I’d use the word weird.” 

“Different?” you supply. 

He lifts a shoulder. “That’s a little more like it,” he says. “Coming home always is.” 

You hum, twisting the gold bracelet around your wrist. There’s a silver one around his own and his fingers are adorned with bulky steel rings. More tattoos have found a home beneath his skin as well. The longer you study everything new about him, the more a look that hauntingly resembles grief blooms on your face. As if something that once belonged to the two of you had been lost to the passing of time. When the same sense begins to swell within his own chest, he tries to snub it out the best way he knows how, beckoning whatever levity may be waiting in the wings.  

“But a lot of things stayed the same. Like Mike,” he starts. “I thought he would’ve called it quits by the time I got back, but he’s still kicking around at the auto shop. I was more surprised to see him than he was to see me.” 

After teaching Eddie the little his father failed to teach him about cars, Mike Summerdale gave him his first steady job the summer before his senior year. Working at Starcourt hadn’t held up, neither did Family Video or any other ‘boring’ employment. Mike’s Tire & Auto Shop was the only gig he sustained before the world had bigger plans. Eddie was the type who needed to move around, work with his hands, be challenged. Mike was one of the only people who’d been keen enough to discern that. 

Working at the shop not only gave him a sense of stability, but it also gave him you. The evening you came by for a last minute oil change on your parent’s Peugeot 504—ten minutes before closing—was the day he learned you were even funnier and more down to earth than what he’d gathered from within the stuffy halls of Hawkins High. 

A smile starts on your own lips. “He was probably ready to put his best man back to work,” you say. “Your hands are all pretty now.” 

Scoffing, Eddie turns his palms up as if he’s prepared to prove you wrong. There’s calluses on his fingertips from playing guitar, but not much else. His hands are nowhere near as rugged as they were when he was a mechanic. Back when you’d finally had enough of his indifference, you remember getting him a special cream and even rubbing it into his hands yourself when he puppy-dog-eyed his way into it. Some nights, long after you were supposed to have been back at your parents place, you’d be sitting in his living room with the TV glow illuminating your faces as the scent of eucalyptus lingered in the air between you. 

Eddie follows your hand as you reach over to run your fingers over his palm. “If I gave you a socket wrench right now, you probably wouldn’t even know how to use it.” You’re shamelessly teasing him now. It feels good. 

A genuine smile pulls on his lips, eyes brighter as he looks over at you. Even in his amusement, his next words are thoughtful. “Some things you don’t forget.” 

Sobering words, more like. Memories begin to roll in one by one until they avalanche and you can’t help but relieve yourself of the pressure by shoveling it over to him. 

“Do you remember the night we met?” you ask. “After that we were together all the time.” 

Back when time was all you had. Twenty-four hours wasn’t the same anymore. There were more responsibilities to fill it with, different relationships to entertain. For a while, the only thought ticking in your minds was when you’d get to see each other again. When the phone calls stopped, the care never went away. Neither did the curiosity, the stress of not knowing how the other was doing or where they were in the world. Those concerns continued to ring on and on, reverberating down the hallways of want that built themselves within your hearts. 

The rouge tear that streams down your cheek is the pioneer of more to come. Eddie swallows the lump in his throat when he sees it, hand twitching once in his lap. The next time, he doesn’t stop himself from reaching out to wipe your tears with his thumb. It’s a gesture meant to distract him from the fact that he’s the reason behind them. There’s no escaping the tidal wave of guilt that rushes in to drag him out to sea. You sniffle and shake your head to let him know that it’s okay, but his head is already under water. 

“I do remember,” it comes out quiet, thick. “The night we met—everything.” 

“Then what happened? What did I do wrong?” The wind is knocked out of him at that. “I know things changed so fast, but did everything before you left just get resigned to a spot on a timeline? Something for you to talk about to Rolling Stone?”  

Eddie tries to swallow around his guilt, but ends up choking on offense. 

“I never asked for any of this,” he asserts, hopping off the truck bed. “I may’ve begged God when I was a kid, but that’s ‘cause I didn’t know any better,” he says. “You don’t know what it’s been like. You don’t get to suggest that I stopped giving a shit.”

“Then what did you do, Eddie? Because that’s what it feels like.” You don’t mean to raise your voice, but there’s no way to reel it back in.

You can see the moment his stomach drops. It’s in the way his body grows tense, the faint color that rises to his cheeks, the light that wavers in his eyes. “You’ve been right here in Hawkins with all your friends and family three steps away. I’m the one who’s been in a new city every other night, cameras flashing wherever I go.” His voice remains level, but he talks with his hands like he always does. 

“I’ve been on autopilot for the past three months to make it back here with a semblance of sanity. So I’m sorry if I stopped picking up the phone to call. I was too busy trying to breathe with a goddamn elephant on my chest.” He paces away from you to run his hands through his hair. When he faces you again, he looks small. “This is all new to me. If you could just extend some grace.” 

Every word hangs heavy in the space between you. Which feels like miles. Eddie doesn’t huff or move or make any rash decision he’ll regret. He averts his gaze to refocus his attention on the lake. Its stillness feels like a mockery. There’s a dull thud as your feet meet the ground, followed by footsteps as you head into the woods. Despite every inch of you that wants to, you don’t look back. The feeling of his gaze is enough. 

He follows a few minutes after you’ve disappeared. The whole way, he wonders if his words were too harsh, if he’d gone about expressing himself the right way. The earthy crunch of his footsteps are soft as comes up behind you. You’re standing at The tree. The one everyone in Hawkins manages to come across in a lifetime, even if they decide not to leave their mark. The stories you heard about it growing up made it out to be a relic. 

Wound-Bearer was the name it had been given by a man from the class of ‘66, meant to immortalize the proof of love, romantic and platonic. Or at least bear a sign that it once existed. Looking at it now, more initials had been added since you and Eddie contributed to it your senior year. The carving stood out more than the rest, not because it was particularly noticeable or impressive, but because it was yours. Eddie stops a few paces away and spots it in seconds as he looks over your shoulder. 

Both of you hold your breath until you give in. 

“I didn’t mean to sound selfish. I’ve just been scared, Eddie.” You’re ashamed as you turn around to face him. “Scared that you didn’t want to talk anymore. That our friendship was fading away,” you say, scoffing a second later. “Now I sound like we’re in a movie.” 

A tenderness settles in his eyes that you don’t believe you deserve. “Our lives are a fucking movie,” he says, breathing out a chuckle. 

Things began to take off after he got scouted by the agent who’d flown out from California to visit family. You remember the dreams that had filled your head, each one of them somehow including you—you tagging along on the road, sitting front row at his shows, being right off camera during interviews. Reality proved itself to be nowhere near as sweet as your imagination. Later, when he signed to a label and was set for a national tour, the sacrifices of the limelight revealed themselves as pressing and real. 

Joining him in that new stage of his life meant leaving everything you’d ever known, bypassing university, being subject to thousands of eyes that just wanted to gawk. That’s why the day he left Hawkins was the day he left you behind. Even in his own mind, you not being his personal assistant was for the better. Him losing a sense of stability to chase his dreams didn’t mean you should be strapped to his side and subject to the same. 

At least you had a shot at creating a nice life for yourself. You were smart, talented, and someone worth building a life with. Music was all he had going. Leaving Hawkins was his only shot and it meant walking through the fire. 

A surprised sound escapes him when you crowd into his space to wrap your arms around him like he’s a soldier home from war. It’s the same type of hug Wayne had given him earlier that afternoon. It felt like love, like safety, like home. He melts into you, and the two of you stand like this until you remember that embraces aren’t meant to last forever. 

•••

Tonight, Eddie Munson takes it slow for the first time in his life. The speed limit signs on the side of the road dare him to go their limit. There’s hardly anybody on the roads to give him trouble for it either. It’s nice, the long way home always is. The radio plays low as the warm night air flows in through the widows. Eddie drives with his right hand, left arm hanging outside the truck. 

“Fuck, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” he grouses as he brakes for a stop sign. There’s enough earnestness in his voice to make you startle as you track his gaze. 

On the opposite side of the street, the old location for Scoot’s Scoops sits idle with boarded windows and a dimmed sign. 

You heave a sigh. “They just relocated,” you assure, rubbing your chest to calm down. “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

Eddie’s eyes are apologetic as he looks over at you. “I damn near had one myself. Sorry.” He reaches over to squeeze your thigh before his brain catches up to his body. It’s a fleeting touch that warms your entire being and stuns you into a brief stillness as if he was electric. 

He shifts in his seat and clears throat. “Maybe we can go to the new location tomorrow. Get some ice cream.” 

You blink a few times, mind still fuzzy. “Yeah, that’d be fun.” 

The remainder of the ride is quiet. When he pulls into the parking lot of your apartment complex, you’re swift to gather your things into your lap, still buzzing. “Thanks for the ride back,” you say, biting on your lower lip as a loud silence stretches. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

He wants to walk you to your door, but he fears he’s already overstepped. “Yup. G’night.” 

Eddie curses under his breath as the door snaps shut behind you. After running a hand down his face, a tube lipstick catches his attention in the passenger seat. It takes him a few seconds to grab it and follow after you. By then, you’ve already made it inside and up the short flight of stairs. When the door of the complex closes behind him, it cuts off a cacophony chirping insects. 

Upon making it to the second floor, there’s something intimate about seeing you standing under the dim, humming lights fiddling with your keys. It isn’t until you get the door open that you regard him. 

His smile is sheepish, unlike him in every way. “You forgot this.” He reads the label as if he hadn’t committed it to memory during his short trip up the stairs, “Strawberry Crush, New Hydrating Formula.” A boyish smile buds on his face as he holds it out to you. 

“Oh my gosh, thank you so much.” Contrary to your words, there’s no inflection of surprise in your tone as you take it from him. Forgetting hadn’t been a mistake. His eyes flit inside to get a glimpse of your apartment. “Maybe I can give you a proper tour tomorrow after ice cream,” you offer. 

Eddie shoves his hands into his pockets. “Sure, I’m down.”

He waits until you’re inside to walk back to his truck. You rush to peep out your living room window to watch him climb into the truck. He doesn’t pull away like you expect him to. Instead, he stays parked. Headlights shining, attracting moths and other flying things. The urge to see him one last time overpowers your better judgment in a fight that lasts all of five seconds. 

In record time, you’re back outside. He rolls down his window as you approach. 

“Forget something else?” 

“I did, actually.”

You rest your forearms on the window sill and he instinctively leans towards you, warm eyes searching your face trying to get a read. In another life, he sees your next move coming. In this one, it seems too good to be true: a kiss as soft as they come to the sounds of the night.

-

Any and all interaction appreciated. I see you <3

[valyriandreamer]

𝔇ornish 𝔅ride

summary: Prince Jacaerys is sent to Dorne to secure their support in exchange for a marriage alliance during the dance of the dragons.

paring: jacaerys velaryon x martell!reader

Jacaerys Velaryon squinted into the sunlight, the wind whipping at his dark brown hair as he flew high above the scorched sands of the Dornish desert, riding his dragon Vermax. The sky over Dorne was cloudless, a vivid expanse of blue stretching from horizon to horizon, with the heat of the sun baking the land below.

The journey to Sunspear had been swift by dragon, much faster than any raven could carry the messages of war. Queen Rhaenyra needed allies desperately, and Dorne—with its vast army and formidable independence—was a prize she could not afford to overlook.

His thoughts were heavy as Vermax descended towards the palace of Sunspear, nestled in the heart of Dorne. The Martells were proud, notoriously independent from the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. But Dorne was also practical, and the offer of a marriage to a royal of Targaryen blood might sway them. Jacaerys had never been one to shy away from his duties, but the weight of this mission pressed on him. It was not just about war—it was about securing the future of his family.

The landing was gentle as Vermax touched down in the gardens of Sunspear, the dragon’s large claws sinking into the sandy soil. Jacaerys dismounted with a swift motion, his boots hitting the ground as he glanced around, taking in the surroundings. The gardens were lush, a stark contrast to the barren sands beyond. Palm trees swayed in the breeze, their long leaves casting dappled shadows on the ground, while bright flowers bloomed in vibrant reds, oranges, and purples. It was a place of beauty, but the underlying tension of the political situation was not lost on him.

He stood tall, adjusting the strap of his sword as he waited. He could hear the distant sound of horses approaching, their hooves beating a steady rhythm on the stone paths leading to the palace. Jacaerys knew that this moment, the negotiations he was about to undertake, could shift the balance of power in the war. The Greens had secured their own alliances through marriage, and if the Dornish armies joined Rhaenyra’s cause, it could be enough to turn the tide.

Soon enough, the riders appeared. At the head of the group was Lord Qoren Martell, the ruler of Dorne, a tall and imposing figure with olive skin and a serious expression. His presence was commanding, but it was the figure beside him that captured Jacaerys’ attention.

The woman riding at Prince Qoren’s side was striking, her beauty impossible to ignore. Her dark eyes gleamed with intelligence, and her long, thick black hair fell in soft ringlets around her face. She wore a deep red entari, the luxurious fabric adorned with gold embroidery that glittered in the sunlight. Over the gown, she wore a flowing kaftan, cinched at the waist with a golden belt that highlighted her graceful figure. Her skin was warm, bronzed by the Dornish sun, and her jewellery—rings, bracelets, and a necklace set with emeralds—caught the light as she moved.

This had to be Princess Y/N Martell.

Jacaerys had heard of her—fiery, intelligent, and politically astute, Y/N was said to be a woman who knew her own worth and was unafraid to wield power. As she dismounted with a fluid grace, handing the reins of her horse to one of the guards, Jacaerys found himself watching her with a mix of curiosity and admiration.

“Prince Jacaerys Velaryon,” Prince Qoren greeted him, his voice deep and measured as he stepped forward. “Welcome to Sunspear.”

Jacaerys inclined his head in a respectful nod. “Lord Qoren. I thank you for your hospitality.”

Qoren’s eyes flickered towards Vermax, who stood behind Jacaerys, the dragon’s golden-green eyes watching the exchange with eerie calm. “A dragon is a rare sight in Dorne,” Qoren remarked. “But I trust you did not come here simply to display your power, Prince Jacaerys.”

Jacaerys met the man’s gaze evenly. “I come on behalf of my mother, Queen Rhaenyra. The war has already begun, and we seek the aid of Dorne. In return, my mother offers an alliance bound through marriage.”

There was a brief pause as Qoren considered this, his expression unreadable. “Marriage,” he repeated, his tone neutral.

At his side, Princess Y/N stepped forward, her dark eyes studying Jacaerys with open curiosity. “And who, pray tell, is to be offered in this alliance?” Her voice was smooth, laced with amusement, as though the entire concept of marriage negotiations was a game to her.

Jacaerys turned his attention to her, meeting her gaze directly. “That is to be decided. I stand ready to marry, as do my younger brothers. The decision would rest with your family, should you choose to align with us.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a slow smile, the kind that hinted at hidden thoughts. “And what do you know of Dornish women, Prince Jacaerys?” she asked, her tone almost playful. “Do you truly believe one of us would be content to marry simply for the sake of war?”

Jacaerys raised an eyebrow, surprised by her forwardness. “I do not presume to know the minds of Dornish women, Princess,” he replied. “But I do know that the realm faces dark days. A union between our houses could bring strength to both.”

Her eyes gleamed with something close to approval. “You are bold, Prince. I admire that.”

Prince Qoren, however, was less easily impressed. “Dorne has never bent the knee to the Iron Throne,” he said, his voice firm. “We fought for our independence and will not give it up easily, even for a marriage.”

Jacaerys stood his ground. “I do not ask for your submission, my lord. Only your support. Dorne’s armies are formidable, and together, we could end this war swiftly. My mother’s rule would be secure, and Dorne’s influence in the realm would grow.”

There was a long silence, broken only by the rustling of the palm trees and the distant calls of birds. Jacaerys could feel the weight of their decision pressing down on him, but he remained calm, knowing that this was a battle of words and wills.

Finally, it was Y/N who spoke. “You offer much, Prince Jacaerys,” she said, her voice soft but clear. “But Dorne does not act without thought. We will consider your offer… and perhaps, in time, we may find that a marriage between us is not so unfavourable.”

Her words were careful, but there was a spark of interest in her eyes that Jacaerys did not miss. He inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement, a silent agreement that there was much more to discuss.

Prince Qoren nodded as well, though his expression remained guarded. “Come,” he said, turning towards the palace. “We will discuss these matters further. It is not a decision to be made lightly.”

As they walked through the shaded pathways of the garden towards the palace, Y/N fell into step beside Jacaerys. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, her lips curving into a slight smile.

“You’ve impressed my father,” she murmured, her tone laced with amusement. “That is not an easy feat.”

Jacaerys glanced at her, his own smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “And what of you, Princess? Have I impressed you?”

Y/N laughed softly, the sound like music to his ears. “Perhaps,” she replied, her dark eyes gleaming. “But I am not so easily swayed by titles and dragons, Prince Jacaerys.”

He met her gaze, intrigued by the challenge in her words. “Then what does sway you, Princess?”

Her smile widened, full of mystery and flirtation. “That, Your Grace, is something you will have to discover for yourself.”

Jacaerys chuckled, though he could feel the weight of her words settle over him. Princess Y/N was not a woman to be taken lightly. She was clever, sharp-tongued, and fiercely independent—qualities that both intrigued and unsettled him. But he knew that securing Dorne’s support was not simply about marriage or politics. It was about earning the respect of a people who had never bent the knee and about understanding the woman who now stood before him as a potential ally, and perhaps more.

As they entered the cool stone corridors of Sunspear, Jacaerys knew that the negotiations were far from over. There was much to be discussed, much to be decided. But as he glanced at Y/N, her dark eyes filled with intelligence and fire, he realised that his journey to Dorne would be far more complex—and far more important—than he had first imagined.

Perhaps, just perhaps, he was not only forging an alliance for his mother but also discovering a path that could shape his own future.

[saltyfreejewelry]

Feiere den wichtigsten Menschen in deinem Leben - dich! Mit einem wunderschönen Herzanhänger, der Liebe und Verbundenheit repräsentiert, ist dieses Schmuckstück nicht nur eine tolle Ergänzung deiner eigenen Sammlung, sondern auch ein aufmerksames Geschenk für einen besonderen Menschen in deinem Leben. Jetzt shoppen!

[baddiewiththebook]

Over the Years | e.m x reader [18+] | EXTRA

-> The origin story of Eddie Munson, and how he fell in love with the worst person he possibly could - his best friend.

-> eddie munson x you (she/her)

-> friends to lovers, slow burn, angst

-> warnings - strong language, suggestive themes, smut [18+]

a/n EXTRA, EXTRA, READ ALL ABOUT IT. This my dear readers is a bonus chapter that does not have to be read to understand the story. But, I do hope you take a look to feel more connected to our favorite characters. xo

-> <-

July 1983*

“Jeff, you got a light?” Eddie’s crouched down on top of the gravel in between your place and his with a firework held between his fingers. The lighter that he was using flickers, but sizzles and burns out before he gets a chance to light the fuse.

The Fourth of July has always been an excuse to blow up something without getting in too much trouble with it. Although, you’re sure the curtains moving back and forth at the Peterson’s trailer is a sure sign that you’re being monitored. A quick call to the sheriff would blow your party.

While Jeff helps Eddie light the firework, you sit back on your porch step. The light from the sky is just a few stars dotting the clear deep blue sky. It’s warm for a summer evening. Without the sun, however, your legs feel the cool breeze and you shiver.

You’ve already gone back inside to slip on a sweater that you’ve zipped up to your chest. Hugging yourself tightly, you wish the boys would get on with their firework show already. It’s nearing eleven in the evening, and your eyelids are burning from trying to stay awake.

“Should we dip?” Robin is bored. She already chased you around with a sparkler until the both of you were out of breath. You were practically up a tree trying to get away from her.

You want to tell her yes. There’s a set of cozy blankets draped across your floor, a bag of forgotten popcorn and a stack of films calling your names. Your plans for the evening had changed when Eddie and his boys came home with a ton of firecrackers that they weaseled off of some guy in a sleezy pickup off the main road near your place.

You sit far enough back, and wait for the explosion.

Just as you’re ready to give up, Gareth drapes a blanket across your bare legs. He spares enough for Robin to scoot over and hug the corner.

“Thanks,” you scan over his bare arms. “Won’t you be cold?”

“I run hot,” he shoves his hands into his pockets, and tries not to tremble on his way back to the circle of boys surrounding the lame firework.

Robin nudges you, “has he asked you out yet?”

“What do you mean?” You hold the blanket closer.

“Come on,” she replies, “you have him in the palm of your hand.”

The boys are flocking around like wild animals that have the last scrap of food. Eddie's running away from the lit firework, but trips over Gareth behind him. They argue, while the firework sizzles then bursts into the sky shooting off bright blues into the night. You watch until all that's left is a cloud of smoke fizzling in the distance.

“Alright, who are you interested in?” You tease Robin. “Anyone catch your eye?"

Robin's quiet about her love life. Perhaps, a private soul. You've never asked her out front why you've never heard of any boy that she finds hot. It's always about you and your problems.

There's only one boy in particular that Robin has come closer to in the past few years. He's the same boy that you've grown up with, so you can only assume that she's waiting for the right time.

“Oh,” you clear your throat. Robin's gone out in space, while staring at a particular subject. “I mean- it makes sense. Eddie’s- er-.”

Robin stops you there, “it’s not Eddie.”

You snort.

Here’s the thing about Robin. Ever since she was a little girl, Robin Buckley knew that something about her was different than the other girls.

In elementary school, Robin played like any other little girl. She can recall the projects they would do in class like drawing picture of mom and dad, or beading a bracelet together. Something that got her attention was how well she could braid her hair into two strands on either side of her head.

During recess, she would become the girl to go to when someone needed a quick fix. She can remember how the strands of hair flowed through her fingertips, so softly like velvet.

Sometime when the weather began to warm, the girls in her class would bring their dolls from home to play house. This prompted a week’s worth of begging and pleading to her own mother to buy her dolls. And, her mom did.

Robin liked the Barbie dolls her mom bought for her. She disliked Ken. Ken's became often were forgotten about. They were dumped in the bottom of a storage bin that was slowly climbing higher to the top with various toys that Robin would loose interest with.

It didn’t occur to her that other little girls were creating a life for their Barbie dolls. They would have little houses made from their pillows and their other creative imaginations. Barbie would have a family with Ken, which was usually a different small stuffed toy named Mary or Mark. They’d have a simple, but happy American life.

Robin’s Barbie didn’t have a Ken. Actually, Barbie despised Ken and his system of oppression against women. Especially, the way he would force her to have his children, just to leave for work every morning and make her his breeding mule.

In more or less words.

Rather than Barbie having Ken bossing her around, Robin’s Barbie had another friend - Other Barbie. Other Barbie made frequent visits to Barbie’s house, and she even stayed the night once or twice (or every night - sun up to sun down). Yes, Barbie lived a lavish life with her dogs and her cats with Other Barbie.

It really shocked her that the girls at school despised Robin’s plan to leave Ken out of the story. That two girls living together (which, they obviously weren’t living together) isn’t appropriate when you’re forty-five and have no children.

Robin disagrees.

In fact, she decides right then that living a life with another woman until they die wouldn’t be a poor plan. Neither of them would have husbands and neither of them would have children. They could have hobbies. They could have pets.

Robin was in for a big shock when she got into middle school, and everyone began developing. To her, the boys became grossly male. The woman became beautiful beyond words. It's much less about their physical form, but their conversations are much more intelligent and more forgiving than to have to explain to an angry man how the world spins fifteen times over.

“Robin,” you grab her attention when you swipe the pad of your thumb over her cheek. Brushing a few strands of her hair away, you’re full of concern when you say, “you’re crying. What’s wrong?”

Robin touches her tear kissed cheek not realizing that she's sprung a leak. While she adores you deeply, you could never come to understand what she goes through daily. If not for the town, the whole world hates her. She's seen the hatred in churches, in newspapers and magazines. The news is always shaming people like her - and, recommending that she be fixed.

In quick step, Robin races back inside to calm herself down back into her safe little bubble where she can smile and play pretend once again. This little life of hers is all that she aspires to have. If she has to be alone forever then so be it.

“I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings,” your voice comes barely above a whisper to her.

Robin jumps out of her skin. Why did you follow her inside?

“It’s not you,” she sniffs. “Allergies.”

“Come on, Rob,” you sort out her lie. “What’s wrong?”

Robin's unsure what's made her say it. The words shock her tongue, as though this is the first time she's ever admitted out loud how she feels. Maybe it is? Spewing the words over again, she waits for the worst to come. You're done being her friend. You never want to see her again!

Yet, you’re quiet.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Robin drops her voice to barely a whisper. “I’m- I’m gay. I like women."

“Okay," you nod slightly. "That's-"

“What?” Robin blinks a few times.

“That's okay."

Robin wobbled. The tight knot in her belly loosened. You didn't care? All this worrying and you still hold the same glistening stare you always share with her. You hold a grin from ear to ear with your arms out wide for her to fall into.

"But," you hold up a finger, before Robin can get too comfortable. "You never told me who you like."

Robin reddens, and you laugh.

-> <-

tags -> @leelei1980 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @jesuisbuginette @starrywhitenight @meetmeatyourworst @munsonburn3r @5tud10-54r4h @pvdulmol @loveryanax @am0iur

[specialagentlokitty]

Klaus x reader - just a smile

Hey, i was wondering if i could request a Klaus Mikaelson x human!reader and the reader is depressed and also ignored by her friends (elena, stefan damon ect) and klaus sees it, sees her and kinda brings her out of her depression if thats okay? Thank you 🤎 - Anon💜

TW: mentions of depression

Sitting in the diner, you had your chin on your hand, staring at your phone waiting for it to ring.

“Hello Love.”

You jumped a little bit, and you looked at the seat in front of you.

Klaus sat down, setting two glasses down and you looked at the one that he had placed down in front of you before turning your attention back to him.

“If you don’t want it that’s fine. I just want to talk is all.”

You glanced at your phone again before putting it back into your pocket.

“Whatever it is I’m not interested in it Klaus.”

Standing up, you tossed some cash in his direction.

“For the drink.”

Stuffing your hands into your pockets you made your way back outside and towards your car, fully aware the vampire was following you.

“Wait! Wait.”

Klaus gently grabbed your wrist, and he walked over you, still carefully holding you but giving you room to pull away if you wanted too.

“I know it’s your birthday, I just wanted to give you something.”

Klaus reached into his pocket with his other hand and pulled out a small box, placing it in your palm and he let go.

You looked at it a little confused.

“Have a little faith love. I would never hurt anybody on their own birthday, it’s a gift, for you.”

You slowly took the lid of the box, setting it on the front of the car, and you looked at the beautiful bracelet inside.

“I know you’ve been wanting it, you asked your friends for it for your birthday, they never showed up to celebrate with you.”

Klaus reached inside, taking the bracelet he took the box and set it aside.

Turning back around, Klaus held your arm out, carefully clasping the bracelet around your wrist.

“Beautiful.” He smiled.

You cracked a small smile, admiring the designs and the patterns on it.

Lifting your gaze, you looked at the original vampire, giving him a smile.

“Thank you…”

Klaus glanced at his phone, putting it back away.

“There’s still time, I have one more gift for you if I may.”

“Okay.”

Klaus took the box and put it back into his pocket, and he held his hand out for the keys of your car and you handed them over.

He drove you just out of town, and when he got out of the car you did as well, trailing behind of him without that much worry.

Klaus led you up a small hill, and he slowly sat down, so you sat down with him.

The trees in the distance were all surrounded in beautiful white lights, and on the lake were lantern boats softly drifting.

“I know you don’t enjoy large shows of affection, or large celebrations, it’s why unlike your friends you are never forced to attend any of my events. But I know you enjoy the simple things.”

“This is simple?”

Klaus chuckled a little bit.

“It is for me. But May I ask something?”

“Yeah.”

Klaus turned his head towards you.

“Why did you agree to come with me? You know whom I am, you know what I have done. You know I could have easily thought you here to kill you.”

“Yeah, I do know all of that.”

Klaus sighed.

“I know you have depression, I know your so called friends ignore you and pretend you are not real.”

“So?”

Klaus got up, standing in front of you and he held out his hand towards you, giving you a charming smile.

“Let me treat you the way you are supposed to be treated, let me show you there is a whole world out there just for you.”

You sighed.

“Just give me the chance.”

“This could be a ploy to get close to the others.”

“Perhaps, or perhaps I’m being genuine but you will never know until you take the chance.”

You smiled, placing your hand on his.

“Alright, fine.”

To you, there wasn’t anything to lose. If he killed you you’d be dead, it wouldn’t matter to you, if he didn’t then you might have a friend who cared about you.

Either one seemed like a good outcome to you.

Everyday Klaus would meet you at the diner, he would buy you dinner and just talk to you about your day.

Even after months he still showed interest in you, learning about you, just content and happy to spend time with you.

Sitting on the roof of your garage, you looked down at the street to the vampire who waved at you.

“Care for company?” Klaus asked.

“Yeah I’d like that.”

He smiled, jumping up, he easily pulled himself up and he walked over, dropping himself next to you.

He looked at you and he furrowed his brows a little bit.

“What’s wrong love?”

“Just a bad day I guess…”

Klaus leant against the wall, and you placed your head on his shoulder, watching as he took your hand in his, running his thumb along your knuckles.

It made you smile a little bit.

“Tell me all about it.”

So you did, you told Klaus all about your day and what had happened and he sat there listening.

“I see, May I offer some advice?”

“Yeah…”

“You are incredible, you deserve so much more. And you want to know a secret?”

You lifted your head, turning around to face him and he smiled softly at you.

“They don’t deserve somebody as kind as you…” he whispered.

He leant forward, kissing your forehead and you smiled, closing your eyes.

“You have a beautiful smile, and a beautiful soul. And I have seen you grow so much happier recently, that’s all I want for you. For you to be happy.”

He smiled, and you smiled back.

“Now, I believe I promise to show you how to paint, did I not?”

“You absolutely did.”

“Come along then.”

He got up, jumping down he stood there and waited for you to lower yourself before he held his arms up, gently taking your waist, lowering you to the floor.

Klaus laced his fingers with yours and you looked up at him.

“No amount of art will ever compare to you.” He said.

You laughed a little, letting him lead you to his car.

Klaus smiled as he opened the door for you.

You were radiant, stunning, and you had such a kind soul.

And despite everything Klaus had ever done, he couldn’t find it in his cold heart to hurt you, all he wanted to do was make you smile and let you be happy

[asherthehimbo]

Listen to my music, listen to your heart

previous | fifteen : the sun is still a star, no matter the time of day| m. list | next

notes: warnings, death, grief, domestic violence, physical abuse, verbal abuse, injuries (broken arm plus some bruised ribs), overworked kid, homophobia, mentions of religion, not too much though, bestings, sibling hate, love, self doubt, brief mention of starvation, this is a dark one guys, we HATE mr. Lee trust.

word count: 8. 4k

The two boys sit on the picnic blanket in the shade of the big tree in their favorite park, little snacks and toys littered around them as they play. The elder of the two silently making a bracelet out of flowers he’s collected as the younger plays with the sunlight. Hand moving in and out from the shade as he giggles. “Warm” he says as his hand is extended, before retracting it back into the shade of the tree “and cold!”

“Are you having fun with the sun Channie?” the older boy giggles as he looks at his friend briefly before focusing back on the creation in his hands. “Yeah it’s really fun! Like when my hand is outside the shade it's warm, but when it's inside it's cold again! Come on Bubbles, try it!” Chan's hand reaches for [Name]’s before pulling it out into the sun and retracting it again. “See? The sun keeps us warm!” Chan says as he drops [Names]’s hand. “Mhm, the sun keeps us warm, but too much of it can also hurt us yaknow?” he says softly.

“So? It’s pretty and makes me feel nice! It’s not hurting us on purpose! The sun is nice! It’s like you!” Chan smiles at [Name]. “Like me?” [Name] asks softly as he looks at Chan surprised. “Yeah! It's warm and cozy like when you hug me! And it makes me feel nice like you do when you compliment me! It also makes it light outside like when you help me through the dark hallway’s on sleepovers, and it’s pretty and bright like when you smile!” Chan's words are like an arrow right through [Name]s heart. The six year old is pretty mature for his age, and he thinks that the warm feeling blossoming in his chest now is similar to what they call love in the movies.

“Hm.. so I’m your sun?” [Name] asks as he looks at Chan smile, Chan nods his head and [Name] speaks again, “Will you be my moon then?” Chan tilts his head confusedly “Yaknow being my light in the night? Something that stands out in the dark sky?” At the elders' words Chan nods his head excitedly before reaching out his pinky. “Let’s promise!”, [Name] interlocks his pinky with Chan before striking out his thumb as Chan connects their thumbs. “It's locked in!” [Name] giggles.

Poor kids, didn’t they know? The sun may be bright but it’s burning everything around it, it’s overheating and burning itself with no way of stopping. The sun may be beautiful, but so is destruction, truly wonderful that a child's innocence allows them to remain unaware of this fact. At least they can enjoy this wonderful moment, lest it be their last.

—--------------

Stepping up to the door of your apartment, Chan could feel his heart beating out of his chest. His palms sweaty and clammy, his breathing almost erratic as he tries to control it. He’s shifting on his legs as he debates ringing the doorbell. Before he got here his mind was racing with questions so loud he couldn’t even hear the outside world, but now its so achingly silent he feels like he could go insane. He takes a deep breath again before eventually ringing the doorbell, he’s looking down at his feet- he’s not sure if he can actually face you because he knows if he looks in your eyes he’d crumble.

The door opens and he can hear your breath hitch but he doesn't care he does, he walks past you, no greeting audible as he keeps his head down. Walking into the familiar living room before sitting down on the couch, fiddling with his hands. You silently follow him, your mind a whirlwind of its own. You stand before him before you open your mouth “Channie I-” “Don’t just, don’t call me that. You don’t get to call me that, not right now. I want answers, I want to know why you didn’t think I was good enough?” Chan finally looks up at you, his eyes are red and brimmed with tears and his lip is quivering. Your heart shatters and you immediately lower yourself onto your knees so you’re eye-level with him.

You gently take his face in your hands and wipe away the tears that fall with your thumb, forcing him to finally meet your eyes, “No, no it's not like that Channie. I promise you it will never be like that. You’re good enough, you’re better than good enough- it’s just. I couldn't be selfish and sacrifice the happiness of everyone around me just so that I could be with you. Trust me I wanted to, fuck I wanted to be with you so bad, I want to be with you so bad but I- Chan it would be so wrong of me. The happiness of you, of my family would be taken away because of that and I can’t bring myself to do that to you, to them” Your voice is barely above a whisper but it’s filled with deep emotion that Chan has never heard from you.

“How? How would us being together influence the happiness of others, of your family? Why do you think it would hurt me?” Chan's lips are wobbling as he speaks, his voice desperate. “It’s a long story Channie I don’t- I don’t want you to see anyone differently because of it. I don’t want to ruin others' perception of what they know by sharing it.” You say sympathetically.

“Please, I deserve the truth, after everything we’ve been through I want to- I need to know” He grips your hands that rest on his cheeks. “I- okay do you remember when we were really young? Like right before Olivia was born, me, Rachel and Lix went to live with my granddad for a while yeah?” You ask softly and Chan nod’s. “Okay so there’s a reason for that, it wasn’t just cause my mom needed some alone time uhm”

At the age of six, bones break as easily as sticks

“And then they stwepped on the wainbow wight?” Little four year old Rachel says to her younger brother who listens intently. Two year old Felix laying on his stomach as he looks wide eyes to his big sister, head nodding at her words, both toddlers are sitting on the soft playmat in the livingroom. Behind Rachel sits the eldest Lee child, gently styling his sister's hair into twin braids to the best of his six year old capabilities. “Okway so then-” his sisters retelling of one of her new favorite Barbie movie is cut short when their mother walks into the room, she smiles softly at her three children as she walks to them, one hand on her back as the other rests on her pregnant belly, her bump just barely visible. “Hm, [Name] dearest we’re gonna go visit Granddad okay? A sleepover isn't that fun?” The two youngest kids start giggling and cheering but the eldest looks at his mother wearily, her smile seems strained and he can see what looks to be a bruise forming around the wrist that's behind her back. “Can you take your siblings upstairs and help them pack for me baby?” her words are directed at the eldest as he nods.

He silently stands up, picking up his younger brother, securing him on his hip before taking his sister's hand and walking out of the living room up the stairs to their bedrooms. He has a sinking feeling in his stomach, it's bad and dark and he doesn’t like it, it makes him nauseous but he doesn't say anything. Instead he follows his mothers orders, wanting to make any and everything easier for her in her current state. After a while as he’s ensured he’s packed everything needed for him and his siblings he walks back down the stars, only now the closer he gets to the living room, the louder he hears the voices of his parents. The sinking feeling gets darker and he feels weak, like he’s crumbling under the shadow monster festering in his stomach, he puts Felix down in fear that he’d drop him. Placing their bags by the stairs and his two siblings next to one another, “Stay here okay? Big brother is just gonna go check on momma” he says softly and after the two nodded he walks silently to the living room.

“YOU CAN’T JUST FUCKING TAKE MY CHILDREN AWAY FROM ME” he hears his fathers muffled voice scream through the door, anger evident. “I CAN’T HAVE MY CHILDREN STAY HERE WITH YOU IF YOU KEEP THIS UP” his mothers voice is desperate, he silently opens the living room door as he looks at them. His father seems frazzled, button up shirt a mess as it's rolled up by his arms, hair sticking every direction as the vein in his forehead pops in the way it always does when he's mad. His mother is practically shaking as she stands on the other side of the couch, in front of the glass coffee table that [Name] knows they’ll have to baby proof again soon once his mother gives birth.

‘KEEP THIS UP? I AM DOING NOTHING BUT CARE FOR MY FAMILY” his father states angrily as he walks closer to his wife. “YOU AREN'T, CARING FOR THEM DOESN'T MEAN HITTING YOUR SON SO HARD YOUR HAND IS IMPRINTED ON HIS BACK JUST BECAUSE HE WANTED TO SPEND TIME WITH HIS FRIEND. CARING FOR THEM DOESN'T MEAN GOING OUT AND SLEEPING WITH SOMEONE ELSE. YOU AREN'T CARING FOR THEM, YOU’RE ABUSING THEM!” his mother screams and her words seem to snap something in his father.

What happens next is almost in slow motion, his father moves forward fast and pushes his mother in a fit of rage, unluckily [Name] is faster as he opens the door and bolts for his mother. Without thinking he gets behinds her, wrapping his little arms around her back as they’re gently placed on her stomach, he feels the table beneath him shatter, he feels the tiny pieces of glass sticking into his back, his head hurts and he think he’s landed wrong because his one arm is bent weirdly. The rest is kind of blurry to him, he hears his father scream, blaming him for being in the way, he hears his mother crying, asking if he’s okay and muttering apologies. He hears the shuffle of little feet as his younger siblings rush into the room, and his only thought is that he hopes they didn’t see anything. That his mother and his unborn sibling are safe.

When he wakes up to a very bright light, his whole body hurts and for a moment his eyes can’t focus correctly, he goes to use his arm as a way to block the bright light but is met with a big white cast. “[Name]? Are you awake my boy?” The voice of his grandpa speaks from his side, but it feels wrong. His grandpa’s voice is always happy and upbeat, loud and able to warm up any room, only now it sounds worried, soft even. He turns his head to his grandfather, ignoring the headache before he asks “Are they okay?” his grandpa looks confused, “Is who okay my boy?” “Mom, mom and the baby, are they okay?” his grandpa's lips seem to draw into a line before he answers, “Yes. Yes, they’re fine, they’re talking to your doctor right now. Everyones here, the Bahngs too, we’ve all been worried for you” [Name] looks at him confused, “what do you mean? Why is everyone here?” he asks as he tries to sit up, wincing at the pain in his ribs.

“Hey hey don’t try to move too much, you've got a few bruised ribs there, your back is pretty torn up too” his grandpa states, and the boy just nods. “You've been asleep for about a whole day my boy, when you were brought in last night you went into surgery for about 4 hours before being put on heavy anesthesia, doctors said your injuries aren’t too extreme so when you wake up and they’ve deemed it safe you can go home, but you do have a concussion, now before your mom gets in here want to tell me what really happened? Cuz I don’t believe the story of your mom just slipping and you happened to be in the way” the boy only moves his face to the other side of the room, he knows he can’t lie to his grandpa but he doesn't want to tell him the truth either. “Now come on-” his grandpa’s words are cut off as his name is screamed and people rush into the room, his mom, then his two little siblings. The little body of his sister jumping onto the bed, despite the pain he chuckles as she hugs him.

“Hey, Rache sweetie you’re hurting your brother” his grandfather states as his mom places kisses all over his face, muttering apologies as his youngest brother is sat by his feet, holding onto his leg. People start slowly shuffling into the room, Chan is first as he rushes to his best friends side and for a moment [Names] eyes light up happy to see his friend, until his father walks into the room and his face drops, he practically ignores Chan as he feels his fathers eyes on him. “Excuse me, I need to do a check up on him now that he’s awake, all this attention isn’t good right now could everyone move out please?” the doctor speaks as she walks into the room, checking some of the machines next to [Name]. A moment of silence passes as the people start to shuffle out without hesitance, “Can uhm- can Grandpa stay?” [Name] speaks softly, the doctor's eyes soften before nodding. “Yeah, one person staying won't hurt,” she replies.

As she checks over him and [Name] answers all her questions truthfully as he sips water for his dry throat he can feel his grandpa’s curious eyes on him. “Can we stay with you when I get out? Only until mom gives birth” [Name] asks his grandfather hesitantly, as the elder man's eyes soften, “Yeah bud, your moms already planned for you three to come visit me for a while, she needs some time, fourth pregnancy is hitting her hard she said” his grandfather replied, he nods his head as he continues to fiddle with the cap of the water bottle in his hand. The next 30 or so weeks would hopefully be calm for him and his siblings, but he doesn't know what will happen after that, when he gets back home. He’s scared of what his father will do.

At the age of ten, you realize you'll never see your childhood again

“Come on Bubbles, let's play!” Chan says excitedly to the older boy as he stands in the doorway of the study room in the Lee family home, Felix standing behind him as the young boy holds onto the back of Chan’s shirt as he looks at his older brother. “I can't right now Channie, I have to study, maybe later?” The elder says as he sits at his desk, books all around him, pens scattered around. His hair has grown a bit longer than it was when he was younger, it’s almost past his ears. Chan groans a bit at the elders' response “Come on you’ve been studying all day” [Name] sighs at Chan's words, “I'm sorry Channie I just need to finish this, I'll be out later okay?” he says softly. Chan’s dejected face breaks his heart but he can’t afford to not study, not after what his father had done to him last time.

“Okay well we’ll be outside then..” Chan says softly as he turns around, Felix following him, not before giving his older brother a little wave and a small smile. They close the door behind them, leaving [Name] alone with his own thoughts. He turns his attention back to the notes in front of him but he can’t think anymore, his vision is blurry as tears line his eyes, the sting of staring at the books all day is giving him a migraine. He leans back a moment, massaging his head, but it doesn't help. His stomach grumbles a bit, reminding him he hasn’t eaten since breakfast but he pays it no mind, he knows if he goes out of this room now his father wouldn’t be happy. Instead he just takes a sip of the water bottle on his desk before sitting upright and continuing his studying. Wiping the tears lining his eyes when they would form.

Time like this passed by quickly, before he knew it the only light in the room had come from his lamp, the sun had set and the moon, at the end of her phase had brought little light through the window. [Name] could no longer hear the giggles of his younger siblings and friends outside. There was some commotion inside the house a while ago, when the family had dinner, he heard voices clearly when his mother had opened the door to bring him food. The warm smile she gave him would've been comforting if not for the sympathy swirling in her eyes. Ever since the accident she had yet to look at him the same, he guesses that's because he had only moved back home recently, only because his grandpa was sick and couldn't care for him alone anymore so they had to move back.

The life he had tried so hard to forget quickly came back to him, and he couldn't stop it. He couldn't tell anyone, that would only make it worse. He thinks his grandfather knows, or at least suspects something, he always does. But the man isn't as strong and happy as he used to be. He can't protect [Name] anymore, but that's okay, this time [Name] will just have to protect him, protect all of them.

He stares at his plate of uneaten food, he forgot about it, and with the anxiety bubbling in his stomach he doesn't have too much of an appetite. Despite his hunger just the thought of consuming the food made him want to vomit. He couldn't do this anymore, just sit here in the silence, his head throbbing with pain as he tries to hold back tears. So he stands up, he opens the door softly, and when he doesn't hear commotion he closes it again, only now he's outside the room of nightmares.

Softly he drags himself up the stairs to his grandfather's room, he walks past the rooms of his siblings as he hears soft giggles echo from them. He wants so badly to stop, to join them, any of them, to laugh with them, but he can't, he can't face them like this. So he continues to walk slowly, opening the door and seeing his grandfather sitting on his bed, back leaning against the headrest as he holds a book, his glasses at the bottom of his nose, he looks up at the door and smiles. Almost as if he's expecting his dearest grandson. He puts down the book, along with his reading glasses and opens his arms.

He doesn't say a word, but [Name] is thankful, he lets the tears that well in his eyes fall as he closes the door, or at least he believes he does. He rushes to his grandfather's side, immediately sobbing as he clings to the elder man. His grandfather's arms around him have always been comforting, the soft flesh surrounding him like a protective blanket. It wasn't like being wrapped in the bony arms of his mother, caused by the starvation his father put her through, when she would cry to him about not being able to protect him. It wasn't like the hard muscle or his fathers arms that would put force behind each beating he received. No, his grandfather was soft, he was accepting.

“Shh., it's okay my boy, I'm here, it's okay you can rest now” His grandfather whispers as he pats the boy's head. “It hurts grandpa, it hurts so much” [Name] sobs as he curls more into his grandfather. “What hurts my boy?” he asks softly. “Everything, my head, it hurts from studying all day, it's so painful. I just want it to stop, everything hurts. My heart hurts, my chest burns. I just want to play with them. I just want to play with him. Why can't I play with him, Grandpa? Why aren't I allowed to?” the little boy's body shakes as he sobs, and it's at times like these that he's reminded this is exactly what he is. A little boy, a child.

“Who is it you wish to play with my dear boy?” his grandfather asks, although he already knows the answer, but the young mind listening in on their conversation doesn't, and his grandfather intends to give him that knowledge. “Channie.. I just want to play with Channie again… I miss him Grandpa, I miss him so much. He's always right there, but I can't - I cant-” the boy can't finish his words as he continues to choke on his own tears. His Grandfather just simply sushes him, rubbing his back in a comforting manner, becoming acutely aware of the bumps or raised skin he can feel through the thin shirt on his grandson's back.

It's a while of this, continuing until the boy has stopped crying, his tears still falling but his breathing is more stable now, his eyes are shut as he drifts off. He's always been a heavy sleeper after he's cried. It's this fact that causes his grandfather to act as he does. “You can come in Chan” he says, and the boy looking through the crack in the doorway yelps at being noticed. He slowly opens the door, eyes only on his sleeping friend. “You knew I was here?“ He asks softly as he walks closer, “I always do my boy” the old man smiles at him.

“Is Bubbles gonna be okay? “ Chan looks up at the elderly male, before looking back down at his friend in worry. “He will be, one day…. but until that day comes I need you to promise me something Chan, can you do that?” Chan nods his head frantically and the old man chuckles. “One day, one day when I'm not here anymore, will you take care of him for me?” Chan looks confused “you're leaving?” his voice is hesitant. “No, no not anytime soon, but one day I might have to… will you promise me you'll take care of him then?” Chan nods again, a smile on his face “mhm! I'll do everything I can to protect him”

“that's good my boy, thank you… thank you for giving an old man some peace of mind”

At the age of sixteen is when you realize the world is awfully mean

It was one of the rare days in the Lee household that everyone [Name] loved was in the same place. His father was gone on a business trip and his mother is currently out grocery shopping, leaving only him and his sibling home alone with their grandfather for the day. Chan had decided to tag along, hanging out at the Lee house under the guise of ‘studying’.

So now, sitting in the big study room, some of his siblings spread out at their own desks around him, some up in their rooms, knowing his grandfather was up in the house as well, he felt at peace. It's a strange feeling for him, being at peace, especially recently. His grandfather's state has rapidly been declining in the last few months, the stress it's put the family in causing his father to act out. Push and punish him more, spend more nights away from home, leaving his mother to mourn the loss of their relationship as it was before.

He hates having to hear his mother cry due to his fathers infidelity, the man so easily breaking the trust of his soulmate, it's broken his belief in soulmates and that brings an empty feeling to his stomach, makes bile crawl up his throat because he's sixteen now. It's about time he gets his soulbond, he tries to push the thoughts away, really he does, but they keep coming back to him. He can't even focus on the pages in front of him.

All he can think about is his soulbond, and the fact that Chan’s music is awfully loud. Like seriously he's sitting across the room and wearing headphones how has no one else asked him to turn down his volume, lest his eardrums burst. “Channie? Your music’s a bit loud, isn’t it hurting your ears?” he asks softly, Felix gives him a confusing look from the side of the room as Chan looks up at him, lifting one of his ear cups off his ears as he pauses his music. “Huh? It’s not that loud though..” Chan mumbles at the same time that Felix says “I can’t even hear it, your ears must be really good Hyung!”. [Name] looks between to two boys, before shaking his head and standing up, “Im- im sorry I think I have have just been studying too hard, i'm going to the kitchen” he shakes his head almost as if he’s disoriented, ignores the worries mumbles of his brother and friend as he walks out of the room.

Something is incredibly wrong as he stands in the kitchen. His half drunk glass of water forgotten as it stands on the island before him, his hands grip the sides of the counter as he feels his head throb, as if spikes are piercing it. Worst of all, he can still hear Chan's music, and he knows that's not right because Chan is in another room, he is wearing headphones, [Name] can still hear his voice as well, this shouldn't be possible. His ears are hurting, it feels like his eardrums are going to burst. He has a burning sensation on the side of his hip, and before he knows it the pain makes his legs give out beneath him.

He sits there on the ground, trying to think, biting his bottom lip, until it starts bleeding, in an effort to keep quiet, an effort to ground himself. He sits on the floor of the kitchen, he doesn't know how long, it must have been at least 10 minutes until the pain in his side subsides, his headache now a dull throb and not blinding pain. He takes a moment to breathe, the music in his head now a soft hum almost like a comforting lullaby. He doesn't know what happened, and he tries to think, think of any and all possibili- oh. oh. As he slightly lifts up his shirt on instinct, looking at where the pain was, he now sees a tattoo. A little music note with the letter ‘C’ written in scarily familiar handwriting. Realization hits him slower than he thought it would. The subtle humming in his head reassuring him.

Bahng Chan is his soulmate. Chan is his soulmate. Channie, his Channie is his soulmate. oh he's so fucked.

Later that night, the moon witnesses that the Sun’s tears are just as bright

Chan has been worried about [Name] since earlier today. It was the small things that alerted him at first, the way [Name] couldn't focus on his work, how he kept rubbing his temples as if he had a headache, his hearing sensitivity seemingly increasing as he could hear Chan's music. Then, he disappeared into the kitchen for a while, before coming back holding a warm water bottle against his stomach, against the side of his hip, Chan lifted a brow questioningly but didn't ask. He knew better by now, [Name] may have been his best friend, he always will be, but as his best friend Chan knew [Name] wouldn't talk to him. Not even if he asked.

It's dark now, Ms. Lee had gotten back, she was busy making dinner in the kitchen, three out of four of her kids around her, when Chan left the kitchen Felix had been talking animatedly about a new game he was playing. Chan had gone to get [Name], who was upstairs with grandpa Lee, as dinner was almost ready.

He had a sense of Deja vu as he walked up the stairs, he neared Grandpa Lee’s room and heard sniffles, ones oddly familiar to him. The door slightly ajar, yet Chan doesn't say anything, he just stands, stands and watches through the little open sliver as [Name] lays in his grandfather's arms.

The scene so eerily familiar, yet scarily different as [Name] is now older, much bigger too, he's grown out of most of his baby face, only a little bit of his immaturity still shown on his face, his hair is much longer than it was when he was young, his shoulders much more broad. Grandpa Lee is much smaller, much more frail than those years ago too, he's lost a lot of weight, an unhealthy amount of it, his eyes no longer bright and full of joy, now sunken in and sullen.

There's a moment of silence, only the soft sniffles of [Name] leaving the room before Grandpa Lee calls Chan in, because of course he knew the younger was there. Grandpa Lee always knows. Chan walks in, and unlike his younger self, he sits next to [Name] the older boy turns in his sleep but doesn't do anything to suggest he's awake. Chan gently brushes the sleeping male's hair with his fingers before looking at Grandpa Lee “what happened to him?... “ he asks, and his voice is trembling, as if he's scared to hear the answer. “Never mind that Chan, do you remember, a few years ago we were all sitting quite like this” Chan nods his head, his eyes still not tearing away from [Name’s] sleeping face, “and do you remember what I asked you to promise me?” Chan nods his head, “Yeah… yeah yeah I promised I'd protect [Name] when you couldn't”

Grandpa Lee takes a deep breath “it was crue of me to ask you such a promise at such a young age… but K know you love him Chan, as more than a friend” Chan's head snaps up, eyes wide “oh don't be so surprised, a Grandpa knows everything….. but Chan, I need you to promise me again, now that you're older, wiser, now that my death is near- ""Grandpa don't -"" It's the truth Chan, we both know it. I need you to promise me again Chan, things have changed, this ask is bigger than what you could be aware of.”

“Me and Bubbles have grown apart a bit.. It hurts and I don't know why it happened. I don't know if he'll ever want me to care for him, to protect him like I want to, but I'll try. I promise I'll try Grandpa Lee” Chan looks back down at the sleeping male, smiling slightly, “I wish his face could always look this peaceful” he whispers, “So do I my boy, so do I” Grandpa Lee gently pats his back.

A few months after, grief only caused disaster

The air was tense, the crowd silent, only sniffles heard among the downturned heads. The loudest sobs coming from the front row where the direct descendants of Grandpa Lee sit. Rachel, clinging to her eldest brother, her face buried in his shoulder as he tries to comfort her, It's hard though, since Felix is right on the other side, mirroring his elder sister's actions. [Name] hugs them close, rubbing their backs gently as their sobs and shaking bodies stick against him. He's not here- not fully, not anymore.

The people around him think it's weird- that he's not crying. He can hear them whisper about the fact that his face has remained stoic this entire time, not a tear or a wobbly lip in sight- he doesn't have the virtue of showing vulnerability now. That's something they don't understand, so he forgives them, it's okay, they don't know. It's good that they don't know, means they won't treat his family differently, means his siblings and mother will be happy. He knows its hard on everyone, his grandfathers death- fuck it feels like his hearts just been ripped out of his chest- his only support taken away without warning but we did warn you [Name] , don't you remember? you knew this would happen.

He can hear the slight sniffles of Chan behind him, but for once he doesn't feel the urge to turn around and comfort his soulmate, instead he wants to curl away and hide from the world, from the cold gaze of his father. His gaze may be stoic, but his fathers is angry- full of rage even and [Name] knows exactly why. He acted out, failed a pop quiz, but can you really blame him? it had happened right after his grandfather died a few days ago and when his father found out- oh boy did he yell. And for once, [Name] yelled back and his fathers anger was not only taken out on him but his mother as well.

His grandfather not being here anymore only solidifies his belief, the belief that he needs to be the one to care for the family now. So he stands up, mid service, gives his father a look and walks out, there are sounds of confusion but nobody dares stop him. He walks towards the church at the far end of the graveyard, it’s empty and he takes a moment to breathe before the hell he knows will break loose.

The air feels thick as it enters his throat, his eyes blurry as he tries to keep away the tears that want to fall. Before he can further clear his mind, a hand harshly grips his wrist, the intensity of the action already alerts him of who the person is as he’s dragged into one of the rooms of the church. He’s thrown into the room as the heavy door closes with a bang, the emptiness of the room causes the sound to echo against the marble tiles.

“WHAT exactly do you think you’re doing?? Running off from your grandfather's funeral after the stunt you pulled- do you WANT another beating??” [Names] father screams as he crosses his arm, glaring down at his son. “Yes” the boy responds in a monotone voice “Excuse me??” his father lifts a brow.

“I want the beating, I want the anger- whatever fucked up punishnment you have to offer, offer it to me. I’ll be your perfect fucking son, be anything you fucking want but you leave my siblings alone- you don’t fucking touch them-” [Names] voice laced with anger drips from his tongue like venom but he still doesnt look his father in the eye, the older man interrupts his son “And who are you to order me around boy?” The last word makes something churn in [Names] heart, not anxiety, not fear, but blinding rage. His father sees him as so little, so weak, and he hates it.

With strength he didn’t even know he possessed, he moved forward, yanking his fathers collar so the slightly taller man would be at his level, “I may not be able to stop you, I may fear you enough to let the abuse continue with myself- but I love them too much to have it continue with them. This boy is the one with the scars and proof to end your entire fucking empire before it reaches its glory. So you listen closely, father, you leave my siblings alone, whatever they choose, whoever they choose- you let them do what they want. You will be a good father to them, you will love and support them. To my mother, you will care for her, you will ensure she’s happy, that she’s the luckiest woman in the world- otherwise I’ll end you myself, using the knowledge you’ve forced upon me I'll end you I swear to God. I swear to God in this church, on this holy land, beneath the eyes of my grandfather I swear your downfall will be worse than that of Samael, you'll have an image so volatile that it stands unparalleled to what Lucifer faces in the eyes of his siblings.” The older man doesn’t speak, he hasn't seen such anger, such determination behind the eyes of anyone, let alone someone as young as his eldest son. But Lee is a ruthless man. An arrogant man who doesn't take kindly to his ego being bruised.

And so, with ease and familiarity he brings his hand up to his son's neck, squeezing until the younger lets go of his fathers collar. “And what do you expect me to do hm? If they disappoint me? How do you expect me to handle that?” he asks almost mockingly, not knowing his son will have a solution. He comes from the blood of his father after all. “I'll take it, I'll do whatever you want, achieve whatever you want- I'll be your perfect plaything, but you will give them a happy life” Despite his constricted breath, 16 year old [Name] glares at his father. He has people he needs to protect, his mother, his siblings, his soulmate. If being away from them, isolating himself and ensuring his father only hates him is what will keep them safe, then he’ll do it over and over again. In every lifetime, hell torture himself for their sake. For what is the value of a star in the daytime?

There's a moment of silence, [Name] refusing to audibly gasp for air as he stares at his father, the pain in his throat burning, within an instant his fathers grip is released. “I must say, your tenacity reminds me quite of myself, son” The older man pats [Names] shoulder as the younger catches his breath, glaring up at his father. “I'll accept this deal, only since you've shown me that I've raised you well.”

Keeping journals is not for the weak, because his sister decided to sneak

[Name] is tired. His back hurts, his whole body aches from the memory of his fathers disappointment, he just wants to fall down onto the softness of his bed and hope the comforting blankets will soothe his aches and not worsen anything. But hasn't it been proven that [Name’s] wishes never come true?

Entering his room, the bland and desolate room, the four walls of his false heaven isolating him from his family. His mother that's seemed happier since the deal was made, Rachel, who seems to hate him now- for reasons he's not sure; Felix and Olivia both busy with their own lives and despite wanting a relationship with their eldest brother not knowing how to create one with the boy who they never see anymore.

Opening his door he can feel something wrong in his room before his eyes fall on his sister reading his journal. Rachel is reaching his journal- the journal he’s been using to keep track of every feeling he’s had since grandfather died- every secret.

In a fast motion he leaps forward, roughly grabbing the leatherbound book from his sister's old as she looks up at him. The look in her eyes is more anger and shock than it is disappointment or sadness, and that makes the back of his mind relax as it means she hasn't read the worst, hopefully not yet.

“Rachel wha-'' His voice is gritted in anger, betrayal that she would invade his privacy, but he doesn't shout. Never, he doesn't ever want to shout at her. “You're Chan's soulmate." She interrupts him, it's not a question, not said in joy, no- she's almost in disbelief. “I-”

“You're his fucking soulmate. AND YOU DIDN'T TELL HIM??“ She's screaming now, and he closes his door as he hurriedly shushes her in hopes of not alerting the rest of their family. “Rachel, please be quiet.'' his voice is desperate and at least she complies. “Yes he's my soulmate, no I didn't tell him and I'm not going to. I can't-” “Can't handle the responsibility of caring for someone? you're a deadbeat brother and now a deadbeat soulmate too?” she quirks her brow, her tone almost expectant now. “Rachel what are you talking about? A deadbeat -” Rachel nods her head “You barely ever fucking talk to us, you don't care for us. Ever since grandpa died you haven't even been a brother to us. You're basically a stranger living in this house [Name].” her last sentence stings, the way she spits his name, no sign of respect or calling him her brother.

He wants to defend himself, really he wishes he could- he wants to tell her how much he wishes to be there for her, how he wants to hug her, to chase away all her worries, to be the big brother he used to be; but the way she looks at him now, it lets him know that those wishes are for not. She hates him, believes him to be no better than a stranger.

She hurts him, but is that not love between siblings? he lets her hate him, lets her believe all the vile things her mind concocts, because at least this means she's loved by his father. “You're pathetic [Name], but U never thought you'd stoop this low” she says before walking out of the room, her shoulder knocking against his forcefully.

His knees want to give in beneath him as his eyes sting with unfallen tears, yet he can't help but be grateful, at least she didn't read far enough to know about the deal. At Least she still has her picture perfect family - even if he feels like he is the one holding the camera.

Right before you depart, he ensures he'll always have your heart.

“Just because you're a big university student now doesn't mean you forget about me, okay? I'll be right behind you next year so don't even entertain the thought” Chan jokes, looking up at [Name], there's a bittersweet tone to his voice and his signature smile is plastered on his face. Yet the way it doesn't reach wide enough to show off his cute dimples, to crinkle his eyes which hold unshed tears make [Name’s] heart ache. He could never forget Chan, never forget the beauty of one he sees as hand grafted by the angels.

“I would never forget you Channie” [Name’s] voice is somber, in a slip of emotion he lets it deepen to its natural tone, rather than the one he's been using to cover up his secret. Chan doesn't seem to notice, too caught up in his own mind- or maybe assuming it's due to the underlying goodbye behind his words. “Bubbles, you're my sun right? you'll still be with me when the earth dies, when the people have rotted away and all that's left are the inhabitable planets of our solar system” Chan asks, his words aren't stated in a questioning tone, it's more directed to himself than the man before him- as if he's reassuring himself. He fiddles with something in his pocket as he rolls on the balls of his feet. [Name] takes Chan’s face in his hands, pushes his thumbs gently into Chan's dimples to make him smile. “Always, the Moon will never be without the sun’s light” The words feel heavy on his tongue as it flows past his lips. Unwavering because he knows it's true, but the glaring stare of his father a few feet away reminds him he can't be as close to Chan as he wants. Just because the Moon is in the Sun's orbit, does not mean they are meant to be, for there are many miles between them.

Chan nods his head in [Names] hands, before taking of his right hand gently off his cheek, “then wear this” Chan says, placing a silver ring on [Names] ring finger “I know your soulmate will eventually put a ring on your left finger when you get married- but I get to have your right” he says cheekily, despite the blush coating his face. ‘You get to have my everything- just ask for it and i'll give you. Please for the love of God ask for it because I need you to want me to love you. I need you to need me the way I do you’

[Name] has never been one to share his thoughts though. “I will Channie- thank you” he twirls the ring on his finger, feelings it's comforting steel against his skin, “I uhm- I have a matching one” Chan says, holding up his right hand, a ring similar to [Names] on his ring finger, only his has a blue moon instead of golden sun in the middle. [Name’s] heart feels like it stops- like the string Chan has just attached to him using these rings is constricting his vital organs ability to keep him alive, the only way for it to start beating is to loosen the string- to lesser the distance because he would never dream of taking off the ring.

So [Name] steps forward, holding Chan tightly against his chest, ignoring the younger's yelp of surprise. He doesn't care about the glare of his father and eldest younger sister, about the teary looks of his younger siblings nor his mothers worried mumbling. Right now as his nose is buried in Chan's hair, inhaling his comfort scent, memorizing it because he knows it will be a very long time before he gets to it again. It's only him and Chan at this moment, he's holding Chan, almost desperate for the younger to realize his yearning.

It's silent for a good minute, before Chan breaks the hug, the unshed tears of prior had now fallen, coating his cheeks lightly, but it's not melancholy in any way. His gaze seems to hold hope of the future- hope [Name] believes to be falsely placed.

—-------------

“- so listen Channie I'm sorry it's just so much was going on, and we both had just started college we were so busy and my father started breathing down my neck- you just-you seemed so happy without me and Rachel decided to drop out which had me-” [Names] rambling as he sits on his knees in between Chans legs are brought to a halt as the man in the couch grabs his face, hands covering the elders cheeks. Chan's touch isn't rough by any means, but there's slight possessiveness in the way he pulls [Name] forward. And before [Name] can comprehend what's happening, he finds his lips interlocked with Chan's and it's the most euphoric feeling he's ever felt.

He feels high, like he's drifting on a cloud, and the warmth of Chan's tear salted lips against his own makes him want more- makes him need more. His own hands fly up to cup Chan's face in reciprocation, the cold steel of his ring contrasting Chan's heated cheeks. [Names] touch is different from Chan's - it's filled with passion and longing- obsessive admiration and a need for more as he tries to press their faces impossibly closer to one another.

He knows they'll need to break apart soon, and his lips already grieve the loss of Chan’s. He stands up slowly, finger gently tracing Chan’s jaw as the male on the couch tilts his head to follow the elders movements, their lips still intertwined. [Name] sweeps his tongue over Chan's bottom lip before breaking the kiss completely, standing up to his full height as he groans while Chan breathes heavily. “what-” [Name] looks down at Chan's flushed face, “do you know how long I've been wanting to do that? I-” Chan takes a moment to steady his breathing before he continues “I can't even imagine what you've been through and fuck even after hearing that I don't know if I believe it but- Ive wanted to kiss you like that ever since I was 14”

[Name] looks down at him shocked, not understanding “since you were 14? that-” his furrowed brows make Chan groan in annoyance “fuck how can such a smart oerson be so stupid” he wispers to himself “I like you Bub, fuck I love you- I'm inlove with you. I have been since before I even found out you were my soulmate. I mean how could I not love you?” Chan asks, almost rhetorical.

[Name] takes a moment to understand Chan's words as he sits down beside the younger male. His heart bursts and his stomach feels warm, despite the danger of it all- he can't go back now, not knowing this… bubut a question still lingers in his mind. “How…. How could you love me though? I haven't had any use to you- to my family I'm about as useful as a star in the daytime and you deserve SO much more than that Channie. So much more than what I can offer-” [Names] spiral is cut off by Chan grabbing his hands. “The sun is a star” he states.

[Name] looks at him, a strange mixture of emotions in his eyes. “I've told you you were my sun before, the sun is a star Bub. The sun gives us light, it gives us life. So sure, you're as valuable as a star in the daytime- you're as valuable as the sun. My sun. No matter what your father or siblings say can change that.” Chan's eyes are filled with sincerity, his words speaking truths [Name] knew but refused to acknowledge.

"God Im so inlove with you" [Name] breathes out, "Say it again" Chan says with a bashfulsmile, "Im inlo-" "No, no say it in your real voice-you don't have to hide anymore" [Name] smiles, "Im inlove with you" his deep voice reaches Chans ears and it makes the younger giggle, his cute reaction causing [Name] to grab him and drag him on his lap. Chan yelps but continues laughing all the same, feeling at home in [Name’s] arms.

They sit like this for a while, in the silence only basking in each others touch, "are you not mad at me?" [Name] asks softly, Chan takes a moment to think before responding "I was, but- I get ut now. Why you thought you had to do it. While I don't agree wuth how you handled it, I do understand that I wasn't the one in the situation itself... Im not mad at you, I don't think I ever could be" he suplies.

[Name] nods, "So? what do we do now?" he asks, "well that depends... are we together?" Chan's voice is hesitant, "I would hope so- I don't just go around telling everyone and anyone im inlove with them" Chan slaps [Names] chest playfully at the elders response. "So do you... do you want to come clean? about everything- to your sibling I mean" Chan looks at his loved who seems fearfull at the notion, "I don't...." Chan nods his head in understanding as [Name] can't formulate a sentence. "You don't have to have an answer now... it's just I think felix is suspecting something already, and they deserve to know"

[Name] nods, "yeah... I don’t know Ill think about it in the morning... right now I only wanne think about you, celebrate that I'm finally your's as you are mine" [Name] smiles as he kisses Chans hand.

The sun is still a star, no matter the time of day. And [Name] is still Chan’s, no matter whatever forces wish to get in their way

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note: yall know the drill, please let me know what your thoughts on this chaoter was because I do really love hearing your input! im sorry its taking me so long to write but things have been happening recently and I just never get the chance too :( also this is NOT proofread guys

copyright | 2024 | @asherthehimbo

[your-local-simp-writers]

Where the Meadow Meets the Tide

Word Count: 859

Warnings: None

Silver the Hedgehog x Fem! Reader

Note- You are mobian, a silly little merhog!

Also yall should check our our latest poll

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

The meadow stretched out like a soft green blanket, speckled with vibrant wildflowers that swayed in rhythm with the gentle breeze. Silver loved this spot, where the air smelled of fresh grass and the nearby lake reflected the sky like a shimmering mirror. This meadow was a haven, a retreat from the weight of the future, and most importantly, it was their place.

He sat under the towering oak tree that marked their usual meeting spot, its roots twisting into the ground like nature’s sculpture. A beam of sunlight filtered through the leaves, warming his silver fur as he adjusted the bracelet on his wrist—a gift she had given him weeks ago. It was simple, made of woven seaweed and tiny shells, but to him, it was priceless.

The stillness of the moment was broken by a soft splash. Silver perked up, a smile creeping onto his face as he turned toward the lake. The water rippled before her sleek, aquamarine figure broke the surface. Her scales shimmered in shades of aquamarine and teal, catching the sunlight and reflecting it like a cascade of tiny rainbows. With a playful giggle, she pushed herself onto the grassy bank, her fins gracefully propelling her forward until she was sitting beside Silver under the protective canopy of the oak tree.

“Silver!” she called, brushing her damp hair back. “Sorry I’m late. I got distracted exploring an underwater cave—you won’t believe what I found!”

Silver laughed, the sound carrying through the meadow. “Let me guess: another treasure trove of shiny rocks and coral?”

“Better!” she said, crawling toward him. “There was this tunnel, and at the end, it opened into a cavern filled with glowing crystals. It was like something out of a dream.” Her wide, sparkling eyes mirrored the wonder of her discovery. “I even brought you this.” She opened her palm to reveal a small, iridescent shard of crystal.

Silver reached out to take it, his gloved hand brushing against her wet fingers. “Wow, it’s beautiful,” he said, holding it up to the light. The crystal caught the sunlight, casting tiny rainbows across his fur. “Just like your stories.”

She giggled, her laughter as bright and pure as the glimmers of light dancing on the lake. “You’re such a sap.”

“And you’re such a dreamer,” Silver teased, patting the grass beside him. She scooted closer, her tail curling around her as she leaned against the tree.

Their conversations flowed as effortlessly as the wind through the meadow. She talked about the schools of fish she’d seen that week, their shimmering scales creating a dazzling underwater ballet. Silver shared tales of his recent adventures, from thwarting a band of rogue robots to helping rebuild a village that had been destroyed.

“You know,” she said after a moment, “I don’t know how you do it. Always running off to save the world and still finding time to sit here with me.”

Silver shrugged, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. “I guess I just like being here. With you.”

Her heart skipped at his words, but she played it off with a grin. “Well, I like having you here too. It gets lonely when you’re not around.”

As they talked, their movements became unconscious but deliberate. Her hand would brush against his as she gestured, and his shoulder would press lightly against hers when he shifted. It wasn’t forced—it was as if they were naturally drawn to each other, like the tide to the shore.

“Here,” she said suddenly, reaching into the small pouch she always carried. She pulled out another bracelet, this one woven with blue and white seaweed and adorned with tiny pearls. “I made this for you.”

Silver’s golden eyes widened. “You made me another one?”

“Well, yeah,” she said, a little shy now. “The first one was nice, but I thought you could use something… sturdier. For all those battles you keep running into.”

He took it reverently, his fingers brushing hers again. “You’re amazing, you know that? Thank you.” He slipped it onto his wrist, admiring the craftsmanship. “It’s perfect.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that only close friends could share. The sun was starting to dip toward the horizon, painting the meadow in hues of orange and gold. The breeze carried the sweet scent of wildflowers and the faint, salty tang of the lake.

Silver glanced at her, his heart pounding in his chest. She looked so peaceful, her gaze fixed on the horizon, the fading sunlight casting a golden glow on her features. He opened his mouth to speak, hesitated, then finally said, “Is it okay to kiss you?”

She turned to him, her eyes wide and bright. Then, a soft smile spread across her face, and she leaned in to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, it is.”

Silver felt his cheeks burn, but he couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face. She leaned back, her shoulder brushing his as she settled against the tree. The world felt warm and alive around them, but for Silver, the only thing that mattered was you beside him.

[drewcherie]

♪ now playing … 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑠 — 𝑘𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑟𝑖𝑐𝑘 𝑙𝑎𝑚𝑎𝑟 & 𝑠𝑧𝑎 ᯓᡣ𐭩

introducing . . . sunshinepogue!reader & mean!rafe

sunshinepogue!reader who is a free spirit, sweet and caring with everyone. she is such a genuine person and always worries about her friends. she always listens to people’s problems and helps them as best as she can, even if just with a hug. despite it all, she doesn’t have it easy: her family is in debt and not financially stable, living in the cut, but she never seems to drop that beautiful toothy smile from her face. her love for others shows in all ways, but her love language is definitely giving handmade gifts. because of her warm and gentle personality, people started calling her “sunshine”, and now it’s like a second name to her.

sunshinepogue!reader who is rafe’s little princess despite being polar opposites. he is a true asshole, a psychopath and mean to everyone. everyone but her. somehow when he spends time with her, even if just on the beach, she always takes out the best of him. he almost seems gentle around her. her favorite thing to do with him is having him rest his head on her chest as a tall palm tree covers them from the strong light of the sun, their bodies colliding together after skinny dipping in the ocean. as she enjoys the summer breeze, she never notices rafe leaving soft purple marks all over her.

sunshinepogue!reader who loves making bracelets and necklaces with shells she finds on the shore, for her friends and, especially, for rafe. she knows he’d never wear them, especially around his other kook friends, but she keeps gifting him small chains made of the most beautiful shells. she also loves putting shells in her hair, threading them in with colourful threads. she has always her bikini underneath her denim shorts, and is always in for a day out at the beach. she loves surfing, reading, sunbathing, and just chill by the water. if rafe’s around, then it’s even better.

𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

drabbles and blurbs to come . . . 𐙚

a/n: missing summer always </3

[wethepixies]

Tinker Tutorials: Button Bracelet

Pixies, have you ever stumbled upon a Lost Thing washed ashore at Palm Tree Cove? 🌊🏝️ The waves have brought in a treasure trove of buttons just waiting to be turned into something magical! Gather your findings and craft your very own Tinkerific button bracelet—a perfect way to carry a little bit of Neverland with you wherever you go! You’ll be the star of our annual Bracelet Bash, just fly on over to our Discord server to participate! 💛✨

⚙️ What you need: 1. Bracelet (for size) 2. String 3. Buttons 4. Scissors

⚙️ Instructions: 1. Layout your buttons to your desired design, keeping in mind the size of your wrist. 2. Cut a long piece of string. 3. Fold your string in half and create a loop that is big enough to fit your final button. 4. Tie your loop closed. 5. Take your first button and string one strand of your sting through both holes.* 6. Using both strands of string, tie a knot right after the button you added. 7. Repeat this process for as many buttons as needed. 8. Try on your bracelet, and cut off excess string!

*If one of your buttons has four holes: String one strand diagonally through two holes. Then, take the other strand of string and thread it through the other holes diagonally. In the end, your button should have an x across it.

✨️ Stay tuned for more Pixie Hollow and Disney Fairies themed arts and crafts tutorials ✨️

[saltyfreejewelry]

Palm Tree Bracelet Rose Gold | Salty & Free Jewelry

Discover the Palm Tree Bracelet in rose gold from Salty & Free Jewelry, a stunning piece that embodies the carefree spirit of island life. Crafted with meticulous attention to detail, this bracelet features a beautifully designed palm tree charm that adds a touch of elegance and charm. The warm rose gold finish makes it a versatile accessory, perfect for both casual and formal occasions. Stack it with other favorites or wear it solo to make a statement. Embrace your love for adventure and style with this exquisite bracelet that captures the essence of paradise.