#they’re the same just different eras

[fumifooms]

Kaka compilation

Because everyone is sleeping on him. Witness his greatness!! First two Kaka colored icons were colored by me, lineart by Ryoko Kui though!

Kaka & Kiki are kinda like Laios & Falin… Kaka being stoic and giving repressed energy like early Laios, Kiki being cryptic and always smiling and kinda soft-looking. Autism siblings 2, ostracized and othered as kids and have a deep bond due to sticking together through it all, though unlike with Laios their parents are very loving so Kaka developed family as a big value more than Laios (bc asides for Falin Laios doesn’t care much about it).

In the gnome festival comic you can see Kaka is more emotive than he seems! Full with a :3 face, and he’s the one crying at the end. He’s insecure about his legs and being tall… It really got to him. Conceal don’t feel. In the gnome festival comic you also see him sensing others’ gaze on him and that something is off unlike Kiki, again Laios-like in the way that judgement from others gets to him more than her.

[valoflunar]

Lily Dorcas Remus and regulus are the type of people to argue against a teacher for not giving them marks on a question they got correct because of some obscure reason like not showing their reason and win the argument and bag the extra points

[thebirdmanhewatches]

Going feral about hinndredd and hinndredd Louie really all the hinndredd characters and versions of characters it’s where a lot of the older ideas regarding when hinndredd was on earth went along with the door lore, the Hamilton rip-off, the older version of current earth patchwork back when he was just a original patchwork reboot and not his own thing inspired mildly by bojack horseman, the older nightmare fuel reboot and associated lore, thauriel, Magnus tilby, more distilled and combined forms of characters that are sometimes somewhat demigod esc, the tower with myself at the top of it, azazel/cult on his endless quest to dig a pit, the scp characters, Magnus tilby, stuff regarding the origins of bauddalins, both types of joy(which ended up basically zombies without me noticing), every dropped plot thread that has ever existed, Magnus tilby

[urmomsfavelesbian]

babe are you okay you’ve been watching werq the world youtube videos for an hour

[whiskeyswifty]

Nothing like being a swiftie for 15 years to make me immune to the frequent compulsion miserable people seem to have where they see girls enjoying something and, despite not being involved in the conversation at all, HAVE to insert themselves and immediately tell those girls how much they hate that something and think it’s stupid and anyone who likes it is a culturally anemic idiot. Truly insane behavior like girls enjoying things, literally anything at all but especially things that center women, really makes certain people aggressively angry and well, we all know why! I survived the Red Era (2012) so you can’t hurt me anymore. Thank you miss swift for preparing me for the rest of my life as a woman, good fucking grief.

[benjinkies]

idk but like how many times does a female pop star have to fly off the handle at the hands of her fame for people to Get It or at least understand the lack of grace one would have with handling it. and i said fly off the handle but it really doesn’t take much for people to completely turn on an artist and call them ungrateful and blatantly say they only exist because of fanaticism

[crowleys-right-eyeball]

i cannot believe i literally never cared about shipping until this one absolutely pathetic ship from a pathetic show came about and it just had Everything

[nyeongjae]

i rlly rlly like unforgiven and am soo excited for the era but I rlly wish their styling/visual team did more to distinguish unforgiven from antifragile bc the denim outfits and street scenes look like they could straight up be from antifragile

[afterglowsainz]

yes, and? | max verstappen

summary: max’s impossible crush finally notice him, but he’s stuck in a pr relationship

fc: simone ashley

a/n: so i try something a bit different with this one and made it on the longer side (if you’ve listened to ariana’s song you know this is gonna be messy for sure) (also, simone ashley??? or the prettiest woman ever??? i’m obsessed with her)

—

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and others

maxverstappen1 life off track

view all comments

username i screamed cried and fainted

username second pic should be illegal

megan.galanis 🥰

username not the pr girlfriend 🙄

username omg let them live!

username they’re dating, get over it

username the third pic pls he’s so POOKIE

username number 1 stan of max’s thighs

username thirsting on main???

username PLS because how can you not ??

liked by maxverstappen1, bffusername and others

ynusername bridgerton press tour at it’s finest 💍

view all comments

username MOTHER

username you’re the prettiest woman alive😩

username yn just one chance please !

bffusername slayyyy

yourusername 🫶🏽🫶🏽🫶🏽

jbayleaf viscountess activities😎

yourusername 🐝🐝🐝

username im in love with a woman i’ve never met

tiktok comments

username never took max for a bridgerton guy???

username not complaining tho

username max in his regency romance era🤭

username now i get why he’s always in y/n’s likes like damn i too would be obsessed after watching her on that show

ynusername thank you! <3

liked by scuderiaferrari, maxverstappen1 and others

ynusername it’s the monaco grand prix! i never miss the grand prix🏁

view all comments

username yn and f1 my two passions❤️

username the way yn always serves cunt MUST be studied

bffusername is it? who’s playing?

username ohhh the reference i love them!

username gorgeous! 😍

username i’m in awe

maxverstappen1 🤣

liked by schecoperez, landonorris and others

maxverstappen1 P1 in Monaco🏆🇲🇨

view all comments

username the icon, the legend, the moment

username max verstappen, the only man ever🫶🏽

charles_leclerc nice one mate, congrats! 👊🏽

username no megan appearance, no like, no comment… are we out of the woods?

username oh wow, she didn’t go to 1 race, they obviously must have broken up 🙄

username no but seriously, did her contract ended or something?

username girl why are you so obsessed with their relationship? just leave them alone srsly

liked by megan.galantis, bffusername and others

f1gossippofficial max verstappen has been seen lately on multiple dates with actress y/n y/l/n around monaco

view all comments

username he’s been seen on WHAT

username with WHOM

username but… what about megan…

username what about her?

username never thought of y/n as a homewrecker

username never thought of max as a CHEATER!

username im not mad about this pairing tbh🤔

username megan liking this post and unliking it???

username and y/n’s best friend liking it also

username she’s so unserious

liked by bffusername, maxverstappen1 and others

ynusername moments📷

view all comments

username bestie who took the pics?👀

username don’t be shy you can tell us🤭

username THE PEOPLE’S PRINCESS

bffusername the most beautiful and pretty and talented and funny and smart and

ynusername i’ll marry you rn😩

username after those pics with max i can’t see her the same

username HOMEWRECKER

username haters gonna hate fr y/n i love you if you see this! 💕

maxverstappen1 🥰 (liked by ynusername)

username oh that’s not…

username this is so wrong in so many levels😭

liked by carlossainz55, ynusername and others

maxverstappen1 another successful weekend for the team, hopefully many more to come! 🇨🇦

view all comments

username “hopefully many more to come” as if we don’t know he’s gonna win all the races already

username being a red bull fan is sooo easy and fun i love it here

username i miss seeing megan in the paddock :(

username jesus christ who understands you, when she was there you hated on her and when she isn’t you miss her

username also, she just missed two races, like😭

username let’s goooo super max

redbullracing many more to come👊🏽

ynusername 🏎🏎 (liked by maxverstappen1)

username she really has no shame huh?

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1 and others

ynusername yes, and?

tagged maxverstappen1

view all comments

username this was the last thing i expected when i open instagram

username pls the caption😭

username she’s NOT a serious person and i love her for it

username welcome back ariana grande😍

landonorris and my credits for the last picture?

ynusername props to you🙄

username hottest couple imo

username this post single handedly convinced me to watch her show

username it’s so good honestly!!

username yesss y/n and max bringing back messy celebrity couples we love to see it!

maxverstappen1 my one and only girlfriend you’re everything❤️

ynusername you’re too much love!💘

username not the “one and only girlfriend” !!

[hazard-symbols-that-fuck-hard]

Okay time for the PBS Kids essay

Read it under the cut!

:readmore:

In 1968, before there was PBS Kids proper, there was Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood. While it came several decades before the children’s block, it laid the foundation for the themes and values present in every facet of the network’s history.

Mr. Roger famously hated children’s programming at the time. To him, it all was droll and useless. But he didn’t dissuade the medium entirely— he saw potential. Potential that led to a few smaller television jobs, and eventually the creation of Mr. Roger’s neighborhood.

Rogers didn’t invent educational TV for children, but he did perfect it. He poured real heart and soul into probably the most sincere, heartfelt program in history.

Honestly, he could have his own essay. The more things you learn about the real man of Mr. Rogers, the more you’ll like him.

Anyway, the biggest thing that makes PBS different is the fact that it earns money through grants, fundraisers, and private donors— not through sponsorships and merchandise sales. This way, PBS Kids can push programming that it feels is important, rather than programming that merely sells well.

This also means PBS is less afraid of pushing social boundaries. Money doesn’t go away when their shows become subjects of debate— and Mr. Rogers took full advantage of this.

For context, this was 1969. The Jim Crow era had just barely, barely ended. Pool segregation was still very much legal.

Mr. Rogers sharing a pool and a towel with the Black Mr. Clemmons was a pretty big deal at the time— especially on a show made for children.

Rogers was far from the untouchable sacred cow of today. When he was alive, he had a large number of detractors. Let’s just say that scene didn’t fly nicely by everyone.

Just one year after the debut of Mr. Roger’s came Sesame Street.

While Mr. Roger’s was made for all children, Sesame Street had the explicit goal of supplementing the education of underserved communities— especially inner-city Black (and later Latino) children.

While it was made to be accessible to children of all races and income levels, they definitely went the extra mile to make it something special for inner-city Black and Brown kids. (Why do you think it it’s “Sesame Street” and not “Sesame Cul-de-Sac”?)

At the time, a wholesome, sweet show set in a brownstone street was practically unheard of.

Jon Stone, the casting director, deliberately sought to make the cast as rich with color as he possibly could, bringing on a huge amount of Black talent such as Loretta Long, Matt Robinson, and Kevin Clash, as well as featuring Black celebrities as guest stars. Later, the show would expand its horizons, bringing on actors from Latino, Asian, Native American, and many more backgrounds.

White actors were and still are a minority on show.

In addition to letters and numbers, the purpose of Sesame Street is clear: make kids of color know that they’re smart, beautiful, and loved.

It doesn’t get more explicit than this.

I want to point out this comment because it’s funny

You’re telling me this bitch isn’t Hispanic???

Anyway, these two were followed up by Reading Rainbow in 1983. And guess what?

That’s right. Non-white focus.

These three shows, (along with other, lesser-known programs like Lamb-Chops Play Along, Newton’s Apple, and Shining Times Station (who featured Ringo Starr himself?? seriously how did that happen and why does no one talk about it) and some other nostalgic favorites like Bill Nye the Science guy, The Magic Schoolbus, Arthur, and Thomas the Tank Engine) aired on the new PTV block, which evolved into PBS Kids in 1999, bringing along Between the Lions, Dragon Tales, and many more.

Arthur is another stand-out that I’d like to talk about— it doesn’t have the same racial focus of Sesame Street, but it does focus on different income levels. The characters have various housing situations, from apartments to mansions to no home at all.

It also takes cues from Sesame Street and Mr. Roger’s in regards to talking about tough topics, though as Arthur has a slightly older target audience, it discusses things through stories rather than talking directly to the audience.

Cancer, religion, workplace discrimination, along with current (at the time) events such as 9/11 and Hurricane Katrina are all discussed on the show.

Another big focus on Arthur is disability. For once, they don’t stick a character in a wheelchair and then pretend he’s not in a wheelchair. A striking number of major characters either develop or get diagnosed with physical disabilities and/or neurodivergences, such as asthma, severe food allergies, and dyslexia, and they deal with them in very realistic ways.

A handful of minor characters have more obvious disabilities, and THANK GOD they go beyond the trite messaging of “disabled people can do everything abled people can do! everyone clap now!”

One episode in particular has the awesome message of “holy shit stop trying to help me all the time— it’s patronizing as fuck. I can get around just fine without you stepping on eggshells and trying to be the hero all the fucking time”

There are sooo many other shows I could talk about, but I can’t write about them all. I’m definitely gonna point out some more standout ones, though.

Sagwa, the Chinese Siamese Cat

Created by Chinese-American woman Amy Tang

Dragonfly TV

Features a multitude of female and non-white scientists to foster an interest in science with kids in those groups

Maya & Miguel

One of the network’s first Hispanic-led shows

SciGirls

I shouldn’t have to explain what the goal of this one was.

Molly of Denali

When was the last time you saw a show that treated Native Americans as people? Much less a children’s show? 90% of the cast is Athabascan, and the show revolves around Athabascan culture, not shying away from topics like boarding schools and modern-day racism. Most of the writers are also Athabascan, and the show even has an official Gwich’in dub!

It’s this commitment to real, authentic social justice that makes PBS Kids so much different from its competitors. Could you imagine the Paw Patrol dog looking at the camera and earnestly discussing what happened to George Floyd? I don’t think so— but Arthur talked specifically about it, Sesame Street did an hour long special about race in general, and the network itself made a 30 minute special.

Disney Jr. could never. (Other than trying to teach colorblindness, of course.)

I’m gonna have to cut this into two parts, since I just hit the image limit

[ingydar-phan]

Ok I do want to chime in on the convo but actually this is gonna be really long because I’ve been planning to make a huge post about this since the tour trailer came out. Like genuinely I messaged some people asking for tips on how to make a big conversation post weeks ago and then just never did it. So here goes I guess.

I am a firm believer they are going to hard launch soon. In some way shape or form. Before tour starts. That is a stance I have held ever since I watched pizza mukbang 2. And I have explanations.

My main points come from the coming out parallel surrounding Dans internalized homophobia and trauma responses and fear of rejection (more on that later), and also my hypothesized “3 stages” of the gaming channel revival.

I believe that when the gaming channel was revived, starting with the Heartthrob video, they entered stage 1: experimenting with audiences desire for a return to content. This was a phase they themselves discussed in Dans Birthday Stream and in Pizza Mukbang 2. The first few months were experimenting with what a new audience would look like and how much they were wanted, in what contexts, and what kind of content. I also think this wraps into the dynamic difference between Dan and Phil as people. Note, I love them both dearly and want nothing but the best for them both. It has been made clear that they did very different things during the hiatus, with Phil initiating the gaming channel comeback. Before Dan came out, he was under an immense feeling of guilt and pressure, even by his own mind. He had the option of leaving the internet forever, and he certainly considered it. Finish off the gaming channel, go on one last tour, and leave. Never having to adress anything again. But he didn’t do that. He came back. He came out. And he was greeted with the kindest, warmest, most accepting response. And he did work! He wrote a book! He went on a solo tour! And to echo both Dan himself and all of the community, he needed this. He needed this time of healing and this era of self discovery. He wouldn’t be who he is today without it, and I’m so proud of him.

But Phil? Oh Phil was just cruising along. That’s not at all to discredit any form of hardship Phil went through, but it certainly wasn’t the same. Phil was making content before Dan was, back in 2006. In uni, Phil was comfortable in his sexuality (or some form of queerness). But he waited. He waited to come out until Dan was ready. Because he’s a wonderful partner. He was happy continuing Amazingphil regardless of hiatus, of Dans needs, because he knew he didn’t have to pressure Dan into anything he didn’t want or wasn’t ready for. And then, presumably when Dan was ready, Phil proposed a gaming channel comeback. Just try it out, just see how it feels, low commitment. And what happened? Once again, they were showered with love and adoration and support and acceptance. Was the fandom different than how it used to be? Absolutely. But it was beautiful and loving. So that’s stage 1. Experimenting with content and viewership and re-entering the branding of Dan and Phil (Games).

Then, I believe after stage 1 came stage 2. Experimenting with audience reaction to Dan and Phil as a couple. I want to stake my claim here that everything they do is meticulously curated. Sure, Phil’s toe popping out of his sock wasn’t purposeful, but it was certainly handled intentionally. They’re extremely seasoned creators, and everything they do is for a reason. (That’s why I love rpf hehe). This, my “stage 2”, is when they were dipping their toes more into phan stuff. The orange heart. The “gay” community tab. Using the “ph-“ prefix THEMSELVES a lot more. Dab and Evan comparisons. This was the middle ground. How would people react? Would they turn away because it’s too much? Would they begin stalking and creeping all over again? Or would they accept these people for what they are. As much as people like to think Dan and Phil are just silly whimsical guys who are perfect no matter what they do (which is accurate as well tbf), they also know what they’re doing. They do these things on purpose to gauge audience reaction, to see how people feel about it. As others have said, what we see publicly is just a tiny sliver of their real life. Yea, even the domestic videos. It’s curated. And it’s wonderful. It’s so endearing they choose to share these things. Even in times of uncertainty. But that uncertainty was met with absolute acceptance.

Which is how we get into stage 3. I think “stage 3” started developing around the time of Dans Birthday Stream, but really actually started when the tour trailer was posted, and then all the videos after that (pizza mukbang, dressing each other, chained together, tiktoks, etc etc). So, very recently. But something shifted. Maybe it’s in the air, maybe it’s just me, maybe we all need to go outside. But something shifted. Dan and Phil, but especially Dan, saw how they were being accepted and took that as an affirmation. An affirmation that everything is going to be okay. They can commit now. They can go full on. Full hard launch.

I think everyone has a different definition of hard launch, and even I think it varies by context. But what I mean here is not necessarily them making some video called “Dan and Phil are romantically together” and staring at the camera with a gun to their head. It doesn’t, and shouldn’t, have to be that.

Straight people get this privilege of being assumed straight without having to “come out”. They get this comfort of having relationships without having to scream it in everyone’s faces.

And I do indeed agree with what people mean when they say they have already hard launched. They’re husbands, soulmates, 4000 year old tortoises, “basically any other gay couple”, more than just romantic, yea. I get it. But people are fucking stupid. Non-queer people don’t understand nuance, and need everything handed to them on a silver platter. Dan and Phil are together. People who try to twist and turn to try and “prove” they’re anything but a committed romantic and sexual relationship are ignorant at best, but mainly using homophobic wishful thinking. However, there’s more to go. There’s a reason we’re all “terrified” for what is to come. Because everything, the past 15 years of all of our lives, of their life, is coming together. It’s genuinely beautiful.

So what do I mean by hard launch then? Well, I mean a lack of censorship (besides what’s reasonable. Though we’d all love to see them fuck on YouTube, I’m not sure that’s happening any time soon). I mean a lack of shame. A lack of hiding. And it’s already begun. That’s what I feel stage 3 to be and have been. In pizza mukbang 2, they say things such as “cheers dear”, which is intentional. The “gay uncles” and the “kneeing” is all intentional. It’s not just throwaway jokes, it’s them looking us in the eyes and saying “we see you”. I have a whole list of stage 3 things. The intentional Incohearant cards. The “my face hurts from smiling” comments. THE HANDS ON THE SHOULDER TO THE HAND ON THE KNEE. Them being so open about their secluded romantic holiday. The relentless Phil bottom jokes. The yaoi day tweet from the outfits video. The “who would jump for you like that dog jumped for that man” “you”. It’s all there. It’s all intentional. And I’m so grateful for it.

One of my mutuals who I talked about this with (not gonna name cuz idk if they want me to) talked about their theory that DNP have given barely any info about tour because it requires some form of hard launch to preface it. And honestly? I didn’t even realize that was a theory. I sort of already accepted that as fact. How open IS the door gonna be?

So yea, I hope this makes sense. Please feel free to respond with or send asks of any nuances or questions or theories you’d like to add. I don’t intend this to be shaming anyone who thinks differently. Even if I may vehemently disagree with someone in my head, I don’t think these people are evil or malicious or objectively bad or deserving of hate. These are just my thoughts. I’ll likely be adding more. Thanks for reading.

[frienderbender]

re: my doodles from last nite now i’m just imagining rikki and nikki talking in transatlantic accents and it’s killing me a little. GOD

[lovingseventeen]

matchy-matchy with seventeen

a/n: me in my single era pt 2093520395 and here’s me projecting just a little bit yk. also i tried really hard to make these creative i hope it went well

seungcheol: jackets

✧ specifically varsity jackets or those racing jackets

✧ maybe not exactly the same, maybe it’s the same style of jacket but in different, but complementary colors

✧ absolutely loves knowing that it’s so easy to tell that the two of you are a couple when you walk together

✧ his lock screen is a mirror picture of the two of you :’)

jeonghan: hair accessories

✧ matching hair accessories oh myyy

✧ it could be in simple barrettes or clips with little cutesy designs

✧ or ribbons !!

✧ one day he sees you tie back half of your hair (like a semi-updo) and he just asks you, “can you do that to me too?”

✧ you two can be dainty together 🫶🏽

joshua: rings

✧ perhaps he’s a simple romantic

✧ rings can go with any outfit and he wants a reminder with you everywhere he goes

✧ loves seeing his ring on his finger in all of his daily activities

✧ also loves to hold your hand to look at the ring on your finger only to follow with a soft kiss to the back of your hand too

jun: earrings

✧ maybe he’s a little more subtle with it

✧ but he finds earrings as an easy way to be connected with you, knowing you have the same pair

✧ all that matters to him is that it’s something that the two of you know about - and maybe others if they’re paying attention

hoshi: tiger phone cases

✧ ofc you support his tiger agenda and one day he just surprises you with matching tiger print phone cases

✧ falls a little more in love with you when you don’t hesitate to swap your current case with it LOL

✧ loves taking mirror selfies where you can see your cases and as the two of you make the tiger claw hand gesture

✧ if you’re with literally anyone else together, he’ll just grab both of your phones to go “look!”

wonwoo: headphones

✧ thought of this because he games but headphones are also pretty necessary in general

✧ you each pick sticker packs and you place some stickers on your own pair

✧ then you swap headphones and fill up the rest of the negative space of each other’s :’)

woozi: pajamas

✧ he’s someone who’s also very lowkey methinks

✧ he doesn’t feel the need to flaunt his relationship too much, or go out on his rest days either

✧ he likes the moments you have just between the two of you and pajamas are a cute way to still have that

✧ whether you’re cuddling on the couch or just walking around the house, his heart is content seeing your matching home outfits

seokmin: shoes

✧ just felt like this would be soooo cute with him

✧ it gives you both freedom with your outfits and individual styles but anyone looking at you two together would know that you’re dating

✧ he love love loves taking those pictures of your matching shoes

✧ maybe he even takes a short video for his story and you can tell he’s happy in it because he can’t stop his feet from doing a little dancey dance

mingyu: hoodies

✧ adores seeing the two of you matching so obviously in the reflection of windows, mirrors, etc. when the two of you are out

✧ takes so so many pictures of you two

✧ you definitely have more than one matching hoodie

✧ will fall in love with you more if matching couple clothes was your idea first LOL

minghao: nails

✧ i had to, i HAD TO, just imagine the two of you with the prettiest hands ever

✧ maybe he lets you pick a color first and then he’ll pick a second to complement it aaa

✧ and even if you aren’t too much of a nail person, maybe you just get one nail painted with a little image or design to match the color scheme of his

✧ also imagine the intimacy of painting each other’s nails and he’s holding your hand close to his face and blowing on your nails to dry them

seungkwan: bracelets

✧ the two of you make your matching bracelets at one of those shops meant for dates

✧ i just know he would try so hard !! to make yours so pretty

✧ his heart ACHES when you find these 2 bear charms to represent the two of you (so you can have a little bear of each other)

✧ “this one’s me and this one’s you, don’t you think?”

vernon: beanies

✧ he’s always giving you his beanies when it’s cold out anyway

✧ then on this day he’s shopping and he can’t pick between 2 options (they’re both the same 2 colors but in different combinations)

✧ vernon just gets both and lets you pick the one you like more

✧ he knows you’ll look good in either one :)

chan: crewneck/hoodie-sweatpants-set

✧ this is various things but here me out, he’s a dancer and he probably has a good amount of athleisure

✧ sometimes you visit him during his solo dance practices and he likes to try to convince you to dance with him

✧ one day you stopped by without the intention to dance and he just casually pulls out the set for you that coincidentally matched with his

✧ he’s so giddy when you change. so so many recordings of you dancing together (regardless of how coordinated the two of you actually are) and mirror selfies to capture your outfits

[jiminrings]

fail-safe (3)

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 14k

glimpse: you hear everything you've ever wanted, but you don't know if it's too late.

alternatively, yoongi is consumingly yours all the time.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale ]

[ still angst (but u can breathe now bc it’s the finale), brother’s best friend AND single dad au, jealousy, yearning from all angles, did i say angst alr (mom-wise and brother-wise), fluff, redemption ]

notes: this is it for the chronological series of fail-safe :-) from the bottom of my heart thank you so sooooo much for reading n loving!!! sharing fs with the lot of u is an experience (and era) i'll never forget!!!

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! | series masterlist

Your trip back home isn’t as rough as you expected it to be. 

Somehow, there’s a huge difference between coming home alone and coming home with Jungkook. There’s an irreplaceable weight in your chest that still flares even at the mention of Yoongi, the anger you have towards him mixing with the trepidation of holding everything in you, not just him, for another three days. There’s an angry rash around your fingertips just waiting for you to pick on your nails until they’re raw because atleast in that way, you get to forget the way Yoongi’s hand picked up yours in the dark.

There’s an ache in you that not even Yoongi and Hyewon could undo by never having met in the first place. It’s long been there, perhaps even older than Haneul. The ache of unfulfillment in you is bred by everything significant in your life — all from your first argument with your mom because of your lack of direction in life, to your latest heartbreak that keeps manifesting into your first ever.

You're no longer angry recounting the fact that you weren't destined for greatness. Namjoon turned out beyond great, world-renowned even, despite living in the same home that you did. Maybe it's not your environment or your lack of a passion that hindered you — maybe, it's just you alone.

Maybe, some part of you had ached too much from reaching (read: loving) too far up, you're doomed to live the rest of your life unfulfilled. Yoongi's never been yours, but the way your heart withdraws from him is as if he's always been.

You've done your share. You've completed your fill. You've worked yourself to the bone to make anything (not something, and certainly not everything) out of yourself that even if you're not decorated in sports like Namjoon nor celebrated in music like Yoongi, you have a fail-safe to fall back on.

You're earning more than the white collars you could recognize from your old yearbook and even if it's to look after someone, to look after Jungkook and his craft, and neither use your actual degree nor make a name out of yourself — a part of you feels fulfilled.

If being fulfilled meant being in the shadows as a manager; if it meant caring for someone in a professional context yet in a way you've always known with practice, with love, through the years– you'll take it.

You'll take the peace of being fulfilled without a trophy than to be listless trying to compete for first place.

You're fulfilled now to be sitting at the passenger seat of your own car because despite having never been to your place anymore, Jungkook fought with you in order to get his hands on the wheel.

You're fulfilled now, even if you only took Jungkook's silly suggestion (read: insistence) of fake-dating him just so you wouldn't have to face your family and Yoongi alone. You're fulfilled despite having no real place in neither men's lives.

Oddly enough, Jungkook wants to be both. He wants to be fulfilled and compete for first  place in a position in your life that he can't even say to your face.

Jungkook holds you right in the middle of the living room, his eyes wide and grin sparkling as if the director had already said action! and the task for him was to act out what being in love looked like, right in front of his female lead's family in her childhood home. (Read: he isn't acting at all.)

“And he’s…?” your mom lets the question hang in the air, eyes trailing from Jungkook’s face, to his bicep, to how his forearm fits snugly against your back and his hand curls around your waist. Your mom visibly looks surprised, although you don’t know if it’s about the fact that you actually came back despite everything, or if it’s because her favorite actor is in her kitchen while she’s sweaty in an apron, or if it’s because said favorite actor leaves no space between the two of you.

“Jeon Jungkook, ma’am. It’s nice to finally meet you,” he greets politely, a little jittery now that he’s face-to-face with her. He’s only heard of the woman she is from you and as much as he tried to picture her from memory, your stories don’t do her much justice. Jungkook’s always loved your kind eyes and your sweet smile, but he knows now where you’ve got it from; in fact, if he turns around right now right after shaking her hand and bowing profusely, you’re showing exactly those to him — that, along with a pair of gazes he can’t place.

Those gazes aren’t kind at all. One is confused and dumbfounded, and the other harbors nothing but hostility and anger.

“Sweetheart, I know you. Who doesn’t?” your mom’s at a loss for breath, mouth still agape as she keeps flickering her eyes between the two of you. She knows that you’re his manager, but what she doesn’t know is why the Jeon Jungkook is in her humble kitchen of all places. He has the most expressive and sincere eyes ever — he can’t possibly mistake your childhood home as a filming set and your waist as a hand rest.

You finally placate her thoughts when you speak, the loaded silence between the three of you (it’s buzzing with tension if you account for the other two) breaking. You actually giggle, your laughter taking the load off her shoulders because you’re happy; you don’t feel an ounce of guilt even if you’re lying to her face. 

“We’re dating, mom,” you grin. “Jungkook’s my boyfriend.”

Jungkook smiles automatically, feeling your hand snake towards his own. His palm’s much bigger than yours yet it’s warmer than you’ve ever imagined, the envelope both of your hands make putting you at ease.

Your mom’s gasp bounces across the walls. Namjoon’s head that’s only been lowered the entire time you’ve been back suddenly whips to look at you and Jungkook. The fridge even lowers its hum to make way for the theatrics aimed at you, yet your eyes are fixed on your mom’s and Jungkook’s alone.

You came home for her and with him. You’re not here for anyone nor anything else because it’s merely a play for your survival, only this time, Jungkook’s hellbent on increasing your odds.

Yoongi freezes evidently, hand tightening around Haneul’s bottle as if it would do anything to release the red from his vision. He staggers silently, breathing suddenly ragged as he stares down at the offending steel cylinder. It’s small. Compact. If anything, he figures it would hurt if he were to throw it at anything. Anyone. Someone, even.

“Wow, that’s.. that’s amazing!” she embraces the both of you, making you and Jungkook share a gaze you only laugh through because he actually looks honored.

“Thank you, ma’am. I’m sorry I haven’t had the time to let you know personally,” he apologizes meekly for a mistake that isn’t even one in the first place, the humility in his tone making your ears perk. It’s Jungkook onceagain with the apologies towards you that he shouldn’t be making at all, and yet, even in front of your family, he persists.

Jungkook apologizes even for the things he hasn’t done, not because he plans on doing them, but because a large part of him wants to be in the actual situation wherein those mistakes were merely possibilities.

“It’s no problem at all. You’re busy getting all these awards, I know how that’s like,” she jokes, unable to stop smiling. “I’m just glad someone’s taking care of my baby.”

“And I don’t plan on missing a single day, ma’am.”

“Stop that,” she chides, shaking her head eagerly. “You can call me mom.”

Yoongi lets the bottle clatter to the sink.

( ♡ ) 

Yoongi hadn’t been able to sleep last night.

He’d woken up in a cold sweat hours before his alarm was supposed to go off to cook dinner for everyone, even if it was only yourfavorite. The anxiousness that bubbled in his veins when he was asleep was going to burst and while Yoongi thought nothing of it initially, he realizes in panic that it was actually pointing to something. 

He woke up next to Haneul and he was placated momentarily, but the knot tied around his heart tightens twofold when he sees Hyewon on the same bed.

On your bed.

The guilt that filled Yoongi then was enough for the bile to creep up into his throat, making him stagger outside to find Namjoon pacing right outside of his own bedroom. His personal phone’s tucked in between his ear and his shoulder, his hands preoccupied scrolling through whatever it is on his work phone. Yoongi momentarily stops his panic to inquire why the hell Namjoon’s panicking and why did he just see a glimpse of your social media accounts pulled up to the screen, your following list staring your brother in the eyes.

“What? What happened? Is it Y/N?”

Namjoon only looked at him with nothing but pity and guilt, the resentment he had for himself bleeding through the way he shifted his gaze to him.

“She saw you and Hyewon.”

Yoongi hadn’t been able to sleep since.  

He didn’t even blink when Hyewon thanked him and said her goodbyes. He wasn’t even fazed when his ex-wife kissed Haneul goodbye and his son only resumed playing with his blocks. Yoongi hadn’t even tended to himself throughout the entire night, surrendering himself to be awake in your couch in the far event that you’d come home.

Yoongi wanted to follow you home, except almost exactly similar to the past, he had chased you out of what’s supposed to be your own home in the first place. The difference now was that he didn’t mean for Hyewon to be on your bed at all, let alone your room, but in the back of Yoongi’s thick skull — he figures that it won’t be enough for you.

Yoongi waits for you all night throughout the morning like a loyal dog waiting for its master, his chest rising up and down in hope yet his chin down in despondence. You do end up coming back home though, but your presence is neither unaccompanied nor for him.

With you is Jeon Jungkook, your boyfriend.

If only Haneul hadn’t asked for his bottle to be brought upstairs because he’s watching cartoons on Yoongi’s laptop, he would’ve collapsed on the floor then and there, uncaring of the way everyone else would be looking down on him.

If only Namjoon’s gaze wasn’t flitting to him to gauge his reaction because it’s the first time he’s, or by everyone else rather, hearing that you have a boyfriend, Yoongi would put his hands on his head and curse until his piercing migraine suddenly disappears.

If only your mother wasn’t here, frozen in the kitchen mostly because of what you just revealed and who you came home with, and partly because she’s waiting for him to finish washing Haneul’s bottle, he would’ve thrown up right in the sink.

Yoongi gathers all his pain and keeps it shut within himself until he gets you alone, catching you by the staircase when everyone else has dispersed.

“I’m sorry. Namjoon told me what you saw and-…” he stops himself when you look up at him with an innocent yet empty gaze, the weight of it (or lack thereof) startling him. “Let me explain why Hyewon was there in your bed.”

“I don’t want to listen,” you enunciate clearly, keeping your voice down because both Jungkook and Haneul are a few steps away. You do it for their sake and not for Yoongi’s, the bitterness in your chest physically restricting you to think about his state.

Yoongi pushes on, breath already catching in his throat when you’re still stiff as a stone. You haven’t even made a break for it yet; he only unconsciously held onto you out of fear that you’ll be out of his sight. “She was in the area because her parents are old and they don’t know much about selling their house here a-and well, she knows that I did the same for my parents when they sold ours. Nothing happened. I just helped her with the sale! S-she was playing with Haneul in the living room while I napped a-and, I just… when I woke up, they were right next to me. Y/N, I swear, nothing-…”

You shake your head fervently, the innocence of his reason doing little to break the seal in your stomach. You feel it dropping once again and even if Yoongi’s right, even if he’s saying the truth, the sight alone of him appearing to be a part of a happy family jogs up all the pain.

“I don’t want to listen and you don’t have to explain either.”

“But I hurt you. That’s why I want to explain,” he stutters. Yoongi’s eyes are so glassy, you could see your reflection in them.

“Oh. So you know,” you whisper, teeth harshly digging into your bottom lip. “I hate Hyewon for a lot of things but not for being the mother of your child. That’s out of my reach. I get it. She’s his mom and that’s that,” you admit, the vacancy in your chest and on your ring finger reminding you what Yoongi had never given you the chance for. “What I hate is that you let her sleep in my room. Seeing Haneul in there is good. You and him? That’s okay because I let you sleep in there,” you heave, voice close to breaking because of how you force it to be tamped down. “I hate how you let her sleep in my room, Yoongi. I-I, I fucking hate it because it’s just like that time I caught you practically fucking her in my room.”

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t-…” Yoongi sniffles, tears already pouring. The staircase in your house is far too narrow to hold the both of you, let alone your history. “I didn’t think. I didn’t notice, a-and, I didn’t think. I didn’t think at all, Y/N. I thought it was okay for a split second because we looked like-…”

“A family,” you finish for him. “I get it. I do,” you nod your head fervently, your own hand snaking to your lips to stop the sharp inhale that pains you from the inside. “Almost everyone loses their sense of reason when it comes to family.”

“I didn’t notice she already entered the room. But I-I woke up,” Yoongi still swears up and down, adamant on his truth that you aren’t open to entertaining because he’s hurt you far too many times before. “Hyewon and I… we’re not. We’re co-parenting.”

“Still a family.”

“But-…”

“What the hell do you want to hear from me, Yoongi?” you snap, voice finally toning down when you notice faint footsteps coming from the second floor. “Do you— do you want me to agree with you and say that the three of you aren’t a family? And for what, s-so that could somehow excuse you for everything you’ve done? I don’t even know what family’s supposed to mean at this point!”

From upstairs, Namjoon suppresses a sob.

“My mom doesn’t know a single thing about all of this. I-I can’t even cry to her because I’m thinking of you. I’m thinking of protecting you, your son that she looks to as a grandson, a-and even your mom who’s her best friend,” you break into tears, ignoring the baby towel that Yoongi keeps on his person all the time that he offers to you. You sound far too defeated, and maybe you actually are, that Yoongi lets you push past him. “Meanwhile, my own brother probably knows everything but his first instinct is to protect you. Not me, his actual sibling. You.”

.

.

.

Namjoon had been waiting for you upstairs. He’s been barricading the door to the bathroom because he knows you can’t go to bed without your nightly shower, and because he knows that out of every space in the house, it must be the only one left wherein you can be truly alone with no hint of Yoongi.

“We have to talk,” he gets out as soon as you make eye contact with him, the towel that’s slung on your shoulder almost falling at the urgency to which he pulls you aside.

“It can wait.”

“I need to apologize,” he pleads once again, gripping your wrist gently like he had always done when you were kids to get you to listen to him.

“And I said it can wait. I can’t stand you right now,” you grit, the tears on your cheeks barely being dried up when Namjoon, unsurprisingly, decides to apologize to you within the same timeframe as Yoongi. They hadn’t planned it at all — the guilt and remorse weighed far too heavy for them to actually communicate.

“Where will you sleep?” he asks instead, exhaling heavily because you’re insistent on not crying again in barely your first night back, again. “Where will Jungkook sleep?”

“We’ll sleep together in a hotel.”

“Hotel?” Namjoon asks loudly, eyes bulging in shock. His voice is far too loud that everyone in the house (and maybe even your neighbors) must have heard him. “That’s nonsense. This is home, Y/N. You don’t have to book a hotel.”

“It is?” you seethe, your closed fists tightening on themselves painfully. “Did you also say the same thing to Hyewon? To Yoongi in the first place?”

“It’s my fault for-…”

You’re unaware that you and Namjoon are neck to neck until your mom chimes in out of nowhere, her gentle eyes asking more questions than she’s actually uttering. “What’s going on?” she switches her gaze between you and him. “Are the two of you fighting?”

“No,” you answer in unison, unable to fit a relieved sigh in between the terse silence.

“It’s nothing, mom,” Namjoon puts a hand on your shoulder, his smile tight and tense. “I was just telling Y/N that she doesn’t have to book a hotel.”

“Why would you book a hotel?” she gasps incredulously, her tone being the exact copy of Namjoon’s just a second ago.

“It’s just crowded in here, mom. That’s all,” you muster a sheepish smile, your posture slouching the more you realize that there’s no way out.

“I can ask Yoongi and Haneul to transfer to Namjoon’s so you can-..”

“No-!” you interrupt her in a hurry, breath hitching at the mention of him. “No, no. That’s unnecessary. I don’t want to sleep in my room.”

There’s a loaded pause between all of you, even between the door that Yoongi has his back on as he listens in.

“You and Jungkook can take my room instead,” Namjoon insists, his offer only barely scratching the surface of the apology that you truly deserve.

“Great. Thanks,” you conclude, already halfway into the bathroom when the sudden thought strikes you, your curiosity (and limit, by extension) getting the best of you to ask Namjoon while your mom’s still here. “How… how much longer are they gonna stay here?”

“I… haven’t asked yet,” Namjoon admits, the animosity you have towards Yoongi not going unnoticed by your mother.

“You need to ask then,” you quip. “This house is too small to have everyone and anyone.”

( ♡ ) 

Jungkook woke up in peace from sleeping in a bed that isn’t his.

Even before you actually got to shower (and not just sit on the toilet seat whilst trying to compose yourself) since you forgot to retrieve your clothes from your suitcase, Jungkook was already starfished in the middle of Namjoon’s bed. It’s a touching sight atop your own blanket and bug spray that your brother put in for you.

The two of you are far from okay. As a matter of fact, the only people you’re truly okay with in the house is your mom and Haneul; despite knowing that fully, Jungkook still dived in head-first in the middle of your situation. You’ve tried to dissuade him all throughout the five-hour long car ride, and not once did he even budge.

He’s here for you and no one else. He’s snoring in the middle of your sibling’s bed whom you aren’t in good terms with. He’s at ease with you in a province that he’s never stepped foot in, all because he felt compelled to protect you somehow and wouldn’t take no for an answer. 

Jungkook cares for you, enough to write a note and place it beside him just before he went to sleep, telling you that he’s a messy sleeper and to either jolt him awake to move or just manhandle him to the side so you could also sleep on the bed.

You go for the latter, trying to pry him as gently as you could (but even if you just hauled him like a sack of potatoes, he still wouldn’t wake up because he’s at ease too much; it’s you, of course) before finally calling it a night.

You may have lied awake mulling over the perpetual ache in your chest, but you didn’t cry at all.

Eventually, you fall asleep to the sound of Jungkook snoring.

.

.

.

Jungkook may have slept earlier than you, but he makes sure that you stay in late. (read: he physically tucked you into bed so snugly, you probably can’t even shift your shoulders by a centimeter). He wants to pull his weight around a house he hasn’t even been in, even if you hadn’t asked him to — you’d never do, because even as a manager and not as a fake-girlfriend, you don’t let him lift a single finger. Simply put, Jungkook feels this massive pull, not to perform for you, but serve you.

He finds himself quietly going down the stairs, still in his socks because you had stolen his house slippers just last night and he doesn’t have the heart to ask you to give them back. He’s quickly figured out the kitchen, getting a soup started before he allows himself to sit on the dining table by himself.

It turns out that Jungkook’s not alone at all.

“Hi.”

His ears perk at the soft voice that comes from the side of him, eyes immediately setting on the toddler who’s still dressed in his pajamas and has a similar case of bedhead to him.

“Hey buddy. Nice bangs,” Jungkook chuckles invitingly, pulling out a chair for Haneul to which he gets up on easily by himself. 

“My appa cut them for me,” he answers with a smile, shyly pointing to Jungkook’s forehead with an eager finger. “You have bangs too. Who cut yours?”

“My girlfriend. I think she can be a hairstylist one day,” he hums, not feeling guilty over lying to him when it’s only a half, easily-corrected lie. You may not be Jungkook’s actual, real girlfriend, but you did cut his bangs when he asked you to. He couldn’t be bothered going to the salon and you didn’t have the energy to argue with him otherwise, so that’s how he ended up with choppy, viral (it only became viral because he has them) bangs that gained him a few dozen articles or so.

Jungkook doesn’t have kids of his own, but what he does have are several nephews and nieces. He’s the youngest of four children, and that’s perhaps the reason why he could empathize with you. He’s never been through what you have, and although you would never wish for him to do so, a part of him wants to know what it’s like — not because he seeks the pain, but because he wants to know how he could empathize with you better

With Jungkook being Jungkook, it’s perhaps the reason why he’s one of the gifted few people who could strike up a sensible conversation with a toddler and make them laugh without doing anything at all.

Something about Jungkook makes Haneul laugh so loudly, he wakes up almost everyone in the house in peace. Even Jungkook’s attempt at lame jokes tickle Haneul more than the way Namjoon’s ever tried in earnest to make him laugh.

You’ve already slinked past the two of them on the dining table, tending to the soup and the few hundred side dishes Jungkook started on but paused just to talk to Haneul.

“Haneul, don’t believe your uncle-…” you chime over a playful dig that Jungkook makes in your expense, the giggles that had only been filling your ears just seconds ago instantly ceasing when you notice Yoongi standing near you.

“Uncle?” he raises his brow at you, turning his attention to his son. “Haneul, what did I say about talking to strangers?”

“But he’s not a stranger. I saw him in that movie!” he frowns, the immediate awe that slips out of Jungkook’s lips not helping his case in the slightest.

“Still a stranger,” Yoongi smiles tightly, his exhale dragging out as he mulls over the eerily domestic sight of the three of you.

“But he’s Uncle Kook,” Haneul reasons with him, pointing his finger at you. “He’s auntie’s boyfriend.”

.

.

.

Yoongi’s softened a little bit since breakfast.

He was never mad at Haneul in the first place (more like halfhearted because he still stands by his lesson of not teaching him to talk to strangers, even if they’re a worldwide-famous actor, but those are not his words at all) but what he is annoyed about is the scene that he walked into.

It looked far too natural for you to look like Haneul’s mom and for Jungkook to look like him, maybe even better as a dad despite not having children at all, that he thought he was seeing red.

Haneul’s lying on his shoulder as they rewatch Bluey for the second time in the living room, the shadow of your alleged boyfriend walking past him until he registers the accent, later doing a quick turnaround that makes Yoongi ultimately irritated and Haneul more than happy.

“Oh cool. I love Bluey!” Jungkook says sincerely, inviting himself to sit on the lone sofa chair to watch the episode.

“Wow, you’re just so… quirky,” Yoongi mutters under his breath with a roll of his eyes, his snarky remark making Jungkook’s ears tingle. The latter scoffs slyly, making him finally acknowledge Jungkook, albeit sarcastically. “So what do you do, Jungkook?”

Even before he could answer though, Haneul does it for him with an excitement that only comes out whenever he’s talking about his favorites.

“We watched his movies in the cinema, appa! Remember?”

“Did we?” Yoongi narrows his eyes, playing his huff into a cough. He repurposes the tinge of embarrassment that he feels into snark, running a hand through his hair cockily. “I’d for sure remember an actor if they were good.”

( ♡ ) 

“Where’s your brother? I need him to do the heavy lifting.”

Your mom asks you with an urgency that parents only past the age of forty could possess, her lips already parted awaiting your response towards a question she asked just two seconds ago. 

Even if you weren’t engrossed on an episode of Bluey (Jungkook and Haneul put you into it and you get their laser focus now) just now, you still wouldn’t know about your brother’s whereabouts. Yoongi saves you this time, his response piquing both yours and Jungkook’s interest.

“He’s in practice. Joon took Haneul with him so he could learn too.”

Jungkook looks up from his phone sharply, eyes wide in eagerness. He and Yoongi haven’t even looked at each other since yesterday yet their coordination (read: competitiveness) syncs with the other at the exact second, their insistence on tagging along a menial task making you jolt.

“I’ll come with, mom!”

“I’ll come with, auntie.”

It’s not a competition, yet Jungkook jumps up to stand so quickly, his head almost brushed the ceiling. “Let’s go, babe,” he holds out a hand for you, making you clear your throat as you’re still trying to gauge the situation.

“But what about Yoongi? Poor thing, he’ll be left alone,” your mom awes, her pout only deepening when Yoongi pretends to look crestfallen at being overlooked. He doesn’t have to pretend that much because despite not being the biggest fan of grocery-shopping, especially in your area because it always smelled of eggs despite barely carrying any eggs, he’ll jump at any task to impress your mom, and you by extension.

“I don’t think you should worry-…” you start, already being interrupted in an instant.

“Oh come on, Y/N. Two pairs of hands are better than one! They really have to do some heavy lifting because I forget to tell you about that one time your aunts hounded me for-…” she trails off while telling you a story about your supposedly huge extended family, blissfully unaware that there’s two men fighting to open the door for the both of you.

Yoongi’s driving his car as the most spacious option, making Jungkook snicker under his breath as he blames himself for not bringing his SUV which is clearly more expensive than whatever Yoongi’s driving, even if you elbow him lightly by the ribs because you didn’t ask him to do that.

“Mom, what are you doing here? Go sit in the front,” you nudge her, unwilling to sit next to Yoongi in an enclosed space.

“Oh, right! Sorry, I was just used to you always taking shotgun whenever Yoongi’s driving,” she squeals, fondly clapping to herself as she revisits the memory. “Do you remember that, sweetheart? You’d always fight with Namjoon because Yoongi got his license first.”

It may only be your mom who’s leaning against the center console to look at you in the back, but it doesn’t mean that Yoongi’s ever taken off his attention from you.

“I remember,” Yoongi smiles, looking at you from the rearview mirror. “I never forget.”

.

.

.

The grocery store hasn’t changed one bit. 

It still smelled of eggs, the lights still aren’t as bright as they should be, and there’s still trinkets that you’ve always been swayed by being displayed near the register.

You’re taking it all in after not having been back for five years, whereas Yoongi strolls right in, but never ahead of you, as if he’s visited multiple times already since he left your town. 

Your mom and Jungkook are side by side as he asks her a question you can’t even discern, only getting to know his actual agenda when you hear his sneakers skidding against the floor as he runs towards the pushcarts. 

Yoongi, without even knowing the full context, runs after him because he didn’t want to come in second place for whatever it is that Jungkook’s challenging him to.

“I’ll steer the cart,” Jungkook presents definitively, his hand raised mid-air as if he’s being graded for eagerness alone. He looks like he wants to prove himself even if it’s only you and your mom present; no director, no producer in sight who sizes him up. 

“No. I’ll do it,” Yoongi argues out of nowhere, his bruised hands reclaiming the cart under Jungkook’s grasp. He’s not even looking at your mom because his gaze is only fixed on Jungkook who’s just two tugs away from actually spitting at him.

“I said it first,” your pretend-boyfriend forcefully pulls the hunk of metal away from Yoongi, the latter coming along with it for the briefest of seconds before he does the same, this time with Jungkook gasping.

“What, are you method-acting for your next role as a cart-steerer?” 

Your mom’s a little perplexed at the scene before her, lips parting in both concern and amusement because for a pair of people who haven’t met each other before, Yoongi and Jungkook are oddly competitive. They want to provesomething, anything, and maybe everything so bad, they neglect the fact that they look ridiculous fighting over a pushcart. 

“We actually need two,“ she says to no one in particular, thinking out loud as she goes through her grocery list. “I think maybe even three because-…”

“I’ll get it,” Jungkook rushes out in panic, almost bumping into you in the process. You were only gone for a minute to retrieve your phone from the car and yet he already looks breathless, the knot between his eyebrows untangling when he realizes that it’s you. “Oh. Sorry, babe.”

“I’ll get it, Koo,” you murmur, catching the tail end of what your mom said about the pushcarts. Jungkook’s cheeks are tainted pink in frustration and you can’t help but to be concerned, the back of your hand already flitting against his forehead before you know it. “Are you okay? Sorry, the AC in here is not like the AC in the city.”

“Huh, what? Oh no, it’s okay. I just got into this heated cart argument,” he waves you off, eyes rapidly moving between you, your mom, and Yoongi who’s mirroring his exact actions, except for the glaring hint of annoyance with the way he’s standing so close to you.

“Cart argument? What’s-…”

“We need meat.” 

You barely even have a chance to digest what Jungkook’s saying to you before you see him glitch right in front of you in a hurry, the only words to register clearly in your mind being your mom’s. She’s absent-mindedly talking herself through her grocery list (as she always does) and yet the two men right next to her hang onto her every word, the speed they take off on giving you no clue to why they’re acting as such.

“I’ll get it, auntie!” Yoongi gets out even before the wheels of his cart could cooperate, momentarily tripping over himself. Jungkook sputters at that, the laughter that builds in his throat being interrupted because he realizes that the other guy is ahead of him and he simply cannot bear that. 

“Beef. We need beef, right, mom? How many kilos. Like… ten? Okay. I’ll get it!” Jungkook dashes even if he’s never been in this grocery store before; even if your mom hasn’t said a single word to either of them.

You’re left dumbfounded in the middle of the store, your gaze unable to locate the distinct sounds of both of their sneakers skidding against the floor. 

“I didn’t even say anything,” your mom mutters in confusion, eyes flitting to you with a wonder you can’t place because even if the both of you are lost, she seems to have a better idea than you do. “Are they… competing over you, sweetie?”

“Competing? Me? Why would you even say that, mom?” you huff, leaning against the cart as you snatch her list to get the things she’s actually looking for.

“I don’t know,” she lulls, shrugging carelessly before nudging you. “Jungkook’s your boyfriend and well, I assume Yoongi’s always wanted to be in his position.”

“How did you even come to that conclusion?”

“Small town. Few people. Cute girl, cute guy,” she places, the end of her hypothesis being accompanied by a chuckle. When she says it like that, it sounds far too easy — it sounds far too seamless, you almost wish it was exactly that. “I didn’t even take the news that Yoongi was going abroad seriously because I thought it was a joke. I thought he could never move on from here or Namjoon,” your mom pouts, tilting her head when you freeze. “Much more, he could never move on from you.”

“He did,” you answer through gritted teeth, the grip you have on her list making the paper crumple underneath your hold.

Your mom doesn’t know everything. In fact, you don’t even know if she knows anything at all. You don’t despise her for her lack of involvement because you want to keep her from the chaos of your burdens, and you’ve always wanted to keep it that way.

But the way she speaks now, so full of conviction and faith, you find yourself despising it. She speaks as surely as the way Yoongi speeds past the both of you, weaving through aisles to get items she didn’t ask for, competing for and against a higher power (read: you) that Jungkook himself seeks. 

She says it so surely, it’s as if she knows about every waking thought that Yoongi’s ever had in your absence.

“It doesn’t look like he did.”

You ponder over your mom’s adoration for Yoongi, most of which you can’t decipher if it’s misplaced or not. You know he’ll always have a special place in her heart and in her home because she’s known him even before he was born because she’s best friends with Mrs. Min. 

Yoongi has a place in your life, no matter if it’s in your own or in the lives of the people you love. He probably has a modern penthouse in Namjoon’s life, the decoration in it improving over time. On the other hand, Yoongi probably occupies an ancestral cabin in your mom’s life that’s been well-maintained for longer than he’s ever been alive, the decor in it being handmade and resilient through the years. 

In your life, however, you can’t tell how and if Yoongi occupies it in the first place. For the longest time, his place in your life had come in the form of a mansion that not even a single architect nor engineer could ever think of. For a moment too, Yoongi’s place in your heart came in the form of a little house on a vast farm overlooking the mountains and the sea. Throughout all the houses that Yoongi’s shape-shifted to in your life, you doubt now if he could ever turn into them again.

When you think of Yoongi, all you see is your room. 

When you see Yoongi, all you could remember is your childhood house and its shortcomings in your life, especially when you needed to come home to it— to him, the most.

“I’ll pay, mom,” Jungkook snaps you out of your reverie, his whine making your ears ring.

“What? No, Jungkook. This is all too much,” you refuse vehemently, trying to fight him from extending his black card any further.

“It’s not. This is for your family anyway. I, I might have even grabbed extra portions for myself because mom said she’ll repeat tomorrow what she did for lunch today,” he grins, momentarily losing himself to the sight of you that he doesn’t even notice he’s in the process of being one-upped by Yoongi.

“Jungkook, baby, I’ll feel-…”

“I paid for it, auntie,” Yoongi announces, making your lips part and Jungkook’s jaw drop.

“You shouldn’t have, Yoongi,” you scold him softly, a whine already building at the back of your throat but he waves you off easily. Your mom’s thanking him profusely in the background, and while Yoongi’s pleased with the attention, his gaze remains on you.

“But I wanted to,” he insists, pursing his lips. “I should.”

“You’re not family,” is what you want to say.

“But I want to be,” is what he wants to scream.

Wordlessly, Yoongi puts a plastic toy ring he bought from the register into your bag. It’s pink and it’s star-shaped, its mold still the same from all those years ago.

.

.

.

You barrel into your mom’s room just to see Namjoon.

You bit at the chance of giving him the stuff he’s asked for from the grocery as per your mom, taking advantage of her focus on organizing the groceries downstairs to have a one-on-one with your brother.

“You have to make Yoongi drive into the city tonight. Either that or he flies to the US. The reunion is already tomorrow,” you seethe, crossing your arms as he sighs in defeat.

“It’s already late. Yoongi’s driving with Haneul, a kid, alone,” he emphasizes, running a hand through his hair as he himself is troubled by you being in a bind over everything. “And he can’t book a flight back on such short notice.”

“Short notice? What, did he just happen to book a one-way flight and not a round trip one?” you snort in amusement, shaking your head in disbelief. The thought actually cracks you up because out of the three of you, Yoongi happened to be the one more adept to websites despite your limited materials back then. Namjoon remains silent, and with how serious he looks, your face falls.

You can’t believe Yoongi at all.

“He did? You’ve gotta be kidding me, Joon,” you groan, throwing your head back. “What, does that mean Yoongi gets to stay in our home while we’re in this godforsaken family reunion?”

Namjoon delivers yet another blow, his revelation making you more enraged than the last.

“Mom invited them.”

“What? Why?!” you exclaim, chest rising in frustration. “Yoongi’s not family, Namjoon. Atleast not for me.”

He doesn’t miss your added remark at the end of your sentence, the underhandedness of it making him look down on the floor. 

Namjoon feels guilty, he really does, but he can’t seem to make it right. He couldn’t even fight you in insisting to apologize that night.

For each day that you try to delay the inevitable of confronting him and letting him taking the fall, of letting him apologize, Namjoon feels more like a big failure for an older brother than he already is. 

“But he used to be,” he says under his breath, looking up at you with a stubbornness you can’t place. “Your lifetime versus those five years — which one amounts to more?”

( ♡ ) 

Everyone gushes over Jungkook.

In an altitude higher than the mountainside that you’re in now, the aunts, uncles, and cousins you didn’t even know you have squeal over your fake boyfriend. By the fifth relative, you’ve already got your routine down of letting them hug you and kiss your cheek before holding Jungkook’s bicep, acting as his bodyguard to make sure they don’t squeeze him too hard or not at all.

“Oh my god, Y/N. Jeon Jungkook is your boyfriend?!”

“I knew it, I knew you were gonna have a partner who’s famous! I dreamed about it when you were-…”

“If that’s your boyfriend, then who’s he?” your cousin (?) whispers to you, cutting himself off as he turns his gaze to Yoongi and Haneul. They’re most certainly not your family, meaning that they’re unrelated to everyone present, so what your relatives (some more nosy than others) can’t wrap their heads around is the fact that there are strangers in your family reunion.

It takes one, two times for your mom and Namjoon to explain who they are and what they’re doing here in the first place, the chorus of nods eventually signaling that they’ve moved on. Some of them could even recall Mr. and Mrs. Min from the neighborhood, and Yoongi could only nod.

It’s not that he doesn’t belong right now — he actually feels the opposite. Yoongi feels that he has a place amongst a barrage of relatives he’s not affiliated to by neither blood nor paper, and it pains him; not because he’s scared of belonging, but because you probably don’t think the same way.

Haneul runs to him underneath the umbrella he’s isolated himself at, his son grasping an assortment of cash, food, and juiceboxes Yoongi most certainly did not pack in Haneul’s backpack from the night before.

“Auntie’s family is really nice, appa. Look what they gave me,” he shows everything that his hands could carry, breathing heavily in excitement as he explains that your relatives told him to come back once his hands are empty.

“Oh dear. They really think you’re adorable,” he laughs, pocketing Haneul’s cash (he swears he’ll give it back) and hiding some of the snacks he’s been given so he wouldn’t give himself heartburn eating too many at once.

Yoongi’s smiling from ear to ear, sitting Haneul in his lap as he overlooks the view of your town from above. Everything looks so small and delicate, you’d almost think none of what laid downhill ever even mattered. He didn’t get views like these in New York. 

Yoongi didn’t get people like you in New York.

“Mama’s family isn’t this nice,” Haneul speaks out of nowhere, his thoughts uttered out loud directed more-on to himself than it is for his dad. Yoongi stops in his tracks in trepidation, shoulders tensing over what his son just said. “They never play with me like this. Not like auntie.”

He knows Hyewon’s relatives, albeit not that well. Her family members in the US were not this kind, not this warm, even to a child who’s actually related to them.

Yoongi’s stuck in his thoughts the whole time Haneul sips on his juice, finally being snapped into his reality nowwhen you approach their direction. His son waves at you excitedly even if you’ve just crossed paths minutes ago.

“Here, Haneul,” you hold out a container to him, the gentle smile on your face limited to only him yet Yoongi, for a lack of grace, pretends it’s also for him. “I tried my best to make it look like Bluey,” you chuckle, pointing to the mini sculpture made out of the marshmallows and blueberries that your relatives set aside for him.

Haneul beams at you, thanking you profusely. If only he wasn’t sat on Yoongi’s lap and therefore grounded, he would’ve launched himself at you to hug your legs.

Yoongi takes the hat right off his head, putting it on you while you’re crouched next to his son.

“It’s hot,” he explains, his heart continuously speaking beats the longer that you linger beside Haneul and the longer that he giggles in excitement. “I know you get headaches easily.”

( ♡ ) 

Despite being reachable, Yoongi still yearns for you.

He yearns for you even if you’re only within arm’s reach, sitting near you but never close enough at the long table because with you, he feels safe. He laughs in the background like it’s a sitcom to every joke and every episode of banter thrown around him. He doesn’t feel out of place with your family — he feels out of place with you.

He’s never been a wickedly jealous type. Even when he and Hyewon were still together and she cheated on him, Yoongi felt more resentful than he was jealous. He didn’t feel this type of way; he didn’t feel inferior. He didn’t feel like he was nursing a loss in his life because he has no choice but to. Yoongi had managed to divorce Hyewon because it didn’t work out between them, and that was that.

Yoongi can neither divorce you nor pull away from you because you’ve never been with each other. He harbors no resentment for you and that scares him, not because he wants to hate you so badly, but because he feels as if everything you’ll do to him, he’ll take it.

Yoongi will take it even if you set a plate for Jungkook despite unconsciously forgetting what he’s always disliked eating when you were still kids. He’ll take the serving tray from your hands still, uncaring if eating the tiniest bite of the food you’ve passed gives him an allergic reaction because you were the one who offered.

He’ll take it even if you hold Jungkook’s bicep in a hurry when there’s a bug that’s getting awfully close to your drink. Yoongi would walk to where you sit and dispose of it wordlessly because even Jungkook himself is scared of bugs. He doesn’t mind if you don’t thank him, because atleast now when he looks at you from a distance, you’re sitting in relaxation and you no longer have to hold your boyfriend.

He’ll endure the jealousy that burns through his throat more than the poorly-made, highly-alcoholic vodka your uncle made himself. He’ll hold onto the poison that is yearning and how he’ll feel like his throat would close up because if you were still young, in this setting of free rein, except you were still in love him like you used to be and he’s in love with you like he is now, neither you and Yoongi would be hurting.

Yoongi will take it. He’ll take the nothing that you give him and give you the everything that you don’t ask for anymore.

Five years versus the rest of your lifetime that you spent being in love with him is only miniscule. The suffering that he’s going through now is only a speck of the years you’ve spent in an unrequited love.

Unlike you, Yoongi’s weak. If he were to say it outloud to you, you’ll never agree because you’ve never regarded yourself otherwise. You’ll go on this tangent that you’ve always been weak, influenced by the times that Yoongi had chastised you for your lack of a passion. 

To you, Yoongi had been right in a way.

To Yoongi, he’s always been in the wrong.

He’s crying to you now that the both of you are alone, overlooking the small town he used to be keen on getting out of. Now, more than ever, Yoongi wants to stay in it. He wants to stay with you.

“Why is everything with you so hard?” Yoongi whispers, his tears stinging badly from the corner of his eyes to the point that he can only make out shapes. He’s unkempt and frantic as if his life flashed before his eyes and there’s nothing he could do about it, voice strained like much of the times he’s drank himself to sleep.

He resembles Haneul at the moment. He’s always had because there’s not one bit of Hyewon in his son’s features or personality, but he looks especially like him now that he’s crying. The back of his hands harshly dig into his face, sobs bursting right from his throat. “Why do I make everything so hard for us? Why can’t I— w-why can’t I make it right for once?”

There’s a tremble to your chest that you ignore earnestly, the presence of it enough to scare you because it’s familiar; too familiar. Seeing your past play out in front of you in the form of a seemingly content family sleeping on your bed is one thing, but it’s another to see its patriarch crumble in front of you. It’s different to see your past pleading in front of you for just the slightest bit of your attention.

As a matter of fact, it’s different now because you resemble Yoongi the most. 

“You never tried,” you seethe, jumping the gun before you even try to decipher what’s in the barrel. It’s a bullet you fire haphazardly that comes from your pocket that you’ve always held onto. It’s a misplaced, misshapen, old bullet that you force into a gun that Yoongi passed onto you.

Right now, Yoongi doesn’t resemble Haneul, and neither does he resemble his ex-wife. 

He resembles you with the way his eyes are clearly swimming in hurt while you avoid looking at his, just to relieve the painstaking feeling of guilt and longing compacted into a sob.

“I never tried?” Yoongi exhales shakily, his quivering hands running through his hair to tug on them.“I never tried?”

You hear yourself clearly even if it’s his voice. The tremble and the anger, even all the way to the blind hope.

“I kept trying to reach out to you every single time. Every single birthday, every single Christmas, every insignificant holiday I could search up!” Yoongi cries — he actually thrashes with the way he sobs, shoulders shaking violently. “I didn’t try? If I didn’t try, try looking at every page of my passport to see all the stamps there are whenever fucking Jungkook was reported to be in another country,” he spits his name like poison, the vitriol behind it, however, never catching up to what he feels about himself.

You resemble Yoongi the most because you stand untethered, eyes blurring and lips quivering, yet you only watch him lose himself before thinking of uttering a single word.

“I’m selfish, I’m an asshole, and I’m fucking insufferable. I can’t even apologize to you correctly,” Yoongi lists, chest rising up and down too heavily, he feels like it’ll give out. “But I love you, Y/N. I-I might be every bad thing in your life right now and I own up to that. I’m still trying to be the best for you.”

Not only does Yoongi resemble you — he’s actually become you.

“You can call me the vilest names ever but you can’t say that,” he grits, teeth chattering not from the cold he’s put himself in, but because he can’t stop mentioning your name in between. “You can’t say I never tried because I always have. I’ll never stop becausethat’s what it takes,” Yoongi mutters; because, he says, not if.

“I love you,” he says it far too clearly for someone who’s drunk; far too sincerely for someone who had spent the better part of his life putting it through your head that he can’t return your affection. “I’ve always loved you.”

( ♡ ) 

You don’t feel good.

There’s a fever that’s starting to bloom from the base of your skull all the way to your toes, the abnormal warmth you feel in your chest making you unable to interact with everyone else outside of your room. Jungkook had left with your uncles before dawn to go fishing in the nearby lake and never would you think to inconvenience him; to tend to someone like you for something as minor as a fever, or for anything at all.

You already have a system down for taking care of yourself when you’re ill. It started when neither your mom nor your brother were home with you, and it was finally perfected when you had to live completely alone in the big city. All you had to do was gather all the energy you have, spend it at the start to get everything you could possibly need and put them all at the side of your bed, and rest until everything no longer hurts.

The major flaw with your system now is that you don’t have the energy at all. You can’t build up the strength to get up, walk across the hall and interact with your relatives, and rummage through groceries to get what you need without being questioned; you can’t build up the sense of importance you have for yourself to ask for help.

Namjoon comes into your room before you could dance around the idea of asking him to get you water, all because he has this innate sense of guilt in him and you could utilize it to your advantage. Your brother gets ahead of you before you could even register that he’s here with you, his eyes sullen and pleading.

“Can we talk?”

“I can’t exactly storm off right now,” you rasp, your voice fading out into a low chuckle.

“Do you want to talk when you’re able to storm off?” he asks sincerely with a small smile, his hand fixing your hair as gently as he could without making your migraine ring further. “If you do though, then you probably might never hear me out again.”

You stay silent because he is right, but Namjoon feels otherwise. He feels as if he hasn’t been doing anything right at all and you existing separate from him is a constant reminder. His career is at its peak but he thinks he could go higher; his relationship with you is deteriorating and he doesn’t think it could possibly be worse.

“I’m sorry for being a shitty brother,” he apologizes, the first thing out of his mouth being the last thing that floods his mind before he goes to sleep at night. “I should’ve never defended Yoongi, even Hyewon by extension.”

The heat behind your eyes isn’t all from your fever. The tears that prick your eyes aren’t because of the pressure in your head, but because of the fact that you haven’t heard Namjoon apologize to you in a long time; you haven’t talked this sincerely for even longer

“I should’ve put you first,” he sniffles, muttering apologies in between his pauses for finding the right words that would make it okay; that would somehow undo all that he’s been an accomplice to. “I should’ve been this reliable, sturdy man of the house. I-I should’ve been more of a father figure to you-…”

“Don’t,” you interject sternly. “You never filled in his shoes and you should never will. You’re only mom’s son and my brother, Namjoon. It’s never been your job to raise me.”

Even after everything, there’s a gentleness to you that Namjoon’s always loved but hate the most now. He hates that even if he’s the one who’s apologizing, you’re the one who’s saying sorry for the things you didn’t even inflict on him. Neither of you wanted to be raised by only a single parent, yet you absolve him of the guilt he’s always felt.

“But I could’ve been better. I wish I was already better from the start.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think how hard life was for you growing up. I-I would’ve given up football if only-…” he trembles, unable to get the last of his sentence out because you shake your head in earnest.

“Stop.”

“But I mean it. If only I-I didn’t get into football, I could’ve been there for you and mom much often. I could’ve been better and-...”

“But I grew up to be okay, didn’t I? You’re the best at what you do. We’ve managed to retire mom early because we put in the work,” you whisper, the shrug of your shoulders feeling more heavy that it should feel because the words don’t come out easily from you. 

“But okay shouldn’t have been enough for you,” Namjoon tears up, bottom lip trembling as you try to take in his words that you’ve always wanted to hear at the back of your mind; you hear them now when you’ve already grown up. You hear them now after you’ve already endured the grief. “I— we should’ve given you the fighting chance to grow up more than okay.”

.

.

.

It’s not Jungkook who comes to visit you while you’re nursing a fever, because you’ve temporarily banned him from the bedroom. He only pouted in complaint when you called him, but he didn’t fight you that much either because you’ve called him out for the excitement in his voice to go hiking for the first time.

It’s not Yoongi who comes to visit you while you’re nursing a fever, because Haneul asked him to teach him Go (he’s not even that good at it and being the ever unable to show incompetence and have pride especially when Jungkook’s watching father, he discreetly asked lessons from your mom) so he’ll be able to play with your cousins.

Instead, it’s your mom who visits you. Even if Namjoon hadn’t tipped her off that you were feeling under the weather, she’s already had a feeling this morning.

“Are you okay, sweetie?” she asks, her hands full of everything you could possibly need and more before plopping them at your side. She makes you sit up even before you could complain, handing you a drink with some medicine you didn’t even know she carried

“Just a little fever,” you answer, getting back into your cocoon. 

You don’t even attempt to make conversation because you fear that you don’t have it in you to have a heart-to-heart talk with your mom just minutes after you’ve had one with Namjoon.

You don’t even say anything to her except your thanks. Namjoon didn’t even tell her about your conversation, even if he approached her with tear-stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes while saying that it was just allergies.

Your mom feels the guilt spring to her chest even if you don’t utter a single word. She feels the remorse in her eyes when you don’t ask her for anything more. She feels the guilt the most in her hands when you don’t ask her to stay.

“I’m sorry if I made you feel like there wasn’t enough space for your burdens growing up.”

“What?”you scramble to get up in a seated position, eyes hazy from how quick you do it. “Mom, you scared me. Where’s this coming from?” 

She shakes her head at your cluelessness, eyes stinging when you genuinely look at her innocently. You don’t know what she’s talking about, even if the thought has plagued her for so long.

“You’re not really okay, are you?”

“It’s… just a fever,” you mumble, your breathing already trembling at the way she looks at you.

She’s looking at you like you’re still a kid; ever so fragile and innocent, it’s as if she wouldn’t let a single thing in this world harm you. She doesn’t know a single thing about your feud with Namjoon and your long drawn-out conflict with Yoongi. What your mom does know is that she doesn’t know a single thing about the heartbreak you suppress, and that thought alone makes her hiccup in tears.

“You’re right, you know? Our house is small,” she says, distinctly recalling the tensioned conversation you had with Namjoon back at home. “It’s tiny but it was far too big for you growing up alone,” she inhales sharply, trying not to sob in front of you. “He wasn’t in the picture. I was working a hundred jobs left and right. Namjoon was trying to make a name for himself,” she shakes her head, so much so that the necklace she’s had since you were children, the same one with yours and Namjoon’s birthstones on it, rattles. “I’m sorry for making you feel that you can’t come to me.”

In just a full day, you’ve heard everything that you’ve ever wanted. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted during the school plays where you had no one from your family, except Yoongi, to watch you become an extra up on stage. He’d always deny that he did show up for you and just say that it’s because he was genuinely interested in a play about a poet he didn’t care about in reality, but you take it nonetheless.

It’s everything you’ve ever prayed for watching Yoongi live a life far too advanced for you as he held Hyewon’s hand after school. It’s what you wanted to hear when you begged him not to leave you behind.

“I-I’m okay. I’m really-…” you stutter, looking away before your tears fall in the fear that they’ll never stop.

Your mom only hugs you tighter.

“I’m here if you want someone else to carry your burdens,” she whispers. “I’m here now.”

( ♡ )

It’s the last day of the reunion when you fully recover, and it’s hours ahead of everyone when Jungkook has to leave by himself.

Without even asking for it, Jungkook grants you another week’s worth of break. You didn’t even plan on asking, yet Jungkook’s willing to give you a month if only you do. 

You’ve already arranged for his personal driver to pick him up and take him back to the city. You’ve already packed his bags, along with the multiple containers of food that your relatives (and especially your mom) insisted for him to take. You’ve arranged for your substitute to take care of him for his schedules throughout the week, along with the insistent reminder to call you whenever Jungkook needs you. (Read: he does, with or without a schedule.)

Everything is set for Jungkook to leave except for his driver who’d been roped by your mom to be filled with breakfast first, yet with the remaining minutes left, Jungkook’s still with you on your bed. 

He lies on your lap even if there’s plenty of space for him to lie parallel to you on a pillow — and you let him.

“Have you ever thought about kissing me?” he asks in the middle of you texting your substitute, the randomness of his thought already being familiar to you. This time, unlike the few thousand times he’s ever asked you something straight off his mind without refining them, is different.

It’s different now because your pretend-boyfriend asks you if you’ve ever thought about kissing him, while looking like he really wants to kiss you.

“Where’d that come from?” you giggle, looking down on him on your lap. 

Not once does Jungkook ever look away from you.

“Dunno,” he shrugs, pointing up at you. “Your lips are close to bleeding and it’s bothering me.”

“Sorry for turning you off,” you snort in laughter, wiping at the tiny specks of blood. Jungkook tuts when you rub at them, feeling for his lip balm out of his pocket.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he stresses, going a little cross-eyes when he applies them for you. His eyes keep goading you, the smile he has on his face widening the more that you look at him incredulously. “Sooo… have you?”

You don’t want to lie to him at all.

“If I answer yes, Jungkook,” you toy around with his hair, setting your phone face-down because you can’t focus on anything else now. “We can never come back from that.”

Jungkook laughs in glee so loudly, Yoongi (who was only passing by; he really, really swears he didn’t just happen to eavesdrop in your room because Jungkook’s driver is all done eating and wants to beat traffic) actually flinches.

Jungkook strains to be closer to you, unconsciously training you to lean down. His lips are far too soft — far too close to you, you could see every line and every nuance in them. He whispers, eyes practically crossing at your proximity.

“And is that such a bad thing?”

( ♡ ) 

You’re back at home when Jungkook texts you that he’s made it back safe, and that he wants to kiss you again.

You’re back at home when Yoongi asks you if he could use the bathroom first because Haneul spilled milk on him during the drive. You’re in your childhood bedroom when you let him clean up first, and you’re sitting on your childhood bed when you volunteer to put Haneul down because he’s cranky and for some reason, wants to be held by you.

You’re back at home too when Yoongi and Haneul are knocked out for the night, and your mom calls you and Namjoon down for all three of you to talk at the dining table.

You’re back at the home you were raised in, sitting on the dining table that’s creaky when more than two people lean their weight into it, in the space you’ve roamed around alone waiting for them to come home, when your mom talks about wanting to sell it.

“You want to sell?” Namjoon’s eyes widen, exchanging a glance with you who’s as equally surprised as he is.

“Yes. It’s under my name, y’know? Not that… man’s,” she snorts, the off-hand mention of your father making you and Namjoon laugh unexpectedly. Your mom looks at ease as she talks about selling your house, the smile she has one her face being shaped with experience and grace. “I doubt the both of you would want to keep this, and besides, the offers I’ve kept for years now are high. You already know that big-shot companies have been buying out houses here for years now because of the growth potential and whatnot. Who knows, maybe our block will be turned into a mall!” she shrugs, the happiness in her tone infectious. 

For someone who’s decided on letting go the house she’s both struggled and strived in, your mom’s beyond excited.

For two adults, who were once kids, who’ve seen the amount of sacrifices your mother’s put into the place by herself, you and Namjoon don’t have any objections.

“Also, consider this as me asking for permission to go on a vacation, even if I’m grown, because some people get so paranoid when I don’t answer calls,” she digs at you and your brother, immediately inciting coughs because you two, in fact, are guilty of worrying over your mom too much. “I’m going on this worldwide trip with Yoongi’s mom,” she grins, pulling out one last surprise. “We’ve talked about it since we were young. She’s earned her stripes working abroad, I managed to raise two amazing children as a single mom. We’ve earned it, I think.”

You and Namjoon share a glance once again, this time more definite than the last. You’ve made up already as far as your mom could tell, and that confirmation is what she needs before finally selling the house you all grew up in.

“You’ve earned it more than anyone.”

( ♡ ) 

Yoongi’s packing up for their flight tonight when you go into your room to pack up the life you’ve lived there.

“You’re coming with me and Haneul?” Yoongi jokes when he sees you pulling out your own luggage, the tone of his voice highly suggesting for you to become serious. He gets you to smile and that’s big enough of a win as is, the remainder of it more than substantial to hold onto when he’s away from you. Again.

“No, unfortunately. I’m packing up the room and eventually… the whole house,” you answer with a chuckle, voice trailing off when you see the crestfallen look on Yoongi’s face. He looks like someone who’s just absorbed the largest pain to man as he’s trying not to make it obvious. “We’re posting it for sale two weeks from now.”

Yoongi nods tightly, inhaling sharply as he tries to maintain his steady tone. “Then why are you packing up already?”

You could do this tomorrow. As a matter of fact, you could do it tonight because you don’t have to drive them to the airport. You have all the time in the world within two weeks to do this, yet you go into your room now when Yoongi’s still in it.

When Yoongi still hasn’t left, and neither of you know when you’re gonna see each other next.

“I have to get a move on. If I don’t move now,” you trail, voice close to trembling as you open cabinets you’ve never even given the time of day before. “I’m scared that I’ll keep holding onto this house.

Yoongi nods, even if he fully understands — even if he doesn’t want to swallow what you’re saying.

“You want out?”

“We want out — me, mom, Namjoon,” you explain, looking at him properly for the first time since he told you that he loved you. “For the longest time, we’ve held onto this place because we became this house at one point. Namjoon’s this world star, my mom’s traveling the world with your mom-…”

“Oh, they’re finally doing it?” Yoongi interrupts, a smile finally coming to his face at the news. He hasn’t talked to his mom in a month from how busy he’s been, and although he’s always missed her (even if they’re on much better terms than he and his dad could be), he’s happy knowing that your moms have each other atleast. “How about you? What will you be doing?”

“I’ll just be… living day-to-day. I’m not doing anything extremely special, but I’m happy and busy doing it,” you laugh, looking around your room that hasn’t appeared this clean, this warm, since you last stayed in it. “No one’s going to be around here anymore.”

As if on cue, Haneul runs to Yoongi’s arms to be picked up. He knows what the luggages mean and because he’s largely in denial that they have to leave later (as referenced by him crying to your mom and Namjoon), Haneul keeps pretending to sleep so that their trip gets delayed.

Yoongi’s about to put him on your bed even if he knows his son’s antics already, but in the fear that he’ll actually get to sleep and they don’t get to leave (which he isn’t opposed to at all), he keeps him in his arms.

You, on the other hand, take Haneul from him when his arms outstretch for you.

There’s the sentiment of you not having to do it that’s resting at the tip of Yoongi’s tongue but he holds himself back, the image of you and Haneul completely fitting one another, he wants to burn a copy of it to his retinas and designate it to be the last thing he’ll see if he ever goes blind.

Without putting Haneul to sleep on your bed, he goes to sleep in peace in your arms.

“Do you regret it?” Yoongi asks throughout the silence between you, sitting next to you at the edge of your bed. “Do you regret ever liking me?”

“I do,” you answer truthfully, rubbing circles at the Haneul’s back. “I regret knowing you.”

Yoongi takes the responsibility fully, even fuller than the way both your hurt and happiness could make or break him.

“I can’t take back all the hurt I’ve caused you,” he admits just as honestly, turning to look at you. He becomes surprised to learn that you’ve been looking at him the whole time. “But what I can promise you is that I’ll never do anything to hurt you again.”

“I have my share of faults too.”

“Eh. Mostly mine.”

“Mostly yours, yeah,” you laugh easily, nodding to yourself as you continue. “But I held onto you as much as you didn’t hold onto me. That’s my mistake.”

Yoongi stays silent at that, not because he agrees, but because the bias that you’ll never be wrong in his eyes overtakes your humbleness.

“Do you think he’ll remember the entirety of the trip?” you ask, gesturing to Haneul who’s already sleeping like a hibernating bear in your hold. “Or will Haneul just remember that time the power went out because he cried a lot?”

“Oh, he’ll remember everything alright. He’s good with retention and people in general,” Yoongi waves you off. “Even if he didn’t come along the trip— even if we didn’t crash the whole thing, Haneul would remember you.”

“Who am I to him?” you ask in curiosity, lips turning into a straight line before they curve in the slightest. “Appa’s friend, I bet.”

“Not really. You’re a lot of things to me,” Yoongi chuckles, looking at the way Haneul grips you as if you’ll float away if he lets go; he’d do the same too. “More like my first love.”

Yoongi loves you quietly.

He loves you quietly with the way he draws the curtains downstairs when you sleep on the couch, tired and stressed over a solution you couldn’t understand. He loves you with the way he’ll scoop the warmest, freshest, least-burnt portion of rice to your bowl without you even asking for it. He loves you with the way he’s willing to let you walk all over him.

He loves you quietly in the way that not even distance nor time could disrupt him.

Yoongi loves you quietly, it might have been too much.

“Is that a lottery ticket?” he asks suddenly as he spots the familiar face of it inside your luggage, tucked into the discreet pocket where your mother’s letters of encouragement when you went to the big city were also kept

“Oh, it’s still there,” you answer, in surprise yourself because even if this is the same luggage you use whenever you go out of the country with Jungkook, you’ve never noticed that it was still there. “I bought it when you left for the US.”

Yoongi stops in his tracks in retrieving the scratch ticket from the pocket, looking up at you in curiosity. “Why did you buy one that day?”

Haneul stirs in his sleep in your arms, waking up right at the middle of you and Yoongi being lost in each other. He mistakes the silence as a signal that they’ll be leaving already, making a mess of himself as he quickly goes down the stairs to look for your family there and cling to them instead.

You and Yoongi are alone again.

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly, grasping the scratch ticket you used to spend hours looking. “I guess I just needed some proof that fate was against me that day.”

“But how would you even know that?” Yoongi asks, pointing to the card that’s still covered. “You didn’t even scratch it.”

You answer honestly, the reason burnt to the back of his mind.

“Because I knew I would lose my mind if I actually lost.”

“Try,” Yoongi swallows, nudging the ticket closer to you with a gaze that mirrored yours when he left. “Try again. Please.”

You have nothing else to lose.

Yoongi isn’t yours to lose.

You retrieve the same old coin Yoongi gave to you on the same day that he bought you your first scratch ticket, the appearance of it from your luggage making his heart skip a beat.

He doesn’t speak and neither do you, gaze only fixed on the way you scratch the card almost hesitantly, as if you’re still scared of the results of something that you should’ve known five years ago. (Read: you still are.)

When you get to the last digit, you freeze. You comb through the pattern over and over again, yet you still can’t believe it.

You’ve won the highest possible prize.

“Oh.”

“Oh,” you parrot Yoongi, looking up at him as he can’t believe it either.

“You won.”

“I won,” you repeat, running a hand through your hair. You actually laugh, the lump in your throat subsiding. It’s a welcome, albeit loaded, feeling of happiness that comes in between the two of you. “I thought I would lose,” you mutter bitterly, shaking your head. 

You didn’t lose. Fate wasn’t against you that day, and yet you still lost yourself thinking subconsciously what the proof of it would’ve been.

“Who would’ve thought, right?” you sigh, eyes drifting to Yoongi. “If only I took that chance years ago, I would’ve won.”

Yoongi smiles tightly, breath faltering in recollection.

“I’m familiar with the feeling,”

Yoongi doesn’t get to finish packing for him and Haneul and neither do you with your whole room, the shift in the atmosphere suddenly making him stand.

He’s breathless and he doesn’t know what for, the rapid beating of his chest making his voice louder than necessary. “Hey, what do you say you take a break? I’ll pack up your room. I have to stay alert anyway for Haneul."

You thank him before leaving him alone in your room.

Yoongi can’t find the strength in him to pack. The only power he has left in him is for him to think of taking everything out from his luggages, the thought of leaving again, this time worlds different than the last when you were begging him not to — he feels like throwing up.

Yoongi’s merely an amalgamation of you. He’s only a compilation of your every word, every feeling you’ve implanted in his heart. He’s filled with nothing but your every triumph and shortcoming; every late night hanging out with you as you attempt to study while he keeps you company, every minute he spent going out of his mind trying to look for you when you ran away from home.

Yoongi loves you silently to the point that he gets out of your room without accomplishing a single thing he said he’ll do just awhile ago.

In the grand scheme of things, Yoongi realizes that he was wrong. He was as wrong as you were right that the moment he leaves home, he’ll spend the rest of his life looking for it. 

Even if you left your home like he did, even if neither of you could come home anymore the moment your childhood house gets sold, Yoongi would still search for it. He’ll still search for you. You’re no longer where you were, but you are everywhere that Yoongi is.

He looks for you in Namjoon’s room, to the dining table, and all the way outside, just to ask if he and Haneul could stay for dinner.

Yoongi finds you and Haneul eating sundaes on the pavement outside, with you on the ground and a scrap cardboard underneath Haneul so it wouldn’t be hot for him.

Fate hadn’t been against you five years ago. And even if he’s much too late, Yoongi could only pray that fate isn’t against him now.

He walks over to where you and Haneul are, grabbing another scrap of cardboard to put underneath you.

Yoongi is consumingly yours all the time.

[lanabuckybarnes]

Fucking you (literally)

18+ Minors DNI

(I don’t own any of the photos, credits to their original owners)

No thoughts just thinking about the different Bucky’s and the many ways they’d fuck.

Warnings: a few kinks mentioned in there: spanking, face sitting, hair pulling, phone sex, the winter soldier (he’s mean)

If I’ve missed any more warnings let me know

-

40s Bucky is service top 98% of the time, he loves seeing you become immersed in pleasure, you’d think it was him feeling the way he touches you whenever you’d looked at his bliss-filled face. He just absolutely wants and needs you to be completely fucked out and slurring your words with how well he’s satisfied you. That other 2% of the time though, he’s a fucking tease. You want a kiss, he’s pulling away with a tut, that wide grin getting impossibly wider as you whine to him.

If you’re like that with just a kiss imagine how you’d react if he had you flat on your back, dress and underwear thrown somewhere in the room, at this point you didn’t give a fuck. His lips ghost over your stomach, leaving chaste kisses and hot breaths in their wake. Just when he gets to that spot you so desperately want him, he’s away- your thighs needed more marks he’d say. The way only one of his hands would be able to hold you down while he relentlessly teased you, the other either gripping your breast or holding your hand.

Also, breeding kink??

-

The Winter Soldier. I honestly don’t think this man would fuck at all but, in this scenario let’s say he partook in it. He is the only Bucky Barnes that I genuinely think would be fully rough, you need mean? You’ve got it. He doesn’t care about your pleasure, he uses you as a release (consensually of course), pushing your face down into the covers and ploughing you. He’d smack your ass so hard as well and leave you sore for weeks because of them, people would normally ask if you were ok but they hear the way he destroys you, they don’t need an explanation as to why you can’t sit down.

I don’t think he’d be entirely heartless, he’d probably feel quite horrible about the huge red marks blooming on your cheeks but you’d reassure him that you loved it, loved the way he used you.

-

Civil War Bucky needs someone to take the wheel. He’s so used to having someone control him and it’s hard to shake that immediately. He just needs soft words in his ears while you ride him slowly, sometimes he’s just happy to let you sit there with his cock in you. Civil War Bucky is so whiny, I just imagine him constantly with a veiny hand over his mouth to hide his pitiful moans, his deep blue eyes wet with tears, never leaving you as you suck his thick length nice and good.

On some occasions, Civil War Bucky will try to take the lead but more often than not he’ll flunk out halfway through, flip you over so you’re sitting on top of him and beg you to ride his face until you make a mess of him. Lives for eating pussy, almost cums in his pants when you pull on his hair.

-

I skipped 3 eras because they’re the same as Civil War Bucky but FATWS Bucky is like a mix of them all.

When he’s in a foul mood he either needs you to ruin him or he needs to ruin you.

He likes it when you dress all pretty for him when you put on a nice outfit and some pretty silk undies so he can unwrap you, godddd damn.

Since he’s on missions a lot you came to him with the idea of phone sex, or sending videos and pics of each other. To begin with, he was very apprehensive of the whole idea but one long mission later and his cock was hard and his hand wasn’t cutting it. He’d sigh and pick up the phone, noting the late hour over where you were staying. He knew you probably wouldn’t be awake but his finger had pressed call before he even knew it.

Surprisingly you picked up with a cute lil “hey baby” and a soft smile he could hear in your words. His cheeks were beet red when he began to talk about the whole phone sex thing, you helped calm him down though. Suddenly with your sultry voice in his ear, his thrusts into his hand felt so much better. He came hard that night and after saying his Goodnights to you he took a mental note to do that every mission.

-

I’m ovulating can you tell?

[loliwrites]

IV. Fortitude | Edelweiss

pairing: joel miller x f!reader  rating: explicit, 18+, minors dni  warnings/tags: jackson era!joel, sharpshooter!reader, age difference [joel is mid 50s, reader is early to mid 30s], joel lives forever fight me, switching povs, canon compliant violence, brief description of blood, mention of terrible humans, brief discussion of trauma-induced menopause, SMUT, greenhouse sex [sorry plants], unprotected p in v sex, reader rides joel within an inch of his life, oral [f receiving], gentle choking, praise kink [good girl, attagirl], terms of endearment [sweet girl, pretty girl], semi-somnophilia [joel’s partly awake], mutual masturbation, female reader, no physical description, protective!joel, no use of y/n. word count: 7.0k series masterlist  a/n: we start with joel’s pov in this one. look at the tags, this is mostly pwp

⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾

“M’not sayin’ forever, Tommy. Just for a while. A week even,” Joel chased Tommy around his kitchen as he moved to prepare dinner. Elsewhere in the house, Maria was feeding the baby.

“When did you sleep with her?”

“What’re you talking about?”

“You’re doin’ that thing you always do, Joel,” Tommy shook his head and threw a skillet onto the stove. “Going in full protector mode after you sleep with a woman. Did it in the 90s. Did it again with Tess. And now with her.” He threw a handful of cut up rhubarb into the pan with butter, “she’s too valuable on patrol. She needs to go,”

Joel clenched his jaw, the muscle by his temple pulsing. “She needs a break, Tommy.”

“We all–”

“Goddammit!” Joel pounded his fists against the counter, “she’s been goin’ out with me six days a fucking week. Six days a week, thinking she’s gonna run into one of ‘em and be dragged back into that nightmare. Get fuckin’ violated on a daily basis for kicks. So excuse me if I’m goin’ full protector mode. I’m out there with her everyday. I have to go into protector mode. And it’s not just ‘cause I’m sleeping with her. You’d do the same thing if you knew what I know. Just…” he shook his head, “stick her in the greenhouse or somethin’. Give her a breather,”

“So you are sleeping with her,” Tommy smirked, pushing the rhubarb around.

Joel stared at his brother with supreme annoyance and rolled his eyes, “Tommy.”

“Okay, greenhouse, fine. Just for a week, Joel. They’ve been coming in closer and I don’t think they’re gonna stop so long as the weather’s bad,”

⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾

You weren’t sure what you had done wrong. One day you’re falling into a routine with Joel on patrol, establishing a shorthand together that makes the work easier. And the next you’re banished to the greenhouse. Well, maybe not banished. But Tommy had pulled you aside one morning when you arrived at the stables to saddle your horse, and told you that you’d be staying in Jackson this week. That he’d be going on patrol with Joel. If it wasn’t banishment, it sure felt like punishment. As your head hung low and you shuffled back to the greenhouse, you wondered if Joel had said something to Tommy about your entanglement. Maybe he’d regretted doing it and asked his brother to step in and create a little distance between the two of you.

It had been a few days since then. A few days of walking into the greenhouse and seeing Wendy’s perpetual smile and wondering why you weren’t able to do the same. A few days of replaying that night with Joel in your mind and trying to figure out where it went wrong. A few days of not seeing him. It shouldn’t have been like this. It shouldn’t have gone so far for you to be thinking… wondering… about him all day long. It shouldn’t have gotten to the point that you were second-guessing yourself. What if he didn’t like the way you did something? What if he’d been expecting more and didn’t want to deal with your “shortcomings”?

And it was perhaps a little ridiculous for your brain to have gone down this route. How many patrols had you gone on that when Joel got home, all he wanted to do was collapse onto his couch, sip a beer, and try to ignore the pang of hurt in his lower back. Maybe it was nothing. And maybe it was everything.

Between planting, watering, pruning, and harvesting, you found time to hide away in the corner of the greenhouse and admire the edelweiss. It had grown stronger in its time outside. Spending the days out in the elements, while being safely stored inside during the night, had given its root system to dig in. The stems more robust. The flower had found a way of being sturdy enough to survive the world and yet flexible enough to bend with the wind.

Wendy called out just as you’d wedged your foot between the door and the jamb. Hands full with the tray of edelweiss, you used your body to slink into the greenhouse, saving the flowers from the harsh winter night. She was heading home and suggested you do the same before the storm blew in. Judging by what you’d just endured out there, you figured the storm had already blown in. But after humming a noncommittal response to her, you heard the door open and knew she’d be on her way back home safe and warm. Into the arms of her partner. And knowing that, it put you in no particular rush to get back to your little cottage all alone.

You’d only just arranged the edelweiss tray back on its work table when you heard the door open back up. Maybe it had gotten worse out there. But far be it from Wendy to enter a room without a statement. And not hearing her voice ringing out through the glass walls, you looked up from the work table.

There he was. Walking toward you in no particular rush. It’d only been a handful of days but he looked different than your mind had allowed you to remember. His graying curls looked longer. They cascaded down to his neck and curled around his ears. His beard was a little fuller than it had been on your night with him. His gait so slow you wondered if he’d keep up the momentum to take the next step. You wanted to run up and jump into him – either kissing or swatting at him, you weren’t sure which would come first. With exhibited restraint, you only turned to face him head on; your hands nervously fiddling at your sides. Once Joel was a few steps away, you spotted that not only did he look a little worse for wear, but his clothes did too. His winter coat ripped at the shoulder seam. The sleeve hung on for dear life. And the coat itself looked like it’d been caked in mud, now dried and spattered everywhere. He even had a cut on his cheek that was a couple days old. No longer bleeding, but just by the look of it, you knew it was deep enough to have been one that took awhile to clot.

“Hi,” his voice was far lower than his normal volume. Though you heard him clearly, you lacked the immediate ability to respond more than a nod. “Miss me?”

You shook your head. That was obviously a lie and you figured Joel knew that too, judging by the smile that flickered across his face. He brought his hand up to your chin and used the leverage to tilt your head back, making it impossible for you to look anywhere but at him. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip; eyes being directed to the plush skin.

Then he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours with force. In between deep breaths, he muttered the three little words you’d been longing to hear. The ones that would reassure you he hadn’t been purposefully avoiding contact. “I missed you.” He pushed his tongue into your mouth, finding yours and it elicited a moan from him. He stepped forward into you, crowding you up against the work table. His hands moving around to your back and sliding all the way down to your ass, which he squeezed at the first possible moment. “Missed this,” he mumbled over your lips. One hand lowered between your ass and pressed up against your jeans until he hit the resistance of your entrance against it.

A whimper made its way from your throat and into Joel’s mouth. Your hands lifted to his chest; fingers curled around his flannel and tugged. At the present moment, unsure if you wanted to keep him close or push him away. Not that you’d get too much time to ponder it. Joel lifted a hand to your neck, fingers on one side, thumb on the other. It lacked any real pressure though you remained acutely aware of the feeling.

“How ‘bout you drop your pants and turn around for me?”

“Someone might see us,” you looked out, freezing with hesitation.

Joel’s fingers tightened around your throat by the smallest amount and you looked back up into his eyes. “No one’s gonna see us,” he reassured but it didn’t get you moving. “Drop your pants to your ankles, turn around, and bend over with your forearms on the table,”

The resoluteness in his gaze and voice convinced you he was right. No one would see you. They’d have to be absolutely crazy to be out in the snow flurry. So your hands went to the button of your jeans and undid it. The move to lower the zipper was even slower. Joel nodded to you, yes on the right track. And when you bent forward to push them down your legs, his hand moved from your neck to the back of your head. His massive paw cradling the back of it. Your head was so close to his waist; you figured that’s what his real intent had been. Though your pants were down, instead of returning upright, you got down on your knees and reached for his belt.

“Oh, good girl,” he growled. “Y’wanna suck on my cock?”

Your eyes flicked up to him, not sure if your answer was actually yes or no. Ultimately, you wanted him to feel good. To not put you through the mental torment you’d spent the last few days muddling through. 

“Think you could take all of it without choking?” But Joel took your hand in his and pulled you back up to your feet, “later. Turn around and bend over f’me.”

Obliging, you spun around and faced the work table. Staring at it with wide eyes, you bent over until your forearms rested over the sanded wood like he had asked of you. And looking over your shoulder, you watched as he knelt down (his knees fighting against the action), and he softly stripped you of your underwear; coaxing them down over your legs until they met with your pants at your ankles. He groped at your ass with both hands and spread the cheeks apart, presenting your most intimate areas to him. And without restraint or contemplation, he licked his lips and leaned in to you. Kissed your entrance and quickly followed it up with his tongue. Rimmed your hole and then closed his mouth around you. 

Your head bowed forward, nearly hitting the table. A hum for continuation filled the space between you, and your thighs trembled when Joel ducked lower and slid his tongue to your clit. Fists squeezed in on themselves forming slight crescent shapes in your palm. And just when you didn’t think it could feel any better, Joel shifted back to your entrance, pairing it with his fingers on your clit. While he massaged the sensitive bud with insistent fingertips, his tongue rolled over your hole, urging it open and relaxed.

“Joel,” you gasped, reaching with one hand and making contact with the back of his head. You pressed on it, pushing him tighter to you. To give you more, more, more. “Oh, god–” your legs stumbled further apart. The clinking of a belt buckle rang out and it wasn’t long from there that you heard Joel starting to stroke himself.

His lips and tongue never stopped moving and were matched perfectly to the rhythm of his fingers. Even when he pressed his tongue past your tight muscle, it seemed all part of this dance you were just starting to learn. Cheek now firmly pressed to the table, you moaned and whined for release or reprieve. He could give you either.

The climax snuck up on you again. Just a split second of realization between feeling good and feeling amazing. Your legs trembled beneath you. Had the table not been beneath you and providing your only true support, you’d have been a sobbing heap on the floor. Joel spread his large hands over your quads, rubbing them down. His lips never left your core, lapping up every drop your body was inclined to give him. And only once your legs stopped twitching, did he rise from his knees. 

His pants fell to his feet but you couldn’t bring yourself to use the energy to stand up. Your lungs were still on fire, sucking in deep breaths. Not even fully recovered before Joel wrapped an arm over your chest and hauled you up. Your back pressed tight to his chest; his lips at your ear. But what held your attention most was the feeling of his length pressing between your legs. His hand guided his member into place, notched the head at your entrance, then gripped onto your ass again to give him the space to move more freely. And the hand that was pressed over your chest shifted down to the table, right beside yours. He’d been so cautious the first time. So adamant about taking it slow, about listening to you – about using protection. This was so different from that. So frantic. Almost like them.

“Let’s see if we can make you come all over my cock,” he whispered in your ear.

Before you could respond, he pushed his hips forward, burying himself balls deep inside you in one thrust. You shrieked and tried to wiggle your hips away, but Joel lifted his hand from the table and cupped your sex. Fingertips ghosted over your clit for the time being.

“Where’re you goin’?” He smiled, kissed just below your earlobe, and began thrusting up into you, unintentionally pressing his tip against the opening to your cervix. “Feel how deep I am? Look,” Joel pressed on your lower belly which seemed to bulge each time he forced himself back into you. “All up in you. Look how you fit me so deep inside you,”

He was relentless. Taking as much as he wanted in the moment. And you, already growing sore, were there just to take it. Your ass stung with the slap of his sweat-sheened skin against yours. You wondered if this was just how it went. That all men reverted back to selfishness. That there was actually very little that separated Joel from them. The way your hip bumped into the table told you that you were going to be left with a bruise you’d seen before. You could feel your thoughts slipping away. You were on the edge of disconnecting yourself; quietness replacing the sounds of pleasure. Surely he wouldn’t notice.

Maybe he’d come back to himself. Or maybe he realized you were removing yourself from the act. But Joel’s touch to your clit grew gentler, his thrusts while still chasing an orgasm, were less harsh on your body. And his lips on your neck delivered feather light kisses up the side, back to your ear. With a voice like velvet, he purred in your ear, “oh, sweet girl. I missed you this week,”

That was all you needed to come back to him. Those simple words to remember that there was a great deal that separated Joel from the others. You let out a needy whimper. This one paired with your head turning to the side, searching for his lips. He lifted his head and kissed you slowly, letting each nerve ending feel him there. And his hips slowed to accommodate the tender action. He grinded into you, circling his hips for a continued depth. Another whine and you could feel Joel’s lips stretch into a grin against yours.

“Yeah? Tell me about it,” he pulled back and stared down into your eyes, hips returning to languid thrusts, pulling nearly all the way out and then plunging himself back in until he bottomed out.

“Missed you,” while never breaking eye contact, you lifted your hand and held on to his wrist that was still wrapped around you. His fingers rubbing over your bud like he had no particular plans of stopping soon. “Tommy wouldn’t let me go on patrol. I wanted–”

“I know,”

You silently questioned his words. Did he know what you wanted? Or did he know why Tommy hadn’t let you out past the gates? Everything was put on the back burner when your body clenched around his shaft and it pulled a guttural moan from him. His body smothered yours over the table. His hips stuttered forward.

“M’gonna come,” he pressed down on your back and pinned your chest to the table. “Where–”

“Inside,”

“No,” he argued and was almost undone at the sight when he looked down at his waist and bore visual witness to his shaft moving in and out of you, covered in your slick. “Too soon,”

You reached back as best you could for his hip, trying to hold him place, “doesn’t matter.”

“Yes it does,” he pulled himself out. With one hand stroking himself with fury and the other pressed against the back of your head to hold you still, he came over your lower back. Rope after rope of his spend hit the dip in your back and dripped down along the curve of your spine at your lower back. And with a deep exhale, he released his length and let it rest against your backside. 

When he let go of your head, you leaned up on your elbows and looked back at him, “was it good?”

A boyish smile flashed over his lips, “it was great.” He flexed his hips forward into you, “let me find something to clean you up.”

“There’s some rags in the bin by the door.” You watched his progress of pulling his pants back up into place before he went to retrieve a rag. On his way back, you propped your head up in your hand. “Could’ve avoided this if you came inside me,” you pursed your lips matter-of-factly, “not like you’re gonna knock me up.”

He wiped the rag over your back until you were cleaned of his come. “I don’t want you to think I’m only having sex with you so I can come inside you. Ain’t doin’ it like it’s just some kink to fill you up,”

“I don’t think that,”

“I’m not like them.”

Joel tossed the rag onto the work table and you stood up to face him. With your pants still around your feet, it was almost like you were presenting yourself to him. “Definitely not like them. You’ve made me come,”

A flush rose in his cheeks and he hooked his arm around your shoulders to pull you into a haphazard kiss. You leaned in to him as well; your palm pressing into his crotch again. But Joel laced your fingers with his and led your hand away and up to his chest.

“I appreciate you but…” he kissed your forehead once and then took a step back, “it don’t work as fast as it used to.” He tapped your hip softly, “c’mon, let’s get you home.”

You pulled your pants back into place and did them up, whereupon Joel took your hand and led you out of the greenhouse. Just before you stepped back out onto the streets of Jackson, you wondered if he’d drop your hand, or if anyone would see the act. But it all was unfounded because the moment you stepped outside, you knew you wouldn’t see anyone on the street. The wind whipped your hair into your face, and it took almost all your concentration to keep it subdued. 

In fact, you’d never been so happy to see your little, half-dilapidated cottage. So much that you were the one to drop Joel’s hand to run up the porch and furiously shove your key into the lock. The winters weren’t getting any less harsh.

Joel was right behind you, and thankfully didn’t turn away at the entry, but rather followed you in and locked the door behind him. Good. He had plans to stick around for a while.

⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾

Warm, fed, and curled up beneath a wool blanket on the couch, you watched Joel add a couple logs to your wood-burning stove. He poked them around and once adjusted to his liking, slotted the little door shut and groaned when he got back onto his feet.

You slipped a hand out from beneath the blanket and reached out in his direction. Making grabby hands at him until you were convinced he was on his way over to you to stay. When he lowered himself onto the couch, you wrapped the blanket around your shoulders and scurried over into his lap; feeling almost foolish at the level of closeness you desired. But that feeling only seemed to be one sided because Joel herded you there and wrapped both arms around your waist.

After a quick lean in to peck his lips, you lifted your hand to his cheek where the healing cut was and carefully brushed your fingers over it, “how’d you get this?”

He was staring at your lips but when you questioned him again with a hum, he glanced up into your eyes, “on patrol.”

“Yeah, but how,” you moved your hand down to his jaw and scritched through his whiskers. “What happened?”

Joel knew he wasn’t going to lie to you but he also didn’t want to say too much. Maybe he’d tell you that he and Tommy had run into some more people perceived to be part of your old group, but would leave out that they had another girl with them. Maybe he’d say that they managed to handle the men, but would leave out that when they tried to help the girl – to bring her back to Jackson – she took off running. And he’d definitely leave out the fact that he and Tommy wondered if they should take her out before she had a chance to tell the others about what had happened. In the end, they didn’t, and knew they’d deal with whatever they had to in the aftermath.

“We ran into a couple guys,”

“From…?”

He nodded and eased your hair back, away from your face, “think so.”

“Did you…?”

“They’re not going to hurt anyone ever again,” he set his hand down on your thigh and gave it a squeeze. “I asked Tommy to take you off patrol for awhile,”

You inhaled slowly. A part of you thought this confession would’ve been met with anger, but you felt everything but. Instead you nodded and fiddled with a button on his shirt.

“M’tryin’ to protect you. I don’t want you to have to keep remembering these guys,” 

You nodded again. No matter how much disappointment you may’ve been feeling about it all, it paled in comparison to the empathy you had for him. It was never going to be easy for you, but you understood how hard it must’ve been for him to watch you be affected. You pushed your hand back through his hair with something resembling love, “I want to be useful and that’s the best way I know how. If it’s too much, I can ask for a different partner.”

The look of pseudo-betrayal on Joel’s face took you aback. “No. If you’re going out, I’m the one goin’ with you,” he leaned in for another kiss, both hands now cupped around your face. He tilted his head to the side and parted his lips but in a flash, pulled away and gave you the more incredulous of looks, “goin’ out with someone else... You must be crazy,”

Heat emanated throughout your body. Slowly but surely, it was happening. Joel Miller was making you his.

⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾ ⌾

At some point sleep would befall you, right? Wrong. It seemed less than restful, but at least Joel was sleeping. Sometimes on his stomach, limbs all outstretched. And sometimes – like now – on his back with one hand on his chest and the other flung out, hanging off the side of the bed. You wondered if he was dreaming about anything in particular, or if the semi he was sporting was the doing of something more involuntary.

Rolling over onto your side into him, you set a gentle hand on his stomach, waiting to see if that would be enough to wake him. No luck. “Joel,” you whispered into the ether. Then just slightly louder, “Joel.”

“Hmph,”

You tried shaking him but it didn’t rouse him any further. At least not to the point of having him open his eyes, “Joel,” you whined a little louder. And when that didn’t work, you let your hand drift down from his stomach and to his crotch.

A stronger exhale came from him and figuring you were on the right track, you curled your fingers around his covered shaft and gave him a soft squeeze. He stretched out the tiniest amount so you inched in closer to him, your lips now at his neck, suckling on his skin while your hand began moving up and down the underside of his covered cock.

“Joel,”

“Hmm?”

You bit into his neck with more purpose, “I need you.” And now rolling your hips into his side, “you made me all sore and achy.” Even in the darkness, you swore you saw his lips twitch into a smirk. “Want you to fill me up,”

He took a deep breath and slowly blinked awake. Then turning his head on the pillow, he looked over at you. His voice low and gravelly, “yeah? You think you can take it right now?”

In this moment, you didn’t care how eager you looked, nodding wildly at him.

“How do I know you’re wet enough?” Joel reached forward and undid the first couple buttons on his flannel that you now wore. Enough to see your breasts; nipples perking up in the cool night air. “Show me,”

Hesitancy washed over you, hoping you’d do this correctly. Unsure of what he was expecting, you removed your hand from his length and slid it beneath the sheets and between your legs. Two of your fingers running down your slit and circling around your core. Embarrassingly wet, you thought. You never broke eye contact with Joel but when you pulled your hand out from beneath the sheets, you again grew unsure of what he was expecting. 

Out of the darkness, “set ‘em here.” The moonlight coming through the window silhouetted his face in the most beautiful way. Beyond the outline of his features, you could see he’d pursed his lips.

You brought your fingers closer to him and when they were nearly there, Joel opened his mouth. A clear invitation to resting your fingers on his tongue. He moaned at first taste and you could only watch in awe as he sucked reverently at your fingers and reached down to cup his manhood. His tongue worked over both fingers together, up and down the length of them, being sure that no part went un-licked. And when he started slowing down, you slid them out of his mouth, still staring at him in awe.

“I don’t think you’re wet enough,”

An exasperated whimper. “Joel,”

“C’mere,” he nodded his head to the side, ushering you nearer. “Get on top of me and show me how nicely you touch yourself,”

No other coaxing was needed for you to scramble on top of him, being careful to straddle him completely instead of kneeing him in the dark. Only you didn’t exactly realize how far you’d have to straddle. Almost painfully so. Your quads and hamstrings put in the work to keep yourself up enough so you could perform the act he’d asked of you. 

Joel pressed his hands to your ass to guide you forward, up closer to his bellybutton than his cock. One hand remained there but the other drifted away. You figured to his shaft, and were proved right when you felt the head of his cock bump against your ass, at the mercy of his frantic strokes.

“Go on. Let me see,”

Slowly, you let your hand snake between your spread legs, somehow not losing the courage to maintain eye contact with Joel despite the fact that something like this had never happened with anyone before. Deft fingers circled over your clit and you added pressure to your knees to lift yourself off of him enough to slide your fingers back to your entrance. When you returned them to your clit, the slick you’d gathered helped your fingers slide easier. Head bowing and chest heaving, you released a low, reverberating moan.

The muscles in Joel’s stomach flexed and he pulled his hand away from his length, bringing it up and underneath his head. With the other, he reached up and nudged his flannel off your shoulders. The fabric fell to your elbows, freeing your upper half from anything to conceal it. Finding Joel’s eyes on you, they seemed to twinkle upon having an unobstructed view of your breasts. Couldn’t even keep himself from taking a handful of your flesh, tapering down to his index finger and thumb around your nipple. You dropped yourself to his waist and grinded yourself against him.

“Look at you, pretty girl,”

There was unadulterated admiration in his eyes but you found it hard to look in them for very long. No one had ever looked at you like that for this reason. Sure, with your rifle, people you’d come across had all given you a similar type of look. But nothing like this. And with your fingers on yourself, you thought you could see stars in a way like never before. Joel had other plans for you though.

A firm squeeze on your hip got your immediate attention. “Ready to go for a ride?”

“What?”

Joel lifted his hips off the bed and up into you to get his point across. “Get after it,”

It was all you had wanted. When you rolled over into him and set your hand over his member, your intent had been for him to fill the void he’d created within you. So despite the nerves, once you understood the objective, you (as Joel put it) got after it. Lifted yourself up onto your knees just as much as was necessary to reach back between your legs and grab onto his length.

You stared directly in his eyes when you notched it at your entrance and slowly lowered down on him. His jaw fell slack; glassy-eyed and partially still fighting sleep. And the moment you were fully seated on him, his eyes drifted shut. The hand on your hip tightening around the curve there.

Oh he felt good. Molded out of something heavenly and fit inside you like a puzzle piece you didn’t know had been missing. And like this – sitting on top of him, feeling like you had every bit of control you desired was something beyond new. It almost made you wish that all the other times had been like this, while simultaneously so relieved that the first time it was like this was with Joel. 

Rocking back and forth on him at your own speed was divine. Each slight movement provided the perfect amount of friction to your clit. Better than fingers could do. Better than the way his body had rubbed against you when he was on top. You could press down on him as hard as you wanted to. And you did. Grinded down on him and circled your hips. Almost as if you were using him in the same type of way you had been used all those times before. Judging by the look on his face, you doubted if Joel cared about being used for this. His hand remained ever present on your hip and whenever the rhythm started to falter, his fingers gripped into you and helped you along. A steady pattern of movement returning to you.

“Fuck me,” he growled, voice lowering in timbre. His eyes were glued to where your bodies met. The sight of his length thrusting up into you and then coming back into sight, covered in your arousal, was almost more than he could bear. In his ascending age, he surprised himself in even being able to last as long as he had. “Squeezin’ me so good. Like you’re made for me, huh?”

A hum and a feeble nod was all you could manage. The feeling that your voice would be insufficient at the given moment was growing more real. Was this how it was supposed to feel? Decidedly, yes.

But Joel, a man not easily satisfied, wouldn’t take that for an answer. Wouldn’t let you get away with something so noncommittal. He lifted his hips clear off the bed, pushing up into you until you shrieked at the pressure of the head of his cock pressing against your cervix. “Say it,”

You threw your head back and stared up a the ceiling, desperately dragging your core along him. “M’made for you,”

“Again,”

Eyes lowered back down to Joel, capturing his face in the glow of the moonlight. Despite the immense pleasure you were getting from him, you wanted to smack him. What was he doing to you? “M’made for you,”

A smirk slid over his lips, encapsulating all of his features, “again,”

“Joel,” you whined, burying him back inside you to the hilt. You circled your hips again, keeping him deep and somehow needing him even deeper.

“Say it again and I’ll give you what you want,”

A growl rumbled in your throat. Frustration in you that only made him smile harder. “I’m made for you,”

You didn’t know it was possible for his smile to get even wider. And as promised, he set forth to give you what you wanted. A strong arm wrapped around your back, and one moment you were on top of him, and the next, you were being whipped around like a ragdoll. Body hit the mattress with force. Joel reached between and guided himself back inside you. A whisper of a moan floated out of his mouth and into yours when he pressed in for a kiss. Lips parted and tongue reaching for yours, you took everything he gave.

Knowing you were fully distracted by his lips, Joel hooked his hand beneath your knee and brought your leg up along his chest. Your foot dangled over his shoulder, and you pulled away from his kiss and looked up at him with a furrowed brow and a wince. He replaced his hands to the bed on either side of you and rocked his hips forward again, causing a deepening of your frown.

“Too much?”

“No,” you closed your eyes and made the conscious effort to allow your body to take in everything you were feeling and assign elsewhere but pain. “I think I like it,”

“Attagirl,” 

Had your eyes been open, you would’ve found Joel beaming. Oozing satisfaction. If he had known this was what was going to happen between you two, he probably wouldn’t have held a gun so steadfastly to your face when you first met a few months back. Now he let your leg fall from his chest into a much more natural position, and lowered himself in between your legs. Your thighs the perfect cradle for him. His thrusts changed from a long, deep, sweeping motion into much shorter presses inside where his shaft stretched you to capacity; your body stinging in pleasure. 

He buried his face into your neck and suckled at your skin with passion while your hand snaked to the back of his head. Fingers tangled in his curls and gave them a generous tug. You could cry out at the feeling of his length rubbing against your front wall, and very nearly did, except that the sound of his voice, all playful and gravelly, rang in your ears.

“Like how I feel in ya’, babygirl?”

All you could do was whimper and nod. It wasn’t lost on you that Joel’s lips stretched into a smile. You could feel it on your skin. 

“Y’think you can come like this?” He nibbled your earlobe softly.

Again, you could only muster a nod. This one paired with a needy moan. You certainly wanted him to make you come like this. It was all building in your lower stomach like it had when he’d gone down on you. But that was where the similarities ended. You had felt that orgasm coming in practically every nerve ending in your body. It was everywhere. Pure ecstasy. This felt much more concentrated to your core. All of it, right there where you were connected. It wasn’t not ecstasy. Just different. 

“Good fuckin’ girl,” he whispered, administering a slightly rougher bite to your neck. “Let me feel you soak me,”

“Joel,” you cried out, an actual tear falling from the outer corner of your eye.

“Yeah?” He pulled his head back away from you and nodded, encouraging, “give it to me. Show me how good I make you feel,”

In this moment of extreme vulnerability, his eyes on you felt like they were piercing your heart. Ripping away your armor and leaving your soul bare to him. It was almost too much.

Joel felt the way you tensed and strained beneath him. It wasn’t just the muscles squeezing his length, it seemed like it was every muscle in your body. He shook his head kindly, “so pretty like this. All stretched open and stuffed full of me. Takin’ me so well. You were made for me, babygirl,”

Your fingers yanked at his hair harder. It was the only thing you knew to do with the feelings going on inside you. Thankfully it appeared he knew what that meant and he didn’t change a thing. Not the speed, the force, the rhythm. Kept everything exactly the same. He was going to be the first man to get you to finish like this. 

Legs squeezed tighter around his hips. Biceps and abs flexed and held tense. Your entire body stiffened as the coil in your stomach snapped. A flash of white blurred out your vision and the ringing in your ears started thereafter. And then, the trembling began. It started in your legs; thighs basically vibrating against his hips. Then the shivers moved up by way of your spine until you were just a spasming mess beneath Joel. He, of course, took it all in stride wearing a proud smile. His thrusts softened but didn’t stop completely.

It was actually how you realized he was about to pull out to finish. He’d been steady through everything. Not evening the clenching of your core had made him switch up his pattern. But when his backward pull was longer than the rest had been, you knew he was about to pull out. The airy groan that came from him was also a pretty good indication.

“No,” you lowered your hands to his ass and dug your nails into his flesh. “Inside, I want it inside,” you tilted your head back, panting, but still had the power to nip at his jaw. “I earned it,”

He laughed. A quick exhale of air but in his current position, was not in the state to object too vehemently anymore. It only took one more. He simply pressed himself back into you balls deep and began painting your insides with his spend. Joel let out a deep, labored moan and settled down on top of you. The weight of him kept you present in this moment; always keenly aware that a man had just came inside you yet it was one you had asked that of. 

The feeling of him softening inside you riled you enough to lift your hand back to the side of his head, tucking a curl behind his ear. A well-placed kiss to his temple got him moving, too. “Still with me?” you mocked, scritching his head.

With a tone of feigned hurt, “I’m not that old.” As if to prove that point, he pushed up on his hand and lifted himself – almost got out of your octopus grip before you held on to keep him in place. He glanced back down at you with a boyish grin, “just gonna grab something to clean you up.”

“I don’t need to be cleaned up,” you dared to look him right in the eye. All the walls were down now. While he rolled onto his back, you turned into him, head in the crook of his neck, and rested your hand on his chest. “Do you have nightmares?”

“Sometimes. You?”

You nodded and looked up at the ceiling, thinking about how when you were a kid, your bedroom ceiling was riddled with glow in the dark stars and planets. The one above you now was pitch black. “What’re they about?”

Joel looked up at the ceiling too. He wasn’t sure he wanted to go down a long, dark path about the night of the outbreak. About Sarah. Wasn’t sure he was strong enough to relive it in consciousness. Reliving it in his subconsciousness was bad enough. “Usually that first week of outbreak. Unfortunately all those things are real and not just somethin’ my mind made up.” He glanced back over at you from his periphery, “how ‘bout yours?”

“Strangely enough, all the recent ones have been about not returning to… here. Been a long time since my nightmares were about losing home,”

He turned and lifted his head enough to kiss your forehead. When he settled back on his side, he flung his arm over you and pulled you in closer to his broad frame, “luckily here’s not going anywhere.”

Soon Joel’s breathing started to even back out; a reminder that you’d woken him out of a dead sleep. You turned away from him, scooting back as delicately as you could until your back hit his chest. In an early stage of sleep, his arm squeezed around you. Although it hadn’t started this way, after your eyes had drifted shut, it was the first stint of restful sleep that you’d had in a long, long time.