#when will i find the one

[potaetopic]

Because my life truly began the day I looked up and saw Bam struggling with you on his back and just knew I had to help you (tell that dear beast that I miss him by the way).

my heart swelled. the first time the letter came through, u had me. this love, i wish for love like this. u had me thinking that there's someone out there who will never give up on me like this story. u got me having more high-standard of man. god, im so picky. but i love this. so much. thank u.

seven storms (jjk) (m)

summary: As a young woman of considerable wealth, it has always been your father's expectation that you would marry one of the local aristocrats once you came of age. Your family's stable hand? Certainly not an option.

pairing: Jungkook x Reader

rating: 18+ (MINORS DNI)

genres: forbidden love, angst, a bit of fluff, also a bit of smut

word count: 9.0k

warnings: ambiguous time periods, oc’s mom passed away when she was a child, parental strain and turbulent relationships, it’s not explicitly stated but bang sihyuk is oc’s dad, find the ‘seven’ reference, BRIEF SMUT (in the form of missionary, cowgirl, and implied unprotected, which you should not do)

a/n: this one is for the obs discord server, who came up with this plot and then flattered me until i agreed to write it lol

MASTERLIST // Read on ao3

It begins with a clap of thunder.

The dark clouds had rolled in quickly during your morning ride, the rain holding off on its looming descent even as the wind picks up and throws strands of hair across your face. You try to cling to every minute you have left before the downpour, savoring your alone time and the peaceful quiet of the morning. It may even be worth getting a little wet, you think as you watch the new stable hand effortlessly sling a bay of hale over his shoulder, for the chance to savor every moment of your daily ritual before the weather inevitably forces you back inside.

You love the simple pleasures of fresh air and the soft rustle of the grass.

Jungkook glances at you from afar as he continues his work, and even at this range, you can see his muscles shifting under the fabric of his shirt. It’s been roughly a month since your father hired him to tend the stable on your family’s estate, and while he hasn’t been unpleasant, giving you a friendly but silent nod each day as you prepare for your ride, he’s mostly kept his distance.

Today, however, is a different story entirely as a boom sounds out above your head. Your horse, a young stallion named Bam who is still being broken, startles at the noise and begins to nervously pace, tamping down the dirt under his hooves. The reins wrap tighter around your fingers as you attempt to take firmer control, but when a second crack emanates through the sky, the horse begins to buck in an attempt to throw you off.

The laws of physics cease to exist, time simultaneously speeding up and slowing down as you work to maintain your balance, clenching your muscles around the horse's back. A particularly violent whip of his head rips the reins free, and all you can do is try to flatten yourself to his back and hold on for dear life.

A pair of unfamiliar hands shoots into your peripheral vision, stroking firmly at the stallion's head and neck until he's easing back down, his erratic motions steadying until you can safely sit back up and face your rescuer.

"Are you alright?" His eyes scan your body for injury, moving from your face all the way down to your toes and back up.

You use the time to perform your own appraisal. The first thing you notice is that while he had immediately struck you as handsome when you first saw him around the property, he’s even more attractive up close: all soft eyes, perfect lips, and a tiny scar on his cheek that only adds to his allure. Add to that strong arms, broad shoulders, and a section of clearly-chiseled chest peeking out of his shirt, and you have to admit to yourself that you’re already halfway gone.

“Y/N?” His eyebrows dip as he frowns, clearly suspecting some kind of head injury as a result of your silence.

“You know my name.”

His expression turns quizzical at your bizarre answer. “I work for you. Of course I know your name.”

“You work for my father.”

“And you by extension.”

Your spine stiffens with rebellion. “I have no interest in bossing men around.”

“Why not?” He taps his knuckles on the saddle. “I see you come out to ride every morning. I could certainly tack up a horse for you in advance.”

“Because I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself.”

His perfect lips curl at the edges. “I don’t doubt that.”

Your heart stutters a rhythm behind your ribcage, voice muted by the appearance of a dimple that dips into his left cheek. It’s not often you find yourself speechless, and the sheer unfamiliarity of it has you on the brink of a flight response; you begin to gently guide your horse back towards the stable, Jungkook walking at your side. To your surprise, he doesn’t stay quiet.

“So how long have you been riding?”

You peek down at him, but he’s not looking at you as he scratches the stallion under his muzzle. “Since I was five,” you say. “My father arranged for private instruction after my mother died. Thought I could use the distraction.”

You figured he already knew about your mother’s passing due to her absence from the estate, and his unfazed expression seems to confirm as much. Still, in a gentle voice he says, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You didn’t make her sick.” Another low rumble echoes through the sky, but Jungkook is prepared, already smoothing his hand over the Bam’s neck again. “What about you? How long have you worked with horses?”

He chuckles, and your belly warms. “Since before I could walk. I grew up on a ranch. Have probably spent more time around horses than people—not that I’m complaining.” A shrug pulls his shirt tight across his bulging shoulders. “Animals are better company, in my opinion.”

“You say while striking up conversation with a stranger.”

Pink blooms on his cheeks, but, to his credit, he recovers quickly. “Beautiful women are the exception.”

Heat rises to your own face, and you choose to ignore his comment as much as it has butterflies taking off behind your bellybutton. “I understand what you mean though. That’s why I’m out here every day.”

“You like the outdoors?”

“Very much,” you say. “The smell of the wind, the feeling of the sunshine on my skin and the earth under my shoes. I like to ride down to the sunflower fields and watch how they turn themselves towards the light. There’s a strange sense of kinship there.” You’re not sure what drives you to share all this with a man you’ve just met, but the way he nods along as if he agrees sets your heart at ease. “And the horses are, in fact, good company.”

He laughs again, tipping his head back to look at you. His dark hair brushes his forehead, jaw cutting so sharp a line that the temptation immediately hits to trace it with either your fingers or lips—you’re not sure which. You don’t even care if you’ll bleed.

It strikes you at that moment that you’re in a world of trouble.

The skies open up, the rain instantly pouring down in fat drops as you briskly rush your horse the rest of the way into the stable, Jungkook hot on your heels. You dismount once you’re inside and begin to untack the stallion, moving the reins up and over so you can remove the bridle first. Jungkook quickly steps in to help unhitch the saddle, and while you’d normally be inclined to make a fuss about how you can handle your own gear, you find that you much enjoy his quiet companionship. You like watching the way his gentle hands artfully work to simultaneously manage the equipment and relax the horse, giving the sense that he’s offering assistance only because he loves his work and not to patronize you as a woman (you’ve seen one too many men try to step in because they believe you to be incompetent).

Once Bam has been settled into his stall, you turn back to your companion and are met with big brown eyes already gazing at you, hands stuffed into his pockets.

“Thank you for your help today,” you say. “I may be an experienced rider, but that also means I know enough to understand that you likely saved me from an injury earlier. So thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure.” He looks suddenly subdued, nervous now without the horse as a buffer. “And if I may be forward, I hope I made a good first impression. I wouldn’t want a beautiful woman like yourself to think I overstepped.”

“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned beautiful women now. You speak with them a lot?”

“Not recently,” he says, dimple making another appearance. “Only one.” His voice drops a decibel, flirtation giving way to sincerity. “But truly, I do just like to help. I am sure you are perfectly capable, but just because we can do something doesn’t mean we always need to do it alone. If I can help ease a burden, then I would like to do so.”

Warmth floods through you like the rain currently running off the roof, and before you can even think about it any further, you find yourself nodding. “Very well.”

The smile he gives you brightens your day more than a hundred miles of sunflower fields ever could.

“I won’t keep you then.” He begins walking backwards towards the troughs where most of the horses have currently congregated. “But I do very much look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

You do, too. And when you show up to the stable the next morning (and the next, and the next), you already have a horse saddled up for you, a single sunflower resting on the seat.

Raindrops clatter in endless sheets off the metal roof of the stable, the ringing sound blending with the blasts of thunder and lightning overhead to mask your groans as Jungkook steadily thrusts into you.

It’s been three months since your flirtation culminated in you asking him to join you for a ride one morning.

Three months since he accompanied you down to the sunflower fields, pulled you into their depths, and kissed you like his life depended on it.

Three months since the rain became your closest friend, providing you the cover you need for your more intimate moments—such as this evening when you’d arrived at the stables to find him laying down a fresh layer of straw, the flex of his arm insisting that you needed him now.

The patter of the rain ensures his moans are for your ears and your ears alone.

“Do you think the horses mind?” he mumbles into the sensitive skin of your neck as he presses even deeper into you and steals your breath, his hands cupping your ass as he grinds his hips.

“I doubt it,” you gasp, digging your nails into his back. “They’ve kept secrets for me before.”

He laughs, and you relish in the feel of the vibration of his chest pressed to yours, as if the sound is being passed directly from his lungs to your heart. “Am I your secret then?”

“My favorite secret.”

He pulls back to look at you then with wide eyes. You don’t know when it happened, when he became the absolute center of your universe, but you also know that you’ve never been this happy in your life, never felt as whole as you do with him. So you stare at him right back, absorb every angle of his face as he brushes the hair away from your eyes and kisses you with an unusual delicacy in comparison to the rough pace of his hips.

“I love you.”

It’s not the first time he’s said it, but your blood heats as if the words are brand new.

He rises up above you then, leans back so he can bend your knees to your chest and pound into you in earnest, and you’d swear the roof has disappeared and you can see every star in the sky. Galaxies swirl, planets align, and it’s not long before you’re falling over the edge and he’s following you with a deep groan—a harmony to the thunder that surrounds you.

The two of you collapse into a heap, and he pulls you into his side, your cheek pressed to his still-heaving chest. It’s serene, the consonance of his breathing alongside the tapping of the rain and the occasional snuffle from the horses.

“So, the horses are keeping secrets for you, huh?” It’s a quiet question, vulnerable as he gazes at you with tender devotion. The same stars you saw minutes ago twirl in his eyes. “Can I be told one?”

“Are you a horse?”

A breath of a laugh: “Well you’ve certainly ridden me before.”

He has a point there.

You hum to yourself as you think before asking, “What is your dream?”

“What does that have to do with—“

“Answer mine, and I’ll answer yours.”

Calloused fingers trace patterns on your hip, a faraway look taking over his expression as he envisions some distant future. “To own my own farm,” he says. “I want to be my own boss. No more having to serve others.” A smile dances at the corners of his mouth. “And I’d be able to provide for my family—have a few kids and teach them the ropes, just like my dad did with me.”

Your brow dips in confusion. “You won’t inherit your father’s farm?”

“No, it’ll go to my older brother.” He squeezes your hip on a sigh. “If I want my own farm, it’s up to me to earn it.”

“You’ll do it,” you say, and you believe it with every fiber of your heart. “I know you will. You’re the hardest working man I’ve ever met.”

It’s not a lie by any stretch. You’ve spent plenty an afternoon telling your father that you’re going to read out on the veranda as it gives you an inconspicuous way to watch Jungkook work. He’s diligent, tireless, and you’ve often used the need to bring him water as an excuse to go down and spend time with him, seeing the sweat drip off his forehead as he single-handedly trains and cares for the horses.

His eyes become glassy, a gruff clearing of his throat as he pushes the tears back and grazes his lips over yours in a gentle kiss instead. “Thank you.” But before you can deepen the kiss and distract him, he shifts ever so slightly away, a glint in his eye. “Now you.”

You puff a sigh into his chest—bold of you to think you’d be able to sneak one past such an observant stare. Still, your secrets don’t usually come forth easily, buried deep within the cavity of your ribcage so even you don’t have to dwell on them too long.

Something about those doe eyes, though, render you ever vulnerable.

“Mine is similar to yours. I want to be my own boss.”

His brows pull together. “No one would expect a lady like you to work.”

“Not for a job, for my life,” you say, irritation forcing the words from your lips now. “I don’t want my father to dictate the path my life takes. I want to choose it, whatever it is, for myself. To be in charge of my own fate.”

Jungkook is quiet for a long moment, teeth dipping into his lower lip as he considers your words. It’s something else you’ve grown to love about him, the way he stops and thinks before he reacts. So unlike your father who has always been nothing but big emotions and snap judgments.

“What would you choose?” is the question he eventually comes out with, and the pads of his fingers trace the jut of your hipbone like he’s memorizing it.

Well that’s another matter entirely. “I don’t know. Just not what my father wants for me.”

“And what would that be?”

“To marry one of the rich dandies in town,” you blurt, and his hands still. “That’s always been the expectation that’s been set since I was a girl—that my family would arrange a suitable match for me.” You’re practically spitting now, anger simmering through you. “Suitable, of course, meaning wealthy.”

“Is that so bad?” He asks it quietly, insecurity poorly masked in the way his voice trembles ever so slightly. “Some people would do almost anything to be in your position.”

You scoff. “There’s more to life than money.”

“Like what?”

“Fresh air, sunshine, the smell of the morning dew.” You tap his chest with everything you list off, as if they’re all housed within the framework of his torso. “The sound of the rain bouncing off windows, the bright yellow of sunflowers after their first bloom, watching a foal get its legs under it for the first time. Love.” You press your hand to his heart with that one, feeling the strong beat of it under your palm. “That’s the greatest thing.”

He snags your fingers, bringing them to his lips and kissing each one in succession before his hand slips into your hair so he can join his mouth with yours. The kiss is slow, thorough, his tongue trailing along your lower lip with determination as he drags you across his body until you’re straddling him.

“You’re right about that,” he murmurs before gripping your waist tightly so he can push back into you, the rain pouring on and on.

“No!”

Your father stands up so suddenly that his chair topples over with a crash, Jungkook sitting across from him wearing a look of even-keeled surprise; his eyes widen a fraction, but his overall posture remains resolved and confident.

“You dare have the audacity to even ask—“ He chokes on his words, spit flying from the edges of his lips, before pointing a finger towards where you stand stunned in the corner. “And you! You’ve been fraternizing with this riffraff? After everything I’ve taught you? Everything I did to raise you? You go and choose to associate with this—this—“ You’re worried his eyes might fall out of his head with the way they bulge as he grasps for a word, vein in his neck visibly thumping as he finds it. “Lowlife!”

“You’re wrong!” you scream as Jungkook continues to sit quietly at the dinner table. You’ll be damned if you’d just stand by and allow him to be spoken about in that way. “He’s an incredible man. He works hard, he’s respectful, and he loves me, Father. Not because of my money, but because I’m me.” Your steps echo off of the tall, looming arches of the ceiling as you move closer to Jungkook. “And I love him.”

“No, no, absolutely not. You’re only twenty years old. You don’t even know what love is,” your father barks before turning his beady eyes on Jungkook again. “You’ll never marry my daughter. You do not have my permission nor my blessing. That’s final.”

“Father—“

“You’re also fired,” he spits. “You can say goodbye and that’s the end of it. I want you off my property.” Then he’s storming out of the dining room, leaving you and Jungkook in heavy silence.

It’s only a handful of seconds before Jungkook is rising to his feet and striding from the room and out the front door, you hot on his heels. The steady drizzle soaks your clothes in a matter of moments, but you don’t even feel the way they cling to your skin, focused solely on the man in front of you.

“Jungkook!” you call, but he doesn’t respond, doesn’t turn to face you until you manage to grab ahold of his hand and tug.

You thought he’d be distressed, angry, perhaps even crying. Instead, you’re met with intensity, a fierce determination simmering under the warm brown of his irises as his gaze bores into yours and almost has you faltering.

“Jungkook, I…” You wring your hands in front of you, watch the rain run in rivulets off the ends of his hair. “We can make it through this. I can convince him—“

“You can’t.”

You huff in frustration. “Then we’ll run away together! I’ll come with you and we’ll—“

“No, Y/N.” He stills the frantic movements of your hands with his own, drawing you towards the warmth of his body until you’re nearly chest-to-chest. “I have no savings right now, no way to support the two of us. We’d be out on the street in a matter of days.” He shakes his head, brushes a kiss to your knuckles. “No. You need to stay here for now. But this isn’t the end of us, I swear to you. I am going to work myself to the bone—until I have nothing left to give. Until I can buy my own farm, my own house, and give you everything you need.” Your foreheads press together, drops of water clinging to his lips and drawing your eye as he speaks. “I will provide for you someday, love you to the best of my ability. Just give me time.”

The heavens open above you, the relentless downpour backed by the cacophony of the skies as you finally move to kiss him. He tastes of rainwater and sweat, the fragrant aroma of sunflowers and nights spent tangled together in the stables. You savor the feel of his lips against yours, commit to memory the way his tongue begs for entrance, the way you grant it with a groan that feels like both a prayer and a curse.

With a final, resounding crack, he’s pulling away as you cling to the rough skin of his fingertips until the very last fraction of a second, arms stretched to their absolute limit. And when he turns his back on you, shirt plastered to his skin, you’d swear you can hear the horses raging in the stable, the rumble of hooves and agitated whinnies ringing in your ears long after he’s disappeared from view.

The first letter comes on a Wednesday roughly six week later, written on carefully folded parchment paper in small, neat handwriting. It surprises you, coming from a man who spends all day tending horses and tossing around hay bales. You receive the letter from the carrier quietly, rushing it up to your room and waiting to read until the concealment of night has fallen and you’re confident your father has gone to bed.

My Love,

I must admit that I am not quite sure how long it has been since I last saw you. Perhaps only a handful of weeks, surely, but every hour, minute, and second has felt like an eternity. I miss you, sweetheart. I miss the sound of your laugh. I miss the way you’d look each morning, strolling down from the house with a bounce in your step and the early sunshine bouncing off of your hair. Or perhaps you are just that radiant. I would believe it, you know, that light emits from your very smile, and I know I feel warmer whenever I am around you.

Look at me; look at the man you've turned me into. I've always considered myself a simple being, glad to indulge in the dirt and physical labors of the outdoors, and yet you have me waxing poetic like one of the men in those romance novels you would always pretend to read on the veranda. (Yes, my dear, I noticed. Your stares are not so subtle.) I am lovesick, homesick, and it’s all because of you. Because my life truly began the day I looked up and saw Bam struggling with you on his back and just knew I had to help you (tell that dear beast that I miss him by the way).

Now, I must live my life forlorn, but not without purpose. Please know that I am doing everything in my power to get back to you, and I will not rest until I am holding you in my arms again. I have secured a job at a ranch several towns over; it’s good work with decent pay, and every cent that does not go towards the barest necessities is being saved for us. One day, my love. One day we will have a house and a farm, and I will be able to love you openly, with no need for secrets or the cover of rain.

In the meantime, just know how terribly I miss you, and though we are separated by distance, I hold you in my heart each day. On my way each morning from my lodgings to the ranch, I pass by a field of sunflowers. I know it cannot possibly be true, but it feels like every golden face turns towards me as I go, and darling, I’d swear I see you in every one.

One day, my love.

Until then, always yours,

J.K.

It becomes something of a ritual: while you used to spend your days out on the veranda pretending to read so that you could watch Jungkook from afar, you now settle on the front porch with a book each afternoon in the hopes of catching the local mail carrier. Jungkook’s letters come slowly but consistently every couple of weeks, and each time a letter does arrive, you spend the night drafting your own by candlelight to send back to him.

He tells you about his new job, how he’s working on a larger farm now with several other laborers. The veterans are kind to him and teaching him a lot, he says, and it eases the ache in your heart a fraction to know that he seems happy where he is and well taken care of. You write back about your favorite books that you’ve been reading and how the horses have been (you insist that you can tell Bam misses Jungkook too). But both of your letters are saturated with sentiments of love and how dearly you miss each other, reminding yourselves that every day that passes is one day closer to you two being reunited, whenever that may be.

Your father, meanwhile, proceeds as if Jungkook never existed, hiring a new stable hand who begins his work mere days after Jungkook has left. This man is middle aged, gray already streaking through his hair, and you can’t help but feel it’s a deliberate choice on your father’s part lest you fall for another lowly laborer. And though you know it is not his fault, you barely speak with the man outside of a few curt pleasantries when you go for your ride each morning.

You persist in your morning rides out of habit, but you find that they don’t bring you the same kind of joy that they used to. The grass isn’t quite as green, the air is often stifling, and the sunflowers droop where they used to stand tall against the blue skies. On one day, roughly six months after Jungkook’s firing, you’re once again forced back inside early due to rain, the storm dampening your already dreary mood. It takes a turn for the worst when you hear your father call your name the moment you step in the door and plummets entirely off a cliff when you trudge into the dining room to see a man sitting at the table.

Seokjin is not entirely unfamiliar to you—your families run in the same circles after all—but he is ultimately little more than a stranger, the two of you having only exchanged a handful of polite words at dinner parties and the like. All that you truly know of him is that he is the heir to the wealthiest trading company on this side of the country and that his father is expected to transition the entire operation to him over the next few years.

Even so, Seokjin greets you with a sense of intimate familiarity, standing at your approach and brushing his lips against the back of your hand before you can stop him.

“A pleasure to see you, Y/N, as always.”

You know that social etiquette requires you to return the sentiment, but instead, you find yourself looking between Seokjin and your father, trying to figure out his purpose here.

“What is going on?”

Your father grimaces at your rudeness but opts to ignore it. “Seokjin has come here with a rather exciting opportunity, Y/N, if you would take a seat and listen to him.”

However, you remain standing, spine stiff and wary eyes shifting to the man in front of you with his finely tailored clothes and perfectly combed hair. He, for what it’s worth, doesn’t cower under your stony gaze, maintaining an air of utmost confidence as he states, “Y/N, I would like for you to marry me.”

“No.”

Your answer is immediate and blunt, coming so quickly that Seokjin barely reacts—only the tiniest dip of his mouth as if he doesn’t believe he heard you correctly. But your father leaps to his feet, face red with shock and frustration.

“Y/N, you sit down and listen to the man.”

“I don’t need to listen,” you snap. “My answer is no.”

Seokjin registers your words then, face morphing into a deep frown of disbelief as your father hurries to intervene, grabbing you around the arm to pull you out of the dining room and turning on you the moment you are out of earshot.

“Insolent girl! That man will soon be one of the most powerful in the country—nay, the world! Do you understand the opportunity he is offering you? The life he is offering? How dare you refuse him!”

“Whatever life he is offering is one I want no part of,” you argue, pulling your arm from his grasp to wrap them across your chest. “I have no interest in being married to a man like that. I want to be with someone who loves me.”

He goes deathly still for a moment, drawing connections in his head until you see the moment the realization hits him. “This is about that lousy stable boy, isn’t it?”

You say nothing, only hug yourself tighter and try to swallow down the sudden lump in your throat.

“That’s it, yes? You’re still holding onto some hope that he will come back for you and what? The two of you will go off and live in some hovel? What could he possibly offer you?” he snarls. “No, Y/N. That vermin is gone. You have a chance—a real chance—at a future here, and I’ll be damned if I let you throw it away for the idea of some lower class scum.”

As his words sink in, a chill passes through your body that’s quickly replaced with a white-hot anger, your hands dropping to your sides as you straighten your back in defiance.

“Whether Jungkook returns or not,” you assert, “please be assured that I will never, ever, marry one of your suitors. I will die before I become a mere pawn for your business deals.”

Your father stares at you incredulously, eyes practically bursting from his head. “Business deals? I am looking out for you. So that you can live the luxurious life a child of mine deserves.”

“The life I deserve is the one which I want,” you exclaim. “And these rich dullards are not it.”

Final word given, you spin on your heel in emphasis and march off to your room, leaving your father to clumsily patch things up in the dining hall with a humbled and deeply befuddled Seokjin.

The letters stop two years in.

A month passes, then two, then three before you begin to really worry. Another four gone in a blink before you start to consider that you may never actually hear from him again.

For a while, you continue to write to him, thinking that at the very least, if he’s moved to a new job, someone from his old ranch may forward them along if they know where he’s gone to. But after a year of silence transpires, the mail carrier shaking his head at you each day as you rush to meet him outside your house, true dread sets in.

Your address hasn’t changed, which means that he’s stopped writing to you for some reason. Is it possible that he’s moved on? Met another woman perhaps and chosen to settle down? Or…could it be something worse? Your mind hesitates to even go down this path, the terror seeping into your bones, but the thought creeps in late at night when you’re at your most vulnerable that something may have happened to him. Work accidents, illness—any number of dangerous things could have taken him from you without you even knowing. Then again, he sounded healthy in his final letter to you, no word at all of him being ill, and you’d like to think he would’ve arranged for someone to contact you if some tragedy had befallen him.

You conclude, then, that he must have given up. And really, after years of hoping for a shift, for some change in fortune for your futures, you cannot entirely blame him. If anything, you just wish you had seen the signs sooner, sensed some kind of shift in tone that would have prepared you for his sudden silence. His last letter, though, had been much of the same—more updates on his ranching job mixed in with poetic phrases about his love for you. You read it endlessly, poring over the words for some indication that his feelings for you had waned, sitting huddled in a hidden corner of the stables as rain pounds down against the tin roof. Instead, it just makes your heart ache to remind you of love found and lost, his final words haunting you as time continues to drag on to your dismay.

As the months tick by, you keep your promise to your father, steadfastly refusing each suitor that comes to call for you: Jung Hoseok, Kim Namjoon, and even Min Yoongi, who shows up in your dining room every evening for a fortnight before finally accepting your refusal. Meanwhile, you move through your days as if by design, going through the motions without feeling like you’re actually alive. Food is tasteless, your books void of thought, and the skies have certainly lost their color. You find that you actually prefer rainy days now, often taking walks through the drizzle and allowing the droplets of water to slide over your skin and caress you as he once did. Sometimes, it almost makes you feel as if he’s there beside you—memories of thunder and slick kisses enveloping your thoughts and soaking you from the inside out.

No fewer than seven years pass this way, with you haunting the premises of your home while your father begins to complain about you becoming a leech and a burden. You begin to question it yourself, wondering if it may be too much to waste away like this, when, three days after your twenty-seventh birthday, a discovery has you running from your father’s house and never looking back.

It’s another dreary, rainy day, and you, wanting to soak in the full effect of the emblematic weather as it pertains to your mood, have once again parked yourself on the front porch with a book. Your father passed you on his way out earlier, casting a scathing look that you didn’t even bother to grant any attention—you’ve long grown accustomed to his contempt and futile glares.

A little past midday, you glance up at the sound of a person approaching, their footsteps ricocheting off the front steps. Park Jimin comes to a halt under the porch’s cover, gazing at you curiously as if wondering why you are outside in this weather at all. However, if he finds your behavior strange, he doesn’t say anything, a choice which comes of no surprise to you. One of your father’s youngest business partners, you’ve always liked Jimin during the times that you’ve interacted with him. He’s quiet, polite, and has never made an attempt at courting you, always respecting the boundaries that many other young men have tried to cross over the years.

That being said, you’re inclined to at least offer him a greeting, acknowledging his presence with a mannered, “Hello, Mr. Park.”

“Good day,” he responds with a small bow in your direction. “Is your father at home?”

“No, he had to attend a business meeting with Mr. Kim this morning.” You frown as his face falls, a touch of panic widening his eyes. “Is something wrong?”

A delicate finger rises to rub at his temple. “Ah, I’m supposed to be finalizing a contract with Hybe Trading Company later this afternoon,” he says. “Your father told me to come pick up the documents beforehand.”

“He may be back soon,” you guess. Your father didn’t give an indication of exactly when he would return, but you do know his meeting with Kim Taehyung wasn’t supposed to last all day.

“I may not be able to take that risk.” He chews at his lip, thinking. “Is it possible that he left the contracts for me somewhere? Might you be able to check?”

Your jaw drops a fraction at his request—you could count on one hand the number of times that you’ve been in your father’s office. “I don’t think—“

“Please, Y/N,” Jimin begs. “We can’t afford to lose this partnership.”

The desperation in his expression has you acquiescing, and so you lead him inside and tell him to wait in the entryway as you head to your father’s office on the second floor.

The room is arguably the grandest in the house, with magnificent windows that give a full view of the estate’s grounds and tall bookshelves packed with your father’s collection of texts. The finest rugs protect the hardwood under your feet, and at the center of the room sits a monstrous yet beautiful mahogany desk with a plush chair at its back.

You move to the desk first, skimming the documents scattered on top for something that has the trading company’s name on it. But all you see are invoices, shipping records, and maps of different trading routes marked with your father’s notes, and lightly shuffling through the papers comes up fruitless as well.

The first desk drawer you open contains a series of highly-organized ledgers, so you quickly move on to the second, which has the same. The third drawer reveals a reserve of desk and writing supplies, while the fourth, finally, contains a mess of paper.

You rummage through the clutter, still not finding anything that seems to be the contract Jimin is looking for, and are about to give up when a stack of letters buried at the back of the compartment has you freezing, the small, neat handwriting chilling you to the bone.

Pulling the stack out with shaking hands, you quickly realize that there are a few dozen, all postmarked no more than two months apart between each one. Collapsing backwards into the desk chair, you read frantically, quickly realizing just how wrong you were about Jungkook giving up on you:

My Dearest, it’s been a while since I’ve heard from you, but I pray your letters were simply lost in transit…

I’m incredibly pleased to let you know that I’ve received a promotion. The owner of the farm, Mr. Lee, has taken a liking to me and has shifted me to a more considerable role with additional pay. I’m saving every bit I can…

My Love, I miss you deeply. And while your silence pains me to no end, I hope it is a mere misunderstanding. If you do not wish to hear from me ever again, only say the word and I will stop writing to you and remove myself from your life entirely, albeit with a heavy heart…

I still have some ways to go, but my savings are increasing exponentially, and I am learning more than ever. Mr. Lee has been teaching me about the business side of things and helping me make connections. What a wonder to have a boss who fully supports your aspirations! He insists he will be able to help me in my endeavors, and call me naive, but I believe it to be true. Rest assured, love, that I am steadfastly working hard for you, for us, and for our future…

My Darling Y/N, my heart aches to not read your words and hear your thoughts. But since you have not yet rejected me outright, I can only assume that your silence is involuntary or that it comes with deep hesitation. Whatever the reason, please know that I love you, I miss you, and I am not giving up on us unless you tell me so…

And finally, the shortest letter dated almost year back:

Y/N,

I don’t have the words to describe my feelings so I will keep it brief: I did it. If this letter finds its way to you and you wish to find me, I eagerly await you at our home…

The location is scribbled in a tangle of text, his usually neat writing askew as if he was shaking when he wrote it, and the words land with the force of a thousand bricks in your chest—the weight of seven years apart, the agony of your separation, finally culminating in this revelation.

The door to the office bangs open, and you look up, heart already racing with the discovery of the letters, to see your father looming in the doorway, face painted with rage.

“What in the hell are you doing in my private office?!”

You’re on your feet in an instant, storming across the room and shaking the final letter in his face. “What is this?!”

He pales a fraction as he registers what you’re holding before stepping further into the room and slamming the door shut. “I should have burned them,” he sneers. “I did what I did to protect you.”

“From what?” You wave your arms wildly, anger and adrenaline winding their way through your limbs. “From happiness? From a man who has spent years working hard to be able to provide for me?”

“I have worked hard to provide for you! And I will not see my legacy be thrown aside for some silly crush!”

Steeling yourself, you pull in a steadying breath for courage. “Then you won’t.”

“And what does that mean?” your father scoffs, trying to look dismissive and intimidating, yet seeming smaller than you’ve ever seen him.

“You won’t see any of it. I’m leaving.”

“What?”

Time stops for a moment, your declaration holding the air in the room hostage as your father fully absorbs your words.

“You ungrateful idiot girl!” your father suddenly exclaims. “After everything I’ve done for you? Fine then! Go live with the dogs, with the filth and slime you apparently love so dearly. I have had it with your thanklessness and impertinence and will be relieved to have you from my sight.” He steps into your personal space, pointing a finger directly at your face so close that you can feel the heat of his ire radiating off of his hand. “But know this: the second you step out of these doors, you will never be welcomed back. Never.”

You waste only two seconds longer, locked in a stubborn stare-down with your father before you rip your gaze away and tear from the room with Jungkook’s letters still in hand. Rushing to your room, you gather his other letters from your desk and stuff them into a bag along with the modest sum of money you had accumulated in case you ever needed to run.

And then you’re a bird in flight, sweeping down the stairs and out the door with nothing but a simple, “Good day, Mr. Park,” as you pass an absolutely bewildered Jimin in the front hall.

The rain is cold and heavy as it soaks through your clothes and hair almost immediately, but you barely feel it—the freedom in your heart and the scribbled location in your bag more than enough to keep you warm as you charge towards home.

The house is beautiful.

Modest, compared to the mansion you grew up in, sure. But arguably more beautiful—with a compact two stories, white wood, and neatly painted green shutters. There’s a wrap-around porch overlooking the acres upon acres of farmland, and even through the rain falling in sheets and blurring your vision, you spy two rocking chairs sitting side-by-side under the awning.

It’s been a long two weeks of journeying to get to this spot, relying on the kindness of strangers to help you navigate to the location Jungkook had written down. Now, standing at the end of the dirt path leading up to what is presumably your new home, you think that you would do it all again in a heartbeat. The past two weeks, the past seven years, all worth it to experience the hope currently blooming in your chest like the sunflowers you spent so much time admiring in the past.

You’re trudging up the path, the dirt and mud smearing along your shoes, when a darkened figure steps out from the fields to your right, hand raised in greeting.

“Good afternoon, miss. Are you lost? I—” He grinds to a halt like he’s walked straight into a brick wall, eyes wide and lips parted as he absorbs the sight of you soaked and disheveled on his property.

“Y/N?” he says it like a prayer, like he believes you’re some kind of hallucination—a phantom come to haunt him through the haze of rainy memories.

You stare at each other through the downpour, and you find yourself studying him, observing the changes that have taken place in the time you’ve been apart. He’s taller and broader than you remember, shoulders stretching wide and drawing your gaze down towards biceps that protrude below his drenched shirt. The lines of his face have sharpened with age—losing some of the youthful roundness that had endeared him to you so quickly—but he’s still starry-eyed as ever, the charming young man from your memories undoubtedly gazing back at you.

“Jungkook,” you murmur, and the spell is suddenly broken. You surge towards each other, meeting in the middle with a flash of lightning. Your arms go around his shoulders, and Jungkook pulls you into him so desperately and with so much force that he lifts you right off your feet, your mouths coming together with a heated urgency.

He’s everything you’ve dreamed of, every desperate memory you’ve been clinging to come back to life. And with every touch, every pass of his hands over your body, you feel yourself rapidly coming back to life too—joy making its way into your lungs and through your bloodstream for the first time since you were twenty years old and kissing this man in your family’s stables.

“I’ve missed you,” he breathes against your lips when you finally part. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you, too.”

“You have no idea–”

“I do. Jungkook, I do.”

“You stopped writing—”

“My father,” you rush to say. “He intercepted the letters. I thought you stopped writing. Thought you gave up—”

“Oh, my love, never.” His hands rise to cradle your face. “I never stopped thinking of you. Never stopped dreaming of this.” He kisses you again, slowly this time, savoring every movement of his lips against yours.

You shudder against his chest, the thrill of your reunion rattling your nerves just as a cool wind blows through, and Jungkook pulls back with worry.

“You must be freezing,” he murmurs sweetly. “Come. Let’s get you warmed up inside.”

With an arm wrapped around your waist, as though he’s scared you’ll disappear if he doesn’t keep a hand on you, he guides you the rest of the way to the house, up the front porch steps, and through the front door.

“Welcome home,” Jungkook says.

You’re met first with the smell of pine and cinnamon and an impossibly comforting warmth. The first floor is comprised of a wide-open space, with a small kitchen and dining room to your left and a sitting room to your right that has tall windows and a fireplace that is currently roaring. You move around the room slowly, taking it all in, and when you notice the vase of bright sunflowers sitting in the middle of the kitchen table, you just about melt to the floor.

“I know it’s smaller than you’re used to,” he sheepishly mumbles from the doorway. “But we can expand in the future—”

“It’s perfect, Jungkook.” And it really is, every panel and floorboard evidence of how hard he’s worked, how fiercely your love has endured. “It’s absolutely perfect. I love every bit of it.”

He brightens at that, smile stretching wide. “I’m glad.”

“How did you find it?”

“Well, I bought the property after finally saving enough money. Mr. Lee helped me with the buying process.” He shrugs. “And then I built this.”

You freeze, absolutely stunned. “You what?”

“I built it,” he says simply. “I had some help, of course. But the design is all mine.”

“I…you…” It makes your thoughts spin—the idea that he did all of this. He built a house for you.

“Here, look.” He takes your hand and pulls you into the living room, gesturing at a set of empty shelves against the back wall. “For your books.”

You laugh incredulously, fully overwhelmed at this point. “I didn’t bring any with me.”

“Then we’ll start you a new collection,” he says softly, drawing you towards him.

You reach up to trace his jaw, his brow, his cheekbones—memorizing every line of this beautiful man who dared to make your dreams a reality. “I can’t believe this. Can’t believe you. The things you’ve done.”

“All for you, my love.”

Your heart thumps a steady rhythm in your throat, love and the relief of finally—finally—having him in front of you overpowering your senses until all that exists is you and him; the strain of your former life feels worlds away.

Hands find his chest in a slow migration downwards as the chill of the rain gives way to the heat of the fireplace, and it’s not long before his large hands are wrapping around your hips, a darkness in his irises that wasn’t there a second ago.

“There’s an upstairs, too, I’m assuming?” you whisper, fingers teasing a button on his shirt.

“There is.” He swallows, and you watch the bob of his Adam’s apple like a lure. “Would you like to see it?”

You lean in, skimming your mouth below his without fully joining your lips. “Please.”

Tangling your fingers in his, he practically runs upstairs with you trailing in his wake.

Finally, you think, as he pulls your clothes from your body, climbs over you on the bed, and presses into you with such tender deliberation that you think you’ll combust.

Finally, as you spend the rest of the night wrapped up together, endlessly whispering I love yous back and forth.

Finally, as you wake up in his arms the next day, his face the first thing you see.

Finally, as he pulls out a small box at breakfast, the dainty diamond ring easily the most precious piece of jewelry you’ve ever possessed.

Finally, as he takes you out on the farm and shows you the small field of sunflowers he planted just for you.

Finally, you think, as you sit in one of the rocking chairs on the porch and watch him work from afar. I’m home.

Years Later…

“Mama! Mama look!”

You glance up from your book to where Jungkook and Haneul are currently journeying in the yard. It’s a bright sunny day—the wide expanse of blue sky above unmarred by even a single cloud. Sunshine beams down onto your son’s smiling face where he sits on the back of one of the horses, a too-big cowboy hat on his head and his father at his side for support.

“You’re doing great, sweetheart!” you call. “Just be sure to listen to Papa!”

Jungkook flashes you a grin, the excitement radiating off of him in waves. He’s been talking about teaching Haneul to ride since the day he was born, so you know this means a great deal to him, especially seeing your son’s own energy and enthusiasm. Haneul has always liked the “horsies,” toddling happily around the stables ever since he could walk.

Then again, given who his parents are, that wasn’t much of a surprise.

Jungkook and Haneul finish their loop around the yard, and you hear your husband shower the boy with praise as he lifts him off of the horse’s back.

“Again, again!” Haneul cheers, bouncing in place and causing Jungkook to laugh.

“We will! Just let me check on your mother first.”

He moves comfortably, leisurely as he climbs the porch steps and comes to a rest in front of where you sit. Looming over you, he leans in until he can press a gentle kiss to your lips, reverent in his motions.

“How are you feeling?” he asks. His fingers brush lightly over your belly and its new curve.

“I’m alright,” you say, guiding his hand until his palm is resting flat. “This one is kicking up a storm though.”

As if on cue, you feel a tiny jolt—Jungkook giving a breathless chuckle as he feels the jab himself.

“Go easy on your mother,” he says in the direction of your stomach, rubbing a soft circle into your flesh. “No storms. Clear skies and sunshine.” Then his eyes are back on your face. “Speaking of, I have something for you.”

He reaches behind his back and produces a single sunflower, tucking it behind your ear before giving you one more kiss.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you, too.” More than the day you met him. More than the day he left. And more than the day you finally made your way here.

“Now I should get back to Haneul before he starts yelling for me.”

You laugh out the brightest sound that’s ever come from your lungs. “Go.”

A warm breeze ripples through the trees, the sound of your son’s giggles and Jungkook’s cheerful exclamations finding their way back to where you sit.

What a beautiful day, you think, setting down your book and getting up to join your family in the golden sunshine.

a/n: thanks for reading! pls don't forget to like, reblog, and/or comment if you enjoyed!

[spookberry]

Its past their bedtime

[corviiids]

my top bit of advice going into the new year: compliment people. especially strangers. literally everyone you interact with if you can. when you buy coffee in the morning compliment the barista's tattoos. when you're chatting with a coworker tell them that by the way you like their outfit. always find something they've chosen to do on purpose. nail polish, jewellery, tattoos, hair colour/style, statement accessory, outfit, etc are all good bets. things people hope will be noticed. things that aren't too personal so it doesn't make them uncomfortable (eg probably not their physical features). i've gotten into the habit of scanning everyone i talk to for something about them that i think is cool so i can tell them. it's a great habit because it makes me notice people and realise just how many neat little details there are in people's presentation of themselves that might pass me by if i wasn't paying attention. and it brings out so much joy. you'd be surprised how much it disarms people to receive an unexpected compliment from someone they don't know. it is the most sincere smile you will see all day long. it feels nice to make people happy but it also means you win the social interaction. establish dominance by complimenting a stranger's earrings and disappearing into the fog

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The squad of all time has arrived on scene.

[humming-fly]

was anyone gonna tell me shadow saved rouge's life in sa2 or was I just supposed to find that out playing the game myself

(this worked out as a rather fitting closer for the Final Day in Year of Shadow haha, hope ya'll have a fun new year! 🎉🎉🎉)

[kyri45]

[july-19th-club]

seriously have been thinking about this all night long. call me autistic but the fact that 90% of workplaces the point is not to get your work done and then be done doing it but to instead perform an elaborate social dance in which you find something to do even when you're done doing everything you need to do in order to show your fellow workers that you, too, are Working . because you are at Work . disgusting why cant we all agree that if there is no work immediately to be done. we just dont do anything

[noodles-and-tea]

Who’s your favorite gravity falls character?

THIS GUY

[chloesimaginationthings]

Vanny finally meets FNAF tape girl in person...

[joshuamj]

Hero.

[frownyalfred]

thinking about a Damian who was raised his entire life hearing how much he looks like his Father, how he's the blood son, how he's better than any other child Bruce Wayne has taken in, starting to buy into it like a kid does, only to hit puberty and turn out looking like 80% Talia.

[pineapple-frenzy]

Book 2 au: sparring sessions and short hair katara

They like to have sparring sessions in order to keep their bending skills sharp. They allow themselves to go all out and not hold back at all cause they know if anyone got hurt, Katara could just heal them

But anyways, wouldn't it be kinda funny if Zuko accidentally burned Katara's hair tho? Aofkqldkkajfjd

The "I think we can save the hairloops" line is from @linnoya-writes thank you for that!! :>>

[isagaiia]

you are the wolf

[starry-bi-sky]

I am loudly pushing the batdad agenda i am loudly pushing the— DPxDC Prompt

“Woah. You look like shit."

Granted, that’s probably not the first thing Danny should be saying to the guy that just bit the curb, but in his defense; he’s not running on 100% right now either.

The man -- tall, towering, and broader than Danny is tall -- whips around on his heel, black frayed cape flaring out impressively. Danny would've whistled in appreciation, but he takes the time instead to wipe the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing the blood running from his nose across his cheek.

"Sorry." He blinks widely, not even flinching as the man with the horns zeroes in on him. "That was rude of me. I have a really bad brain-to-mouth filter; Sam says its what always gets me into trouble."

And she's not wrong either, per say. His smart mouth is what landed him in this situation -- with blood blossom extract running through his veins and cannibalizing the ectoplasm in his bloodstream. Thanks Vlad.

The man grunts at him; a short, curt "hm" that shouldn't make Danny smile, but he does because he's somewhat delirious and probably concussed. The man keeps some kind of distance, sinking towards the shadows of Gotham's alleyway like he dares to melt right into it.

If it's supposed to scare Danny, it doesn't work. Danny's never been afraid of the dark; he's always been able to hide himself in it. He blinks slowly at the mass of shadows.

"You look hurt." The shadows says, blurring together around the edges. Danny squints, and licks his lips to get the blood dripping down his chin off. Ugh, he hates the taste of blood.

"I am." He says, "My godfather poisoned me. M'dying." The agony of the blood blossom eating him from the inside out looped back around to numbing a while ago, so all he feels is half-awake and dazed.

"Hey," Danny stumbles forward towards the man, a bloodied hand reaching out to him. "You-- you're a hero, right? You're not attacking me; which is more than I can say for most costumed people I've met." Maybe it's a poor bar to judge someone at, but he's already established that Danny's not in his right mind.

The man makes no change in expression, but Danny realizes blearily that it's hard to tell with the shadows on his face. He stays still long enough for Danny to latch onto the cape -- stretchy, but almost soft under his fingers.

He looks up blearily into the whites of the man's eyes. "Can you help me? I don't-- I don't wanna die." Again. He doesn't wanna die again. He blinks slow and lizard-like. "I mean- I'll probably get to see mom and dad again, but I told them I'd at least try and make it to adulthood."

There's a clatter down the street, and Danny's ghost sense chills up his spine and leaves a bitter, ashy taste in his mouth. He immediately knows who it belongs to even before the deceptively gentle; "Daniel?" echoes down the way.

"Daniel? Quit your games, badger, Gotham is dangerous for children."

Danny's mouth pulls back, and blood spills against his tongue. "Please." He rasps, and grabs onto the shadow's cape with both hands. "Please. He's going to kill me. Please--"

"Daniel? Is that you?"

His lips part, dragging in air to plead with the darkness again. He doesn't need to, the whites of his eyes narrow, and the cape whirls around him before Danny can blink. Soon swaddled in shadows, the Night lifts him up, and steals him away.

[shepscapades]

Revenge :3 In which Season 10 (dbhc) Bdubs gets a new fit and one person is decidedly Not Very Normal about it + the original concept sketch :]

(Referencing this post!)

[puppppppppy]

who is your favorite AA character? 👁️👁️

ziska… I hope capcom brings her back someday