#you make me read a beautiful kiss and goodbye scene and then hit me with THAT

[loversamongus]

I didn’t know who else to tell because none of my friends are reading the Fourth Wing series yet so I’m posting here… I’m about 300 pages into Iron Flame and IM SO AFRAID TO KEEP READING

[letmeridethatstaff]

The Truman and (Y/N) Show

Chapter 3: 97.2 ST

Word Count: ~1.2 K

Do not repost with out my permission nor translate and repost. This is a parody of The Truman Show.

Warnings for this chapter: mentions of religion, also * means there is a note about it in the end notes, toxic mother in law, fear of life being a show, not editing because it do be midnight

~~~

The scene opens to (Y/N) driving Truman to work.

Radio Announcer: And it’s another beautiful day in paradise folks, but don’t forget to buckle up out there in radio land! [MALFUNCTION] Remem-

105.7 Channel 1

Radio: Good driver- good- good- good

90.7

94.1 ST

“What the hell?” Truman starts fiddling with the radio.

“Wait for the cue. Wait for the cue. Stand by for countdown. Stand by-“ the t.v. screen shows tv static as it is hit by Truman. “Hun- wait you might break it!”

“Eh it’ll be fine!” Truman starts using his foot to wack the radio in hopes of fixing it.

“Their heading West on Stewart.”

Finally a channel!

“Stand by all extras. They’ll be on you in about 90 seconds.”

Odd must be one of those channels that tells a story. She’s listened to a few mostly it’s a radio show reenacting the Christian Bible*.

“Props, make sure the coffee’s hot. Okay they’re making the turn into Lancaster Square.”

Now that caught their attention. Both of them looked at each other. Distracted: she swerves out of the way from hitting a woman.

“Oh my god! She almost hit her! Something’s wrong. Change frequencies!” All of a sudden a loud high pitched frequency fills the car. Everyone around them stops for a brief second and then continues on as if nothing happened.

Radio Announcer: Ouch. Sorry about that folks I guess we picked up a police frequency or something.

“Or something.” (Y/N) parks the car and takes deep breathes while Truman looks around.

“It sometimes happens, and it can drive you crazy! Okay, it’s Classical Clive back in here and we’ve still got some great music up ahead, but hey don’t forget to buckle up. Remember safety. A good driver is a safe driver. A safe driver is what? Yes -“ the radio announcer chuckles before Truman shut off the radio.

“Are you okay?” Truman turns towards her.

“Yeah yeah- I’ll be fi-“ (Y/N) stops herself when she notices a newspaper headline: CRACKDOWN ON HOMELESS: Seahaven Island City Fathers say “Enough is Enough!” Officials Respond to Public Outery Over Nagging Problems

Those words- the same excuse Truman’s mom stated. They got out of the car with Truman following her. They reached the stand and Truman saw the same paper- realizing the same thing. Both in awe and shock.

“L-let’s get you to work.” (Y/N) grasped Truman’s hand and walked with him. When they reached his work place they kissed goodbye.

Truman reached the revolving door, but for some reason Truman just kept spinning in circles. He walked out towards her, “Trust me?”

“Without question.” He walked with her a bit before deciding he needed to tie her already tied shoes. They walked further to a little picnic area where they people watched. Then abruptly Truman walked into traffic- “Truman!” The bus slammed on its breaks and so did the other cars. Truman started running towards her and grabbed her hand- “You know I hate running!” She yelled.

“You know I love you!” He then stopped abruptly and ran in the opposite direction towards another building. One they never went into nor needed too.

Truman calmed himself as (Y/N) did too when they entered. When going to the elevators they weren’t able to reach it in time and the door slammed shut. A lady next to them stood at another elevator. Security at that point walked up to them, “Can we help you two?”

“I-we have an appointment with Gable Enterp-“ Truman started to say, (Y/N) was shell shocked as the doors opened to reveal not an elevator but about 5 people sitting, reading what looked like a script, and eating. Truman finally saw it too once the walls-doors?- started closing. “What the heck was that?!” Truman demanded. The guards grabbed both of them- “Hey!”

“Nothing. It was nothing.” A guard stated. “You’ve gotta go ma’am and sir. We’re remodeling.”

“No you're not! What are those people doing back there!” Truman started to fight against the guard's grip.

“It’s none of your business!” The guard holding (Y/N) became too tight and she yelped from the pain- “Hey! Get your hands off my wife!”

“If you don’t tell us what’s happening, we’ll report you!” (Y/N) was starting to fight back now after the audacity of the guard’s hard grip. Finally they were tossed out of the building. Truman hit a man with his briefcase on the way out- no reaction- no “Hey quit it!” from the man- not one person looked at them. No one was reacting.

~

After a rush home and taking refugee. They went to the one place they thought they would be alone, safe, their spot.

“Maybe we’re being set up for something. Do you ever feel like our whole lives have been building up to something?” Truman and (Y/N) were sitting on a sandy dune in front of the ocean. She couldn’t answer- she knew it was- but if she admitted it, then that would make it real. A terrifying reality.

“The sunsets perfect…” she said quietly. Truman realized why she hadn’t answered him. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Leaning her head against his shoulder. “I’ve heard stories from Marlon about how perfect the sunset is…is because of the big guy** in the sky, with a great paintbrush- did you know that.”

“Yeah,” Truman told her dejectedly. “Between us…we should go away for a while.”

“Fiji?”

“Fiji.” She looks at Truman. Nodding in agreement. Sharing a kiss they head home.

~

An unexpected knock was at the door. (Y/N)’s nerves were high so Truman answered for them.

“Oh, mother! How unexpected of you!” Mother!?

Damn Angela and her unexpected visits.

~

Someway, somehow they had pulled up Truman’s baby photo album.

“Oh little angel!” His mother cooed. She of course sat right next to Truman with (Y/N) on the other side of him. Thank goodness she didn’t sit in between them like last time. After looking through multiple albums and multiple photos- “Mother don’t you think we should be getting you home?”

“Oh! Hold on a minute. Here’s us at Mount Rushmore! When your father was still alive. Such a long drive- Truman you slept the whole way there!”

“It seems so small.” Truman peered closer at the photo.

“Things always do when you look back, darling.” She quickly flipped the page, and picked up their photo album. “Oh look at you two! Didn’t she look amazing Truman!”

“Still does!” He exclaimed.

“A-and you know there’s still room for baby photos~!” She cooed to them. “At some point in time I would like to hold a grandchild in my arms Truman, before I go.” She started to wipe away “tears” from her eyes. Manipulative bi-.

“Angela we really should be getting you home!” (Y/N) pipped up.

“I’ll walk her out!” Everyone starts to get up-

(Y/N) whispers, “especially if you want a grandchild…”

“What was that dear?” Angela turned towards her.

“Oh nothing, just babbling!” Angela tutted at her.

“Oh you!” Angela quipped as Truman started escorting his mom out the door. (Y/N) started flipping through the albums. The ones she brought to their home were one of her favorites. The albums consisted of her mom, sister, and dad. Flipping through, page by page- she stops- flips back- her mom holding her as a newborn with her fingers crossed.

What the fu-

[daechwitatamicrecs]

Okay Jewel LET ME TELL YOU some facts about myself. I take bedtime S E R I O U S L Y. I am in my 30s living like I’m 85. I don’t get heated about much but I will get CRANKY if you fuck with bedtime.

I stayed up a full NINTEY MINUTES past bedtime ON A WORK NIGHT!!!!!!! because I was in the middle of this and I could. Not. Stop.

We won’t talk about how I cried through the entire thing lmfao

Okay but!!! before I even start!!!! That album is so so so so so so so special to me and some of those tracks SPECIFICALLY and some of those LYRICS specifically hold SO MUCH MEANING TO ME from my past, like I am 33 and married with a career and you know how music can just transport you through time??? suddenly I was 20 again listening to “she is beautiful but she don’t mean a thing to me” and wondering if anyone would ever NOT feel like that about me lmaooo so like DAMB the emotional journey hit me harder because I was instantly in this really emotional place before I even applied the story to it! NOT TO GET PERSONAL OR ANYTHING SORRY

Reading this as a married person was like wheeeeeeeeeeeew I had a get up a few times and go hug my spouse!!!!

God the opening scene. Like. Jesus fuck. The very specific pain of hurting and then hurting more because the person who’s supposed to care doesn’t even fucking notice the hurt in the first place?? Like… my throat’s getting all tight as I type my reaction to it. I might cry again during the review lol.

Ugghhh the feeling of not being worth the fight!!! Fuck!!!!! My *spouse* has never made me feel that way but many people have through the years and it’s such a biting pain and just like reader expresses, it feels so impossible to fight back against that! How do you fight back when someone is stepping away from you? What can do you do that doesn’t push them further, faster? How can you change someone’s mind when they decide you’re not worth it? Asjkfhaskjfhajaj like?????

And she can’t even cut her losses and lick her wounds because he’s holding her hostage??? I’d be furious – either love me correctly or LET ME GO, damn! Ughhhhhhhhhhhhh it hurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrtssssssssssss!

God, their fight! The “I’m so tired” and the “It isn’t fair, this thing you do” asiofhkjfhakjsfh JEWEL. I’m telling you. nothing has EVER laid me out like this before, oh my GOD is my heart even BEATING anymore?!

(Me: oh word, your husband puts his socks in the hamper instead of the floor NEXT TO the hamper? Keep him.)

“Is that where you’re at? With me.” He makes a sound that’s a lot like a whimper. – ups, cried again here

You might leave, and you’d be okay, and I wouldn’t. – aaaaaaaand here

God her meltdown while they’re fucking is just…….. woof, can’t even cry, I feel absolutely hollow. Babygurl you are letting the intrusive thoughts win rn!!!!!! Tell that brain to shut up!!!

even if you leave, you’re gonna know how much I love you. – ah, okay, crying again!!!!

“Don’t take on the full burden of this. We wound up here. It’s okay to say that.” – aaaaaaand  back to openly sobbing JUST SO YOU KNOW I AM NOT EXAGGERATING this is EXACTLY WHAT IS HAPPENING

The, like…. Hesitantly hopeful vibe through the middle? My god. Like we’re tiptoeing right along next to them.

And like!!! Ugh!!!! Jewel!!! The contrasting views about “how did we get here”?!!! one saying, it doesn’t matter, what matters is where we go next. And the other saying, it does matter, because we have to make sure we don’t do the same thing again? Alfjskfhksjhfaskjhfjhjh I wish I was better at wording what I’m feeling about this because goddamn!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yoongi pouts again. Really exaggerates it. “I’m really stuck on this bit. I might need a kiss for good luck.” – LIKE!!!!!! WHO ALLOWED THIS!!!!! GOODBYE MIN YOONGI I AM DONE WITH YOU!!!!!!

Lmaooo seokjin is such a menace

AND THEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YOU DID NOT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! TURN IT INTO A EURYDICE THING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

AND THIS!!!!!!!!!! “All the quiet, private ways Yoongi used to tell you he loved you. When was the last time? Just minutes ago.” THE CALL-BACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HOLY FUCKING DAMN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sentences that made me want to throw my laptop out the window and quit writing forever because of how good they were:

you’ve made peace with knowing there are things that are built to last and things like what you and Yoongi have: things that make you hesitant, things that make you yearn, things that sit in your stomach all wrong, taste caustic on your tongue.

Getting Yoongi to do anything these days is akin to pulling teeth, and you’ve got a mouth full of blood.

Sometimes you hurt Yoongi when you mean to hurt yourself because it feels the same. (full on openly sobbing by this part on my first read btw lol)

You think I haven’t already—” Mourned the end of my marriage, JESUS FUCK OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Sometimes things are easier to say in these in-between spaces

Sometimes it’s just nice to believe in luck, on top of all the other things you already have to believe in. (Like each other.)

There are not enough words for how amazing this was. I know it lived in my brain for weeks after I read it the first time and I’ll be back to read again. I’m just floored and astounded at how great this was. Thank you for your hard work and for sharing this with us!!!

by the time i've figured out what it's worth | myg

(or, sometimes you go through hell, and sometimes you make it to the other side.)

✤ PAIRING musician!yoongi x f. reader ✤ SUMMARY you used to find comfort in it—listening to those old songs. the shy sounds of falling in love, the tinkling of a ring in a dish, the inevitable crash and burn. all those songs aren’t so comforting anymore, when you’d do anything to keep him and yoongi’s got one foot out the door. ✤ GENRE est. relationship, marriage au | angst, smut, fluff ✤ RATING explicit. minors dni. ✤ WARNINGS this fic deals with a lot of unhappy topics: mental health, self-worth, divorce, the general demise of a relationship & marriage, counseling & therapy—therefore, there are moments of heavy-ish angst. there are moments where this couple is not all that nice to each other. there are arguments and resolutions. so, it's heavy but they get through it (aka there is a happy ending). american setting, yoongi is a solo artist, everyone pls pray for marriage counselor kim namjoon, seokjin is once again the fic's mvp, swearing, alcohol, recreational drug use (weed/edibles), one quick reference to c*vid, emotional hurt/comfort, miscommunication, two knuckleheads engaging in knucklehead behavior, lots of repetition and space metaphors. this is basically "what would happen if yoongi wrote tiny vessels about his wife: the fic," so do with that what you will. ✤ SMUT WARNINGS oral sex (both receiving), fingering, very slight dom yoongi, dirty talk, unprotected vaginal sex, multiple orgasms, angst and crying during sex, hands on throat but no choking, fingers in mouth bc it's me. i think that's it. the smut is mostly tame. ✤ WORDCOUNT 20k ✤ LISTEN TO all of transatlanticism by death cab for cutie, especially "tiny vessels." all the lyrics used throughout the fic are from this album, so it'd help contextualize a lot! also "monday morning," "stay young go dancing," and "you are a tourist." ✤ WRITTEN FOR the composition of the century collab. thank you to isi (@raplinesmoon), ryen (@kithtaehyung), and mars (@joheunsaram) for letting me participate. ♡ ✤ THANK YOU to jess (@the-boy-meets-evil) and bee (@hot-soop) for being my betas. this was a labor of love and a big ask, so i appreciate the both of you very much. ✤ AUTHOR'S NOTE hi! thank you for checking out my fic. before you read, i just want to overemphasize that this is a pretty angsty piece at times. a lot of it is very personal, and therefore i understand if it's not your cup of tea! if you do read it, i hope you enjoy it and find something human here. relationships are messy because humans are messy, and sometimes both the easiest and most difficult thing you can ever do is love another person.

so this is the new year, and i have no resolutions / or self-assigned penance for problems with easy solutions.

There’s a woman on the television trying to sell you a recliner.

Yoongi isn’t paying attention. He’d downed two glasses of whiskey and said he had something to work on, and he’s here, just like you’d asked, but the distance between the two of you feels insurmountable. Your ninth New Year’s Eve together, and all you’ve got to show for it is a crumbling foundation, a pair of headphones shoved over his ears, a woman on the television trying to sell you a recliner. Some home shopping channel, because you couldn’t bear to see anyone else having a good time. Selfish. Fucking selfish, and you wonder if Yoongi would be on your end of the couch if you weren’t.

What does it matter. You’d be here either way, because you’ve made peace with knowing there are things that are built to last and things like what you and Yoongi have: things that make you hesitant, things that make you yearn, things that sit in your stomach all wrong, taste caustic on your tongue.

It’s logical, then, that you just need something to do. A distraction. You push yourself up from the couch with a sigh, joints cracking, and you feel old. Exhausted, more like; something bone-deep and not easily cured. You pass through the dining room on the way to the kitchen, and all those wedding photos taunt you. Happier times, the two of you smiling into a kiss, Yoongi’s hands on your waist, fingers tangled in chiffon.

You wonder which one of you will stay here after it all goes to shit.

Him, if you were a betting man.

You scrub at the dishes in the sink until your hands are nearly cracked from the scalding water. Yellow gloves sit unused on the counter—sometimes you want the burn because pain is familiar, and a physical pain is easier to solve than your failing marriage. So you scrub away the remnants of a dinner that found you and Yoongi eating in silence. Nothing to say to one another after another year gone by. Not much to look back on fondly. And then you scrub some more, like you could get rid of all the scabs inside of you just as easily.

Some things circle the drain and wash away. Others stain.

You already know which one Yoongi is.

From the living room, the muted sounds of a countdown. Palpable excitement you should be able to feel, but find only numbness instead. Yoongi must have changed the channel. There’s a supercut playing in your head, all the past celebrations. All the parties the two of you have gone to, the years spent alone but together. All the people you’ve kissed in front of. All the quiet, private ways Yoongi used to tell you he loved you. When was the last time? What does it matter. There’s seven seconds until the new year and Yoongi hasn’t come looking for you, so what does it fucking matter.

Fireworks explode outside. A sob wracks your body as you crumble to the floor. There’s a small puddle of dishwater that seeps into the hemline of your shirt. Yoongi hasn’t come looking for you and he can’t hear you, so there’s no one to witness your breakdown but the fucking dishes in the sink. Yoongi had chosen the countertops.

You’re going to miss this place when it’s no longer your home.

instincts are misleading / you shouldn't think what you're feeling / they don't tell you what you know you should want.

Kim Namjoon wouldn’t have been your first choice, if you’d had the luxury of choice.

You like him enough, though. Wicked smart, patient to a fault, pragmatic when it’s required. There’s not much more you could ask for in a marriage counselor besides not needing one at all, but that hadn’t been in the cards. The first time you and Yoongi had met him, you’d cracked a joke that hadn’t landed. The embarrassment of it still stings, made worse by the discomfort of the couch in his office.

“How are things?” he asks. He always dresses impeccably. Today he’s in a sage green sweater and tan trousers that must’ve cost a fortune to get tailored. Even his notebook is genuine leather; sometimes it squeaks when he jots down notes too fast, friction against the fabric of his clothing.

Yoongi is quiet. If you’re embarrassed over a joke, he’s embarrassed over everything else. At least you’re willing to work on things. Getting Yoongi to do anything these days is akin to pulling teeth, and you’ve got a mouth full of blood. “Fine,” Yoongi answers, eyes locked downward. Namjoon’s office has hardwood floors. Tigerwood, he’d said once. Yoongi had complimented them. That had stung, too.

Wicked smart. Namjoon turns to you, glasses slipping a little down his nose. “Would you agree with that?”

You wouldn’t, but the urge to make this easy on Yoongi is hard to fight off. Everything is hard. It’d taken him twenty minutes past midnight to come find you in the kitchen all those weeks ago, chest still heaving, eyes swollen. He’d been distraught, tried to kiss your tears away, apologized over and over like they were the only words he knew. Things aren’t fine, but at least you’ve been willing to fight, and the cost of that persistence feels like the weight of the world.

“No,” you admit, and Namjoon just nods. Writes something down. You don’t have the courage to look at Yoongi. Sometimes it’s easier to let go of a dying thing.

“Okay. How were the holidays?”

It’s hard to breathe around the lump in your throat. All you want to do is hold Yoongi’s hand, scream at him, shake him and ask why he’s doing this to you. Why he’s giving up. Why you aren’t worth more effort—not worth it anymore, when you used to be. If he doesn’t love you anymore you’ve already said you’ll go, and he begs you not to, says he’ll do better, he’s sorry, please don’t.

“They were hard,” you answer, and Yoongi nods his agreement in your peripheral. “We didn’t exchange gifts this year. First time ever.”

“And why is that?”

Yoongi stays quiet. Like pulling teeth, you think, and there’s a flashbang of anger, resentment. Sometimes you want to hurt him. Sometimes you want to make him feel as awful as you do, want him to suffer, want him to atone. It isn’t fair, the things you think, and all you want to do is love your husband without guilt, without wondering if there’s someone out there who’d appreciate it more. Still, you’ve got a nasty streak, and you can’t help but press on the bruise. “Because I knew I’d be the only one.”

“Can you expand on that?”

You shrug. Pick at invisible dirt beneath your nails. “Yoongi said he’d be busy this year. I know what that means.”

“That’s not—” Yoongi sighs, cuts himself off. Runs his hands over his face, sick of this same argument. “Baby, that isn’t fair. I asked you if you wanted to do gifts this year and you said no.”

The laugh that bubbles out of you is derisive, cruel. You’re sick of the same arguments, too. Sick of feeling stuck, some helpless animal in a glue trap. Sick of this office, with Namjoon’s priceless art that doesn’t mean a fucking thing to you; the tigerwood floors that got nicer words out of Yoongi than you have in months; the low thrum of the baseboard heat. Sick of asking Yoongi what you can do, what you can change to make this work, and getting nothing besides a self-deprecating sigh.

Yoongi loves you. Doesn’t want to hurt you. Doesn’t want you to put those kinds of burdens on your shoulders, but taking on all that water himself does nothing but make the both of you sink.

He’ll write about it, though. That’s the thing. Yoongi will write about it, and it used to bring you comfort—listening to those old songs, an aural timeline of your and Yoongi’s relationship. The shy sounds of falling in love, the tinkling of a ring in a dish, the inevitable crash and burn. All those songs aren’t so comforting anymore, when you’d do anything to keep him and Yoongi’s got one foot out the door.

“Because I listened to the song,” you say, and it should feel relieving, should alleviate some of that weight you’ve been carrying around. Instead, you just feel guilty, confessing to some cardinal sin. Yoongi goes stock-still, doesn’t dare to breathe, spine straighter than it’s been in years, and all you feel is guilt.

Namjoon quirks an eyebrow. “The song?”

this is the moment that you know that you told her that you loved her, but you don't / you touch her skin and then you think that she is beautiful but she don't mean a thing to me.

“It wasn’t meant to be about you,” Yoongi says, and his words are pleading, like if he uses the right inflections he can get you to understand. “It was just—shit, I don’t know, I just. I was just writing. I needed to do something with the way I was feeling.” His words take on more panic the longer you’re quiet, and by the end there’s a dazed look in his eyes. They’re taking on water, too. “Baby, please. Did you really think—”

This isn’t the kind of argument meant for an audience, and you’d said as much in therapy. Told Namjoon you’d like to discuss it with Yoongi in private and maybe you could all hash it out during your next session, because you knew this would happen. Knew you’d break down, knew you’d be embarrassed. How do you say your husband wrote a song about not loving you anymore and make it out still feeling whole? How do you swallow all that anger and remember all that bullshit Namjoon had taught you about how to communicate? Your stupid fucking “I” statements.

“Silver Lake?” you retort, resentment burning in your veins. “That wasn’t supposed to be about me? What, are you fucking someone else out there?”

Your husband looks like you’ve slapped him, and sometimes you want to. Sometimes you want to opt out of this life—where they’re just words to Yoongi, but a little too biographical to you. Because you’re not the only one who listens. Yoongi writes these songs and people listen to them and they think, isn’t he married. They think, did he really write a song like this about his wife. They think, that’s a little fucked up. Because they’re just words to Yoongi, and the rest of the world doesn’t know. They’re not in on the joke, and neither are you.

There are few words you can use to explain your hurt. How you’ve sat with that song these past few weeks, scouring each line for something to tell you it hurts now, but it’s going to be okay. Always coming up empty. Those lines you’ve fixated on, refused to let go of—

So when you ask, "Is something wrong?" I think, "You're damn right there is, but we can't talk about it now.”

—because that’s how it is, how it goes.

“This is my fucking life, Yoongi.” There’s only heat where there used to be patience. “You write these songs and you don’t spare a single thought for how they might affect me. You write these songs instead of talking to me, and I’m supposed to know how to fix everything, right? Aren’t I? You can’t even tell me how to fix this fucking marriage, but you’ll write a song about how I don’t mean a goddamn thing to you.”

There are tears rolling down your face. You hadn’t realized you started crying, but everything feels wet, feels wrong. Feels like you’re occupying a body that isn’t yours. You’re having this argument in someone else’s bedroom. You’re watching someone else’s marriage fall apart. Someone else’s life. “Either help me fix this and put in the work or let me go.” Everything boils over eventually. There’s only so much you can stave off before the inevitable, and now it’s come for you. “Please.” You choke on a sob. “Yoongi, please, I’m so tired.”

And Yoongi—Yoongi’s got a lot of nervous habits. Little things he does when the anxiety gets to be too much, and there’s one you share, one of those couple things where you pick up one another’s mannerisms, ways of speaking, specific inflections. Yoongi fidgets with his wedding band, pushes it up to that knobby fourth knuckle with his thumb, twirls it around.

Usually, when he pushes it far enough, there’s a strip of even paler skin. A place the sun hasn’t touched; a place that bears proof that Yoongi is yours. Yoongi pushes his wedding band with his thumb and that strip of skin matches the rest, and it strikes someplace deep that’s irrational and unfair. Because it makes sense that there isn’t a discrepancy, that everything is uniform. It makes sense, but everything is so fragile that the thought comes unbidden. Maybe there’s no discrepancy because Yoongi isn’t wearing it. Maybe there’s no discrepancy because Yoongi has let go without letting go, and there’s nothing to salvage, no point in begging, in putting the gun in his hand and forcing him to make the decision. It all tastes sour, tastes like your tongue has crumbled to ash, but—

“I’m not letting you go,” Yoongi responds, words just as waterlogged as yours. “I can’t. I won’t.”

“But you want to,” you say, and it sounds like a conclusion but you mean it like a question. A plea. Perhaps that’s the crux of it: you just can’t say what you mean. Sometimes Yoongi’s honesty feels like a brand, a permanent reminder of everything he’s ever felt that you’re forced to carry, but at least there’s honor in that. At least Yoongi doesn’t talk in fucking riddles.

He shakes his head. “No.” At least there’s conviction in his words. “No, I don’t. This is just—it’s hard right now, okay. It’s hard and it fucking sucks, and I don’t know why, but I’m not—” He sucks in a breath. Sometimes Yoongi can’t say what he means, either.

“Just say it, Yoongi.” So, you prod. Sometimes you find the most mottled bruise on his body and you press on it, because when you love someone the way you love Yoongi, you also know all the ways to hurt them. Sometimes you hurt Yoongi when you mean to hurt yourself because it feels the same.

“What do you want me to say,” he answers, defeated and raw. “Tell me what you want me to say, because if I didn’t know better, it’d sound like you wanted me to leave. It sounds like you want that but you want me to be the bad guy. You want me to pull the trigger.”

You don’t. You know that for certain, just by the way it feels excruciating to merely think about. What would your life even look like without Yoongi? What would it be? But you’re still that caged animal. Still resentful of Yoongi’s composure, because you can fall apart at a moment’s notice and Yoongi is always calm, prepared; always the last building standing in a hurricane.

“I don’t want that,” you say, borrowing a bit of your husband’s honesty, his fortitude, “but I need you to know that’s where we’re at. I need you to be able to say it, instead of treating it like it’s some impossible thing—“

“It is,” Yoongi argues, brows pinched, lips pouted. “Baby, what are you saying? It is. Why wouldn’t it be? That’s what you want?”

“You don’t write songs like you did about someone you’re not planning on leaving, Yoongi. I don’t know how you don’t understand that. I don’t—how can you think it’s impossible? You think I’ve just been doing all of this for fun? The therapy, the crying? You think I haven’t already—” Mourned the end of my marriage, you want to say, but you can’t. You need to be realistic. You need to say what you mean, and even if it’s true—even if you’ve mentally divided up everything in this house, thehouse itself—it doesn’t do you any good to create new wounds when both of you are already beaten and battered.

“You’re my fucking wife,” comes Yoongi’s response, and the way he says it feels dirty. Yoongi calls you his wife the way lesser men would use a slur, and sometimes Yoongi is composed but sometimes he’s angry. Sometimes he’s so angry the world becomes too small to contain him. “I’m not gonna—you’ve already what? Given up? Checked out? It’s not fair, this thing you do. Decide how things are gonna play out before they even happen. It’s fucking bullshit. You’re my fucking wife, and the least you could do is give me a little credit—”

“Oh, that’s rich.”

Yoongi’s pupils blow wide. Sometimes you think they’re the darkest thing in the universe. Vantablack. “Yeah, it is. It is fucking rich.”

“At least I’m trying! At least I’m doing something, not just writing little fucking songs about how much I don’t care about you.”

Yoongi slams the door behind him.

For the first time, you wonder if he’s coming back.

i am waiting for that sense of relief / i am waiting for you to flee the scene / as if you held in your hand the smoking gun / and on the floor lay the one you said you loved.

You feel him before you hear him, and he doesn’t wake you up.

It’s dark. Probably sometime between one and two, judging by the pillar of moonlight creeping in through the curtains. Yoongi is quiet as he moves around the bedroom, still so considerate even now, and you just watch. Jeans removed one leg at a time, hung neatly in the closet; socks removed one by one, into the hamper; flannel unbuttoned with calloused fingers, dropped on the floor. He’ll pick it up tomorrow, just like he always does. Down to just a t-shirt, neckline loose and stretched from overwear, and black briefs.

Moonlight suits him, you think. (You’ve always thought.) Casts silver shadows on his skin, fills in the contours, lends credence to the thought that Yoongi is something ethereal, someone wasting his time on earth.

He’s down to a t-shirt and briefs, and he hesitates. Takes a step toward the bed and thinks better of it. Doesn’t know what to do in this liminal space, in this liminal period of time. There’s only two ways to go, and Yoongi will either leave or he’ll stay, and right now he doesn’t know which one it’s going to be.

“Yoongi,” you say, and you try to make the decision for him. “You’re home?”

You see him swallow, watch his shoulders slump. “Yeah,” he says, and it’s quiet like the nighttime. You’re in the middle of the city and this moment is so quiet. “I’m—did I wake you? I’m sorry, I just—”

“No,” you answer. You don’t want to fight. “You’re fine. Do you—are you coming to bed?”

He nods. Seems to fold in on himself just a little more. “Yeah. Yeah, just have to brush my teeth.”

There’s the padding of feet on hardwood. Something that sounds like a stubbed toe. A loud curse. The flick of the bathroom light, the faucet, spit. The padding of feet on hardwood, then the bedroom rug. The depression of the mattress, his phone plugged in and discarded carelessly on his nightstand. An exhale, like he’s finally home after a long day.

Does Yoongi still consider you his home?

“I’m sorry,” you say. Still quiet, just like the nighttime. “I don’t want to fight with you.”

You hear Yoongi swallow again. Smell just the faintest hint of alcohol. “No one’s fighting, baby,” he answers. Woven into his words is a softness you don’t deserve. “We can talk about it in the morning.”

“Can we talk about it now?”

Yoongi suits the moonlight, but so do you. It makes you brave. Sometimes things are easier to say in these in-between spaces: love and heartbreak, midnight and morning. Sometimes the sun is too reflective, and sometimes it burns.

“Do you want to?” You nod, even though instinct tells you to shirk away and take it back. A small piece of honesty to work yourself up to something bigger, more consequential. “Okay.”

Sometimes you get what you want and aren’t sure what to do with it, so you roll onto your side, the one facing your husband, and suck in a breath. Hold it. Count to five. Let it go. Yoongi reserves all his patience for you, always. “I’m really scared, Yoongi.”

His sigh is fractured, watery. “Me too,” he admits. “There’s a lot I want to say and I just—I don’t know how. Which makes it worse, I know, and then I don’t know how to fix it.”

Is that why… “The song?”

Yoongi nods. “I needed to get it out. Like, some call of the void shit, you know? Put those big fears into words in a way that—it doesn’t make sense, looking back, because I thought it was just an outlet. Just, write this hypothetical song about the collapse of our relationship because it fucking terrified me and then let it go. Like how sometimes Namjoon tells us to write letters to each other and burn them.” He fists the duvet. Moonlight gleams off his wedding band. “I’m sorry. I need you to know it wasn’t real… like that.”

“Okay.”

“I—you were right. About the other thing. About me not being able to say it.”

“Can you now?”

Yoongi shakes his head. “I don’t think I can. Makes it real.”

“You also can’t stand in a burning house and pretend it’s not on fire.”

That gets a laugh out of him. Sardonic, a little self-deprecating, but it’s there. “Is that where you’re at? With me.” He makes a sound that’s a lot like a whimper. “Divorce.”

“I don’t want to be,” you answer. Another small truth leading up to a bigger one. “I’m trying not to be.”

“But you are.”

Shakily, you nod. “Yeah, I am. Things just aren’t… they’re not working, even though I’m trying, and I just.” Yoongi’s hand finds yours. It’s sweat-slick and cold. “Sometimes I think it’d be the kind thing to do. Put us both out of our misery.”

“Relationship euthanasia.”

“Yeah, kind of. It’s funny, you know. My vet always used to say you’d know it’s time when there’s more bad days than good, so I guess that really is the best way to put it.”

“What would that even look like?”

You want to say you don’t know. That you haven’t thought about it. Is this the call of the void again or is this for real? But the twilight makes you honest, so you tell the truth. “I would leave,” you say. “I wouldn’t be able to stay here, and I couldn’t ask you to go. It’s always been more your space than mine.”

Yoongi hums an agreement. Not cruel, it just makes sense. “I’m not tied to this place,” you continue. “This city. This state. I’m not sure I’d be able to stay, knowing you’re still here in a house that used to be ours without me in it. But sometimes I’m scared I wouldn’t be able to leave, either.”

“You could,” Yoongi answers. When you look up, he’s crying. Cheeks streaked with tears, eyes swollen. “You can do anything, you know? You’re so much stronger than me. You could do the hard thing and be okay. It’s part of the reason I’ve been so scared to have this conversation. You might leave, and you’d be okay, and I wouldn’t.”

“Yoongi...”

“I know you’re tired,” he says, voice laying his own exhaustion bare, “but I want you to be happy. So I will—I’ll let you go, if it’s what you want.” He’s crying harder now, staccato sobs wracking his body, making him smaller. “I don’t want to,” he whispers. “I don’t think I can, but I will. For you. If it’s what you need. If it’ll make you happy.”

You can’t stand it. “Yoongi, no.” You’re on your haunches, wiping furiously at his cheeks, thumbing beneath his eyes. “Being apart from you would never make me happy.”

You’re in his lap. He’s still too anxious to reach out and touch, maybe still a little scorned, and his hands lay at his sides. Twist into the duvet again. You want them on you. You always want Yoongi on you. “Tell me how to fix this,” he begs. “Tell me and I’ll do it, I promise, baby, please just tell me. I can’t—I don’t want to—”

“Yoongi.” He looks up, meets your eye. Moonlight suits him. “Something has to change, and you know that as well as I do. We can’t keep going like this, but just—just meet me in the middle, okay? Help me. Let’s start there.”

“Okay,” comes his automatic response. He’d agree to anything right now. Take any lifeline. And then the words sink in, and the sobs taper off but he’s still got the shakes, so you hold him. Wrap him in your arms and just let him breathe. “Okay,” he repeats. Measured. Considered.

Still standing, even after a hurricane.

i need you so much closer, so come on.

Morning comes, and with it—tenderness.

Also the mug of coffee on your nightstand, Yoongi’s hand splayed on the swell of your hip, the warmth that seeps into your skin. He’s typing away on his phone with the other, and he abandons it to pull you closer when you stir.

“Morning,” you murmur. Yoongi’s reply rumbles against your back.

“S’the afternoon, baby.”

Your laugh is abrupt, soft. Dissipates into the air as quickly as it’d arrived. “Okay. Good afternoon, then.”

Yoongi shuffles closer, adjusts so he’s pressed fully against your back. The hand that was on your hip moves beneath the hemline of your shirt. Explores the soft skin of your stomach, thumbs at the valleys between each rib. Yoongi’s touch is always laced with soft confidence; now, he still knows the way, still has the map memorized, but he’s reluctant.

You place your hand over his, move it higher. His thumb grazes the bottom swell of your breast and he sighs, presses impossibly closer still. “I love you,” he says quietly, like a secret. “Want you to know that.”

“I do,” you answer. He sighs again at your affirmation—more of an exhale, all relief—and drops his head to the crook of your neck. Presses a kiss there. The heat of him is almost disorienting, especially after being deprived of it for so long. “Haven’t been this close to you in months.”

He nips at your ear with his teeth. “I’ll make it up to you,” he says, and something stirs low in your belly. “Take a shower with me. I still smell like the bar.”

You snort. “Very sexy. Top tier dirty talk.”

He presses another kiss beneath your ear. “Please?”

“Let me drink some coffee first. I’m barely awake.” When you roll onto your side, Yoongi looks small, on the verge of dejection. Soft. You can’t help but smile. Can’t help but reach out to smooth the furrow between his brows, kiss away his pout. “I’ll be there, I promise. Give me five minutes.”

He wants to push it, you can tell, but he just says okay, baby. Presses one final kiss to your forehead before he’s gone, before the sound of bare feet on hardwood returns, before you hear the shower turn on, Yoongi’s low hum as he patters around and talks to himself.

You sit up and take stock. Your eyes are sore, head feels like it’s been split in two, but your heart feels… lighter. Scabbed over. Another battle fought and won, and even though the war isn’t over, you feel cautiously optimistic. Better than you have in a while, and you’re smiling when you press the coffee mug to your lips. Still warm, so Yoongi hasn’t been awake much longer than you. You wonder how many cups he’s already had, if he drank them black.

Half your cup is gone before Yoongi starts yelling from the en suite, complaining loudly that he’s cold and lonely, to hurry up. That he’s going to use all the hot water out of spite, but what if it gets too hot, what if he perishes in here and you have to live the rest of your life overcome with guilt. If it’s too hot, wouldn’t I perish too? you call back. Yoongi’s responding silence is so loud, but you fill it with a wild cackle.

“I’m gonna use all the nice shampoo!” he yells, but you’re already in the bathroom.

“And you’re gonna pay to replace it,” you retort, and he’s so caught off-guard that you’re there that he screams, drops a bottle on his foot, screams again. Up and off goes your t-shirt—Yoongi’s; smells like him and not a bar—and then you’re peeling off your underwear, tossing everything in the hamper. Into the shower. You reach out and touch Yoongi just so he knows you’re there even though he already does, but you press a kiss between his shoulder blades all the same. “You okay?”

“Fine,” he grumbles, all embarrassment.

Yoongi had insisted on a large shower. Something big enough for the both of you to fit in, and he’d blushed furiously when talking about it, but it was never anything sexual. You’d tried shower sex once, back in that shitty Silver Lake apartment, and never bothered again. But Yoongi craved the intimacy of showering together, the vulnerability, and over time you found it almost lonesome to shower by yourself.

So when he says, “Come here,” there’s enough space to maneuver beneath the spray, warm and not perishable-hot, and stand beside him. Enough space for Yoongi to rake his hands through your hair, get the strands wet; enough space to reach back for the nice shampoo he didn’t use all of; enough space for him to lather it in his hands and massage it into your scalp. A practiced song and dance. Something Yoongi could never forget the steps of.

Rinsed out, down the drain. Yoongi works in the conditioner next, brushes it through with his fingers, presses a kiss to your shoulder. “I was talking to Jin,” he says, and your mind is blank for a second. Then—when you woke up and he was on his phone. “About the cabin.”

“The one in Oakhurst?”

Yoongi nods. Turns you around so your back is to the spray, facing him. Lets the water rinse the conditioner away, too, before he’s placing a hand beneath your chin, tilting your face up. “Would you wanna go? Just us?”

“How long?”

A thumb settles in the contour of your cheek. Third finger traces the bridge of your nose. “However long you want. I—I don’t have anything, for a while. Could you work from there?”

You nod, a little delirious on how gentle Yoongi’s being with you. “Ye-yeah. Should be fine.”

You suck in a breath, shuddering as Yoongi brushes your rib cage when he reaches for the loofah. “D’you—” A pause. Time for you to swallow that familiar lump in your throat, keep from crying. “D’you think it’ll help?”

He pauses. Nods, so minutely you almost miss it. “I don’t know,” he admits, “but I want to try.”

“Me too.”

“Okay.” Presses his lips to yours. “However long you want, then.”

After he’s scrubbed the scars from your skin, the sadness, he wraps you in a warm towel. Stands behind you and wraps his arms around you as you both brush your teeth. Presses a kiss to your temple. Watches, so fond it makes you ache, as you dry your hair. Cracks little jokes about each product you use, says surely you don’t need all that, and you swat at him because you do. Because he uses just as many as you do, and sometimes uses yours. Tenderly takes the lotion from your hands and rubs it into your skin. His hands are firm when they run over your calves, your thighs, and your moan is quiet but it’s there, and you watch, mouth open, as Yoongi’s eyes flutter shut. As he takes a second to collect himself, breathe through it.

He just hasn’t heard that sound in a while, is all.

“Can I make it up to you now?” The words are spoken into your skin, pressed into the ditch of your knee, all warm breath skirting along your skin. “Show you how much I missed you? How much I love you?”

Goosebumps erupt all over. Dazed, you nod, and instead of words, you can feel the way Yoongi smirks. “Gonna take my time with you,” he promises. “Gonna take you apart. Would you like that, baby? Want me to take you apart?”

You meet your own eyes in the mirror, quick to forget where you are when Yoongi’s like this. You already look picked apart. Glassy eyes, mouth parted. The towel slips in your slackened grip and you dare another glance in the mirror, already knowing you’ll find Yoongi’s hungry gaze staring back, at full height.

“Look at you,” he chides, tone husky, and it’s not a shock that your husband wants you, that you’re both desirable and desired, but Yoongi is usually so unshakeable. Stable. Seeing him so affected from so little has you lightheaded, has your thighs clamping together unconsciously. “No.” Words firm. “Don’t hide from me.”

You reach back, still staring into the mirror, eyes still locked with Yoongi’s. Your hands tangle in his hair. Dark, longer than it’s been in so long, soft when you pull on it a little. Yoongi groans, buries his face in your neck, nips at the skin there. Through half-lidded eyes you watch as his hands roam your body. Feel the way he grows hard against the small of your back. Briefly, you think you might want it like this. Might want Yoongi to hike up the towel, bend you over the counter.

(Impersonal, because that’s what you’ve grown used to.)

But your hand finds his, slow their travel, lace your fingers together. “Not here.” He bites at your skin again and your whole body flushes when he begins to suck a bruise into your neck. “Yoo—Yoongi. No-not here.”

The bites slowly melt into something taunting, almost cruel. “You sound a little needy, baby.”

“I am.” You’re not embarrassed to admit it. It’s been so long you’re nearly aching with want, and you know Yoongi, know the kind of lover he is. The want is so strong you’re trembling with it. “Yoongi, please.”

Your words are hushed, meant only for the sanctity of this moment. Yoongi looks up long enough to catch your eye—long enough for the corners of his lips to pull into a smirk, to squeeze your hand tighter. “You don’t want it like this?” he asks, even though he knows your answer. But he still makes a show of it. Uses his free hand to grip the edge of your towel, drag it up and over your ass. Pauses to knead the flesh there before planting his hand in the center of your back and bending you over the counter. “Bet I could take you just like this, couldn’t I? Bet I’d just slide right in.”

The whine that escapes you is honestly pathetic, but you’re already so wound up, coiled tight, that you’re long past the point of caring. And you wonder, briefly, why you should care at all; why you care about the sounds you make, the way your body looks, when it’s Yoongi. When it’s your husband and not some random hookup. It’s that thought—this is my husband, my husband, my husband—that has your toes curling against the cold tile. It’s seeing the glint of his wedding band in the mirror.

“Do it here.” Your voice betrays your desperation. “Just—fuck, Yoongi, do it here, I don’t care.”

It’s maddening, the fact that he hasn’t even touched you yet. Not properly. But that’s the thing about space: sometimes it isn’t. Sometimes it’s a dying star, a supernova explosion, and you know what comes after. A black hole. Endless, inescapable, dark dark dark. That’s where the two of you are. That’s what all of this is, just a perpetual pull towards Yoongi, fated. Perhaps nothing more than gravity, but you let it reel you in nonetheless.

If the two of you are fated to go out the same way, the same dying star, you’ll go willingly.

“I’ll give it to you how you wan’ it,” Yoongi slurs. Leaves wet, open-mouthed kisses across your neck. “Get on the bed, baby, I’ll give you whatever you want.”

He’s on you before you even have a chance to drop the towel. Drapes his body over yours and presses you into the mattress, wraps one hand around your throat just to keep you there. Like you might leave. Like you might decide you don’t want this, don’t want him. As if you could. “Tell me what else you want,” he says, words unstable and wavering. He’s so fucking hard.

“Your mouth.”

He cock twitches at your words, your direction, and he smiles down at you in a way that makes you feel like you’re burning. “Yeah? That’s what you want?” A switch flips when you nod, chest heaving. Yoongi gets so serious, laser-focused, and it’s overwhelming when it’s pointed at you. You reach out, trace two fingers over his cheekbones just to make sure he’s real, and Yoongi captures them, presses a kiss to the center of your palm.

He’s not so gentle after that.

Yoongi moves slowly, intentionally, and you feel like prey, all part of the show. He trails his tongue down the column of your throat, the space between your breasts, your stomach. Spreads your legs and settles between them, places them over his shoulders. Stares. You can only imagine what you must look like: how wet, how open. His breath is so warm against you when he speaks. “You have to come on my tongue before you can have my cock.” He presses his thumb against your clit and circles slowly, and you can’t remember the last time he touched you like this. “Do you understand, baby?” A few months at least, maybe longer.

You nod. You’d agree to anything to feel Yoongi’s mouth on you, and he knows this, laughs before he leans in to lick a fat stripe against your slit. It’s instinct, the way your hands fly to his hair, trying to pull him closer. Having him here isn’t enough; you need to be consumed by him, need him to ruin you from the inside out, even though he already has. It’s also instinct, the way you know you belong to him, the way everyone who might come after him will pale in comparison.

As diligently as ever, Yoongi works you over. Eats you out so sloppily you can feel it pooling between your legs, seeping into the sheets below you, and the way he’s moaning around you makes you writhe. Has you gripping at the duvet, his hair, his hand. Has you rolling your hips against his face, groaning when Yoongi just takes it. When he says like that, yeah, so fucking hot, baby, love when you use me. When he reaches up to shove two fingers in your mouth and gives you no warning before he presses them inside.

“Fuck, fuck—”

Embarrassing, the way you can hear yourself, the way you can hear every wet pass of Yoongi’s tongue. Embarrassing that he’s only had his mouth on you for a few minutes and you’re already teetering on the edge. Embarrassing how hard Yoongi has to grip your hips to keep you where he wants you. Embarrassing that you welcome the bruises, want to be marked by him. “Are you close?” You think you nod. It’s hard to do much of anything when Yoongi crooks his fingers, presses firmly against your g-spot. “Is my beautiful girl gonna come from my fucking fingers? My mouth?”

(You are beautiful, but you don’t mean a thing to me.)

You try not to go there. You squeeze your eyes shut and try not to think about the words in that song, try to remember that’s all they are. If Yoongi had meant to hurt you, though, he’d hit his mark. Just words, you remind yourself, but they take you out of your body completely.

And it’s a funny thing, this almost-grief, because you’re hurting so badly it feels like you’re drowning, but with the pain comes guilt. What do you do when the person who cut you is the only one who can bandage it? What do you do with this pain when you want to talk it to death, make sense of it, but you don’t want to make Yoongi feel worse?

You hide—hide the pain, hide yourself.

You’ve gotten good at it over the last few months, too much practice, so you let Yoongi suction his lips around your clit and get you off just the way he said he would. You let him kiss you after, taste yourself on his tongue, and you think, This is what you deserve, I hope you taste like me forever, I hope it never washes away. You tug your lip between your teeth when you push him away and reach for his cock. Spit into your hand and say something dirty as you jerk him off, and Yoongi falls for it. Moans brokenly and thrusts into your hand, gets greedy just the way you had before reality humbled you.

“Ba-baby,” he whines, rutting a little harder, a little faster. Everyone gets selfish eventually. “Gotta fuck you.”

It should feel satisfying, seeing him desperate like this, seeing firsthand how badly he wants you, the fucked-out look on his face, but it all rings hollow. So you finish the show—push two fingers into yourself and coat Yoongi’s cock once more with your own slick—and roll over onto your stomach, arch your back the way you know he likes, and beg him to fuck you.

Yoongi falls for it. Yoongi pushes inside and groans, and you moan because you should and not because it’ll cover the sound of your sobs. Yoongi rolls his hips and lets whatever he thinks come out of his mouth, all filth, and it should do something for you but instead you’re wondering what he’d say to someone else. Would he fuck someone else like this? Would he be as desperate for it?

Eventually you forget to keep moaning but you don’t stop crying. You wonder if it should feel cathartic or if it’ll just feel like this forever. You think about New Year’s Eve and crying alone in the kitchen, how Yoongi hadn’t known. You think, I’m scared I could eventually hate him. I’m scared that line gets blurrier everyday.

“Baby?” Yoongi realizes this time.

You think, Another dying star.

“Did I hurt you?”

You think, Maybe I’ve already burned up. Maybe this is all that’s left.

“Baby, talk to me, please—”

You think, How many holes can you patch before it all sinks anyway?

“I’m sorry—”

You think, I’m scared of how much I want to hurt you. I’m scared I’m going to be angry forever.

Yoongi turns you gently onto your back. Takes a long, hard look at the tears rolling down your cheeks. Seems to commit them to memory. Starts crying, too, and it’s nothing more than vindication that doesn’t feel satisfying. Everything just tastes like ash: remnants of the supernova, the crash and burn, a thousand cuts.

Yoongi loves you. “Keep going,” you say, because you both need it. Not every problem can be fucked through, but you think this one can. “Please, keep going.”

Yoongi hesitates. Must find whatever he’s looking for as he stares down at you before he nods minutely and pushes back in. This is not the way you thought you’d heal, but there is only one way this is going to end, so you might as well. The first time was always going to be the hardest.

“I love you,” Yoongi says, and it’s raw. It’s real, the way he drops his head to the crook of your neck and cries. The way he finds your hand and laces your fingers together. His wedding band is cool against your skin. “I fucking love you. I’ll love you for the rest of my fucking life, you know that?”

He’s got something to prove. Wants to fuck devotion into you, wants to promise you impossible things. You wrap your legs around his waist and whimper, ask him to fuck you harder, but he doesn’t. Fucks you steady. “We’re gonna go to that cabin,” he rasps. “We’re gonna figure this out, and we’re gonna do all those things we talked about years ago. I’m gonna fuck you in every room in that place, just like this. I’m gonna make sure you know—even if you leave, you’re gonna know how much I love you.”

He’s going to be the end of you. “Yoongi.” He already is.

He moves your hand to your clit, tells you to make yourself come. Tells you he wants to see it. Fucks into you just a little faster, a little deeper, and you can feel the coil tightening again. Another supernova, you think as your body surrenders and shudders, and buries himself to the hilt and comes with you.

Sometimes space is a dying star, and sometimes it’s salvation.

and when i see you, i really see you upside down / but my brain knows better. it picks you up and turns you around.

There had been a time, years ago, when you and Yoongi would sit at your cramped kitchen table and pluck scraps of paper out of a bowl.

A lot had been left to chance back then. Probably too much, in hindsight, but that’s just the way life was. Carefree, a summer breeze, blissfully naive. The two of you were young and love-drunk and warm from the sun. Yoongi had worked endlessly—gigs for shit pay in shittier bars, overnights in his studio, fingers calloused from guitar strings and networking—to put a ring on your finger, nothing certain except how he felt about you, and that had been enough.

It’d gone like—

(“What’d you write on that one?” you ask, trying to peek over the bowl between you to see. Yoongi laughs, swats your hand away, says oh my god, go away, you’ll see if you pick it. “You’re no fun.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’m no fun because I don’t want to spoil a surprise.”

“But you know what’s on all of mine!” you argue, and you feel more in love with Yoongi than ever, picking a place out of a bowl, leaving things to fate.

It’s your pout that does it. You jut out your bottom lip and turn on the puppy dog eyes, and Yoongi folds like a bad hand. Yah, yah, don’t do that! he says, laughing harder than before, covering his eyes with those calloused hands. There are so many stories in those hands.

So Yoongi laughs and unfolds his scrap of paper and pushes it in your direction. Refuses to meet your eye as you read it over, and you can’t figure out why he’s embarrassed of it. “Jin’s cabin? It’s up in Oakhurst, right? That’s only a five hour drive.”

“For a honeymoon, though?” Yoongi’s question is quiet, small. Still embarrassed. “Isn’t it kind of lame?”

“No, it’s not lame. You’ve wanted to go to Yosemite forever.”

“Yeah, I’ve wanted to go. And it’s mostly just for Horsetail Fall—”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing dramatically. “Yoongi. Put it in the bowl.”

“But—”

“Put it in the bowl.”

A flush creeps up his neck but he listens nonetheless, re-crumpling the paper and tossing it into the bowl. You’ll be picking soon, and you know the odds are slim, but you put a silent hope into the universe for Jin’s little cabin in Oakhurst to be the one, to be able to do this one thing for Yoongi when he’s been working himself to the bone to do so much for you.)

—and it hadn’t worked out, that cabin trip. The two of you had gone to Italy, Yoongi having been the one to pull it, and you rented scooters and ate gelato and soaked in the coastline. You’d dragged Yoongi on a tour of the catacombs and he spent hours at the Roman Forum, reading all the plaques and taking it all in.

You hadn’t felt like you’d missed out. Time hadn’t been wasted, and you still look back fondly at those pictures—the one of Yoongi with powdered sugar on his nose from too much sfogliatella, the two of you at Lake Como, you with all the stray cats at the Gatti di Roma, one in your lap, all gray, that you said had looked like Yoongi.

But, going to that little cabin in Oakhurst now, it feels a little like redemption. It feels like the universe is handing you the keys on a silver platter, saying, it’s okay to do it again; even if you got it right the first time, who says you can only do it once. So you take a day off for the drive and your boss gives you the week; you pack as many clothes as you can fit in your suitcase; you set an alarm for seven o’clock and try to stay grounded.

First, though, you have to survive Namjoon.

“How are things?” he asks, folding one endlessly long leg over the other.

Beside you, Yoongi radiates nervous energy. Jittery but not anxious. The kind of pent-up energy a runner might have: in position, awaiting the gunfire before a race. Composed to a fault, it’s not often you see him like this. Maybe right before an album drop or a big show, but never in marriage counseling.

So it doesn’t feel like a lie or lip service when you say, “Better,” and Namjoon and Yoongi both swallow down the same kind of smile.

“And why is that?”

“We’re going on a trip,” Yoongi says, and this surprises you, too. Protective, fiercely private Yoongi. “To, um. A friend’s place. Up in Oakhurst.”

Namjoon looks excited. “Near Yosemite,” he says. Not a question. “Is this a getaway or just a change of scenery?”

You look at Yoongi; Yoongi looks at you. “I’ll have to work some of the time, so I guess it’s a little bit of both,” you answer, “but it feels… good, exciting. I’m looking forward to it.”

“Yeah?”

You’re fidgeting, digging imaginary dirt from beneath your nails again as your cheeks warm. “Yeah. I know Yoongi has wanted to go for a long time, so I’m excited for that. I think… I think it’s important for him to do something like that, right now. Something big, you know? Or, something that feels big, I guess. I think it’ll be good for him, and—”

“It’ll be good for us.” Yoongi’s correction is gentle, dandelion-soft. He can’t look you in the eye as he says it, but he doesn’t need to. His neck is flushed and Namjoon’s expressive enough for all three of you. “Anything that’s good for me is good for us.”

If you’re stunned, Namjoon is shell shocked. It lasts all of five seconds before he’s coughing to cover his grin, jotting down notes like a mad professor, and it’s a little tooreminiscent of the way your parents had pushed you out the front door on your prom night—that same brand of giddy excitement, like they knew something you didn’t. But, Namjoon is a professional before anything else, so he simply asks, “How long are you going?”

“TBD,” Yoongi answers again.

“You’re able to take the time off?”

Right back to earth. Another sore point, because sometimes, like now, it’s easy to forget who you’re married to; easy to forget when you’re the pinnacle of American suburbia—standard nine-to-five, family health insurance plan, a maxed-out Roth IRA—and Yoongi is anything but. It’s easy to forget when your lives are so different. When Yoongi’s got songs and albums to write, for himself and everyone else, and shows and tours to plan, for himself and when someone else needs him as a fill-in, and you’re gearing up for another half-year spent alone at home.

Sure, it sucks sometimes, but getting to watch Yoongi live out his dreams tampers down all that negativity. When it’s two a.m. in Los Angeles but midday where he is and he sends you pictures of whatever he’s doing, what he’s eating, candids of his tourmates, all the sights and sounds. Yoongi’s doing exactly what he’s always wanted, what he’s meant to, and it’s okay.

What’s good for him is good for you, after all.

“I, uh—” He pauses, rubs at the back of his neck. The flush is still there. “I put a pause on the stand-in work for the rest of the year. Told everyone I wanted to focus on writing and producing and… stuff. Everything else. Getting my shit together.” You can hear it when he swallows, can see the slight tremor of his hands. Yoongi has never done well when he’s not working himself to the bone—when he has too much free time to spend in his own head. “And I can do that from anywhere, so.”

Namjoon catches your eye over the rim of his glasses. Seems to ask a question you’re not sure the answer to so you just stare back, and then his attention turns back to Yoongi. “When you say ‘stuff,’ what do you mean?”

“Well, I wound up here, didn’t I?”

From anyone else, it would sound snappy and bitter, but from Yoongi it’s just… self-deprecating, wounded, like it’s nothing more than a personal failure. Like Yoongi is the only reason the two of you are in marriage counseling and not a million little things the two of you have done. “We,” you correct, dandelion-soft just like Yoongi had been, and his head turns toward you so sharply you worry his neck is going to snap. “Don’t do that, Yoongi.”

He’s stock-still, back uncharacteristically ramrod straight, jaw dropped slightly. “Don’t take on the full burden of this. We wound up here. It’s okay to say that.”

Namjoon tries so hard to hide another smile that his dimples look more like craters.

i roll the window down and then begin to breathe in / the darkest country road and the strong scent of evergreen.

“Hi.”

Yoongi is slouched in the doorway of your office, beanie pulled down low. Strands of curls stick out of the bottom and you shoot him a smile, distracted from your task of packing up your work equipment. “Hi. What’s up?”

“Are you all packed?”

You shrug. “Just about. I don’t really have that much stuff. Just my laptop and some files.” You eye him skeptically, already sensing where this is going. “Are you?”

Your husband pouts, and it’s such a pathetic expression that you swear you can feel your heart grow three sizes. “In my defense—”

“Oh my god.” You try to look stern, but a laugh bubbles out of you anyway. “Why do you always do this?”

“I don’t like packing,” he whines. “And I need help.”

“With what?”

“Some of my production stuff.” He pouts deeper, sends you an impressive pair of puppy dog eyes. “Please help me. You’re my only hope.”

“How much are you bringing?”

“Not that much,” he answers in a way that sounds like a promise. “I wanted to bring the Yamaha because the cabin has that screened in porch and I think the acoustics could be really interesting in there, but it’s really heavy—”

You sigh. Look down at your laptop and stack of paperwork and wireless mouse and sigh again, then nod your agreement, because it’s not the first time you’ve helped Yoongi lug his gear in and out of your place and it won’t be the last. You’ve all but perfected it by now.

The car looks more like you’re moving than going on a trip. Your neighbor’s such a shithead you’re surprised he hasn’t poked his head out by now and asked when the house is getting listed so he can buy it and flip it for three times the price. Another brainless capitalist shill, Yoongi always says, and you laugh to yourself as you force another duffel bag of god-knows-what into the trunk. And we’re his neighbors, so what does that say about us? you always reply.

It takes the better part of twenty minutes, but then it’s done and you’re left with sore arms and a sweaty brow. Yoongi looks like the weight of the world’s been lifted from his shoulders rather than his hefty digital piano, and the thankful smile he shoots at you is worth any price.

“Do you need help with anything?” he asks, and you shake your head.

“No,” you respond, picking up the stack of files only to drop them back down on your desk. “It’s really just my laptop and this stuff. I’m fine; go do whatever it is you’ve got left to do. I’ll take care of it.”

There’s a look Yoongi gets when he’s laser-focused. Intense, unmistakeable, intimidating, especially when it’s trained on you. That’s how he’s looking at you now: looking at the sheen of sweat on your skin, the way your tongue runs along your bottom lip, your mussed-up hair. Both of you know exactly what he wants, and it drives you a little crazy when he’s shameless like this. When he’s not shy about looking, about wanting.

So Yoongi bends you over your desk and fucks you right there, right in your office in front of the street-side window. It’s hazy and primal but he takes his time, does and says exactly what he wants, has you a trembling, incoherent mess in record time, and it works. You come so hard you don’t think about the song, you don’t cry, and those threads of optimism start weaving something you can hold in your hands.

—

“Shut it off,” Yoongi slurs, voice deep and raspy from sleep.

You snort, turning off your alarm, seven a.m. sharp, and roll over to press a kiss to his forehead. “Wake up, sleepyhead, I got breakfast.”

He opens one eye, looks at you questioningly with it, blinks in confusion. “How long have you been up?”

“A while. Now, come on, I ordered your favorite.”

That piques his attention. “The breakfast sandwich?” You nod. “And the little strudels?” You nod again. “Coffee, too?”

You grab the plastic cup and shake it, rattling the ice. “One large iced Americano, at the ready. I even got you one of those bottled horchata cold brews for the road, even though you swear you don’t like them.”

“They’re too sweet,” Yoongi answers. It might be early, but apparently not early enough to not lie right through his teeth.

You glare. “You steal mine every time I order one.”

“That’s not true,” he grumbles, accusations forgotten as he spots the greasy takeout bag. “I should brush my teeth first,” he whines, looking agonized. “I should, right?”

“Says who?”

“I don’t know. The universe or whatever.”

You laugh. Watch, fond, as he drags himself out of bed and into the bathroom. Watch, even more fond, as he returns with a little toothpaste on the corner of his mouth that you thumb away. Watch, hopelessly and forever endeared, as he buries himself back under the duvet, pulls it up and over his nose. You can see the way he’s pouting from his eyes alone, and he starts whining about the cold, how early it is, how the only thing that’ll cure him is a kiss.

Which you give. Freely, without thought.

(And the two of you barely make it to Santa Clarita before Yoongi cracks open the cold brew he didn’t want. Doesn’t say a word about it being too sweet, just sits quietly in the passenger seat, half asleep, as he scrolls through his playlists. Queues up something soft, easy to listen to, and talks your ear off about Jeff Beck when one of his songs comes on.

Beck’s Bolero, which is not as soft and easy as the songs that played before it, but it makes Yoongi’s eyes light up. Has him seemingly speaking in tongues as he spits guitar terms to you, half of Jeff Beck’s life story interwoven with endless praise and awe, all the while he drinks his horchata cold brew and doesn’t say a word about it being too sweet.

You want to listen to him for the rest of your life.)

—

Oakhurst is small.

Only two traffic lights before you reach the road Seokjin’s cabin is on—a sharp right turn off the main highway, an acute angle, a steep decline. You’re glad you’re doing this in early March and not the dead of winter. Doubly glad you’d ignored the judgmental stare Yoongi had given you at the car dealership when you’d insisted on an SUV, all-wheel-drive.

You’d know the cabin was Jin’s even without an address. Baby blue exterior, pink front door. Blends in but still manages to stick out, much like the man himself. More like a bungalow, maybe. Looks, from the outside, like the kind of place that might be good for starting over. Someplace small and unassuming—someplace with a screened-in porch with two rocking chairs. A place where you can drink coffee. Decompress from the city. A place where the only thing you know is Yoongi, so he’s your focus.

A place that makes you smile.

You kill the engine. Just sit in the silence for a moment, hesitant to wake up Yoongi. Unsure, honestly, how he’d slept through the last leg of the trip, all the hairpin turns and uneven roads, but you close the car door gently and punch in the lock code for the house and lug in everything except Yoongi’s gear and let him sleep. Then, when he stirs awake, looking confused and a little lost, you press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth and gesture theatrically at the baby blue bungalow with the pink door and say, “Surprise! We’re here!” even though it’s not a surprise.

Yoongi laughs anyway.

There isn’t much to unpack, nor is there much space to put it. Only a closet in each of the bedrooms, so you dump everything out of your suitcase and thread your clothes through velvet hangers. Laugh at the thought of Yoongi doing no such thing—of Yoongi living out of his luggage for the next couple weeks, everything wrinkled and looking lived-in.

He comes and finds you, places a hand on your hip as he asks for the car keys, says he’s going to the store. Seokjin had stocked the pantry, but he wants to get fresh stuff, and you know that means he’s going to come back with more coffee than groceries. So you just nod, say okay, ask if he’d like you to unpack and put away his clothes. His nose scrunches; you hide your smile and leave it alone.

When he’s gone, you crack a window in the living room to air out the lingering emptiness. Suck in a mouthful of fresh air that seems to sting your lungs, all evergreen. There’s still so much to do, and you should probably stretch your legs after so long in the car, but the temptation to sink into the couch is strong. Seokjin’s got a soft blanket thrown over the back that you arrange over your legs, and then you’re asleep, some stupid paranormal show playing on the television to greet Yoongi whenever he gets back.

You dream of forgiveness, endless sprawling mountains, and the smell of coffee.

the rhythm of my footsteps crossing flatlands to your door / have been silenced forevermore. and the distance is quite simply much too far for me to row. it seems farther than ever before.

There’s a dive bar up the highway that does karaoke on Friday nights. You crack a joke about going.

“Fat chance,” Yoongi answers. He’s driving this time, and his hands are gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles have gone purple-white.

It shouldn’t mean anything. It doesn’t. Yoongi isn’t a dive bar karaoke kind of guy anymore. Left those days back in college, where you were suffering through your economics courses at USC and barely had two nickels to rub together. Yoongi would play open mics during the week just to cover the bus fare for the two of you to go into Koreatown on Fridays—enough to cover a noraebang for an hour, just to sing some girl group song horribly off-pitch just to make you laugh.

So it shouldn’t sting when Yoongi scoffs and says fat chance about singing karaoke at the dive bar when you drive past it, because Yoongi isn’t a dive bar karaoke kind of guy anymore. Now he’s the kind of guy who gets up on a stage and sings songs to thousands of people. They don’t laugh; they take pictures and videos and sing along to words he wrote, so it shouldn’t sting, and you try not to let it.

Instead, you focus on the blur of scenery: all the greens and browns; whites and deep grays from all the trees that have burned; the blue of the endless sky; the color of the asphalt, the edge of the world, like you could tip right over and disappear, nothing beyond the margins. Yoongi drives the thirty minutes to the park and it doesn’t sting, and you wonder if it’s just because it doesn’t or if it’s because you’re numb.

—

Yosemite is hard to put into words.

You feel small, wrapped in the expanse of the mountains, in this ancient nature that has existed long before you and will persist long after you’re gone. Maybe insignificant is a better word for it, because there’s so much to see—so much that’s known and unknown—and it feels like counting grains of sand. Feels like you could never possibly catch up.

So you sit on the ledge of an overlook and just exist. You don’t watch Yoongi take pictures on an old point and shoot, the one he’d ordered from Japan, because this is just for you. Whatever happens between you and Yoongi, these memories will only belong to you, and you don’t want to override something that’s happy with something that could eventually be sad.

The two of you get back in the car. The drive to Yosemite Village is slow, made even slower when you pass a bunch of cars pulled over. There, about thirty feet from the road, is a baby bear and a crowd. There’s a woman standing too close in order to take a picture and ten more people screaming at her for it. Yoongi looks awestruck when you catch his eye.

“I’ve never seen a bear before,” he says, and you nod. Neither have you.

Maybe you were a little stung before, about the karaoke, even though it’s stupid. But the fact that you and Yoongi have been together for so long and still manage to see new things together eases it a little. Plants a tiny, hopeful little seed.

All you have to do is water it.

—

The weather in the village is bitter cold.

Both of you are wrapped up tight, only your noses peeking out from between the layers of your scarves, tinged pink. Yoongi had wanted to go to Mirror Lake; didn’t seem at all deterred when he found out the shuttles were only doing basic routes so the two of you would have to follow the trail from the shuttle stop. Just under two miles. Hadn’t seemed so bad at the time, but now your lungs ache.

Snow and ice cover most of the lake. It isn’t as reflective as it’s known for, but you’re glad to experience it nonetheless. The sand crunches beneath your boots as you look for a log to sit on, the chill seeping through your clothing as you rummage through your backpack for a protein bar. Yoongi’s off taking pictures again, and it’s another moment you’re content to sit in the quiet.

Gives you time to take stock, figure out how you’re feeling. Instinct wants to say better, but you know it’s wishful thinking. Immature. The tendrils of hurt are still wrapped around your heart, and it’s only been a few days. Not enough time to hack them away. But you’re… at ease. For the first time in a while, it feels like you can breathe, and doing so doesn’t make you feel heavy, doesn’t weigh you down with guilt. Things might not be okay right now, not all the way, but you think your compass is finally pointed in the right direction.

Your husband joins you once he’s done. Doesn’t say anything, just sits beside you on the log and accepts when you offer him half of your protein bar. He’s got a nervous energy about him, like there’s something he wants to say but can’t figure out how to, and that feels familiar. That feels like the status quo. Two people who love each other but can’t figure out how to talk to one another.

So you say, “It’s gorgeous here,” and hope it’s enough. You’re not going to push him if he doesn’t want to talk, but it feels necessary to extend an olive branch. It feels necessary to try.

“It is,” Yoongi agrees. Rubs his hands together. Watches his breath dissipate in front of him. “It feels different.”

“What do you mean?”

A bird lands on a branch in front of you. Orange chest, vibrant blue on top; striking against the dreary backdrop of winter. You watch as it ruffles its feathers, shakes off the snow, and Yoongi cocks his head to the side. A guy who knows a little about a lot, full of knowledge, so you aren’t surprised when he says, “That’s a western bluebird.”

You hum an acknowledgment, because you know what it means to see a bluebird. You know the symbolism, but it feels a little too heavy to bear right now. “Pretty.”

“Yeah.” Then he’s sucking in a breath. Says, “There’s a ramen spot in Mariposa, if you’d wanna go there for dinner.”

It’s not what you were expecting him to say, but you nod anyway. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

Yoongi finally turns to you, then. Raises an eyebrow in question. “But is it what you want?”

“It’s just dinner,” you shrug. “Something warm will be nice after this.”

That nervous energy amplifies. Turns all those words clearly biting at the back of his teeth into a tangible thing. “Something warm—yeah, okay. Sounds good. They have matcha cheesecake.” He smiles, like he doesn’t want to but can’t help himself. “Seemed like something you’d like.”

Two things strike you, then: that your husband is always centering you in his world, even when the two of you are like this, and how badly it hurts that you can’t seem to talk to one another. Because you aren’t taking pictures with him because they might turn out sad, and Yoongi is choosing restaurants because they have matcha cheesecake.

And to hell with that, you think. Yoongi is your husband, and if you can’t talk to him then who can you talk to? So you sigh, say, “Look at me, Yoongi,” and you know there’s a fragment of surprise evident on your face when he listens. You know there’s a fragment of sadness on yours when you take in how exhausted he looks. Almost defeated. “Why can’t we seem to talk to one another?”

It must be what he was working up the courage to say, because his shoulders sag immediately. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I’m trying, but it’s just… I don’t know. Sometimes I’m scared I’m gonna say the wrong thing and that’s gonna be it.”

Your brows pinch. “Okay,” you say, because sometimes you aren’t easy to talk to. Sometimes you take things too personally, sort of revel in the hurt. You understand hesitation. “I… want to fix that. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t talk to me.”

Yoongi nods. “Yeah,” he eventually answers. “I do, too. We’re not really gonna fix anything unless we can talk to each other.”

“Yeah, true.” The bluebird chirps from its spot in the tree. Stares down at the two of you with these jerky little tilts of its head. “Do you think that’s our problem? How it got… like this.”

“I don’t know, baby,” he says again, and you immediately want to push back on it. I don’t know doesn’t tell you anything. Doesn’t tell you how to fix it, how not to let it get this bad again. But then he says, “It could’ve been anything, you know? A million things. I think—I know that doesn’t help you, but for me, it’s less important how and why we got here because that’s… gone. I can’t change it, and the more I dwell on it the more I spiral, so I’m trying not to do that.”

A stuttered exhale. “I haven’t felt present in a long time and I guess it just compounded. Like, once I realized something was wrong, it felt like I’d left it too long to try and do something about it. I knew you were hurt, and instead of trying to fix it, I’d just think, of course you hurt her, because you’re good at that.”

“That’s what you think?”

“Sometimes.” You reach over and take his hand, barely able to slot your fingers together with the thickness of your gloves. “I know I explained it to you before, but the song… it wasn’t honesty, it was self-destruction. Because I thought if all I do is hurt you, then you should be with someone who doesn’t do that. Someone who knows what they have and is able to hang onto it.” He hangs his head, guilt-stricken. “I don’t know why I wrote it. Call of the void shit, I guess, like I told you. I knew the whole time it was a bad idea. I just thought… maybe you’d hear it and do what I couldn’t.”

“Leave?”

He laughs, all derision. “Yeah. Stupid, isn’t it? I’m scared to death that you’ll leave me, so I tried to speed up the process.”

You sit with his words for a minute. “I don’t think it’s stupid, Yoongi. Can I tell you what I think? I think you feel like you deserve to be a little sad, like some kind of artist’s curse. I think you think you need to feel tortured in order to create, and I think you’ve appointed yourself the arbiter of my happiness, so you see me being human as a failure on your part. And I think I made a very smart choice when I was twenty-one years old, because I think you’ve taken my heart and kept it safe all these years.

“It… does matter to me, how we got here,” you continue, “because if I don’t know why, I’m scared it’ll happen again. But you told me I need to give you more credit, and that goes both ways. I know I can be a bastard, so I’m going to be selfish and ask for patience, and I’m going to give you the same. Just… please believe me when I say I’m not going anywhere. Not as long as we’re both gonna try to fix this.”

Yoongi stays quiet. Sticks out his pinky, and you hook yours around it.

(You know what it means to see a bluebird. Remember reading about it once, back when you were desperate to find meaning in everything. Right after a time of tremendous difficulty, the bluebird comes to bring good fortune in all things such as love, healing, and happiness.)

and together there in a shroud of frost, the mountain air / began to pass through every pane of weathered glass / and i held you closer than anyone would ever get.

Yoongi’s birthday is soon.

Four days, to be exact. The two of you will be celebrating in Jin’s cabin in Oakhurst, surrounded by nature and a town still foreign to you, Yoongi’s music gear scattered all around like a treasure hunt. Follow the cables until you find him, hunched in front of a glowing computer screen, massive headphones shoved over his ears as he gets absorbed into his own world, strumming his guitar all the while.

You think thirty will look good on him.

The weather’s still mild, still colder than you’re used to, but the breeze feels nice when you open the small windows in the kitchen and let it blow through. It feels nice when you run to the grocery store and stand in the foreign aisles, staring at all the ingredients you’ll need to bake a cake. You haven’t done it in ages; since Yoongi’s twenty-sixth, you think. Almond with chantilly cream. It had taken you ages because the cream kept splitting, and you insisted on meticulously arranging little strawberry slices between the layers, but Yoongi had loved it so much it hadn’t felt like work at all.

So you grab what you need and some things you don’t and you feel as light as the breeze on the drive back to the cabin. You make a last-second decision to stop at the donut shop because it closes in the afternoon and you never catch it when it’s open. Two blueberry old fashioneds, a large Americano for Yoongi, and a mocha iced coffee for yourself. Six dollars, and the woman behind the counter is kind.

“What’s that?” Yoongi asks when you place the coffee and donut on his makeshift desk. The headphones are looped around his neck.

You click your tongue, all sugar. “What does it look like?”

“This looks like a donut and an Americano. What’s in the bag, though?”

“I went to the grocery store.”

“For what?” he pouts. “I was just there!”

That pout fades when you press a kiss to the top of his head. “Don’t pout. I picked up stuff for your birthday cake.”

“My birth—” he begins, seemingly offended by the mere thought of his birthday and that it might be soon, and then he looks at the date on his computer and mumbles an, oh shit. “You’re baking me a cake?”

“Yeah, I thought it’d be nice.”

He tries to peer into the bag. “What kind?” You swat him away.

“It’s a surprise,” you deadpan.

“But I saw strawberries in there.”

“No you didn’t. Now, eat your donut and get back to work.”

Yoongi pouts again. Really exaggerates it. “I’m really stuck on this bit. I might need a kiss for good luck.”

As you press a kiss to his lips, you think you might give him whatever he wants.

—

Yoongi spends the morning of his birthday tucked in bed.

You spend the morning of Yoongi’s birthday beneath the duvet, hands roaming every inch of your husband’s body. Thumbs digging into the muscles of his calves, sore from the overuse they’ve suffered the last few days. Nails grazing the sensitive skin of his biceps, his stomach, the insides of his thighs. Lips pressing open-mouthed kisses to his forehead, his temple, his neck, down his chest, the jut of both hip bones. And then, once he’s whining and writhing and just on the verge of begging, you spend the morning of Yoongi’s birthday making him come with your mouth.

He spends the early afternoon in his makeshift studio with a cup of coffee. Answers a couple emails. Calls his parents. Messes around on Cubase. Fixes the two of you a quick lunch and says he might want to wander around town for a little bit. Check out the antique store down the street, maybe spend a few hours in the park with his guitar, get some fresh air. Thirty feels weird, he says, and you’re anchored to your laptop at the small dining room table, so you just say okay, I’ll see you later for dinner. There’s a crooked smile on Yoongi’s face as he hikes the gig bag over his shoulder, and then he’s gone.

You: He just left. Coast is clear.

Seokjin: Thank fuck, I’ve been sitting at this Starbucks for 500 hours

You: No you haven’t

Seokjin: 499 hours*

When he arrives, Seokjin blows right by you and locks himself in the bathroom. You know I refuse to use public restrooms, he says after, slinging his arm around your shoulders. He’s not a hugger, so it’s the closest you’re going to get to one.

“My car reeks of kimchi and soup,” he says, dropping a bag of groceries in front of the refrigerator. “Won’t be able to get that smell out for weeks, probably.”

“Thank you for your sacrifice,” you intone. “You’re a god amongst men, Kim Seokjin.”

It’d been your idea. Wanted Yoongi to ring in his thirtieth birthday surrounded by as much love as possible, and a cabin-bungalow nearly five hours away from home wasn’t especially opulent. Not to mention Yoongi had been on tour the last two years—spent twenty-eight and nine in grimy venues in Texas and Birmingham, respectively—and the less said about 2020 the better.

So Seokjin had fucked off from his cushy job for the day and made the drive from San Francisco. Made the miyeokguk and myeongnan-jeot himself, and had whined when you told him you already bought the ingredients for a cake because I was gonna pick up mujigae-tteok, to which you replied, pick it up anyway.

Now he’s standing in the small kitchen of his own small bungalow, and you’ve got a one-thirty meeting so you can’t help, but he’s determined to make gyeran mari anyway, even if it inconveniences you. “Maybe I should make it closer to when he’ll be back?”

“Up to you,” you shrug. “You could also stand on the side of the road and resell all those eggs for ten times the price.”

He just sends you A Look.

—

You watch through the small window above the kitchen sink as Yoongi returns just after six, cheeks pink from the wind, arms full of goodies.

“Hey,” he says, kicking his boots off on the porch, “is that—”

“SURPRISE!”

Seokjin’s scream is so shrill you think you black out for a second. Nearly topple over from your spot in front of the island, frosting knife poised to strike. Yoongi’s still out on the porch, and there’s a terrible crash that can only be him startling and knocking into one of the rocking chairs. He’ll appear any second now, brows pinched, and go is that Seokjin? and once he confirms it is, in fact, Seokjin, he’ll start yell—

“Jesus Christ,” he grumbles, appearing in the doorway. Brows pinched. “I was gonna ask if that’s Seokjin’s car outside, but now I don’t fucking need to.”

Seokjin tuts, ladles another bowl full of miyeokguk. “Is that any way to speak to your elders? Now, get in here and sit down. It’s not breakfast, but it’ll have to do.”

Yoongi grumbles the entire time, but you see the way the flush deepens on his cheeks. The way he’s pleased to be fussed over, to have you and Seokjin in the same room as him. Pleased to be celebrating thirty surrounded by people who love him, people he loves in turn.

“Did you call your mother?” Seokjin asks, setting the bowl in front of him. He jokingly tucks a napkin into the front of Yoongi’s shirt.

“Of course I called my mother.” Yoongi rolls his eyes. “Are you stupid? It’s not my first day being Korean.”

“That’s correct! It’s your 10,950th day being Korean.”

“How did you—”

“I knew you would say that so I looked up how many days are in thirty years. Now, is your lovely wife done with the cake?”

You are, just about. Just a few more slices of strawberry to place on top, and you take a step back once you do so. Admire your hard work. Send up a quick thanks that the cream hadn’t split this time. Seokjin and Yoongi are still bickering—

(“Did you make the miyeokguk last night?”

“I’m offended, Yoongi. Of course I made it last night, the broth needs time to develop! It’s not my first day being Korean, either!”

“No, it’s your ten billionth, you decrepit bitch.”)

—and your heart feels full. Content. You see Yoongi laughing, all gums, and feel untethered. Like any second now your ribs are going to crack apart and give way, let your heart tumble right out of your body. Because it belongs next to Yoongi, always. Because it wants to be next to Yoongi.

So you finish the cake and set it aside. Sit down at the place Seokjin set for you, right next to your husband, whose hand immediately goes to your knee; who immediately turns and smiles at you, even though Seokjin is still squawking in the background. Yah, Yoongi, compliment the soup! Tell me how good it is! Yoongi doesn’t, because he’s still smiling, can’t look away from you, and you swear you can hear a fissure forming, except this one doesn’t hurt.

This one doesn’t hurt at all.

—

Yoongi is sufficiently drunk by nine.

That traitorous combination of alcohol and sugar. A shot of soju, a bite of cake, some mujigae-tteok. Seokjin’s endless chatter as background noise. Yoongi’s hand still on your knee, warm warm warm. Liquor loosens him up a little, has him bashful, chin tucked to his chest, when he offhandedly mentions Namjoon and Seokjin says who’s this Namjoon, and Yoongi says he’s our marriage counselor. Seokjin looks to you, then. Connects some dots.

Says, “Ah, Yoongi, did you eat your tteokguk on Seollal? No? See, this is why things are hard right now, because you didn’t eat your tteokguk. It’s good luck, that’s why you eat it,” because it’s easiest to get through to Yoongi, to let him know he’s okay, when you’re scolding him a little. When you treat it kind of like a joke. No big deal.

And Seokjin follows that up with, “How are you settling in here?” when what he really wants to know is are things better, are the two of you doing okay. Yoongi grumbles again, barely coherent at his current level of inebriation, and Seokjin says, “Ah, I bet not well, huh? There’s just the one Starbucks, can’t find your bougie pour-over, LA coffee here, can you? Do they even have oat milk? Are you—”

“It’s still California,” Yoongi argues, “there’s fucking oat milk everywhere. Hey, hyung, did you—did you know there’s, like, the tree nut milk orchard near here? Not far. Close by. I could drive to see the al-almonds.”

“Tree nut milk,” Seokjin deadpans. “You know, Yoongi, I did not know that. Why don’t you tell me all about it.”

—

By eleven, Seokjin is passed out on the couch.

By eleven-ten, Yoongi has convinced you to lay in the grass with him. A minute later he’s staring up at the sky, making wishes on superstitions. His breath vaporizes in the cold, and he’s not wearing a jacket, but he’s still flushed from the alcohol, feels invincible.

“Think the edible’s hitting me.” He laughs, short and raspy, and he doesn’t seem to care that the grass is wet with dew. Doesn’t care that it’s in his hair, seeping through his clothes. “What’s your favorite one of those?”

He’s pointing at the stars, wants to know your favorite constellation. All of them, you want to say, following his line of sight. Because they’re all different. All meaningful in different ways. All have their own story. Instead, you roll your head to the side, take in Yoongi’s profile. Say, “You’re my favorite,” and laugh at how flustered he gets, laugh at his gravelly protests.

“Yah, you can-can’t say that,” he whines. “That’s so greasy, you can’t say that, it doesn’t count. Give me a real ans—”

“Then why are you smiling?” You laugh as he grows even more thunderstruck, completely caught-out, and it’s nearing midnight but it does nothing to hide the blush creeping down his neck, tingeing the tips of his ears. “You’re so red. That’s exactly what you wanted me to say, you absolute—”

“Real answer, please.”

You decide to take pity on him. Poor thing, can barely look you in the eye because of one terrible pick-up line. “Fine. Pisces.”

His responding groan is so loud you have to slap your hand over his mouth. The grass is so cold but Yoongi’s laughter, the way his shoulders shake with it, makes you warm. “You’re just saying that,” he says once you remove your hand.

“Am not. Ask me why.”

“Okay. Why?”

“Because you’re a Pisces, first of all—”

“Oh my god, here we fuckin’ go—”

“—but I just like the myth. Aphrodite and Eros transformed themselves into fish to escape Typhon, and tied themselves together with rope so they wouldn’t lose one another.” You sigh, watch your breath dissipate into the dark. “I don’t know. I like to think… I don’t believe in soulmates, but I like to think some people are meant to tie themselves together. Some people aren’t meant to be apart.”

There’s a quiet little oh, and then there’s silence. Just the distant sounds of the highway, a dog howling, and, if you listen closely enough, Seokjin’s snoring from inside. Yoongi finds your hand, brings it to his mouth to press a kiss to the back of it, and he’s oddly quiet. Contemplative, maybe. Usually gets a couple drinks in him and starts talking your ear off, but this is nice, too. It’s nice to just exist in the silence alongside someone else.

“Do you know the myth about Eurydice and Orpheus?” he finally asks, and you nod, suddenly understanding why Yoongi doesn’t care that his hair is wet. So inconsequential to this moment where you can exist in the silence alongside someone else. “I was thinking about it today.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I think… I think I’d fuck it up. I think I’d look back. And I think you wouldn’t.” He sighs, and the weight of the world expels alongside it. “What you said about Aphrodite and Eros, that some people are meant to be tied together—if I couldn’t hear you, or touch you… That’s what you are for me, you know? An anchor. The first time I read it, it made me so fuckin’ angry, like why can’t this guy just listen, if he loves her that much wouldn’t he listen, but… I dunno. I think I get it.

“I’m so scared all the time that one day I’m gonna look back and you won’t be there anymore. What would I even do? Baby, what would I do? Sometimes I’m fuckin’ terrified that I don’t think I could have that kind of faith in anything, and I’m finally gonna make it to the end of this cave and they’re gonna lay all my betrayals at my feet.”

Midnight finds you still staring up at the sky, hair wet, breath tangible, wondering how you can be both an anchor and an albatross.

—

(In the morning, Seokjin makes tteokguk and ladles extra into Yoongi’s bowl.)

i'm reaching for the phone to call at 7:03, and on your machine / i slur a plea for you to come home, but i know it's too late / and i should have given you a reason to stay.

The thing about grief is that it’s indiscriminate.

Because it has no context. Grief doesn’t know that things are better, doesn’t know that the two of you have stuck to your appointments with Namjoon and are able to talk honestly; doesn’t know that laughing feels lighter, easier; doesn’t know that guilt isn’t weighing you down as heavy. So it feels a lot like treading water, and sometimes you’re able to float and sometimes you slip beneath the waves, struggle to breathe.

And it’s stupid, you think, that you can disappear too far into your mind to the place where everything feels bad. Where progress is meaningless. Where there’s still you and Yoongi and a crumbling marriage. Where the only words ringing in your ears aren’t I love you, but you are beautiful but you don't mean a thing to me. Just like last time. Regression.

There are only so many distractions. Work helps, because you can’t focus on how shitty you feel—how scared you are—when your boss is on your ass about deadlines. The antique store in town helps, too, though you must’ve worn a pattern into the floors by now, but you can’t help it. It’s nice to hear the stones crunching under the tires when you pull into the parking lot; nice to laugh at the giant Sasquatch outside and greet them like a friend; nostalgic to breathe in the scent of old stuff—belongings that were once well-loved, now free to be loved by someone else.

Grief doesn’t care that you’re sad and Yoongi has that spark in his eyes.

But Yoongi is smart. Wickedly perceptive. Knows there’s something bothering you long before you gather the courage to say it, because it feels wrong to dim that spark, take it away, so he lets you sit with it. Lets you take your time, and that endless patience just makes you feel worse. Makes you think, he deserves better. Makes you think, what’s the point of any of this. Makes you angry, because things aren’t fixed but they’re better, and why can’t everything hurt all at once instead of incrementally.

And, just like always, you can only tread water for so long, stave off the inevitable.

Because Yoongi’s giving you time but when you feel like this, everything reads like an attack. Feels like disregard and indifference. What you want is unfair, and you know it, because you want Yoongi to be able to reach into your mind and see everything that’s turned necrotic. You want him to know how to fix it without having to talk about it, because talking about it makes you feel guilty. How many times can you press your fingers into the same wound and be shocked when they come out bloody?

So it isn’t fair and it’s also hard. Words bite at the back of your teeth, because this is your husband—if you can’t talk to him, what are you even doing? Namjoon would laugh. The one that’s equal parts patient and exasperated, like he can’t believe someone like you exists even though he’s seen some shit. Worse shit than you and Yoongi have, that’s for sure, so it should be reassuring.

(Everything reads like an attack.)

“Hey,” Yoongi says, hip resting against the counter, towel thrown over his shoulder. (These things always happen in a kitchen.) “You okay?”

How doubly unfair is it that your first instinct is to lie? To say yeah, I’m fine—not to be deceptive, but because you’re sure with enough time you can make it true, foolishly certain you can either bury it or delude yourself. But Yoongi is looking at you like a caged animal; like he, too, is foolishly certain of foolish things. Yoongi is looking at you like he knows this is it. Like this is where you say I’m sorry, this just isn’t working, we were stupid to think it would even though we’re trying. Like this is where you take off your wedding band and place it calmly in his hand. No dramatics, just resignation.

So you don’t lie. You can’t. Instead, you say, “Yeah, I think… I think it’s just been a little hard lately.”

Yoongi tries to lie, too. Tries to hide how relieved his exhale is, but the smile peeks through, the flush on his cheeks. Can’t hide that he’s pleased because all those nightmares he’d conjured in his head aren’t coming true.

“I should’ve said something earlier,” you say, because it’s something that’s true, “I’m sorry. I just—I don’t want you to feel bad, you know? I don’t want to keep rehashing things.”

He closes the distance. Wraps you in his arms, all warmth. Presses a kiss to the top of your head. “It’s okay. I know it’s hard to talk about these things sometimes. I just wanted to make sure we’re okay.”

“Yeah. Yeah, Yoongi, I think we will be.”

(Something that’s true.)

it felt just like falling in love again. and it felt just like falling in love again.

On Friday, the two of you go to the bar for karaoke night.

As he’s buttoning his shirt, Yoongi says do you think they’ll have Epik High? and you can’t help the ugly laugh that tumbles out of you even though it’s not really funny. Because no, this two stoplight town won’t have Epik High, but it’s the kind of thing you laugh at when you’re feeling terribly fond, horribly endeared—it’s the kind of thing you laugh at when you’re riding the high of going through hell and making it to the other side.

It’s the kind of thing you laugh at instead of detailing every reason you’re in love with him.

So you do your hair and makeup nice. Barely make it out the door, because Yoongi stumbles into the bathroom to fix his hair and put on cologne and stops dead in his tracks when he sees you. Mutters a goddamn under his breath before he’s all over you. Kisses pressed to the nape of your neck, hips pressing you against the counter. The right side of painful.

You manage to pry him off of you long enough to shove him out the door, thighs just a little bruised, Yoongi’s lips a little too red. He’s still all over you at the bar. Still rests a possessive hand at the small of your back, still presses a kiss to your cheek every time he gets up to order another round of drinks, still whines and pretends to drag his feet when the house music plays and you pull him onto the dancefloor.

Someone sings “Fly Me to the Moon” by Frank Sinatra. It’s off-key and a little grating and Yoongi’s got wing sauce smeared on his cheek, but he still mouths the words to you. You are all I long for. All I worship and adore. You know you look lovestruck, and you think it’s a shame there’s barely anyone in this bar to witness it. What you and Yoongi have—it should be seen. It should be screamed from rooftops.

When the two of you go back to the bungalow, you split a bottle of red wine and sit on the living room floor. Yoongi has his guitar in his lap, barely able to play the chords properly, but he serenades you anyway. Does a better rendition of Fly Me to the Moon than the guy at the bar just because it’s his, and he’s singing it for you. He sweeps the blankets from the back of the couch onto the floor and fucks you slow. Holds your hand and kisses you until you’re breathless. (You already were.)

The rest of the weekend is spent similarly. Yoongi can’t keep his hands to himself, fucks you in nearly every room of Seokjin’s little house in Oakhurst, and presses praise into your skin like a brand. Sits on the living room floor again as you cook dinner, back ramrod straight against the couch; has a spliff stuck between his lips as he jots down words into a notebook. Looks up and over at you every now and then, cheeks reddening each time you catch him staring. You, too, refuse to smile until you’ve turned back around.

On Sunday night, Yoongi ducks out to go to the drug store and returns with an armful of bath bombs. Looks like he looted a bank, but he asks do you want to use the lavender one in that soft, shy voice, and you wouldn’t be able to say no to him even if you wanted to, so you don’t. You sink into the warm water, let the lilac swirl around you, make you soft, and you feel safe here with your back pressed to Yoongi’s chest. With his legs caging you in. With his words in your ear and his lips pressed to the top of your head, fingers dancing along your ribs, clearing the cobwebs from in between.

Monday comes before you’re ready. Insistent, inevitable—the sunlight streams in, wakes you slowly. Yoongi’s arm is thrown over your middle, both of you still lavender-soft, and he groans when you stir, buries his face in your neck. Everything is warm. A blissful little cocoon, made even more so when Yoongi pulls himself out of bed, makes a pot of coffee, returns with your mug steaming hot. He sets it on your nightstand, doesn’t want to risk burning you by handing it off, and tilts your chin up to press a quick kiss to your lips.

You’ve got a nine-thirty meeting, so you tangle your legs together and drink it as fast you can. Shameless, Yoongi watches as you undress—watches as the sun paints you in golden light, watches as you pull his t-shirt up and over your head, watches as your shoulder blades move beneath your skin. It’s the t-shirt that fucks him up the most, has him a little hard in his briefs. One of his tour shirts, the last one he’d gone on before the two of you got married. Says, a little awed, “I’d follow you anywhere,” and he doesn’t elaborate but somehow you know exactly what he means.

And he stays in the bedroom when you log on for your meeting. Listens to you talk to your team, your laugh soft and bright, and feels entirely dumbstruck. Feels overwhelmed, wonders how his body can possibly contain so much affection. Wonders, briefly, where it goes when everything hurts. If it’s just in a reserve, because Yoongi has loved you as long as he’s known you, and he’s not sure it’s ever felt like this; ever hit him this hard.

So, he locks himself in the second bedroom until the late afternoon. Pours over his notebooks, strums every chord he knows until he finds the right one. Jots down words he scribbles over and jots down more. Writes until the calluses on his fingers turn to blisters, writes until the words all blend together, until there’s something singular instead of tendrils. Yoongi writes until there’s something he can feel proud of; something that might feel a lot like redemption.

[interlude: monday morning]

(You listen to it far later. Back in your home that isn’t the apartment in Silver Lake but contains just as much love—perhaps more now than before you left; certainly more patience, more hope, more resilience. And as you take in Yoongi’s words, wrapped in their metaphors and their honesty, you cry again, but this time it’s quiet rather than heaving.

This time Yoongi is singing love, keep your arms around me.)

looking upwards, i strain my eyes and try / to tell the difference between shooting stars and satellites from the passenger seat as you are driving me home.

“Should we go home soon?”

It’s a Saturday morning, and you and Yoongi are on the porch. The air is crisp and cool, makes your coffee a tolerable temperature, and it’s early enough that the world is largely still asleep. There’s no polluted noise, just the rustling of the grass that’s now a little overgrown and the one neighbor from down the road who always wakes up early to run. He must hear your muted voices, because he waves as he passes by.

Home. Back to Los Angeles. Back to your two-storey home with the awful neighbor who doesn’t wake up early to run and never waves to you. Back to the chaos you know. Back to a home that hasn’t felt much like one lately, but one that can be repaired, just like everything else. A home that’s got enough love stored between its walls that you aren’t worried.

But it’s still daunting, somehow. Things feel solid here, like a houseplant sprouting new life—resilient, but a little fragile, too. So you’re scared to burst the bubble and doubly scared of what that hesitation means. “I don’t know,” you say. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know, either,” Yoongi answers. Takes another sip of his coffee, rocks a little in the chair. He’s got his knees pulled up to his chest. Looks impossibly small, especially in his oversized pajamas and the even larger hoodie he’d thrown over them. “It’s nice here.”

It is, in more ways than one. “Yeah, I’m gonna miss it.”

Yoongi hums. “Maybe I’ll just buy it from Seokjin.” Words muffled by the rim of his mug, like he’s trying to hide them from you.

Doesn’t work. Instead, you turn to him, eyebrow quirked. “Oh, really?”

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “Gotta do something with all this money, hm?” Then he sighs, picks at imaginary lint on his pants. “You like it here, though, right? Not saying I am, but—”

“Oh no,” you interject, voice at least fifty decibels higher. “I know you, Yoongi! You wouldn’t be asking me any of this unless you already had some half-baked plan in the works—”

“Yah! It’s at least seventy-five percent baked!”

You laugh, the sound the loudest thing for miles. “Yeah, okay. How much did you offer him for it? You spend all my money?”

“Your—that’s not funny.” He pouts. “I didn’t spend all of it.”

“Just seventy-five percent?”

“I’ll have you know I am a very successful musician. I could buy you ten of these cabins if I wanted to.”

You drop your mouth open in mock-affront. “And yet I have zero cabins, so what does that say about the state of your priorities?”

“Not this shit again—”

“I think it’s more of a bungalow, anyway.”

“Yeah, Seokjin said the same thing. Was really offended that I offered to buy his cabin.” A pause. A small lift at the corners of his mouth. “Still offered to sell it to me, though.”

You can’t help the smile that splits your face. “And I’m sure you said yes, of course.”

“I’ve grown very attached to those blueberry donuts.”

“Uh-huh.”

“...And it’s been good for us. We’re happy here. Happier.”

“Yeah, we are. You just needed some fresh air.”

Yoongi’s cheeks tinge pink. “Yah, knock it off! You’re making me sound like a tuberculosis patient. Like I just needed a trip to the seaside to heal.”

“I’m just stating facts, Yoongi. You’re a little studio hermit, barely witnessing the light of day. I bet you got one lungful of this mountain air and almost keeled over.”

“You’re a pain in my ass,” he accuses, “I’m revoking my offer.”

“That you extended with my money.”

“Yeah, exactly.”

—

Saying goodbye is hard.

As you load the last of your belongings into the car, it feels like you’re leaving behind a friend. You know you’ll be back (because Yoongi actually did offer to buy the cabin-bungalow and Seokjin seems keen, but whether that’s because he actually wants to offload it into the two of you or because he wants to salvage your marriage any way he can, you can’t be sure), but tears prick at the corners of your eyes anyway. Because you were desperate when you arrived, and now you aren’t. You were scared and lacking direction, and now you have another place to rest when you get tired.

Yoongi joins you at the car, his guitar bag slung over his shoulder. Just stares at the little blue bungalow with the pink door and doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. Whatever he’s thinking, you know he’s saying it in his head in that fond tone of his. The one that’s bordering on thankful, and you are, too.

On the way home, Yoongi drives and treats you to (read: makes you suffer through) John Denver karaoke. Sings “Take Me Home, Country Roads” the way he used to sing girl group songs at the noraebang. Holds your hand the entire way, and the two of you stop at some hole in the wall for lunch, still a few hours from the city. He orders a beer—some disgusting IPA you know he only drinks to seem distinguished, even though this is the same guy you watched do keg stands in college for free Natty Light—to get out of driving the rest of the way and it’s your turn to call him a pain in the ass.

But he’s quiet in the passenger seat, and it’s not from the alcohol. He’s typing intermittently on his phone, pink tongue darting out from between his lips when he gets especially focused. “I think I got something,” he says eventually. “If I read it to you, will you tell me if it sounds alright?”

“I majored in economics,” you say, because you always do. It’s been your go-to since the first time he asked, all the way back in your junior year.

He laughs anyway. “Perfect, then you can tell me if this shit is gonna make me any money,” he answers with a wry smile, because he always does. “I’ve had this stuck in my head for days.”

You nod. You listen.

“And if you feel just like a tourist in the city you were born, then it’s time to go. And you find your destination with so many different places to call home.”

You wonder how Yoongi is always able to put to paper all the feelings you’ve got locked up tight. You wonder how Yoongi always makes Los Angeles seem less daunting.

there'd be no distance that could hold us back. so this is the new year.

It’s the thirtieth of December.

Your shithead, capitalist shill of a neighbor doesn’t wave when you and Yoongi pack up the car this time, either, just watches from his front porch. You can feel his brooding; worse ever since Yoongi had offhandedly mentioned buying a place up near Yosemite. Got a really good deal from a friend, he’d said, just when we need to get away, you know how it is, and that had your neighbor’s jaw clenching, nodding in faux politeness. Even illuminated by the golden ambiance of icicle lights, he still manages to look like a dickhead.

Good riddance.

“Ready?” Yoongi asks, catching the keys with one hand when you toss them to him.

You nod. Then you fold yourself into the passenger seat and reach for his hand.

—

Oakhurst is still small, but it’s made room for you, now.

There’s still only two traffic lights before you reach the road your cabin is on—a sharp right turn off the main highway, an acute angle, a steep decline. It doesn’t matter what time of year you make the trip, because the uneven, precipitous little road always makes your stomach drop, but it’s home now. Another physical one, because you and Yoongi have worked hard over the last year to make as many as possible.

(And, even still, the strongest home you’ve made is Us. What the two of you have is something still standing long after the storm. Something that has persevered and stood tall, even when the foundation was shaking. Even when you wanted to tear it down. Even when it seemed beyond repair.)

“Home sweet home,” Yoongi jokes as he kills the engine, and you laugh because his tone is flat and dry. Belies his excitement, his insistence on digging out an old box of Christmas lights from the attic and bringing it with you. That he has this whole plan to spend New Year’s Eve decorating, bringing life to this little blue bungalow with the pink door.

“It is pretty sweet,” you agree, and just like before, you neatly unpack your stuff and thread your clothes through velvet hangers and Yoongi abandons his suitcase in a corner of his studio.

—

There’s a woman on the television with rosy cheeks and a drink in hand. She isn’t trying to sell you anything.

She’s lovely and very drunk and even more beautiful when she laughs, teeth perfectly straight and blindingly white. She’s prattling off questions to some celebrity, rapid fire, and they’re trying their best to keep up but it’s hopeless. Eventually they, too, just smile into the camera.

Yoongi’s in the kitchen fixing drinks. Expensive champagne flutes filled with inexpensive champagne, a pair of raspberries tossed into each one as a garnish. Your husband doesn’t even like raspberries, but he’d wanted to feel fancy, so you don’t bother questioning it. You know what it means—wants a do-over of last year. Wants this year to be what the last should’ve been, because this year the two of you will be sitting on the same side of the couch, drinking cheap champagne from Vons out of expensive glassware.

A gift from Seokjin, because he’s a bastard. A housewarming gift for a house you’d bought from him.

There’s still an hour before the countdown. There’s still an empty pot on the stove that used to be full of tteokguk. It’s a different New Year, not Seollal, but Yoongi had wanted to make it anyway. Cracked a joke about not wanting to risk it, so he’s going to eat as much tteokguk as possible, that he might need the luck, you never know. I didn’t eat any last year and still bought a second house, he’d said. Imagine how powerful I’ll be if I eat ten bowls of this.

Your husband is always powerful, but you hadn’t pointed that out. Hadn’t pointed out that the only reason the two of you could afford a second house was because Seokjin gave you a steep pity discount, either. Sometimes it’s just nice to believe in luck, on top of all the other things you already have to believe in.

(Like each other.)

There’s still an hour, and Yoongi hands over a flute of champagne and sinks into the couch beside you. You forget about the woman on TV, but you don’t forget about—“You know, I distinctly remember you making me a promise before we came up here last year.”

Yoongi quirks an eyebrow. “Yeah? Did I make good on it?”

“For the most part,” you answer. “Like, eighty percent.”

Yoongi snorts. “Refresh my memory.”

You set your glass on the coffee table. Angle yourself so you can swing a thigh over Yoongi’s lap to straddle him, earning you another quirked eyebrow. “I distinctly remember you promising to fuck me in every room of this house.”

His own glass abandoned, Yoongi settles one hand on your hip, the other on your thigh. “Surely I already did,” he answers, words spoken into the crook of your neck, goosebumps rising along your skin. “No way I would’ve been able to keep my hands off you.”

Warm lips press against your neck. Kiss their way to your jawline to the corner of your mouth. “Do you remember me fucking you on this couch? On the floor? You remember how hard you came that time?”

Your hips start to grind, seeking friction. This time, the cool metal of Yoongi’s wedding band against your flushed skin doesn’t shock you. Just feels like another home. His hands slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt feel like home. His tongue licking into your mouth tastes like home. When he pulls away to say, “I know you remember the time in the kitchen, the way I fucked your mouth,” you lose all concept of home entirely.

Home is just Yoongi. Everything is Yoongi.

“I fucked you in that bed so many times. Against the bathroom sink. Always so good for me.” He’s thumbing over a nipple, embarrassingly hardened from the husk of his voice, the way his cock is filling out in his joggers. “Where’d we miss, baby?”

You swallow. Know it’s audible even over the sound of the television. People are cheering, but you aren’t turning around to look, because what could they possibly have to cheer for when they don’t have Yoongi? When Yoongi only looks at you like this—like he’s already a little crazed, a little fucked up?

“The st-studio,” you choke out. Dizzy, dizzy, dizzy. Not a drop of champagne made it past your lips and still the world spins.

You can feel Yoongi’s smirk against the column of your throat. Hate what it does to you, because Yoongi could talk you off a ledge when he’s like this. “Ah, you’re right.” Fingers trail along the hem of your pants, toying with you. “Is that what you want? You wanna ride me in my chair? You want it fucking dirty like that, my sweats barely pulled down, like you’re fucking desperate for it?”

You are, and you do.

So that’s how Yoongi fucks you. Gives you exactly what you want: sits in his oversized chair, pulls you into his lap. Sweats pushed down only as far as he needs to fish his cock out, slick it up, and then he’s pushing inside of you. Groans loud, tells you how tight you are, how wet and warm. And it’s stupid, because your husband is fucking your brains out, but there’s a little window in his studio, just above his desk.

Through it, you can see the Christmas lights the two of you spent the afternoon putting up.

You can hear Yoongi’s grumbling in your head, all his shouting when he thought he was going to fall off the ladder even though you were holding it steady. Cursed about not having enough zip ties. Cursed about one lightbulb being burnt out. Cursed when the extension cord wasn’t long enough. Only stopped cursing when you shut him up with a kiss.

You come hard. Yoongi makes good on his promise.

Another home.

—

(From the living room, the muted sounds of a countdown. Palpable excitement you’re finally able to feel, last year’s numbness long gone and replaced with endless warmth. Yoongi only leaves to grab a warm washcloth from the bathroom, and then he’s cleaning you up and pressing his lips back to your kiss-reddened mouth. There’s a supercut playing in your head, all the past celebrations. All the parties the two of you have gone to, the years spent alone but together. All the people you’ve kissed in front of. All the quiet, private ways Yoongi used to tell you he loved you. When was the last time? Just minutes ago. There’s seven seconds until the new year and Yoongi is right beside you.

Fireworks explode outside. You cry this year, too, but they’re happy tears. They’re tears that serve as proof you survived, that you went through hell and made it to the other side. Yoongi sheds a few of his own. Laughs, almost disbelieving, as he tells you he loves you. Smiles, certainly disbelieving, when you repeat it.

You’re going to miss this place when you leave, but there’s a ring on your finger and a man beside you that tells you home can be anywhere, be anything. Tells you that sometimes you’ll have to fight for it, but it’ll always be there so long as you choose to.)

if you've made it this far, i'd like to say thank you again for reading this. as i said, this fic is deeply personal to me, and i hope you find something relatable in it as well.

i know people don't always love to read the members in westernized settings, and i completely understand. i chose oakhurst/yosemite because it's where i went for my own honeymoon, and, well, personal.

i'd love to hear your thoughts! feedback and reblogs are always appreciated. ♡

[tired-teacher-blog]

Hi Teach!

I feel greedy to ask again so soon, but could I perhaps request a NSFW tale involving Shinsou x reader? I have no specifics other than the character, thought it might be fun to see what your lovely mind cooks up for the mini Aizawa in the making? 😁

Much love! ❤️

Hi sweetie! First of all I want to apologize for taking too long 😭 Also, you have no idea how grateful I am that you decided to send me another request! I had so much fun with it so I hope you like it. *Kisses*

Title : Misunderstanding

Characters : Shinsou/ Fem reader

Genre : NSFW/ +18/ Fluff/ Angst

Summary : Shinsou's cool and laid-back personality becomes the reason for a huge argument between you two. You try your hardest to get him riled up and you succeed, but what happens when the tables turn and you regret your doings?

Please do not read if you're a minor

Masterlist

_ "Is this okay?" You beamed, twirling around to show off your cute little dress.

_ "I like it, looks so good on you love." Hitoshi commented kissing your temple and flashing a tired smile.

Was that it? Was he not questioning your ridiculously revealing outfit?

Truthfully, you've only bought that dress as a way to make him jealous. Yes! Jealous. It's probably stupid of you to go as far as to spend a fortune on something you're not even planning on wearing. But there you were, 100 thousand yen short and a failed mission.

_ "I thought I should wear it tonight for Mina's party, so what do you think?" You pushed a bit more, hoping he would object.

_ "Yeah sure." He shrugged plopping down on the couch and flipping through the TV channels.

You wanted to punch him at that point, why was he unbothered? This was the complete opposite of what you hoped.

You and Hitoshi have been together for years, ever since you two were students in UA.

He's your coworker, your best friend, and the love of your life, and you are the happiest when you're with him. If only..

If only he would get a little possessive every once in a while.. if only he would get jealous when someone hits on you.. if only he would get mad when one of your coworkers is a little too friendly with you.

And it's not that he doesn't love or care enough about you -he does- but it's just not in his nature to be controlling or clingy.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.

_ "Wow! Y/n look at you! You're gorgeous."

_ "Really sexy! You should wear things like this more often."

_ "Amazing dress! It must've cost a lot."

_ "You look amazing! Come on let's take a picture together."

_ "Hi beautiful, come join us."

The compliments kept coming your way from girls and guys alike, and you had to power through them offering forced smiles each time someone approached you.

You enjoyed none of it, the only person whose opinion mattered was the one who didn't really care.

To be honest, you hated the dress. It was too uncomfortable, too revealing, and too fucking expensive. You just wanted to be home so you could take it off and never put it on again.

You wanted to cry, and you were about to, when a strong arm pulled you away from everyone else and you found yourself in an empty secluded room.

_ "What.. Hitoshi, what are you doing?" You couldn't understand his behavior, his eyes were flaming with anger and his grip on your shoulders hurt you.

You reached out a hesitant hand seeking to smooth his clenched jaws.

_ "What's the problem Hitoshi?"

_ "You're the problem! Is this what you wanted? To have everyone ogling you?" His voice raised and it honestly scared you.

You've never seen him that way before and you were afraid someone might find out what was happening.

_ "Please keep it down Hitoshi don't make a scene." He remained silent, and you weren't sure if it was that he had come back to his senses or if he simply had nothing more to say.

You dragged him out gently before bidding everyone goodbye and heading home.

You exchanged no words the whole way back. You were nervous -extremely so- but why would you be? Honestly? Wasn't this what you wanted? To get him all riled up? There! Mission accomplished.

However, you weren't as satisfied as you thought you'd be. He was upset, and that's on you.

You kept thinking of ways to explain yourself to him, but everything you thought of made you seem like a bitch..

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.

_ "Hitoshi, listen to me, I'm.." You opened your mouth to apologize but were cut off mid sentence by his lips on yours. You barely managed to close the door and kick off your shoes when he jumped on your startled form and pinned you against the wall.

_ "I don't wanna hear it." His lips traveled down to latch on your neck while his hands roamed your body eagerly.

He wasn't rough or swift, but he was persistent, as if trying to prove a point.

_ "Please listen to me, Hitoshi, just wait a minute." You struggled to push him away: "I was miserable the whole evening!" You cried out and he finally halted his movements, taking a few steps back and looking intensely into your eyes as he awaited your explanation.

_ "To be honest I don't even like how I look right now! I hate this dress, I feel so exposed, and all the attention I got tonight was discomforting." You gritted your teeth in an attempt to force your tears back.

_ "Then why.." He sounded genuinely confused.

_ "Because of you! Because you're an idiot! Because you don't care enough! Because I wanted to make you jealous but ended up hurting us both instead, and for that I'm really sorry.." Your voice trailed off and your eyes burnt as the lump in your throat suffocated you.

Hitoshi was stiff and tense hearing your words, but fortunately not for long. He cautiously approached you again, cupping your cheeks and lifting your head up.

_ "We're both idiots I guess." He heaved a sigh before carrying on: "You thought I didn't care? Really? How can I be indifferent to the person I love the most?" He lowered his gaze as his voice softened: "But I guess this one is on me. I screwed up didn't I? I made you feel insecure and doubtful.." He looked up again, eyes apologetic as he spoke: "I love you and I trust you, that's why I've never questioned anything. But I ended up burdening you rather than giving you comfort."

You could see his jaws clenching while he searched his brain for what to say next, so you took his hands in yours and smiled: "It's okay Hitoshi, I know how you feel about me so don't force yourself and act in a way you're not comfortable with. This whole thing was just me being a brat, sorry."

_ "No honey, your feelings are valid.. so if you allow me I'll dispel your fears."

What was that supposed to mean? You had absolutely no idea.

You wanted to know, but was again cut off with a kiss, a gentle one.

You melted into it, and all thoughts had left your mind except for one: him.

His arms sneaked around your waist pulling you closer to his chest.

_ "I'll show you." He whispered to a still confused you.

You didn't care anymore, you gave in to him and allowed him to do as he pleased.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him again, biting his lip and feeling his smirk as you did.

_ ".. to.shi.." His name came out in a moan when he picked you up and walked straight to your bedroom, lips moving to your jaw and down to your neck.

He placed you gently on top of the sheets and circled around the bed, taking his sweet time removing his clothes.

You sat up watching him eagerly as you proceeded to rid yourself of your own garments.

_ "Oh no no no babe, don't take it off, I'll be tearing it to pieces myself." He licked his lips suggestively and you froze in place.

He climbed on the bed with you, spreading your legs at once and positioning himself between them. All you could do was admire the sight before your eyes.

He slipped his hands along your naked legs and moved them up slowly until he reached your butt. Your eyes were still on his naked body observing the way his muscles flexed with each tiny move he made.

He squeezed your ass cheeks and leaned down to kiss your lips. You laced your fingers through his hair and pulled gently as his mouth traveled down to your neck.

_ "Hitoshi.." You closed your eyes and let out an airy moan, enjoying the tingly feeling on your skin.

His hands moved under your little dress, grazing your sides until they reached your breasts. He squeezed the plumpy boobs, swirling his thumbs around your nipples until they went hard.

You cried out his name over and over again like a mantra, and you didn't even care how desperate you sounded.

_ "You're mine, all mine." He growled against your throat: "Everything about you belongs to me." He stopped for a moment to move back up: "Your eyes." He whispered, placing soft pecks on each of your lids: "Your nose." Another one on the sniffling tip: "Your cheeks." Two more on your flushed skin: "Your lips." He spoke against them before kissing you deeply.

You were lost in his touch, and all you wanted was for the moment to never end.

His hands finally left your breasts and you whimpered due to the loss of touch.

_ "Easy babe, I'm not done yet." He smirked, fingers running against your skin until he reached your panties.

He hooked his fingers through the hem of your lace underwear, bringing it down and leaving you exposed.

A gust of cold air brushed your pussy and you desperately tried to pull your ridiculously short dress down, but you failed.

_ "It is too short." His teasing voice spoke to no one in particular.

You squirmed and screamed when his head dived under your dress. It was strangely arousing, not seeing what he was about to do to you.

You bit the back of your hand and tilted your head back, anticipating his next move.

His lips grazed the sensitive skin of your inner thighs before his tongue licked a perfect stripe along your gushing pussy.

_ "Please.." You didn't even know what you were begging for exactly, but he wasn't going to let it slide.

_ "What is it honey? Tell me clearly." He spoke against your glistening clit and all you could do was bite down harder on your own hand.

He lifted his head up, smirking as he gazed at your trembling form, and without a warning whatsoever, he fisted the hem of your dress and ripped it apart in one move.

_ "Perfect." He stated almost inaudibly but you caught it.

His arms roamed your body greedily: "Can I tell you something? Tonight, when all of them were complimenting you, do you wanna know what I was thinking? I was thinking about activating my quirk on them and make them leave.. You belong to me, you're no one else's." He sounded desperate, as if waiting for you to reassure him.

His words might've seemed obsessive, but you knew what he meant.. because you know him.

You sat up, cradling his face and smiling brightly:

_ "Yes, I'm yours and you're mine. Your eyes are the only ones I want on me, your lips are the only ones I want kissing me, and your touch is the only one I want to feel."

His expressions softened and he gently pushed you back on the bedspread, his body flush against yours.

You wanted him inside you, and you weren't afraid to show it. You clawed his shoulders and arched your back until you felt his raging hard cock touching your pussy.

He took the hint and spread your legs further, running his tip along your fluttering clit a few times before pushing in slowly.

You whimpered biting his neck and begging him to start moving.

His pace was slow and steady. He was gentle with you, same as always.

_ "Hitoshi.. I love you.. I love you so much.." You cried out between deep thrusts.

He groaned, nuzzling your hair as his arms sneaked under your back and pulled you closer.

You felt secure, loved, complete. You wanted nothing more.

His pushes quickened, signaling his approaching orgasm.

_ "Ah fuck y/n!" His aroused voice brought you closer to your own blissful ending.

_ "Kiss.. Toshi.. p.. please." You barely managed to speak, you wanted his lips on yours at once, and so did he.

He kissed your cheek first, a sweet loving reassuring peck before locking your lips together.

His tongue sneaked into your mouth and played with your own while his thrusts became erratic as you tightened around him.

_ "I'm cumming! Hitoshi!" You broke the kiss, throwing your head back and scratching his arms when you finally reached your high.

_ "Me too babe.. ugh." He gave a few more pushes before pulling out and releasing on your tummy.

He collapsed on top of you, arms still around your body, as yours were around his neck.

_ "Hitoshi, I'm sorry, I was immature and unintentionally hurt you."

_ "No honey, you did nothing wrong. It's me, I was clueless and ended up troubling you." He kissed the top of your head before turning on his back and bringing you with him.

You smiled, resting your cheek on his chest and listening to his stabilizing heartbeat.

_ "Let's always tell each other if something is troubling us, please."

_ "That's a promise babe."

And you two meant it. As much as it hurt you, what happened earlier was something you'll always be grateful for.

@delirious-donna

[chaotictarlos]

I was giffing this scene for a set I'm working on and I just can't get over it. They're not even an official thing yet here but Carlos touches TK like they are. The way he has his hand on TK's bicep, thumb slowly moving over it with a soft, soothing touch. He runs his hand over his forehead, petting his hair back and touching him so gently and with so much love. I can't get over the soft way he touches TK, how you can see all of the love that this man has for TK and they're not even together. He's just so ready to love and make TK happy.

I know that we've been told that Carlos knew right from the beginning that he was going to marry TK, but I don't know, seeing it hits so hard. This man, this beautiful, wonderful man had so much love right from the beginning. He was bursting with it, just waiting for someone to come along and take the love that he was so willing to give. And then came TK, broken from a proposal to someone he thought he was his soulmate, an empty vase waiting to be filled with the love that Carlos had to give but he was so scared of accepting that love, of letting Carlos close because he's been down that path before and he isn't sure he can survive it again.

And then, then I was thinking about this part:

and how angry Carlos was sitting there because he couldn't touch TK without it feeling wrong because they're not together and he doesn't know if TK would welcome his touch. Before, when they were talking and doing the "are we or aren't we" he was more than willing to touch TK, to give him soft touches and comfort him even though TK couldn't feel him or wouldn't know because it was safe in a way it wouldn't be in Push.

And he's angry about it. He's angry that TK left him, of course he is, but he's also angry about not being able to touch him and give him the comfort that Carlos so desperately wants to give him.

“I’m so mad at you right now. And the worst part about this is, if this is goodbye, I can’t even hold your hand or run my fingers through your hair, or kiss your head.”

That line gets me every single time and deserves to be in this post because it's powerful.

Maybe I'm reading into it wrong, or just seeing what I want to see but I just find it really interesting. In season one (the first gif) they're in that limbo, they're not any official thing but Carlos sees no reason that he can't touch TK, to provide him soft comfort while he's in the hospital. But in season three, when they're broken up and not together, he can't because he doesn't know if his touch would be welcomed (even though we learn TK does welcome Carlos' touch, desperately so because of how he clings to him when he wakes up).

And like, I know the times are different one happens before they're dating and one happens after their dating but idk. I'm in my feels.

The character shift from season one to season three is incredible.

Once Carlos knows what it's like for TK to let him in, to let him love him, to let him feel his empty vase, he can't bring himself to cross that line of uncertainty. Of course, we know that TK welcomes Carlos' touch, desperately so by the way that he clings to him. But Carlos doesn't know that.

Sure, he didn't know how TK would react in season 1 to him being by his bed side and holding him. But now, now that Carlos has held TK and knows him and knows what it's like to to have TK, he can't bring himself to touch him.

Carlos has always has always had so much love for TK, right from the beginning and that's beautiful.

[jvngkook97]

hello, how are you? ☺

I would like to know if there's going to be a 2no part of one night only, and if that's the case, can i be in the taglist? Thank you🥰💜

Daydream

synopsis; in which you and Hoseok take a trip together — the mushroom kind.

pairing; jung hoseok x female!reader

genre; fluff, humor, smut, one night only au, music festival au, drabble

warnings; cursing, drug use (be responsible pls), existential mind trip, sex (also be responsible) though it’s moreso implied and not explicit, and cute moments in between that include hobi and self luuuurv <3

rating; 21+ MINORS DNI

w/c; 2,278

a/n; while this is not a direct sequel, it’s more of a ‘filler chapter’ that takes place the morning after of ONO where she’s still at the music festival but before she leaves and finds out she’s pregnant (spoiler alert oops). so, really it’s just another scene of how she possibly came to be pregnant. anyways, enjoy @jeonmarti!!

Read ONO Here -> 01

The Morning After

J-Hope: wakey wakey, sleeping beauty

If I’m sleeping beauty, why didn’t you kiss me awake?

J-Hope: because that’s creepy af

I wouldn’t have minded 😉

J-Hope: well, now that I have your consent…..maybe I’ll get lucky when your sexy ass COMES OUTSIDE cause we have food

Be right there!!!

You make your way out of the bus, stretching and yawning. It’s the final day of the festival and you can feel it hitting you.

“Morning.”

Hoseok pauses in his conversation with a girl you don’t recognize, but you don’t let it phase you, what with your brain still waking up. He waves the girl goodbye and she walks off, he turns to you as you walk up in front of him.

“Hey, y/n. You still half asleep?”

“Mhmm.” You just nod your head at him, one hand of yours coming up to attempt to rub the sleep out of your eyes more.

He pulls you into a hug and you can feel his chest vibrating from a low chuckle.

“Poor thing. You gonna make it through the day?”

Fully sinking into his warmth, you close your eyes and savor it. The cool morning of the desert hits your skin and causes you to shiver, it only causes his arms to tighten around you more.

“Shhhh. Y/N isn’t awake yet. Please leave a message after the tone.”

You do not make a tone. He waits. You’re silent.

He finally speaks up.

“So, where’s–,”

And so do you.

“BEEEEEEP!”

He snorts into your hair and rubs your back. He then kisses the top of your head and releases you. You hiss at the sudden loss of warmth you were relishing in, but with one more loud yawn it helps you shake off the last bit of exhaustion in your body.

You look around at the people who are with you, scattered around the campsite, and you actually recognize some of them. It’s the rest of Pomegranate Tits as well as several others you don’t recognize, but who are clearly friends with the band.

“Oh, hey! I saw your performance yesterday! Nice job!” They all take a moment to look at you and smile in thanks. The lead singer is the one to reply for the band.

“Thank you! You’re J-Hope’s festival fling, right? You enjoy the show?”

Deep inside, you cringe at being called his ‘festival fling’, but you know it’s the truth. Might as well own it.

“Yeah, it was great!”

Hoseok comes up from behind you, and once he gets close enough he lightly hip bumps you to get your attention. When you turn to look at him, he’s holding out a granola bar in one hand and an orange in his other. He’s smiling widely.

“Your breakfast, babe.”

You take both from him, smiling yourself.

“Thanks!”

He nods his head over towards the bus and you take the hint. Waving goodbye to the group, you follow Hoseok back towards the bus, nibbling on your granola bar.

In the very back, accessible from the outside only, appears to be a little mini greenhouse of sorts. You recognize the plants and fungi that Hoseok mentioned he worked with for….medicinal purposes. However, the dried mushrooms he pulls out of a cooler now are definitely not going to be used for that.

“OoOo what are we doing with those?”

He smirks at you and holds up the bag.

“Some of the guys wanted to skip the festival today and head out to the desert to do some of these. If you want, we could join them?”

His eyes are full of hope, but you know that if you say no, he wouldn’t judge you. Lucky for him, you’re the adventurous kind of gal.

“Let’s get trippy in the desert!”

A smile threatens to split his face with how wide it is at your answer. He offers you his hand, which you take, now having a free one since finishing off your granola bar, and he leads you into the back of a jeep that one of his friends owns. Soon enough, you’re all heading off into the desert, you munching on your orange in the meantime as you watch the scenery pass by you out of the car window.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

After about an hour of driving, you hop out into a picturesque desert scene.

Hoseok walks over to you with two cups of what looks like tea, and a picnic blanket is secured underneath one arm.

“Tommy and JJ are trip sitting. I figured you and I could head off on our own.”

“Sounds good. Cheers!”

You clink your paper cup with his and down the contents. The bitter taste of the ground fungus is masked by a generous helping of lemon. Still, you scowl as you swallow.

Hoseok downs it easily, and quickly, leaving more than enough time for him to poke a bit of fun at the current expression on your face.

“Hey, that’s a cute face!”

You blow a raspberry at him as soon as the contents are done slithering down your throat.

“I see you’ve done this before.”

“Me? Nooo. Never!”

You roll your eyes and then take his hand.

“Let’s find a good spot for us.”

You and Hoseok find a nice little patch of desert sand and a beautiful, blooming cactus.

“Hey.” His voice floats through your ears.

“Huh?” You snap out of your trance of staring at the cactus to look at him. He points to the cactus.

“Don’t touch that cactus when the trip sets in, no matter how enticing it may present itself to be.” When he talks, he has a serious demeanor, but his voice is laced with a lilt of humor in it. He doesn’t want to see you get hurt, but he would be lying if he said he wouldn’t think it was a little bit funny if you did end up touching it.

“What? That cactus?” You point at it yourself with a lazy finger, then put the same finger against your lips in fake thought. “Hmm.” You tap the same finger against your lips once, twice. “I won’t.”

Your answer seems full of sincerity, he thinks, until you wink at him.

You little shit. His face deadpans.

“Y/N. Please.”

He sets up the picnic blanket and you help him smooth it down before both of you settle yourselves on top of it, now sitting on the flat layer of earth. After several minutes, you begin to think that nothing will happen, but then – something does.

The wind moves past you, rubbing against you like a cat. It’s warm and gentle and makes you giggle. Your attention then gets brought back to the cactus.

The cactus is beautiful. Such a vibrant green. It’s needles appear to be swaying in the breeze, dancing. That’s not right. Is it…fuzzy? Is it….looking at you? You steel your resolve as best you can in your current state, shaking your head.

No. You can’t. You said you wouldn’t touch it, you told him you wouldn’t.

Sitting back down next to Hoseok, you watch the swirling colors of the world as they seem to embrace you. It’s as if Mother Nature herself is wrapping you in a loving hug.

No. Maybe it’s you with your arms wrapped around yourself. You love yourself, as you should, because you are you, you are human, and you are flawed. But you are not broken.

You are perfect.

This world, this universe loves you and among the billions of stars and the billions of planets and the billions of people on this one, you are the only you. You are inimitable. You are an original. You are wonderfully and beautifully unique.

In this moment of self love and realization, you look over at Hoseok. His eyes gaze into yours and seem to be peering right through you. His hair flutters around him in a halo.

He’s beautiful.

You can’t help but smile. Hoseok is a kind soul at the end of the day, and he is so warm and gentle. You wonder if Hoseok knows he’s loved, too. You would like him to. Everyone deserves to know.

You lean into him and he leans into you. You close a distance that felt too large to begin with and feel such a deep satisfaction as your lips meet.

Warmth spreads through you and around you. It feels like you are being wrapped in a blanket. Then you realize that he’s embracing you. It’s his warmth that you feel.

Your lips meet once again, but it feels different this time. It’s so pleasant, but hot. Like taking a steaming shower that leaves your skin red. You think you might get burned, but the ecstasy that it brings you will not go away.

As you touch him, you feel a pulling against you. It’s pulling you closer in and up and down…it’s like a tide and you let it take you where it wants. You feel like as long as you are here with Hoseok, you won’t get lost.

When you cling to him tighter, nails digging into cloth and skin alike, you realize that at some point your clothes have melted off. As you gaze at him you wonder what it would be like to just be a little closer. So, you pull yourself closer and touch his bare skin in its entirety. As you do, it feels like you are melting into him and thus becoming one.

He must understand exactly what you want as he positions himself on top of you, entering you gently. Connected, you lose yourself. You feel pleasure everywhere, both inside and out. You no longer know where you end and where Hoseok begins. It is as if you are one being experiencing the most intense joy.

You love yourself, and you love him.

You close your eyes for a moment, or what feels like a moment. But when you open your eyes again, it’s night. The stars are every bit as vivid and bright as the breeze caresses your skin. The moon shines down on you both with a pale glow. You feel groggy and find Hoseok holding you in his arms, just rubbing your back soothingly in lazy circles.

“How are you feeling?” His voice is laced with a hint of sleep, but for the most part it seems like he’s been awake for quite awhile.

You clear your throat before you speak, it feels dry.

“A little thirsty, but–”

Your eyes take in every inch of his face as you softly say your next words, it coming out almost breathlessly.

“–really happy. I don’t know why, I just feel…elated.”

A hint of a smile dances across his lips.

“I know exactly what you mean. I’m glad I got to share this experience with you.”

He helps you to your feet and the two of you head back to the car to depart for the night, fixing your clothes and gathering your supplies in the process. When you arrive to the car, your trip sitter hands you both a bottle of water that you both chug down, gratefully. Then, you all pile back in and head back to the camp.

*+*+*+*+*+*+*+*

In front of his bus, the bright headlight beams illuminate your figures in the background. The hum of the bus’s engine serves as the only noise to fill the silence between you. You hold your car keys in hand.

“So, are you heading out of town?” You ask, though you already know the answer. Still, a sliver of you hopes he’s willing to stay with you longer. But that quickly gets crushed into sand, just like the sand that tickles your ankles as it gets carried by the night desert wind.

“Yeah.” He trails off, scratching the back of his neck. He tries his best to keep his eyes on yours, but underneath your intense gaze, they quickly get directed to everywhere but you. “I’m chasing music festivals. Gotta get across the country for the next one pretty much. But–,”

This time, he finds the courage to keep your gaze, his hand falling to his side as he nervously fidgets with one of his belt loops. A soft smile appears.

“–I’m glad to have met you at this one, y/n.”

You smile back, with warmth, reply sincere.

“Same here.”

Stepping closer, you lean up to press one final kiss to his already puckered lips. Both of your eyes close to savor this last moment. When you open your eyes again, preparing to step back, his hands find the small of your back to pull you in again for another round.

This kiss is full of passion, it’s full of warmth, but at the same time somehow more gentle than the last had been.

A bittersweet goodbye kiss.

Without another word, you successfully pull away from him and try to lighten the sullen mood with a playful wink. And with that, you turn and wave at him as you begin your trek to the parking lot, his own hand comes up in a silent wave, but stays still.

Making it back to your car, you start the engine and buckle up. Turning on the radio and rolling the windows down as you pull out of the parking lot and onto a dark, desert highway, the cool wind in your hair, you let out a sigh of content.

Carrying only the memories of an amazing weekend, you flip the rear view mirror up, refusing to look back.

If only you knew then, what you know now.

Maybe,

just maybe,

you would’ve turned right back around and gotten him to stay.

[shipsandlattes]

So I know everyone has already dissected this scene to its core, but it’s taken me a good 48 hours to digest this and I just needed to get it out.

I’m an aspiring actor, I’ve been training for a long time, with a lot of amazing teachers. I’ve watched a lot of shows and shipped a lot of couples. Some of them beautiful and canon, others, well, let’s just say waiting 22 years and counting for acknowledgement, closure, anything, it’s a damn challenge. I’ve seen a hell of a lot of will-they-wont-they’s, baiting, purposeful ignorance, deliberate fake outs, zero explanations, storylines that basically caused canon disintegration, the works.

In saying that, Dean and Cas were right up there on the list with the other “impossibles” because honestly, I didn’t think the writers would have the guts to do it, but I am so f*cking proud they did. It’s safe to say I’ve watched the scene a good hundred+ times already. 

I’ve seen a lot of “controversy” around Dean’s reaction/Jensen’s acting choices and whether or not Dean reciprocates Cas’ feelings, and obviously, I needed to add my own views to the mix.

Just work with me for a minute here.

Dean Winchester is an emotionally repressed trainwreck, and ironically enough, the one that is so full of emotion it hurts to watch. When Cas first starts his speech, he’s confused, really confused because why on earth would Cas start off on a rant now? Billie’s waiting to kill them, he just said he knew something that was more powerful than she was, something that could save them. That’s where he thought this speech was going.

The confusion turns to realisation that it’s a goodbye when Cas starts telling him how incredible he is, how his entire essence is love. Go back and watch the scene again, when Cas says “you’re the most caring man on Earth”, you physically see Dean look down, his eyes searching, he’s actively trying to make sense of what’s happening, he knows what’s coming and you can see him coming to terms with the shock of the words being said to him. He then looks directly at Cas. That look, that was pure shock.

Also, notice how he doesn’t stop Cas from talking? He doesn’t interject, make a joke, doesn’t talk about how there is no time for this now, they’ve got to at least try and stop Billie. He. says. nothing. He listens, he listens like I’ve never seen Dean listen before. Because it’s sinking in now.

When Cas really starts crying, when he says “you changed me, Dean”, you can actually see the pain in Dean’s eyes. He’s no longer in control of his emotions, he’s crying too. He’s never seen Cas like this, so raw, and vulnerable and human. This is the hardest, most emotional conversation they’ve both ever had. They are talking about the one thing that everybody knows, but is never addressed. When it wasn’t talked about, they could deny it, live in the lie. Once it’s said aloud, it’s real and they can’t turn back.

This above series of interactions is the part that kills me the most. The moment Cas says “because it is”, that’s the exact moment of realisation. Look at that last GIF, really look. He’s just worked it out, that he is Cas’ true happiness. He knows what’s coming before Cas even says it. Go back and watch the scene again, they pulled that off so well, the way the music swells at this exact moment. Jensen is giving us everything here, you can see what’s happening in his head - he is Cas’ happiness. He is the one thing on Earth Cas wants and thinks he can’t have. He is the reason Cas is about to die. He knows what Cas is about to say and he’s not sure he’s ready to hear it, not now, not like this. It’s almost a silent plea not to say it, because he knows. Of course he knows. It’s like he can’t quite believe Cas is really, after all this time, finally going to say it.

And because obviously Jensen decided that that wasn’t enough to break us, the loaded reaction when Cas says “I love you” has me nothing but convinced that it’s reciprocated. Because Dean knows. He’s always known. Those tears, that head tilt, that gulp. He’s so genuinely confused that they’re really having this conversation. It’s like he can’t quite believe that this is the reality before him because he’s been living in that denial, in that self-loathing and unlovable layer he believes to be true. He’s been under the ‘what if... but it could never be’ umbrella for so long. 

What also makes this real is that there isn’t anyone else around this time. When “I love you’s” have been said before, they have always been able to deflect it, with other people or other words. Now it’s just the two of them. No deflecting, no running away. Dean is forced to hear it, to absorb it, to realise it’s for nobody else but him.

Now, I don’t know if you guys felt this, but when Dean says “Don’t do this, Cas”, he wasn’t just referring to Cas sacrificing himself to the Empty, he’s telling Cas that he can’t just say this, not now, knowing he’s going to die, knowing that Dean won’t get a chance to think, to process, to say what he needs too. I keep staring at that GIF above, Dean is breaking down, I’m almost convinced that Jensen was using an “I love you too, please just stop this” inner monologue for this bit. Look at the way he’s looking at Cas before he realises the Empty has started materialising and turns around. That’s a look of pure heartbreak. Trust me when I tell you, it’s really hard to keep those inner thoughts inside if you’re so in the moment - actually, don’t just take my word for it, read any acting book, ask any actor, it’s so hard to keep that in and sometimes you don’t, and sometimes you do - it’s in both the resistance and the letting go that the gold happens. This my friends, is gold. 

Did anyone else hear “Cas, I-”, well, regardless of whether or not it was an “I” or a very sharp breath, the outcome is the same. Dean’s gone into immediate panic mode. The Empty at one end and Billie at the other, and all poor Dean wants to do is gather his thoughts on not what to say but how to say it. I don’t think he comprehended just how little time he had, he was so focused on what was being said that the reality of the situation caught him completely off guard.

Also, I know this post was about dissecting Dean’s reaction, but can we sidebar a minute to talk about Cas as he pushes Dean out of the way? He’s sobbing, he’s fully crying. That hit me really hard, I’ve never seen Cas cry like that, I’ve never seen Misha get to play that level of emotion before and it was the most heartbreaking thing to watch since The Doctor and Rose and Buffy and Spike, to which by the way, I find many parallels between those couples and this scene.

Speaking of crying, that brings me to this: Dean slumped on the floor, ignoring a call from Sam, sobbing his heart out knowing he’s lost everything. Dean-I’m-emotionally-unavailable-Winchester is sobbing. Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t recall ever seeing Dean cry like this before either, the sobbing was so evident and piercing in that silence. The look around the room, the burying of his head in his hands, that is a classic writers romantic love trope if I’ve ever seen it, they really pulled out all the stops with this one.

So, to summarise, I think Jensen’s choices and Dean’s reactions were absolutely and utterly perfect. They both did it so well that it didn’t break from character that these two emotionally distant and repressed men are in love and finally voicing it. Jensen barely said two words and still managed to cause mass coronary’s across the fandom. That my friends is what you call a brilliant actor. I bow down to the talents of these two amazing human beings.

Before I leave this novel, I have to say there are now a few things I’m going to need from the powers that be to not screw this up, help me manifest this:

1. Dean gets to reciprocate his feelings to Cas in person. So, I’m gonna need Cas back and a very emotional Dean.

2. Dean to be actively dealing with heartbreak in the next episode (unless they decided to bring Cas back that soon, which I wouldn’t put past them at this point).

3. Sam to confront Dean about his feelings for Cas, because out of everyone, he’d be the one to hit Dean with the truth of his fears. Sam knows. Sam is supportive. Sam sees it all.

4. I’m gonna need some physical affection, cause after 12 years of nonsense, we damn well deserve it. A hug, and not just any old reunion hug, a proper, this is different now hug. A kiss because hello, in love out loud now. Forehead touching, handholding, really gonna need the works here.

5. A happy ending for the two of them, one way or another. We’ve never had one, it’s time.

Okay, have at it now, let’s speak these into existence please.

Note: GIFs are not mine, I did not make them, credit to owners who I’m not sure of, but they’re beautiful, thanks for making them. EDIT: I’ve just been informed that these gorgeous gifs belong to @michaeldean​ and @inacatastrophicmind​! 

[red-writes]

soft yan! shinsou x chubby! reader

summary: you keep receiving these letters in your mailbox from an unknown person, somehow you find yourself slowly falling for the creepy admirer until one day they decide to reveal themselves to you in the worst way possible—by looming over you while you sleep.

warnings: yandere behavior, insecurities, light smut.

Boo’s note: hi okay, this is dedicated to the annie that asked me for a shinsou fic, tbh I didn’t really know what to make it about bc u didn’t specify but here I hope you like it *^* uhh it’s also unedited im sorrrrry

Everyday at 7:00 am, the mailman drops off mail. Everyday at 7:10 am you’re rushing downstairs after stuffing half a bagel in your mouth to retrieve the stack of envelopes from the mailbox. The letters started appearing a month ago, pretty purple envelopes sealed with a cat sticker were amongst your mail everyday. You picked out the purple one and dropped the other unimportant, plain white envelopes on the coffee table. You took a seat on the couch and hurriedly opened it up.

My dearest love,

Last night I had a dream about you. You’re perfect face was smiling at me, you called my name and even held your hand out to me. You were so perfect I woke up crying. The more time that passes, the more I find myself falling deeper and deeper in the never-ending ocean that is you. So deep, so warm, comforting and gentle. Do you think that maybe one day, we could be happy together? That we could live a life together somewhere peaceful where you have me and I have you and that’s it. To me, that sounds like heaven, a world where the only person I only ever see is you. You’re my everything, my reason to live, to breathe and to continue living in this grueling world. I hope the rest of your day is good, I hope you enjoy yourself at the party.

xoxo,

shin.

After reading you couldn’t help the hard pounding of your heart, it was unusual yes, but you found his fondness for you quite endearing. You clutched the letter and held it to your chest. While it was strikingly odd that he knew about tonight’s party, you didn’t mind. Up until now shin had been harmless, never saying or doing anything too weird or creepy, nothing to warrant you to visit the local police station. You refolded the letter and tucked it back inside of the envelope. Instead of mulling over small details, you needed to find something to put on tonight!

+

The party was in full swing by the time you arrived. It was a charity event for the company you worked for, everyone from the hero deku to chargebolt was in attendance. Big parties like this were not your scene but you had to go, your boss invited you personally and you didn’t want to let him down. You took a drink off of one of the tables and made your way to a less crowded corner of the room. You took rare sips of your champagne as you sighed. This place was definitely not your scene.

“You look fabulous tonight” you hear from beside you, you’re quick to turn your head and your eyes lay upon none other than the mind-jacking hero, Shinsou!

You’re quick to bow, “ah! Mr.shinsou, sir, it’s an honor to meet you” you greet and he’s chuckling softly.

“Hey now, don’t worry about being too formal with me” he says, voice gentle as he rests a hand on your shoulder. Your face is burning, he told you that you looked nice! The number five hero just complimented you!

“Thank-thank you” you say and quickly take another sip of your drink to try and calm your nerves, “you look nice as well”

He gives you a genuine smile, “you’re so sweet”

You can hardly breathe right now, Shinsou first told you that you looked nice and now he was calling you sweet? Was this your lucky day or something?

“Well Shinsou I-”

“Oh! Hitoshi, I’ve been looking for you man!”

Chargebolt walked over to where the two of you were standing and wrapped his arm around Shinsou’s neck. He began pulling him away, going on about how ground zero almost slapped one of the patrons. Shinsou turned to wave goodbye to you and you did the same. Once he was out of sight you released a breathe you hadn’t know you’d been holding in. Tonight felt like a dream, you really didn’t want to wake up from it.

“y/n! There you are, I need to you take pictures of me and some of our guests!” Your boss yells and you’re sighing, downing the rest of your drink before you rest it on a neighboring table.

“Coming sir!”

well maybe you were ready to wake up from it now.

+

The next day at the same time you retrieved your mail, you’d shuffled through it several times and yet you hadn’t found that signature purple envelope. The day after that and even the day after that one there was no letter for you in the mail. It stung. Maybe they’d lost interest in you? Maybe they decided that you weren’t good enough after all?

The sixth day after receiving no letter you’d decided to give up, it wasn’t like you knew this was going to happen. You threw yourself onto your bed as soon as you got out the shower. You’d been doing poorly at work lately, your mind too busy focusing on those purple envelopes rather than the stack of paper work in front of you. You pulled the sheets up to your chin and shut your eyes, praying that you wouldn’t dream of that person or their kind words.

There was an odd sensation you got, it felt like cold air was hitting your body. Were you still dreaming? You didn’t leave your window open. Your eyes fluttered open, your vision still slightly blurry as you came to. Your sat up and rubbed your eyes. From the corner of your eye you saw a figure standing there. Fear that laid dormant until now began to unfurl itself in your gut, you slowly turned your head to face it and there he was.

“M-mr.Shinsou?!” You whisper yelled, he gave you a soft smile and held his hands up in front of him.

“You caught me” he says and begins walking towards you, you’re scurrying away from him on the bed.

“Why- why are you here?!” you hold the sheet up in front of you like a shield.

“I felt guilty about not sending letters for so long..I made you sad and I couldn’t forgive myself for that so I came to make it up to you” he explains and your still sleep filled mind was struggling trying to comprehend his words.

“Letters..you’re the one who has been sending me all of those letters?” You ask and he nods, he takes a seat on the edge of your bed and that familiar pounding of your heart is back. It was him, the person you’d been longing for, for so long now.

“Mhm, everything I said in those letters were true as well, how beautiful I think you are, how addicting your personality is, how absolutely sinful I think your body is..” he whispers and you feel air caught in your throat. Shinsou inches closer and closer to you and in a flash of purple he pins you underneath him.

“Mr.Shinsou..-”

“Hitoshi, call me Hitoshi” he corrects.

His head slowly lowers until his face is millimeters from yours, his breath is hot against your lips and you can’t help but shut your eyes, you’d been wanting this- wanting him for such a long time now. Shinsou’s lips press gently against yours and you find yourself kissing back, your lips move in a glorious synchronous. The kiss was one of passion and hunger; proof that the two of you had been longing for the other. You pulled away from him, lungs grateful for the ability to breathe again.

“Hitoshi..” you whisper and Shinsou sucks in a breath before his hands move downwards to pull at the hem of your night gown.

“Can I?” He asks and you find yourself nodding. The number five hero, the man who has been stalking you, sending you letters that if you were anyone else would find creepy, the man you’d fallen for…

You raised your arms in the air as he slowly began lifting the sheer cloth off of you revealing your nude body to him. Your cheeks burned in embarrassment, your arms folded to cover your exposed chest.

“Y-you might be disillusioned after seeing me completely naked..if you regret choosing me to give your heart to, I don’t blame you” you shyly confess and Shinsou’s eyes widen.

“I could never, I've merely dreamt about this day every night for months on end...you are the most beautiful person I've had the pleasure of laying eyes upon.” He says, his hands gently pry your arms away from your body and you can feel hot tears well up in your eyes as he lays you back against the soft blankets.

His lips are soft as they press themselves against every bit of exposed skin, his kisses don't shy away from stretch marks or any of your other insecurities. A warm, heated feeling that blossoms in your chest. 

Love? Desire? Serendipity?

It felt like all three combined into one big ball of sentiment. 

His hands gently massaged your breasts evoking soft mewls of his name from you. His hands slivered downwards to grope the flesh of your stomach.

“Soft beautiful...” he mumbles, his hands move even further downwards and cup the warmth between your legs. The feeling of his hand directly against you has your legs spreading, giving yourself completely to him. His fingers gently rub circles at your clit, your hips stutter up into his touch, moans and whimpers tumble out of your mouth dumbly. The situation you've been so eager for, for so long was finally upon you.

Your back arches off the mattress as he slides a slim finger inside of you, the sensation feels much fuller than your own fingers do. You beg him to go faster, add more and make you feel better than you have ever before and he's shushing your lust filled ramblings with a kiss. 

“I need to savor this moment, I won’t get many more like this” he expresses and your concern is evident on your face but he doesn't allow you to ponder on his words. He adds in another finger and curls them upwards, pressing them against the spongy sweet spot, his head ducks down and his lips wrap firmly around your clit and suck on the aching bud. Your eyes roll back into your head and your body shakes, unable to handle to the newfound euphoria.

“Ah- shinsou! I’ll- cumming!” your cunt spasms around his fingers as your orgasm hits you, you grip onto the sheets around you as your thighs shake.

“You look so pretty like this, so so pretty” he compliments, before you know it your eyes are involuntarily fluttering shut. You're scared, panic fills you at the thought of him not being here when you wake up, you don't want this to be another fever dream. 

+

When you awake the next morning you feel heavy. Your body slumped with the exhaustion of the previous nights activities. You're eyes widen as your hand feels around the bed, your fingers bump into the heat of another body and there is. The yellow halo from the sun is cast over his head as his chest rises and falls.

You scoot in close enough so that your noses are just barely touching. His eyes begin creaking open and purple gems meet your own.

“Good morning”

“Morning..”

Questions about what he meant last night could wait…you wanted spend your time right now loving him.

[burnwithtears]

I WATCHED IT! And I remember vivid how you were one of the only rinas with hope after the mess of 2x12 WE DID IT! At first I had mixed feelings to be 100% honest but after read the interviews I feel at peace. How do you feel?

oooh tell me more about the mixed feelings!!!

overall, it's my second favorite episode of the season (3x5 forever number 1 in my heart), but the kiss scene is definitely my favorite scene of the whole show. it was just so damn beautiful. Gina's speech? Ricky's expression? boy couldn't believe his luck. the damn ORCHESTRA that begun to play like a breathe of fresh air because finally, FINALLY they're on the same page?? that was their fireworks exploding for the 10th time this season.

Rina this season was just IT. there's no denying their chemistry, their feelings, how WELL they work together. and, given the interviews, they're here to stay. their troyella era is coming!!!!!!

i would make a few changes in the episode, though. Emmy's solo was beautiful, and she's definitely coming back to season 4, but i would totally give "This is me" to Kourt before the play, maybe make her conversation with Alex happen a bit earlier, given that we've been following Kourt's storyline for longer, and she deserves all the solos.

i also wanted to see Kourt and Gina singing together as Elsa and Anna! just a small bit, could be like 30 seconds of "For the first time in forever (reprise)", idk. i understand Gina's solos happened before the finale because her storyline this season parallels Anna's, but ughhhhhh i wanted a hour-long episode jsjdkskdks

ALSO, a tiny bit of "Fixer upper", after Ricky almost punched Channing (as he should), right before "Kristoff's Lullaby". And after "Kristoff's Lullaby" i wanted to see Olaf's dialogue of "love is putting someone else's needs above your own", because we KNOW this whole section of the play was the moment it hit for Gina that she never got over Ricky, and that he's been there the whole time for her because he feels the same. don't get me wrong, i LOVED how it happened during Kristoff's Lullaby, but we can always wish for more, no? 🥹 (I'll have to write a fanfic about it)

and that's literally it??? i have no other additions. OH, NO, i would also bring Seb back, what the hell, the dance was the previous night hahahahah

i cried my eyes out during Nini's last scenes. it was such a beautiful goodbye, even though she only saw Kourt and Miss Jenn, feels like a full circle (a callback to 1x5, even, with "Born to be brave" playing in the background). her closure with Ricky, helping him finish his bucket list, and now they can grow up in separate ways as good friends. (although I'm sus... how did she know this was the last remaining item? and Gina's face watching him? chocolate truthers are you with me? okay now I'm being delusional perhaps. OR NOT.)

also: the queerness this season. absolutely GOLD. Carlos, Seb, Maddox and Madison are very clear, and then we have Ash, Big Red and Ricky (yes, RICKY, don't fight me on this). How delicately they dealt with Ash's coming out, without relying on the "cheating" plot twist, so associated with bisexuality. she's dating someone, but she also has a crush on other people, and that's okay. she's not acting on it. she's just feeling it, and she still loves her boyfriend. her face when she said "I'll call big red" was just so !"?'!!$!'!"!$ like she's so happy they're on the same boat.

Big Red coming out publicly almost like an afterthought, almost like he thought all his friends and girlfriend already knew it!!!! this was so personal to me!!!!! and then we have a bi-coded Ricky, with actions and words that tell the audience what we need to know without having to spell out "I'm bi".

not everyone is gonna have a big coming out moment. a bi person doesn't need to date someone of the same sex to validate their queerness. of course, do we want that? hell yes, i am totally on board for Ash x Maddox, for example. but this season, I'm so glad they were able to explore the characters' sexuality and still keep their romance intact, no cheating, no heartbreak, just happiness to discover something about themselves that's shared with the other. save the drama for the next season!!!

also, even though his stans are whining about it, i LOVED EJs plot this season. he finally got a compelling storyline. and yeah, it was painful to see him in pain, but also it was something so personal to me, because i relate to him A LOT. perfectionist, doesn't want to burden anyone, snaps at people when overwhelmed, would totally deny help if someone offers, and it's incapable of asking for it because feels like he has to deal with everything alone? yup. YUP. that's the syndrome of the "perfect child" right there. i might elaborate this later, though. it's long. (ps: i can't wait to see what the success of this documentary will do to him. hopefully make him richer than daddy.)

OOF THAT WAS LONG, SORRY ANON. i hope you loved this episode and season as much as I did. and the hope we've been harboring for Rina since 2019??? it paid off. now it's our moment!!!!!!! WE SHALL THRIVE.

[babymetaldoll]

I just want you (Chip Taylor / Reader)

Requested: Yes

Word counting: 3.5K

Summary: What would it be like to be married to Chip Taylor? Would it include a lot of women trying to hit on him?

Warnings: Cursing, spoilers of 68 Kill.

A/N: Hello, beautiful people! sorry, I've been a little absent here, but writing my series has taken most of my time! Also, I feel a little blocked, and my personal life has been a mess. But, here it is: my first Chip Taylor fic. Have you guys seen 68 Kill? I love that movie, and I love Chip so much. He deserves the world. I hope you guys like this little story!

Masterlist

---

It wasn’t like I didn’t know my husband was handsome, ‘cos you had to be blind not to see his face was made by the gods, and all of his features were simply perfect. I just didn’t know every woman would flirt with him everywhere we were all the time.

And they weren’t even subtle about it. No. They made it very obvious when they looked at Chip each time they stopped by his work. They wanted him.

After all those years together, a part of me had made peace with that. I couldn’t stop them. He was hot, he didn’t want their attention, but he wasn’t rude or anything like it. Chip Taylor was a very polite man who was also very blind to the attention his looks gave him.

Chip owned a small pet sitting business that had started to really take off in the last few months. He had some savings that he used to buy a house when we first started dating. He lived there until we got married, and then we bought a bigger place outside the town. That’s when he decided to turn his old home into his own pet sitting business. And it was a hit. Chip is fantastic with animals. He is great with everybody, but pets just… melt with him. I think they can see the kindness of his soul.

Chip Taylor deserves the best things in life ‘cos he is the best man I’ve ever met. I’ve loved him since the day it took him almost half an hour to walk over and talk to me in the bar we met.

- “Every time a pretty face pops up, my brain turns into a potato- he explained, flustered ‘cos he kept stuttering as he asked for my number.

He was too sweet. Too cute. And he loved me. He had a ring that said so. But again, that didn’t stop most women who met him from flirting with him.

- “Here he is. Little Rascal had a great day today”- Chip walked to the front yard with a french bulldog, who kept barking, trying to get an extra treat from him. I smiled from a safe distance, reading a book sitting on a porch while Chip met with the dog owner. And she was as excited as Rascal was.

- “Hi baby! Did you have a good day today?”- the lady held the leash and caressed her dog’s head a few times before returning her attention fully to my husband.

- “Thank you for taking care of him.”

- “You are very welcome, Kim. It’s my job.”

- “No, it’s more than that. Rascal hates strangers, and he has been an angel with you since day one. I tell you, Chip, you are someone special.”

I know my husband blushed, ‘cos he is terrible with compliments. So he just shook his head and scratched the back of his neck. His shirt raised, showing his very toned midsection. And I swear, I had to force myself to stay put on that chair, ‘cos the way that woman looked at my husband was enough to make my blood boil. I wanted to run over and push her away from him. I wished I could tell her to get her dog and get the fuck out of our property.

But no. I didn’t. Instead, I tried to keep on reading, which was honestly impossible. But at least I didn’t move from my chair. I just stared at that scene, trying to control the urges of smashing that woman’s head against her car.

- “So, do you have plans for the weekend?”- the woman asked him, smiling flirtatiously

- “Not really.”- not the smartest answer, I’ll give you that.

- “Great! that means you can’t say no! I am having a small get-together at my place this Friday. You should totally come.”

- “Thank you, Kim, but...”

- “I’ll text you my address. I’m not taking no for an answer!”

Chip was awkward, he felt pushed to say he’d go, but I knew he didn’t want to. If he did, he wouldn’t have hesitated. Besides, he wouldn’t usually make plans without asking me first. A part of me wanted to run and help him out of that awkward situation, but I knew he had to do it on his own. Yes, he was a grown-up, but after knowing everything he had gone through before we met, a big part of me wanted to take care of him constantly. I didn’t want anything wrong ever to happen to Chip. He didn’t deserve anything bad.

- “Thanks, Kim, really, but… I think I should ask my wife first”- he whispered and smiled kindly at the woman, who didn’t hide the disappointment from her face. I have the feeling she never actually saw the ring on my husband’s finger.

- “Wife? I had no idea you were married, Chip”- he chuckled and nodded as the woman tried to act normal again. But she couldn’t.

- “Yes, I’ve been married for the last ten months.”

- “Just ten months? Well, she is a lucky woman…”

- “Thank you”- Chip petted Rascal’s head and added- “But I am sure I am the lucky one to have her. I still can’t believe she actually married me.”

- “Come on, Chip! Any woman would be happy with a man like you.”

And that was when that woman crossed the line and rubbed my husband’s arm for longer than necessary. He froze and looked at her, not knowing how to get out of that situation. Chip is a sweet soul who still has some significant issues when it comes to setting boundaries.

I jumped from my chair and walked over quickly, with a big smile on my face. The woman turned to me and raised an eyebrow, clearly not knowing who I was.

- “Hello, sorry to interrupt you, boo, but it’s getting late for our date.”

We didn’t have a date that night. But well, now we did.

Chip frowned, confused, and waited for me to explain a little more what I was saying. But, instead, I just smiled and held his hand, making sure that the woman’s hand was as far from him as possible.

- “Hi, nice to meet you. I’m (Y/N), Chip’s wife.”- I said and waved.

- “Kimberly, nice to meet you.”

- “So you are Rascal’s mom. He is a sweetheart”- I kneeled and petted Rascal’s head behind his ears, right where I knew he liked it. Kim just nodded and smiled.

- “Ok, we should go, it’s getting late. Bye Chip”- she waved quickly, walking to her car. My husband said goodbye and wrapped an arm around my waist as I stood by his side and rested my head on his shoulder.

- “We are not going to her “little get-together,” by the way”- I whispered, and he chuckled.

- “Good, ’cause I didn’t want to go either. I actually had plans for the weekend, but I didn’t want to discuss them with her.”- I looked at him, raising an eyebrow, and felt his big hands caressing the lower part of my back.

- “Which plans?”

- “I’m planning to stay in bed with my wife the whole weekend, watch movies, kiss her a lot, and maybe asking for pizza.”

- “You had me at ˝stay in bed,” Chip Taylor”- I giggled and kissed his cheek- “She was flirting with you, by the way.”

- “I don’t care if she tried to flirt. I only have eyes for you, moonbeam”- I chuckled at the cheesy nickname and felt his lips on mine. They felt warm and soft and filled with love.

But it wasn’t always so easy to shake off the thoughts of a woman flirting with Chip. Unfortunately, sometimes it was harder to remain calm. Some women were more aggressive with their flirting. Some were actually way hotter than me, and sometimes that makes you doubt yourself.

I didn’t know Liza or Violet, so I never knew if they were prettier, more intelligent, or sexier than me. I couldn’t compare or compete with them either, ‘cos they were dead. But some random women made my life a little more challenging from time to time.

- “Chip? Chip Taylor?”- a soft woman’s voice interrupted our conversation and forced my husband to turn around, feeling now also her hand on his shoulder. We were at our favorite bar, having a drink, celebrating the end of the week and another successful month of Chip’s small business. We were chatting about our days, sitting at our usual table, when interrupted.

- “Anna Davis? Hi! How are you?! Long time no see!”- my husband stood up and hugged the stranger like long-lost friends reunited. I had never heard of any “Anna” before. I was trying to remember if I did.

- “I haven’t seen you in ages! What are you doing here?”- Anna said and laughed- “I can’t believe it’s really you!”- and so, they hugged again.

- “Hi”- I waved from the table and smiled at the two of them as they moved apart.

- “I’m so sorry, babe. (Y/N), this is Anna, my neighbor when I was in middle school. Anna, this is (Y/N), my wife.”

- “Hi, nice to meet you”- she shook my hand and smiled at me for a second, and then turned to my husband again and continued catching up.

Chip looked happy and excited to see her. He didn’t have many friends, he still didn’t know how to trust most people, probably why he decided to work with animals instead. He had a good relationship with Jim, the boy who helped him clean, and with a few classmates from the community college. But that was it.

- “I can’t believe you are here!”- Chip was beaming- “Are you with someone?”

- “My friends were leaving. I’m visiting one of my best friends, who moved here a few years ago. But she has to work tomorrow morning, so she wanted to go home.”

- “Do you wanna sit with us for a while?”- Chip asked her and turned to me smiling. Of course, I couldn’t say no. Well, he didn’t actually ask; he just looked at me, and I moved my chair to make room for one more on the table.

- “I would love to! Thank you!.”

I loved the idea of meeting Anna, at first. I didn’t know many people from my husband’s past, basically just his parents. The fact she was his friend growing up sounded amazing, and it meant I could finally talk with someone who knew him when he was a kid and could tell me more stories about my husband.

But Anna had other plans. My husband blinded Anna. She basically ignored me, and he was so excited to see her and talk to her, he didn’t even notice I was being left out of the whole conversation.

At first, it was ok. Chip wanted to catch up with Anna, know what she was doing with her life, and all that. So he asked for her parents and family. Apparently, they were pretty close growing up.

- “Remember each Friday we had a secret sleepover?”- she asked and laughed. My husband nodded and sipped his drink.

- “Yeah! I would sneak into your house and watch a movie.”

- “You know, my parents knew you were coming to hang out after curfew. They just didn’t think it was wrong”- she added and laughed- “I’m just glad they didn’t know about the day we tried smoking for the first time!”

Chip burst into laughter, and so did Anna. I just stared at them and sighed. Neither of them explained the story. They were just too caught up in each other to even notice I was there.

Yes, I was feeling jealous of Chip’s long-lost childhood friend. I knew it made no sense, but somehow, he completely forgot I existed when she was there. Yes, it was probably ‘cos he was surprised to bump into her at a bar on a random night after so many years.

But the more I looked at her, the more I realized she was gorgeous. She had long legs, beautiful golden hair, green eyes. The girl could go to a freaking beauty pageant and win it. Besides, Anna wasn’t acting friendly, if you ask me. She kept rubbing my husband’s arm, repeating how excited she was to see him, and saying over and over again how good he looked… it was a little too much.

- “I tell you, Chip, you haven’t changed a bit!”- Anna smiled and looked into his chocolate eyes, and I swear she nearly sighed. I couldn’t blame her. He is dreamy. But he is my husband, and it felt wrong.

- “Neither have you,”- he added and turned to me for a second. I looked kindly into his eyes, knowing he was happy, and that was enough to make me feel happy too.

- “Can I get you another drink, moonbeam?”- he asked me and stood up.

- “Yes, penguin, please”- Chip nodded and blushed as I called him by his favorite nickname and then turned to Anna.

- “Another?”

- “Sure!”

And suddenly, we were on our own.

- “So, how long have you been married?”- Anna asked me and looked at me innocently.

- “A little over ten months.”

- “Just married! Congratulations. You must still be living the honeymoon!”

- “Yes, we are.”- I giggled and turned to look at Chip, waiting for our drink at the bar. It wasn’t hard being stuck at the honeymoon phase with him. Every day, he made every day feel like the first day we were together, even after three years of dating and ten months married.

- “We used to date when we were kids,”- Anna simply said and chuckled - “It was very childish, but I was his first kiss.”

- “Really?”- I smiled at her, making my best not to look jealous at all. “That’s so cute!”

- “He is adorable. He was the sweetest boy growing up.”- Anna added and kept her eyes on Chip. But for a few seconds, I could see the longing in them, and my struggle not to show how jealous I was got a little harder.

- “So when was the last time you saw Chip?”- I asked and kept my eyes on her, reading her expressions. It took her a few extra seconds to stop staring at him to turn and look at me.

- “When I moved out of town when I was fifteen.”- she sighed and chuckled- “Seems it was a lifetime ago.”

- “Ok, here are your drinks,”- Chip appeared and smiled- “Plus, I ordered some more nachos, ‘cos I’m getting hungry.”- I chuckled and held his hand upon the table, playing with his fingers between mine. Chip looked at me and opened his mouth to say something when Anna interrupted him.

- “Remember that summer you broke your arm ‘cos you fell from the tree in Shawn’s backyard?”

And my husband laughed, forgetting what he was going to tell me.

I stood in front of the mirror and tried to fix my makeup. I looked tired. I was tired. It was Friday night, and I wasn’t twenty-three anymore. I was weary, and all I could think of was getting into my bed with my husband and getting good twelve-hour sleep.

But he and Anna were still talking and having a blast together, remembering the good old times. Now, if you ask me, I had the feeling Anna wanted to do more than just talking to my husband, but he was oblivious to any of her intentions. That was until I walked out of the bathroom and saw Anna’s arm wrapped around Chip as they were dancing.

She was dancing with my husband, and he was laughing. Ok, that hurt. It hurt a lot.

I sat at our table and drank what was left of my drink. I stared at them for a moment and evaluated my options. I could storm out of that place, maybe make a scene and yell. But no, I trusted my husband. I knew he wasn’t trying to hurt me or even cheat on me with her. No. He was naive and a little awkward. But by the way Anna’s hands moved on his body, clearly, she wasn’t naive at all.

- “Oh! I’m sorry!”- Anna said laughing when they reached back our table- “I just asked Chip to dance with me ‘cos I love that song.”

- “That’s ok”- I smiled at her and held my husband’s hand tight upon the table.

- “But Chip is such a great dancer! He really knows how to move!”- Anna was asking for it. She wanted to be smacked. But I behaved.

- “He really does,”- I answered and smiled

- “I hope you are not jealous!”- I turned to her and frowned, pretending to be confused

- “Of course not! Why would I?”

- “I don’t know! It’s just that… he was mine way before he was yours and…”

- “He isn’t mine”- I cut her off, and for once, my voice stopped being nice and friendly- “And he is definitely not yours. He is not a dog, Anna, he is a person, and the only owner of his soul is himself.”

Anna stared at me in silence, and Chip wide opened his eyes, surprised by my tone of voice.

- “What I’m trying to say is that… I met him when…”

- “I know what you are trying to imply Anna, you’ve been trying to do it ever since you sat at our table. You feel like you need to prove something, but you don’t. Really.”

Chip held my hand tight and kissed it sweetly. He didn’t say anything to me. He just looked at me with apologetic eyes as I cut him a short smile.

- “Ok, I think I better go now”- Anna stood up and just waved- “It was great seeing you again, Chip.”

My husband smiled and waved as Anna walked away. Then, when he was sure she had left the place, he turned to me. I sipped what was left of my drink and sighed.

- “Sorry if I was rude”- my words were a whisper only Chip could hear.

- “No, moonbeam. You weren’t rude at all. I’m sorry.”

- “Chip Taylor, you didn’t do anything wrong”- I leaned and kissed his lips softly, cupping his face with both hands.

- “I feel like I did.”

- “No, boo, really. She was… clearly trying to get under your belt.”

- “I shouldn’t have danced with her, but she pushed me...”- Chip excused himself and kissed my hand again, as I still held his face and caressed her cheeks with my thumbs.

- “Yeah, you should work on that “No” thing a little harder,”- I whispered and chuckled.

- “Sorry if she made you feel jealous. I had a huge crush on her when we were kids.”

- “She said she was your first kiss”- Chip opened my mouth, but no word came from it for a few seconds.

- “Funny, I told her that just ‘cos she said I was her first kiss, but actually my first kiss was with her cousin Alice.”

I couldn’t hold back the laughter as Chip looked at me with guilty eyes as if that was the biggest secret he had about his past.

- “Well, I bet if I run, I can still catch her!! I need to tell her the news!!”- I said and stood up, just to feel Chip’s arms around me, protectively.

- “Let her think that. We all know who all my kisses belong to now.”

Chip held me tight and close to him as his lips rubbed mine slowly. I felt my head spin as his tongue slowly touched mine, deepening the kiss. I couldn’t help but moan at the sensation of Chip’s sweet and passionate kiss. He made sure to make me feel how much he loved him every time he kissed me. In a weird way, Chip’s kisses always felt like our first and last. I think he was always trying to show me his feelings, ‘cos his previous trauma taught him he didn’t know when a kiss could be the last.

- “I love you so much, Mrs. Taylor,”- he whispered, and the title made my knees feel weak- “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

- “I love you more, Mr. Taylor,”- I replied and kissed his lips sweetly one more time- “And just between you and me, I am completely yours.”- I confessed and giggled nervously.

- “I am yours too, moonbeam. You own my heart, and I only want you.”- he whispered and kissed me one more time.

- “You just want me?”- I repeated, and he nodded, looking into my eyes filled with love- “Of all those women who wanna do you, you just want me?”

- “Which women?”- he asked me, clearly confused

- “A lot of women out there keep giving you the fuck eyes.”

- “What?! No way”

- “Do you think Kim invited you to her house for a small get-together? She wanted to get under your belt, penguin.”

- “But I am your penguin, that means I am not looking for any other woman. I just want you.”

- “Just me,”- I repeated again, and he nodded.

- “Just you, Mrs. Taylor”- I sighed, pleased, and closed my eyes for a second “Wanna go home?”

- “You still have to dance with me,”- I pouted, and he held my hand.

- “Whatever my wife wants.”

--

General Taglist

@spenxerslut @ash19871962 @babebenhardy @meowiemari @archer561 @all-tings-diego

[rayslittlekitten]

You Got This - Part 2

I recommend reading Part 1 first if you haven't.

Plot: After having a heart to heart, you and Jax re-live your youth.

Pairing: Jax Teller x F! Reader

Contains: a lot of fluff and fluffy sex, also a shit ton of Jax smoking porn, and you see his butt 🙃

A/N:  Thank you Anon for this request.  I hope you and the other readers enjoy this (if not more) than the first part. This took me longer than I expected to write this, but it's finally done.  I kept going back and forth on trying to decide what to include and what not to.  Also, had I known I was going to be writing a part two for this, the beginning of this would have been at the end of part one, but hindsight is 20/20. I actually did already write out most of the beginning but decided to leave it out of part one because I thought where I left it was a good place to end it. I also thought about eliminating it completely but I really like the interaction that happens with Gemma.  To me it's like a beauty shot. Is it necessary and does it move the story along at all? Not quite, but it looks good so let's just leave it in there anyways. Also to squeeze a little bit more angst out of Jax.

Also, I had a bit of trouble writing this as well because as strange as this sounds, I couldn't find the perfect song to pair with this.  Sometimes I need music to help me get into the mindset and mood.  I was going for like a nostalgic summer love kinda thing. I had actually thought to use a song form the mid-90s because to really make it feel nostalgic and Shanice's "Saving Forever For You" was the winner for that but I decided it was not right for this. Maybe their actual first time, yes.  Then it was a toss up between "Honey Whiskey" by Satica and "Take Me Away" by Sinead Harnett/EARTHGANG and the latter won given the situation. I'd recommend giving it a listen below (or any of the songs listed) to get the mood I was going for while writing the sex scene. I really thank you for reading my ramblings if you've gotten this far. I just want to give the readers the best experience to my stories and how it was intended when I wrote it.

A loud commotion outside interrupts the moment and you both realize you need to get dressed before someone finds the both of you.  He pulls out of you and you both quickly get yourselves together. You hop into the bathroom inside the bedroom to clean yourself up. When you walk out, you see Jax sitting on the bed smoking a cigarette with all his clothes and hair in place, like he had been sitting there this whole time and didn't move from his spot when you first walked in.  He glances over to you and you're reminded of how his handsome charming face is something you miss so much.

"I should probably go before someone starts looking for either of us." You walk out of the bathroom and towards the front door.  Jax grabs your hand and pulls you back to him.

"Hey." He stands up, cups your face and looks at you. "It's really good to see you again."

Suddenly you both hear the door knob rattling and then a knock following it.

"Jax, are you in there, honey?" You both hear Gemma on the other side of the door. 

You both separate and smooth yourselves out and Jax walks over to open the door. 

"Honey, what are you doing in here? Tara--" Gemma's facial expression shifts when she spots you. She looks at the both of you suspiciously. You both thought you were so slick when you were younger but if there was anyone who knew what you both were up to, it would be Gemma. Nothing slips past her. In fact, she’s always secretly hoped you two would get together. You were born into SAMCRO, making you MC royalty. The Princess of Charming.

"Oh, I didn't know you were in here too. I'm very sorry about Opie, sweetheart." 

"Thank you, Gemma." You walk closer to the door and Gemma pulls you in for a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"Where's your fiancé?" Gemma asks curiously.

"Fiancé?" Jax glances over at you.

"I came by myself this time," you answer. "We're kind of on a break." You wrinkle your nose.

"I'm sorry to hear that too. Must be one hell of a break." Gemma's knowing eyes are boring a hole into you. "Lyla tells me you're staying a while?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna help her out with the kids for a week or so until she can figure it out.  I know you and the club will be a big help, but with everything going on, I think her and the kids can use another familiar face."

"Family is important and I'm very happy to see you here." Gemma's eyes shift to Jax with the same knowing look she gave you. "Well, whenever you're ready, Tara's looking for you."

"Thanks, mom." Jax runs his hand over the top of his hair. Gemma glances at you both again once more before she walks away.

You start making your way out the door when Jax pulls you back in.

"You're engaged?" Jax asks with wide eyes.

"Was," you reply. 

"Was it to that pretentious English prick you brought back with you last time?" Jax snarls.

"Ray is a good guy and he treats me really well. We're just going through a bit of a rough patch right now," you tell him. "Also, the last I heard, you're married with two children, Teller."

Jax just looks at you, knowing he has no right to be upset about you being with another man.

"And I believe your wife is looking for you," you say before walking away from him as you see your nephews and niece running up to you. "Hey guys!"

Jax takes a drag of his cigarette while he continues watching you as you kneel down to greet the kids.

A few days later...

The sun is beginning to set and Jax is at the clubhouse. Most of the people have already left. He needs some quiet and alone time after spending a few days earlier in the week not just watching his best friend get killed, but also saying goodbye and laying him to rest. He climbs up the ladder onto the roof of the clubhouse, one of his favorite places to think and reflect quietly while smoking.  What he didn't expect to find is someone else had beat him to the spot.

"I didn't know you were here," Jax says as he walks over and sits next to them. "You've been avoiding me like the plague all week."

"I miss watching the sunset," you reply without looking at him.

"The sun doesn't set where you are?" Jax asks as he lights up a joint.

"It's not the same."

Jax takes a long drag and then offers it to you. 

You look at it for a moment and form a small smile before taking it from him.  The roof was also a place you both frequented in your youth to smoke pot, away from your parents and the adults. Eventually they figured out your secret spot, but it didn't stop you guys from coming back. You take a pull and hand it back to him.

"I also miss this.  There is nothing like California-grown weed."

Jax takes a hit and blows out the smoke from the corner of his mouth.

"Do you ever miss me?" Jax looks over at you and passes the joint back to you.

You look over to him and squint an eye to prevent the sun from blinding you.

"Yeah, sometimes I do."

"Does your English weed taste like fucking tea and crumpets?" Jax jokes.

"Oh, I get the best shit there is over there. Trust me." You chuckle. "But... it's not home."

"So why don't you come home?" Jax looks back at you with the same squinty face.

You look at him for a moment deciding what you want to say. "You know, that's the reason why Ray and I put the engagement on hold. With everything happening here, I wanted to be closer to family. Figure my shit out." You take another drag and return the joint back to him.

"There's more than family that would love to see you back home too." Jax reaches for your hand and squeezes it.

"Jackson, what happened the other day, we both acted out of impulse. We were both just... vulnerable.  I'm sorry if it gave the wrong impression."

Jax shakes his head, then takes another long pull of the joint. “Ope was like my moral compass, kept me grounded and always pointed me in the right direction, and now he's gone, because of me."

"Jackson, you can't--" You start shaking your head.

"You’re the closest thing I have left of Ope. I need you." Jax holds your hand.

"Jackson, in your heart, you always knew what was best. You don't need me." You push a loose chunk of his blonde hair away from his face and tuck it behind his ear.  "I know you're hurting, but I can't fill the void that Opie left. Nothing ever will. Just focus on what's important to you and you'll figure it out.  You always did." You smile at him while caressing his cheek with your thumb. "You got this." He closes his eyes and leans in to your hand, soaking in your touch.

"You still have too much faith me." He turns his head slightly to kiss the palm of your hand.

"Yeah, maybe. Besides, our boat sailed a long time ago," you add, pulling your hands away from him and looking away. Jax takes the last drag of the joint and tosses it off the roof.

"Maybe that boat can make one last stop before sailing away for good?" Jax gently grabs your chin and turns your head to him to look into his slightly droopy eyes.

Even all this time, it's still hard to not get lost in his baby blues. It's even harder with the perfect setting: the firey orange sky, the slight California breeze, the clubhouse rooftop. Maybe it's the weed, but it feels perfect in the moment. It's all taking you back to the summer when you were 14, when the only care in your worlds were right in front of each other. It's also the perfect setting for cruising around. Jax use to "borrow" one of the bikes from the clubhouse and take you on joyrides, basking in the sun while the wind hits your faces.

He slowly leans into you, and you close the distance, pressing your lips against his. Jax immediately responds and kisses back, his tongue slipping between your teeth. You can taste whiskey mixed with a faint linger of cigarettes and marijuana. Jax cradles your neck and pulls you in closer to him.

The loud roar of a motorcycle driving by and backfiring breaks you up.  You both are brought back to reality that you are both still on a rooftop and a bit baked.

"Come on, let's get inside." Jax jerks his head towards the latch.  Jax helps you down the ladder first and he follows behind.  He quickly makes a sweep and doesn't see anyone except for a few guys at the bar with their back turned towards the both of you.  Jax grabs your hand and leads you back into the spare bedroom you both were in earlier in the week. This definitely feels like you both are hormone-driven teenagers again, sneaking around the clubhouse. 

Once Jax closes and locks the door, he turns his attention back to you but he stops in his tracks to really look at you. All of you. He never thought he'd ever be with you or see you like this again.  What happened the other day was different.  Like you said, it was a moment of weakness, an impulsive move on both of you because of shared pain.

This time, there is no urgency, there is no hurt, just the two of you re-living a moment the two of you wish you had the opportunity to experience over and over again. This time it's intentionally and purely for the most selfish reasons. He walks over to you and presses his lips onto yours, taking his time to actually taste and feel your soft lips on his.  He pulls you in close to his body as his hands explore yours.

As the both of you continue to deliberately and slowly make out, Jax grabs your ass and presses himself against you, feeling his erection through your clothes. Jax pushes you backward towards the bed and you fall back when you feel the edge hit the back of your knees. He falls on top of you and expertly starts disrobing you while making out with you.  In one quick swift, Jax pulls your shirt over your head, leaving you in a satin black bra.  He takes his time with you, starting with his lips on your neck, licking and kissing it, even nibbling at it.  He's always wanted to leave a hickey on you, letting all the guys know you're taken. He then makes his way down to your collar bone, the top of your chest and then pulls down your bra on one side to reveal a nipple.  He puts his mouth over it and swirls his tongue around it.  Jax looks up to see your reaction and find you looking back biting your lower lip. He smirks and pulls down the other side of your bra and gives that nipple the same attention, making you arch against his mouth. 

"Oh, Jackson," you moan.

He lets out a low growl.

"As much as I want to hear all the sexy noises coming out of your mouth while I'm pleasuring you, you gotta keep it quiet, darlin'." He kisses you while he unhooks your bra and tosses it aside. He then unbuttons your pants and backs himself off the bed. He slowly slides your pants and thong off your hips and down your legs. He licks his lips, excited to unwrap you like his present. You watch him as he lowers himself to his knees and kneels at your feet to help you with your boots and removes the rest of the clothes off your body.  Suddenly feeling a bit exposed and shy like it's your first time with Jax, you keep your legs together. Jax places his hands on each of your knees and coaxes them open. He looks at his gift and licks his lips.

He dives in between your legs while looking up at you. His soft lips and warm wet tongue are licking and sucking you on all the right places and his beard tickling your inner thighs.  That's new to you.  He barely had peach fuzz in his teens. You feel him slip a finger inside you as his lips are pulling at your clit.  Your breathing is getting shorter and more shallow.  Jax inserts another long finger in you and finds your g-spot, rubbing circles on it.

"Jax, I..." Feeling your orgasm building, you are rendered speechless. Jax continues sucking and stroking you until you come undone into his mouth and on his fingers. He watches you squirm and thrash as you scream quietly in ecstasy. He doesn't stop until you are sensitive to his touch and you push him away.  He wipes his beard and smiles at you, proud of his accomplishment. Jax surely still knows his way around your body.

You glance up to him as he gets to his feet.  You watch him strip his clothes off, first the kutte, then his shirt pulled over his head.  He kicks off his sneakers as he takes his time unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his jeans.  You're glad he's taking his time though because it allows you to soak up and remember every second you have with this gorgeous man in front of you.  He finally pulls his jeans and boxers down.  Besides from the other day, the last time you and him were this intimate, the both of you were shorter, slimmer and clearly less experienced.  Now you’re both grown, gained curves and muscles and are far more seasoned in the bedroom.  He's also certainly grown in other places as well.

"Back up," Jax nods his head as he climbs onto the bed and  hovers above you.  You scoot back so your whole body is on the bed.  Jax lays on top of you and smashes his lips against yours again, cradling your neck and grinding against you.  You can feel the head of cock teasing your opening.

"Maybe we should use a condom this time," you tell him in between kisses.

"I'm not gonna lie.  You did feel amazing without one the other day," Jax admits.

You and Jax had always been careful and taking the right steps when you were younger, using condoms at all times so that time was the first time you both had sex without one. Thankfully you are on birth control and both are STD-free, but you know you shouldn't take any chances.  

You give him a knowing look.

"Anything for you, darlin'." Jax gives you a kiss on the cheek before getting up to put on a condom.  He climbs back on top of you and looks at you as he caresses your face, still not believing that you're beneath him.

You gently grab his face with both hands and kiss him deeply. You then feel him slip inside you. All of him.  You moan into his mouth and move with him, both of your hips slowly thrusting in unison. Jax grabs your hands and brings them above your head. He intertwines his fingers with yours and thrusts deeper into you.  He watches you while you relish in the moment, as he pulls these lost emotions from you with each deliberate push.  You wrap your legs around his waist and it encourages him to pick up the pace.  You try to do the same and meet his rhythm.

Jax releases your hands and reaches for your legs behind him and brings them in front of him to rest on his shoulders, deepening his access to you.  His hand reaches up to cradle your neck as he pounds into you. You then feel his thumb slide over the front of your throat.  You start to feel his fingers tighten slightly around your neck. This is also new for you and Jax, but you're loving it.  You can feel yourself getting closer to achieving another orgasm.

"Jackson..." you pant.

"Come for me, darlin'.  I know you're there," Jax grunts.

You close your eyes and feel bliss as you let yourself go, letting your body take over you.  After your orgasm subsides, you open your eyes and find Jax is no longer making love to you, but just smiling at you while still inside you. Now it's time for you to show him a few tricks you've learned.

"Get on your back," you tell him.

Without any protest from Jax, you both switch positions.  Jax lies on his back with this hands behind his head, waiting for you to take the wheel.  You straddle him and take your time sinking yourself onto him.  You feel a lot more confident about being on top than you did when you were younger.  You were shy and inexperienced.  Now? You're going to ride him like the sexiest Harley you've ever had the privilege of sitting on. You slowly start riding him, rocking back and forth, grinding on him and teasing him. You enjoy the feeling of him filling you up to the hilt as you push down on him.

Jax looks up at you, watching you take charge and own his dick.  He definitely notices you're a lot more comfortable in this position than he remembers.  He reaches up and runs his hands over your breasts, massaging them and caressing your nipples as you enjoy the ride. He's certainly enjoying the view.

"You are still as fucking beautiful as the day I fell in love with you," Jax says, mesmerized by the image in front of him.

You smile and then lean back, placing your hands behind you on his thighs. Jax looks at you curiously. You roll your hips and start sliding up and down on him, giving him a clear view.  He looks down and watches himself disappear in and out of you.

Jax groans and runs the palms of his hands over your thighs and settles on your hips.  One of his hands then slides over between your legs and he starts rubbing circles on your clit with this thumb. You moan and gasp. You then lean forward, placing your hands on the pillow of each side of his head and lean down closer to him.  You start bouncing your ass up and down as you look down on him, your hair forming a curtain around your faces.  Jax grabs your ass and starts thrusting up to meet your movement. The only sounds echoing in the room are your pants and your bodies slapping against each other.  Jax speeds up and watches your face as it distorts.  He knows you've got another one inside you and you're very close.

"Come on, darlin'. Let it go." Jax coos.

You let out a loud moan as your legs shake and feel like a firecracker exploded inside of you.  Jax clamps a hand over your mouth as he continues to drill inside.

"There you go, Y/N." Jax smiles watching you fall apart on top of him.  He then swiftly flips you onto your back and roughly drives into you a few more times until he finally gets his own release.

As he slows down, you both look at each other, savoring the moment and then kiss softly.

Suddenly the door knob starts to rattle and the person on the other side is banging on the door.

"Yo, hurry it up! I gotta take a shit!" an unrecognizable voice shouts.

"Hey asshole, the bathroom is further down!" You both hear Chibs shouting. You place your hands over your mouth as you start to laugh.

"Shh!" Jax puts a finger over his pursed lips as he tries to suppress his own laughter.

SMASH CUT TO BLACK

A/N: I never put notes at the end but I figured I'd let you enjoy the fic first before mentioning I currently don't have plans to expand this story. I might in the future, but not in the near future.  I originally intended the first part to be short and be a one off, but I just kept writing and writing and there were so many places and opportunities to keep expanding. Same for part two.  There were so many directions I could have gone. I had a bit of struggle with this for some reason. It's not quite exactly how I pictured it ending but it works for what it is.

If you haven’t read it yet, I wrote two short scenes titled “Carry Me Home” and “Joyride” which are like flashbacks in this universe.

[mingying]

[spoilers] hospital playlist s2 ep 11; ikjun/songhwa

I can’t believe this finally happened. And it happened in arguably the best ways possible for us IkSong shippers. As usual, this post is just basically my own thoughts and opinion of the episode and my interpretation of things - feel free to disagree, and I hope you enjoy reading this musing of mine!

22 years later, finally they found each other again <3

TL;DR: Everything happens for a reason and we have finally reached the rainbow end <3

Let’s begin by addressing the ER scene, but before that, I would like to point out that since Ep 10, Songhwa has been shown to be somewhat forgetful and a klutz - in Ep 10, she was searching for her socks and insisted that she wore them for her rounds. She also seemed to have forgotten to take off her surgical cap until Seonbin pointed it out to her.

In Ep 11, the episode starts off with Songhwa leaving her handbag in Ikjun’s office, and subsequently her handphone, followed by her handbag in the car again. This is not a dementia arc, guys (haha) but I genuinely think that this is her mind being occupied by her newly realised feelings for Ikjun that her normally composed self had started to crumble (and that’s entirely ok!). Another interpretation of this scene could be that unintentionally and subconsciously, she just wanted to remain in the hospital knowing Ikjun may return to collect his gift later.

Can I also point out her sixth sense in this scene? When she peered out of her window and heard the sound of ambulance, followed immediately by Dr Bong calling, she looked disturbed. Normally, she would have answered her calls immediately without hesitation but this time you could tell that she frowned and waited for maybe 2 seconds before answering Dr Bong. Well, never messed with a woman’s intuition I guess!

The ER Scene. Gosh. I actually have a lot of things to say about this. I know some people do not like this trope and that it is a typical trigger for characters to realise their feelings. But, I’d have to say that ShinLee did not intend for this scene to be a trigger of Songhwa realising that she likes Ikjun.

Because she already knows and had realised, somewhere around Ep 8-9 but more obviously 9, that she does like him as a man (all over again). If anything, this ER scene was meant to give Songhwa that one last push to confess, otherwise she may end up regretting not to. Another reason why I felt this scene was necessary was that Songhwa has been too comfortable in Ikjun’s constant presence by her side -- perhaps she has been wanting to confess but still lack the courage to and she didn’t think she needed to act on it rightaway because Ikjun would always be there by her side.

Gosh, the way she rushed to Ikjun and didn’t even hear Dr Bong trying to report to her that he actually wasn’t in such a terrible state. The way she slipped her hand in his and was so gentle in her questions - you can really just tell that she was trying her best not to crumble.

(side note: Jeon Mido, your acting was truly stellar during this scene. That suppressed professionalism vs personal feelings. I really felt her worry and regret in this entire scene. I loved it so much)

Now, why do I firmly believe that Songhwa already intends to confess to Ikjun eventually? Other than the fact that Songhwa herself confirmed during her confession that “I should have told you that I liked you”, it’s because of the Gift that she has given him for his birthday. It’s a cap, and initially we don’t think much of it until the flashback sequence showed and we realised that, a cap was what 99z Songhwa wanted to give to Ikjun but never did because he had turned her down for dinner and lied that he has a blind date.

Present day Songhwa gifting Ikjun a cap can be interpreted as her having let go of the hurt he had caused her in the past and that she was willing to try, again.

Interestingly, I’d like to also point out that the 99z flashback in this episode was truly necessary for us to understand Songhwa’s aversion to ‘Sad Sea’ and why she has rejected Ikjun in the first episode. 99z Songhwa didn’t give up when Ikjun stood her up for her birthday but mustered the courage to confess to him - she tried twice too, asking if he really has to go on that blind date that evening and couldn’t he go another time? Ikjun, in that scene, was playing Sad Sea. 

I would like to apologise to Ep 7 Songhwa because I had been frustrated with her then, but now that everything has been rolled out beautifully, I do not blame her at all for her hesitancy and year long passiveness. Ikjun kinda deserved it after breaking her heart twice (HA!) and remember this shot of Ikjun in Ep 7? 

I now interpret this scene as him realising that he knew Songhwa’s reasons of rejecting him. Because there was no way he didn’t know that Songhwa had liked him in the 99z, and he was perhaps regretting turning her down for dinner that day during his birthday. He knew he had a chance with her then but blew it, and that is perhaps why he never faltered in making Songhwa happy now. Not that he expects anything in return, but perhaps he wanted to make up for the indirect hurt he had caused her.

Bab Meokja had been something initiated by Songhwa back then. And now, it is a treat he gives himself -- I really do think that is the reason why he keeps asking Songhwa out for meals in the present time, because Ikjun probably wanted to indrectly make up for what happened in 99z.

Let’s move on to another great scene! The card game scene!

For some, it may seem to be a random scene but for me, I saw it in a different way and I’m glad Kfans and some users on Twitter pointed out this theory as well. 

As you all know, the card game IkSong was playing was “Bluff/Cheat”. Here, you could see that Ikjun could read Songhwa so well that he knows when she would lie. But Songhwa on the other hand, could not read Ikjun as well -- and this is further affirmed by Songhwa’s confession when she said “If your feelings for me haven’t changed,”. This is beautiful because it makes Ikjun’s expression during the confession scene even more sense -- a user on reddit pointed out that his expression at that time wasn’t more of a “omg she likes me after all”, it was more of a “she has realised her feelings for me,” and I think that’s absolutely beautiful. He even nodded subtlely a few times as Songhwa struggled to get her confession out, as if encouraging her and saying “you can do it, just a bit more”. 

Back to the card game - Ikjun even threw down a 9 Hearts - which I believe is a metaphor of his feelings for her, steady and still unwavering. 

(Bonus note: I absolutely love how Iksun caught on to them being lovey dovey at once and Junwan’s expression catching them was HILARIOUS)

On to my next scene which was absolute favourite.

Songhwa had finished a difficult/challenging surgery, and out of excitement (she even skipped omg whipped girlie), she called Ikjun first to convey the good news to him. Her tone here really depicts a difference in how she talks to Ikjun before. This scene alone tells you that Songhwa has pretty much fallen for Ikjun again and I love love love that finally she has someone she would want to immediately call to share her good news with! 

And the best part? Our best boy Lee Ikjun never went to Changwon. Instead, he waited for her for probably hours (it was bright day when they said goodbye, but night when Songhwa returned to her office) and even told her straight that he has to see her before he leaves because of how worried she had been before. Good lord find me a man like Ikjun please? 

image cr: iksongarchives @ twitter

This entire shot, with I Knew I Love playing in the background pretty much hits. It is in this exact moment that Songhwa has probably made up her mind to confess for real, that she wasn’t going to waste another second because I am sooo sure she would have ran to hug him if not because of their status at that moment. I love this scene so much. It is the personification of the lyrics of I Knew I Love, which goes “I called you out of habit today and you answered warmly, you make me the happiest in the whole wide world, I love you so much”.

And finally. 

Finally.

*takes a deep breath*

SONGHWA CONFESSED!!!!!!!!

AND THEY KISSED!!!! UNDER THE RAIN!!! 

The whole directing of this scene, with the slow camera panning into them - Ikjun was restless, probably breaking into cold sweats (he commented it was cold) while Songhwa was nervous and trying to muster enough courage to confess (she commented it was really hot). I held my breath for so long I felt like I was about to faint I swear to god.

Songhwa looked legit terrified that Ikjun was going to reject her man, and it all makes sense why after we got the 99z flashback this episode. 

And Ikjun, he really waited for her cues. Even after she was done confessing, he looked at her and waited for her to look at him back before he went “I’ll give you my answer”. And it was only after Songhwa nodded in fear and anticipation, that he swooped in to kiss her!!!!!

Songhwa definitely also leaned in first before Ikjun pulled her closer. She wanted this just as much as he did and it showed through their first kiss. Gosh I’m still shaking just thinking about how perfect that entire sequence and kiss was. They really went all out for it (yes I believe there was tongue involved) rather than soft and gentle. 22 years of suppressed yearning and feelings really popped out in that kiss alone and I am so blessed to have been a part of their beautiful journey.

And now, with only one episode left, we are finally able to see IkSong as a couple and on dates. I have a feeling Songhwa would be the clingy gf man, judging from the Preview keke. I cannot wait to see the rest of the boys finding out, and for sure, I cannot wait to see how their dynamics would change now as lovers rather than just best friends. I do think their transition would be seamless, only that now, they get to do what other lovers could.

This post is so long but I felt the need to address another matter that I have seen roaming around the internet. Apparently, some people are annoyed that Songhwa was ‘forced to change her mind’ and that we cannot accept her ‘No’ in ep 1. I would humbly and respectfully disagree on this point. Songhwa’s ‘No’ in ep 1 was not a “I don’t like you therefore I am rejecting you”. It was more of a “I do not know how to sort out my feelings yet, and am not ready to revisit the past, so it is best not to tamper with it”. 

Songhwa did not change her mind overnight or weeks. It took her one year and a few months. She has had all that time to weighs her decisions again and properly thought out how she wanted to bring forward her relationship with Ikjun. She was not forced.

She may have said that she liked being single in S1, but she has never been averse to love. In fact, she is always encouraging other people to go for it. I for one, am single and absolutely enjoying it. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to ever change my mind if I find someone worthy enough to share my space and happiness with. I like being single now because guys around me are idiots and I’d rather save myself that headache LOL.

Her conscious decision to accept Ikjun now does not and will never invalidate her decision to reject him back then - in fact, it goes to show that as human beings, we constantly undergo character growth and our minds are often changed to suit the present circumstances. 

ShinLee did not portray Songhwa in that light where ‘women needs to say yes if a guy treats her right’. Ikjun did all of those things for her without expecting anything in return. He never once crossed the line and never once forced Songhwa into accepting his love for her. Songhwa said yes because she likes Ikjun and is now ready to move their relationship to that of romantic. It is as simple as that.

And one last point to make is that Songhwa being in a relationship does not in any way invalidate that she is a strong and independent woman. Please do not associate the relationship status of a woman to her being ‘strong/independent’. A woman in a relationship and a woman not being a relationship are still BOTH strong AND independent. Love is a universal element in life, why deprive a person of it simply because she’s portrayed to be a “strong” female character? If that love brings her greater joy and ardent happiness, why stop her from enriching her life further?

Anyway. I digress. 

If you made it until the end of this ridiculously long post, thank you. I hope it was an enjoyable read! Till Ep 12!

[deleteddewewted]

Ok, this is my last request, I swear and scout's honor...I'm sorry for bothering you and being annoying, please forgive me!

Uhm...how about a fic or headcanons on Monoma with a female s/o who's short (as in, 4' 11"...I think our boy is 5' 7", but I could be wrong) and is a coffee-addict, and it gets to a point where Monoma's worried for her addiction and health, so he tries to keep it away from her for a few days, please? He can also like, tease her about it and play the height bully since she's a shrimp compared to him when she tries to get her coffee back?

Like last time, I don't mind if what you write is sfw or nsfw. I just need more blonde copycat boi in my life, lol! Thank you! 😊 I hope you have a good day/night/weekend!

I’M SO HAPPY YOU CAME BACK!!! Don’t ever feel like your annoying, i love hearing from you.

It took me a bit to make this, sorry about that. Hope you enjoy!

Caffeine Rush

Monoma x F! Reader

Note: H/c (your hair color)

W: Mentions of NSFW, Monoma Being Absolutely in Love With You

TW: Vomit, Addiction

Monoma’s favorite thing to do each morning is to wake up to your beautiful face. You always tell him that it isn’t but he gladly disagrees with you because you’re wrong. He would watch you sleep for a few minutes, hours if the day before was truly exhausting for you, and just sigh like the lovesick fool he was. That peace becoming disrupted when the alarm in his phone would go off indicating the beginning of the weekday.

“My love, wake up.” Monoma leaned down to shower you with kisses, even as you swatted him away with your hand. The attempts that were made to cover yourself with the blanket didn’t stop him from attacking you with hugs. Warm and inviting rest but quickly changing to panic as he lifted you from the bed and walked out to the common area blanket included. Your other classmates were already up doing their usual morning routines. They found your relationship with Monoma adorable, concerning but adorable. The way Monoma brags about you and your achievement was sickening.

“Nei! Put me down, please. I was comfortable and warm.” Monoma laughed at the whining and placed you down on the couch.

“No can do my love. You need fuel in that body of yours. A healthy meal makes a healthy body. A healthy body makes a healthy mind.” You rolled your eyes at your boyfriends’ poetic speech and made yourself comfortable on the couch, laying down and covering yourself again with the blanket he wrapped you in.

“What do want for breakfast, my love?”

“Give me coffee, no sugar. If there are any muffins, give me one please.” Monomas posture deflated a little to the request.

“Coffee, again?” He questioned. You nodded your head and drifted back to sleep. The rest of the class watched as Monoma begrudgingly made the coffee you requested. The entire time he was mumbling something under his breath, something about how you loved the tar drink more than him.

You thanked him once he handed over your drink while Monoma sat down next to you with his meal. He leaned into you and ate in peace. He kept grumbling from time to time and chewed violently when he took another bite.

“Monoma? What are you doing?” You asked him.

“Nothing.” Was his only response before continuing to shovel food into his mouth. Once finished, he took your empty cup and his plate to the sink to wash. You on the other hand had other plans.

“Neito, I’m going out. I’ll see you later.” Monoma said goodbye to you and let you go. He knew what you were planning on doing and he wasn’t happy about it. Honestly, it was ridiculous how much you seemed to depend on it. It was the weekend, so there was no harm in leaving campus.

You got dressed back in your dorm room and said your goodbyes to your classmates who were still in the common area. As you headed into the city you went straight to your favorite shop. It was a small business run by a college kid who had too much money and too much time to burn. You weren’t about to complain, the coffee was good and the environment was pleasant to be in. Once there you ordered your usual coffee variant and sat down to enjoy it, not being aware that you were being watched the entire time.

Monoma was fuming. Another cup of coffee right away? You just drank your first a few minutes ago, why would you need another one? It wasn’t like you didn’t work hard, that wasn’t the problem. You were dedicated to training and your relationship with him. He understands that he could be a hassle sometimes and he’s very grateful for the opportunity to be with you, but this was just ridiculous. He didn’t want to destroy your piece but it had to be done.

“Y/n, what are you doing?” You turned towards the voice and watched as your boyfriend walked up to you. He was marching, an interesting choice but he was him so it wasn’t out of character.

“Hi, Nei is there a problem? Also, why did you follow me?” You asked amused. Monoma didn’t bother to sit down once he was next to you instead, he opted to bend down to look at you. He wasn’t happy.

“I followed you to see if you were going to buy another cup of coffee. Do you want to guess what happened Y/n? Hmm?” You giggled at him and took a sip from your drink.

“I bought coffee.”

“Yes, you bought coffee!” The other customers in the shop turned to look at the scene Monoma was making and the sudden attention filled you with embarrassment. You didn’t think Monoma would make a huge deal out of something so meaningless.

“Nei, cut it out!” You whisper yelled at him. You tried pulling him down so he would sit, instead, Monoma grabbed your cup and your hand. He dragged you out of the shop and walk with you to the train station.

“Where are we going now?” Monoma didn’t bother to respond to you. He just stared ahead of him and kept your coffee cup away from you. Once the train arrived he practically picked you up and took you inside. It was a bit empty so he was able to find seats for the both of you, he wrapped an arm around you as he kept the cup in between his legs and out of your reach. He pulled you up once you got to the correct stop and took you to the entrance of the mall.

“Whats this Nei? A last-minute date?” You teased. Monomas face flushed and just ignored your stare.

“We haven’t gone on a date in some time-”

“We had one yesterday.”

“So I thought that this would be nice and I also get to spoil you, so don’t complain.” He took your hand and brought you inside.

It was bustling with life. People walking around looking for things that they need and buying others that they don’t. It was a pleasant scene yet your body would disagree with you. The throbbing that you felt in the front part of your skull wasn’t pleasant but it was constant. It’s been like this for a few weeks. You read that coffee could help with easing it, something about it probably the throbbing being due to some visual exposure. Monoma had taken your drink so that was no longer an option. Knowing him, he probably takes a small sip and then spits it out while berating you on how your taste buds must be dead if you didn’t react as he did.

“So where to?” You asked him. Monoma laced his hand with yours and walked you to a clothing store. He looked at different articles of clothing and asked for your input. Most of the things he picked out were simple in design or minimalist, nothing that needed consideration. Yet he asked and you being the ever caring girlfriend gave some input.

“This would look nice with um, with some light blue jeans” The throbbing in your head was beginning to get worse and it wasn’t helping that the bright light within the store was the only thing to look at. It was too much for you.

“Hey, Monoma. I need to go to the bathroom, ok?” You left Monoma in the middle of the store as he just watched you go. He spoke to you but you couldn’t hear him.

He had tried reaching for you but you were already too far for him to grab. Monoma. You called him by his last name instead of his first. In the times that you both have had arguments, you always called him by his first name no matter what the situation was. You’ve been acting odd for some time and it was worrying him. He was aware that you drank more than the recommended when it came to coffee, so it wasn’t surprising that you felt ill. Monoma was no stranger to bad habits, he was being too clingy and overly competitive. You reassured him that he wasn’t clingy and that you found it endearing more than anything. Regarding the competitiveness, he could tone it down a little bit when it came to arguing with the other hero course. He felt like he was annoying to you and that you only started dating him because you felt pity for him after he fell on his face as he was running up to you. His nose was bleeding but that didn’t stop you from kissing him on the lips and accepting his date offer. He loved you, he’s known this since his first year. Seeing you sick was upsetting, he felt like a lost boyfriend for not helping you. He tried, he hides the coffee grounds, he hides your wallet sometimes and even started having you sleep in his dorm to ensure you slept.

Monoma waited outside of the store for a moment, waiting to see if you would come back once you were done in the bathroom. You never came back which lead to him going towards the bathrooms. He was met with a line of women waiting for the bathroom and a few people waiting outside of the all gendered bathroom.

“Hello. I’m sorry to interrupt you but did you by any chance see a woman who looked ill come by here?” The person turned around to look at Monoma.

“Was it someone with h/o hair?” Monoma nodded his head and the stranger pointed at one of the bathrooms that were occupied. Monoma thanked them and knocked on the door gently.

”Y/n. It’s me, are you ok?” You tried answering but the sound of gagging and something liquid hitting the toilet was indicating that you wouldn’t answer him. Monoma quickly asked around to see who had a quirk that allowed him to help you. He found someone whose quirk allowed them to change their fingers into any key, interesting quirk, and he opened the bathroom door. When he closed it he saw you slumped over the toilet throwing up.

“Nei- I can’t- breath.” You hiccuped. Monoma pulled your hair back and rubbed your back in a soothing motion.

“It’s ok, I’m here.” You continued to throw up everything in your stomach. Almost everything that came up was liquid and smelled heavily of stomach acid with a touch of coffee. Monoma watched in horror as you emptied yourself. He felt useless. He couldn’t do anything other than making sure that your clothes stayed clean.

“Y/n, let me take you back to the dorms. You need to get checked by Recovery Girl.” You felt too dizzy to protest and just lifted your arms and had him carry you out.

On the train, Monoma draped his jacket over your head, hiding you away from any light that could worsen your headache. He kept you close, your head laying on top of his shoulder and his hand on the side of your head keeping you steady as the train rocked. Once off, he picked you up and carried you to Recovery Girl. She asked him a multitude of questions about what happened and asked him to step outside of the infirmary. She sent you to your dorm to rest with a bottle full of medicine and Monoma picked you up again to make the trip easier on you.

At your dorm, he laid you down on your bed and went down to the kitchen to get you a glass of water. You sat yourself up on your bed and took some of the liquid medicine. It was bitter yet sweet, it soothed your aching throat and helped ease your agitated stomach. When Monoma came back he crouched down in front of you, handing you the glass of water he had gotten for you.

“How do feel?” His face was showered with concern. This wasn’t uncommon for him when it came to you or any of his classmates. He didn’t like seeing you hurt nor sick, so this was overwhelming his heart a little bit.

“My throat burns a bit but I’m ok.” You smiled weakly. Monoma didn’t believe anything you were telling him but he also didn’t want to start an argument.

Monoma decided to pull you into bed and lay next to you. He covered your body with his arms around your waist as he tangled your legs with his own. He gave you a quick kiss on the lips, then placing his chin on the top of your head.

“Rest my love. You’ll feel better tomorrow.” You didn’t attempt to argue with him. Your head was hurting badly and your body was still tense from the vomiting you did earlier. You made yourself comfortable within Monomas chest and used him as an anchor. He was warm and welcoming, how couldn’t you take advantage of this.

The morning came and so did the sunlight that invaded your room. Monoma woke up ready to look at your beautiful face, a smile already forming as he imagined how you would look that morning. Ethereal as always he believes. Yet, when he opened his eyes you weren’t comfortably placed in his arms. You weren’t even in the room. He shot up from the bed and went rushing down to the common room.

“Y/n! What are you doing!?” Monoma watched you as you were seated on one of the tables. With a cup of steaming coffee. Again.

“My head hurts, the coffee helps it feel better.” Monomas eyes widened as he walked towards you.

“I understand, but couldn’t you have taken some pain medication or have at least told me?” He stood next to you and looked at how much coffee you still had left in your cup. It was at halfway. He made an executive decision and grabbed it from you.

“Neito, what are you?” You tried to reach for the cup but it was immediately raised above you.

“Nei, that isn’t funny. Give me back my coffee!” Monoma only grinds at you.

“No, it isn’t my fault you’re the shortest person in our year.” You used your quirk to try and inflict some damage onto him but to no avail. He just raised it higher.

“Nei! I swear you’re all legs and arms. How are you this tall!?” Monoma could only laugh at your silly attempts to reach for the cup. He leaned down enough for your faces to meet.

“I’ll give it back if you promise me something.”

“Sure, what is it?” Monomas grin softened around the edges. His eyes looking briefly at your lips and back to your eyes.

“For one, limit your coffee intake.” You frowned at him.

“Didn’t you just hear me? It helps with the headaches.”

“And for two,” He got closer to you. His mouth inches from your own. “For every time you minimize, ill give you whatever else you want.”

You cocked a brow up and returned the sly grin.

“Oh, like what exactly Neito Monoma?” He shivered at the mention of his full name. A tint becoming present on his cheeks.

“I don’t know, maybe kissing.” He leaned closer. Your lips touching but just by a little.

“Or maybe something more.” He added in. You decided to take the lead and closed the gap between the two of you. His lips were surprisingly soft, must be because of the religious chapstick use.

He became impatient and pushed his tongue into your mouth. He sighed into the kiss and pull you in closer by placing a hand on your lower back. You kissed back with fever and played with his tongue a bit. You made him moan, the hand holding the cup lowering to place it on the table. You quickly snatched it from him and backed away from the kiss you were sharing. A  wet popping sound made itself present once you parted from him, a light string of saliva attached to your once connected lips. Monoma looked confused, his eyes hazy from the euphoria of kissing you.

“What?” He asked confused. You just giggled and walked away with the cup of the now lukewarm coffee. Monoma quickly trailed behind you, hand reaching out to take the cup. You walked to the sink and dumped all of the coffee down the drain.

“I know I should stop. I know.” You turned towards him and place your hand on his cheek. You admired him for a moment. His face was still red and his chest was still expanding slowly trying to get more air in. You gently caressed his lips with your thumb and quickly gave him a peck on them.

“But I’ll only stop because you asked me to.” You kissed him deeply. Monoma wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you in place.

“I love you Nei.” Monomas face flushed deeper and he hid his face on the crook of your neck. He had to bend down to do so but it was worth it.

“I love you too Y/n.”

[meryamthebadassbitch]

𝕯𝖎𝖔𝖗 𝖘𝖆𝖚𝖛𝖆𝖌𝖊 & 𝖈𝖎𝖌𝖆𝖗𝖊𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖘// 𝖆 𝕵𝖊𝖔𝖓 𝕵𝖚𝖓𝖌𝖐𝖔𝖔𝖐 𝖋𝖚𝖑𝖑 𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖞

Listen, bitch, is it fucking bad that I am addicted to 'Daddy Issues by the neighbourhood suddenly got a whole ass fanfic idea on my mind, so here fucking I am, thank you so much for the likes in my other disgusting fanfics and if you would like to share this one with your friend I would be happy since my mother told me if you have more than 55 likes on the next, I'll buy you a BTS t-shirt, I'm NOT FORCING YOU GUYS LOL, thank you and enjoy! oh, I'm planning on writing a Levi book on Wattpad tell me your opinion @meryamchaline45

Based on a song called: Daddy Issues

Warning: Blood, smoking, sexual harassment, daddy issues, mention of death, slight smut, harassment, Thief!Reader, Skategirl!Reader, abuse, abusive parents, parents cheating, ANGST, swearing!!

abusive parents, parents cheating, ANGST!!

(IF YOU DON'T LIKE THIS TYPE OF STUFF, DON'T READ!! don't report this please you have been warned)

Munching the food quietly she thought of nothing but how Seoul looked beautiful at night, a small scoff escaped her lips as she paid for the delicious food, looking at her wallet sighing, no money left. Taking her skateboard she stole a cap and a mask on her way out her E/C eyes immediately wide at the sound of the cashier yelling at her with a bat in his hand about to catch, slamming the door open she ran down the stairs not looking back, the cold breeze hitting her face as she ran grabbing her skateboard she skated between the cars so the man wouldn't catch her.

Her father grabbed her harshly by the hair followed by her skateboard and bag in the other hand, throwing her out of the house in the middle of the streets, every neighbor not even daring to welcome her even though they could see the pain and fear in her E/C eyes, but worst of all they still dared to watch and film her out of the window, I know it must be rough? damn, right it is.

Jungkook was hanging out with his group as usual and it seems like they got out of the café, but stopped brutally upon noticing cops chasing a H/C haired girl and grabbed her, slamming her face harshly against the car in front of them, a wince left the girls lips as she raised her hand in the air as she yelled out some words "it's a water bottle, please !" but the cops didn't seem to care since they cuffed her and decided to take her with them, as they turned around the girl cold eyes met Jungkook's dark brown ones, and that was his opportunity to study her face, she had beautiful H/C hair which was pretty messy, S/C skin, and had blood running down her nose and a cut on the corner of her soft lips, and it seems like she got into a fight for what? a bottle of water.

Watching the scene happening in front of them he stared as one of the cops broke her skateboard in half earning a bloody scream from her. "NO! how dare you!" she yelled with rage in her eyes as she was about to attack the police officer and punch the hell out of him but couldn't since the handcuffs stopped her from doing so but still the girl fell on her knees trying so hard to grab hold of the broken skateboard.

Sitting in front of the police officer she stared into nothing but emptiness; blinking ever so slightly her throat dry and didn't even dare to ask for water, "can I leave?" she asked her voice cracking as she sat on the chair, wanting to just kill herself. Grabbing her bag, phone, and broken skateboard she walked out of the police station to the place where she usually slept, the park.

Surprisingly she got a job the next day, and that is selling some street food with an old woman, the job got pretty handy, well, at least she would have 10$ to eat something and have a single water bottle for the day and not die from hunger, packing some dumplings in the small box she grabbed one of the bags signaling to the women "I'll go take these and will be right back Ajumma?" a small smile was on her lips as she walked away holding the hot food in her hand, the aged women seemed to be caring for her and would always give her some money even though she was poor and more broke than Y/N was, but still considered her as her daughter.

Knocking at one of the doors, she could hear the sound of music blasting and laughter, smiling at the memory of her being the best dancer back at school she opened the door peaking inside, the sight of a group of boys she recognized when getting arrested she handed the pink-haired boy the bag, "Jimin-ah~ you pay this time!" said a brown-haired boy behind him with a boxy smile, Jimin slightly rolled his eyes before smiling brightly at the girl taking his wallet out, a Gucci wallet which looked expensive, not like she wanted to steal it but these boys must be rich.

Bowing one last time, she walked away making sure to thank them and have a good day, "Ajumma, no I can't take them anymore what about you, you need your medicine so keep them besides I'll be okay for one day?" she said pushing them gently with a small smile, nodded Ajumma defeated but still thanked the girl a 100 times. "it was nice working with you, Ajumma, but I think I should go to either Busan or Daegu, I can't stay here anymore or dad will find me and- you know? so I'm gonna need you to go right now to the pharmacy and buy that medicine, we worked so hard for that now go!" she said pushing her gently toward the pharmacy with a small smile, pulling her into one last hug she kissed her forehead before walking away, waving slightly one last time before continuing her 'travel' in search of some way to escape Seoul before her father takes her back once again.

Sitting beside the boy she took his cigarette from his hand throwing it on the ocean in front of her, as he was about to grab another one she threw the box on the water, "so, do you want me to teach you that this mother fucker is a killer?" she said chuckling slightly at how he hated her already for throwing his precious addiction, "anyways, I need your help?" she said out of the blue, Jungkook raised his eyebrow waiting for her to continue her words "we all know you're rich as fuck, and I need you to buy me tickets to Daegu?" listening slightly to her words he took a picture of the couple kissing inside a laundromat with his camera, nodding slowly she almost squealed but stopped upon hearing his next words "in one condition?" "and that is ?" "I'll help you sneak inside my ex-house and go inside her room, to the drawer and there will be my clothes" "fine, when?" she said agreeing with his plan.

Standing in front of his ex house, she nodded at him before starting to climb the windows and could hear the sound of him talking to that girl more like flirting, looking at the window she could see them making out on the couch she had, opening the room window she did as told opening the drawer and grabbing all his stuff, a ripped book, AirPods, music DVDs and laptop looking at the polaroid with Jungkook smiling she stuffed it inside her pocket before looking at the room one last time.

Walking down the empty road beside Jungkook she handed him her bag full of his stuff, "you give it back tomorrow, you know where to find me? stay cool." she said smiling while flicking him off, the maknae staring at the girl with a small smile, this was her way on how to say goodbye or goodnight, the boy slowly waved back taking his keys from his pocket, opening the door of the black mansion greeting his mother on the way who seemed to smile sheepishly at him "who's the girl?" "mom I just met her" Jungkook looked so done as he stared at his mother dumbfounded

Opening the wagon door she ruffled her H/C hair after doing her routine, jumping down the wagon, she closed the door making sure to lock it with padlock, walking down the road she hid behind the wall watching as the man turned around running she grabbed a croissant, hiding it inside her jacket, thank god, he didn't notice and no one seemed to be out yet this neighborhood was always empty. the girl didn't have anything to think of but only the fact that this month was rough, she would eat once a day or not for a week, the asshole of the policeman broke her skateboard her mother got her before passing away and now she's a very famous thief in Seoul, what a beautiful life?

Nah, she always thought of giving up and standing at the edge of one of these buildings surrounding her, letting her body fall and join her mother. but couldn't, she didn't want to die and also promised her mother. Cursing under her breath Y/N limped to the front door of the beautiful black mansion, the door was suddenly slammed open and a woman stood there with wide eyes full of worry, glancing at the H/C haired leg Jungkook's mother immediately pulled her in sitting the girl down, the girl on the other side was shocked 'is this the wrong house? no, I remember JK saying this is his house' she thought confused but could see him coming out of a room holding a box, the boy slowly sat in front of her and started treating her wound out of as she sat there defeated and stared at him, his black curly hair looked so soft and his perfume was just UGH ravishing.

The food in front of her immediately got her attention as she started eating fastly, Jungkook mom laughing slightly at the girl "how many days didn't you eat something delicious?" "2 months, but don't worry- I only ate ramen 2 days ago!" she said munching slightly, Jungkook could see how her E/C eyes showed hope and slight happiness whenever she's eating, the girl was shining slightly than the last time he saw her, she was about to attack a police officer for breaking her skateboard and next was her handing a bag of dumpling to Jimin.

Sitting in front of the pool they had, she slowly took Jungkook's lighter from her pocket she found back in his ex house, playing with it she wrapped his sweater around her waist to great some heat, it was freezing but she needed to clear her mind a little bit, she was thankful of them, they gave her food, treated her wounds, gave her warm comfy clothes and welcomed her to stay with them...

And how much the girl wanted to kiss their hands for that, they made her feel safe after 8 years of the trauma and problematic life she finally felt home. The sound of someone walking behind made her stop from playing with the fire, wiping her head behind she smiled slightly at Jungkook who held a blanket sitting beside her putting the cover around both their bodies suggesting for her to get closer and not be afraid.

The handsome boy slowly handed her the phone back, it was midnight, thanking him she opened her phone, 1 notification, that's odd. Frowning she looked at the boy asking whenever to do it or not, nodding at her she tapped on the notification, her dad.

-------------------------------- 𝘼𝙨𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙚 🖕-------------------------------

Happy birthday Darling, you turned 19, don't worry you're still my little girl right?

Fuck you.

Dad.

Seen 00:00

Just before he could even answer her text, she blocked him and deleted his number feeling calm and free, clenching the blanket around her hand she looked away trying not to let her tears fall, not wanting to show her weak side in front of Jungkook who seemed to know the situation and reason why she was cold and wants to run away. His anger was boiling, how dare a dad do this to his daughter? tomorrow was his final day alive he swore to make him pay for what he has done to his daughter. "it's your birthday?" he asked waiting for her to answer the question or at least look at him, 'why am I feeling empty when she's like that?' he thought nudging her shoulder, nodding she looked at him straight in the eyes tears covered her orbs as she stared at him deeply, her walls breaking down as she finally let them fall after staying strong for years.

살아남아야 한다."~Namjoon BTS (방탄소년단) 화양연화

Jungkook stared at her with guilt in his eyes pulling her into his embrace the girl cried quietly in his chest letting it all out. Not even noticing she fell asleep in his arms.

Holding the notebook in her hand, she knocked on the door of his room, hearing a groan behind the door she opened it looking at Jungkook who was fixing his hair, giving him a poker face she closed the door behind looking around his room, "shit, this place is fire" "I know right?!" he said on the other side trying to tie his hair into a ponytail, chuckling slightly she walked toward him standing on her tiptoe, "give it to me" doing as told he handed her the tie, her fingers slowly trailed down his hair sending a shiver down his spine at how cold her hands are, but a small smirk raised on the corner of his lips as his playboy self started showing Jungkook suddenly turned around before she could even finish his hair, landing on top of her his leg between hers as their faces were inches away from each other, his bunny smile on his face as he innocently grinned at her as if nothing happened.

Her eyes were dull and numb, but they lit upon seeing his beautiful smile

Having an amazing plan, she wrapped her arms around his neck pulling him closer as she leaned in, her nose bumping his, with Jungkook staring at her parted lips not pulling away and liking the way how she pulled him closer, his lips so soft that she wanted to kiss them so badly but couldn't, twirling him around it was now her turn to smirk, she was on top of him grinning innocently while ruffling his black hair

"come on, time for dinner"

Walking down the streets of Seoul while listening to some music, she slowly walked into one of the cafes that lined up the street of Seoul. Pushing the door open the little bell at the door jingled when she walked in and the scent of coffee hit her like a truck, this café wasn't crowded and it was one of her favorites, for these past days both the teenagers got closer day by day and still couldn't open up to him yet, it was so hard. and it would be a terrible lie if she doesn't catch feelings for him. "hello, can I get an iced-americano please?" she said looking at the cashier taking out the money from her pocket she slammed it on the counter before making her way toward one of the tables, playing with the flannel shirt she burrowed from Jungkook the girl waited for her order, phone ringing she slowly answered the call

"Hello? are you fucking kidding me what has he done?!" yelled the girl hanging up, slamming the door open the girl ran down the streets

Jungkook on the other side drove in rage toward where her 'father' worked, sitting down on one of the chairs his feet tapping on the ground nervously as he glared at the ground, a man came toward him with a smirk on his face, Breathless with anger, he stood up and immediately punched the man square in the jaw he didn't care about anything at the

moment but to just make him pay for what he did to his daughter.

Dashing down the streets pushing past the people, everyone at first thought that flash just passed by them while it was just a girl running with panic in her eyes, walking inside the police station the H/C haired girl immediately pulling the boy into a hug, tears covering her E/C eyes, as she pushed the strand of hair from his face staring lovingly at him she cupped his cheek looking for any injury. Sighing she glared sharply at her father "you deserved it" she said spitting in his face one last time before walking out of the police station asking Jungkook if he was okay, driving back home in silence the girl thought 'why did he do that?'

Sitting him down she grabbed the first aid kit and some alcohol, it was now her turn to help him, "this will hurt, so grab my hand" sitting down in front of him Y/N gently pressed the cotton on the huge bruise he had in his hand not caring the fact he's hurting her hand due to the pain he felt, "I'm so sorry" she said out of nowhere not even glancing at him, wrapping the bandage around his bruised hand she tried to ignore how bad she wanted to hug him by trying to get up but Jungkook already beat her to it, with one simple fucking move. Cupping her cheek the boy pulled her back down and made her face him stopping her from moving, his hand pressing on her cheeks as his soft fingers caressed her ear sending a shiver down her spine, her legs suddenly became weak as she stared back into his doe eyes, his gorgeous orbs shining under the moonlight like a diamond in the center of a museum was everything for her

His Dior Sauvage perfume only made it worse, it was her favorite scent aside from coffee, she felt giddy and happy whenever she sees him and just want to squeeze him tight and never let go. but now it was her whole body burning like fire

"Y/N please, tell me what is going on and I promise I'll help you with anything?" he said looking at her E/C eyes back and forth still holding her cheek butterflies dancing on her stomach as she stayed silent not wanting to ruin this moment with her fucked up past, she was about to pull him into a kiss, the same feeling kicked in, she just wanted to feel his lips on hers for few seconds was is a hard thing to ask? the sound of the door slamming open made them snap out of their position and fall on the ground.

"dude..."

There stood the boys staring at them awkwardly, coughing she got up wiping her clothes from any dust making her way to her room "wait, Y/N you promised me!" "I'm sorry Tae but I don't feel like playing..." "no, you're coming now sit down" rolling her eyes annoyingly she walked back down and sat on the ground waiting for the boys to follow her movement. Watching as the bottle spun in front of her, the girl breathing hitched upon seeing the green bottle landing on her, slightly panicking she shot a look that could make the bravest of warriors scream in terror, but Tae who didn't seem to care, challenged her "Truth or dare?" "Truth" "what were you both doing when we came in?" "talking duh." her simple sarcastic answer only annoyed Tae more than he was and that made her smirk proudly 'i'm not falling for one of those plans, Taehyung' she thought raising an eyebrow at the boy who smirked back at her "then why the sexual tension, and you about to kiss him?" grin fading and eyebrow falling she stared coldly at the boy his blood running cold at the look the girl just sent him "i-i take that back" stuttered the boy still feeling her staring straight into his soul, the game continued but surprisingly it didn't land on her anymore.

Sitting on her bed, she pushed the blanket away from her cold body, opening the door slightly trying not to make a noise as possible, making sure to close it behind her before she made her way toward Jungkook's room knocking 3 times. Jungkook jolted up from his bed at the thought of Y/N and immediately ran to open the door, he was right, there she was standing slightly shivering from the cold but before he could even protest to give her something to warm up or say anything, she already pulled him toward the Kitchen, opening the fridge she slowly grabbed hold of ice cream box and two spoons, sitting beside him she stared at the clock ticking in front of her "wanna know why I always throw your cigarettes whenever I see you holding one?" she said glancing at the boy who already stared at her continuing her words "because my mother was so addicted to this fucker, sure, it revealed her stress but it also made her sick, we would always go to the rooftop and talk about anything that comes to our mind, that was until he decided to cheat on her out of nowhere and started going to clubs, she didn't find out by herself, but I did, I told her in our usual ted talk we had at night while watching the stars flicker, surprisingly my mom didn't seem to care since she already noticed his sudden behavior, so being a good mother she wanted divorce and when she told him I told her about the whole thing, of me coming home from school and seeing a bitch on top off him, he started doing it to her. Days passed and mom got weaker day by day and everything was becoming worse as she started smoking 2 packs of cigarettes a day, and I don't want to lose you too after losing my own mother" she said scoffing a little bit at the memory flashing on her mind tears covering her E/C eyes.

Jungkook on the other side listened carefully and couldn't help but to intertwine his fingers with hers, and could feel her tensed up and her hand becoming warmer and not the usual coldness, looking at her he smiled happily at the sight of her looking at the moon through the balcony with a small blush on her cheek, as he was about to pull away afraid of hurting her she grabbed his hand back planting a gentle kiss on his veiny fingers and on top of the smiley face tattoo he had.

What are they?

A couple, close friends, just friends (pack it up, Adrien). She didn't understand why is the constant hand grabbing? cupping cheeks, the almost kiss in his room, He was so kind towards her and being his usual, bad boy self in front of the others?

Why would he like her anyway? she always thought of that which only broke her more remembering the fact she's going to run away and live in Busan and not stay with him anymore, her life was so confusing, should she stay with him or move away?

"Wanna know something?" asked the boy glancing at the girl who nodded at his question "you're living with me from now on, and this is the reason why," he said pulling her toward him by the hand, picking her up easily placing her in front of him and on top of the counter, with her staring directly into his eyes and his hand on both her side, the boy gently cupped her cheek. Heat rose from Y/N's stomach to her chest and behind her back. Jungkook's lips were getting closer and her heart decided to skip a beat, she could tell he heard it since the same bad-boy smirk came back on the corner of his lips. parting her lips she felt him washing over like a wave of warmth, curling her toes, unfurling all her senses as the taste of him nearly silenced all thoughts. The boys silently watched the scene happening in front of them Jimin and Taehyung taking pictures on the other side

the feel of his frame leaning on hers as his arms wrapped around her felt nearly forbidden. He pulled her in, claiming her mouth again, hungry and intense, until her knees gave in. Sure, she was a famous thief but in moments like these she's so nervous, he was her first kiss, what if it's bad?!. Her thoughts were stopped dead when his lips were gently pressed against hers, not knowing what to do she scooted closer toward him, wrapping her arms around his neck following the steps she remembered seeing in kdramas, he puts his hand on the back of her head and reassuringly strokes her H/C hair.

Heaven.

Pulling away gently the girl chuckled "you stole my first kiss-" "-and I'll do it again" he said cutting her off again with his lips on hers, a passionate and heated kiss made her melt in his arms, it was illegal for him to make her fall in love with him more with one simple fucking move. the next movement she made drove him crazy was the way her fingers played on his curly black hair, Picking her up his hand slid under her thigh, as he walked toward her room not breaking the kiss, closing the door behind them with his foot.

Jungkook's head rested on top of hers as he played with her H/C hair, "I never told you this, but do you know how much the Dior Sauvage & cigarette scent drove me crazy whenever I smell it on the outfits, I borrowed from you?" "oh yeah? new kink developed I guess" "yeah, I guess it's my kink," she said glancing lovingly at the boy in front of her, his fingers slowly pushed the strand of hair from her face as he smiled back at her, his fingers under her chin as he pulled her into a kiss.

"I'm in love with you girl with Dior Sauvage kink, Y/N L/N "

"and I'm in love with you too cigarette addicted bad boy, Jeon Jungkook"

[aquamoonchaii]

⍣ genre: fluff

⍣ warnings: heavy cheesiness

⍣ pairing: minho x reader

⍣ word count: 2.3k

⍣ collab: This is for the collab Summer Love - Stray Kids from lovie @bangchan-fairy

⍣ charlie’s notes: hope you guys love the cheesy cheese! this lovely banner was made by the precious @halliney!

⍣ summary: minho is scared of heights. maybe he is a chicken. but he meets another cute chicken that holds his hand.

Summer love is usually about sweet flings that end when school or work starts again. It starts in unexpected places with a smile and an ice cream, or with the adrenaline of meeting new places. Or at least that’s what happened to him.

Luckily, it didn’t go that way for both of you. It didn’t end!

Because it’s your third summer together and he can’t be happier. Even his feline babies love you so much, he has to bite his lips to not scream every single time Dori purrs approaching you and you coo at the kitten so cutely he just- Ugh. It’s no joke he is already searching for the perfect ring so he can propose.

There’s no way in hell he would find another soul like yours that blends so well with his, your sweet self is enough to calm him and make him feel at home, wherever he is. If you could open his heart and his brain, he would be so embarrassed because you would know he would do everything. Anything for you. You just need to say it and he is already thinking how to make it real.

But it’s ok, you won’t. Unless you are a secret cannibal and you kill him to eat his heart.

He chuckles out loud at the thought because he wouldn’t deny you his heart, you already have it anyway so he wouldn’t be upset if you eat it. You would just have to promise you won’t date another boy.

Minho just gets these thoughts as he wakes up from the nap he had holding your hand and here you are, like 10 centimeters away from him holding his hand even when you are not that clingy. The fact you are indeed a girl who isn’t into touch but you let him hug you and cuddle anytime makes him feel so good. So special. His free hand brushes your hair off your beautiful face, he can’t help but feel cheesy this moment so he caresses your cheek lovingly and kisses your forehead.

You stir a bit, but as the heavy sleeper you are, you put a leg on both of his -so he doesn’t escape and eat the last chips you mutter groggily- so he slaps your leg lightly and a small smile is on your face until you surrender again to sleep. Minho suddenly rolls his eyes. Are there people who know these intimate details about you besides him? Like you always put a leg on his body and you can’t open your eyes that easily, is there any chance there would be another guy after him who would know this? He pouts because it's frustrating to feel this way, so freaking protective. About your things, about your habits, about you. You.

Always you.

He feels the softest when you are like this, peacefully sleeping beside him in his oversized shirt and pajama pants that make you look like a homeless man. A homeless man that is going to steal his favorite hoodie, you would say. On these sunny and hot days, he has little bit of time to engulf in his feelings and think how lucky he got. Something he would never in a million years would voice out because Ew, the cringe. Especially when it’s summer. Because he gets small flashbacks about how he met you.

Hiking.

Hiking

Hiking!

What a better way to enjoy this beautiful summer than eating frozen fruits and walking through beautiful places? He originally planned to go to the mountain he enjoys the most, Jirisan but of course it would be too crowded.

So now he is here on a hiking tour. He didn't read the whole tour completely because he didn't want to miss this day and because Changbin wanted to come. And he doesn't like company when hiking or Changbin. Just kidding, he likes him but not when he whines which he would totally do in a long walk.

"Uh, sir? Are you not coming? I'm sorry but you are the last one to pass the bridge and the tour is being delayed right now." Minho bows apologetically and excuses himself saying that he would pay the extra fee to wait for the next group tour because he doesn't feel well. Of course the tour lady noticed him getting paler than a piece of paper when he was told to try sky-biking because it was included in the tour or he could pass that thin bridge that passes through both mountains. There was no other way to reach the beautiful sunset he was looking out for. But it was too high.

It looks dangerous and the vertigo hit right at his face as he is literally frozen right now, ugh.

It's ridiculous he is not going to see the sunset.

But he just can't move right now so he keeps a stern face to save himself the embarrassment and makes everyone laugh -group partners were getting really annoyed but well, Minho is funny- saying that he needed to pee because he was too excited. The female nods and makes a few calls, everyone starts taking pictures and distracting themselves as Minho looks at his phone just to notice his battery is going to die, it doesn't matter as he has a incredible high quality camera who is going to be very disappointed if he doesn't get those damn pictures of the sunset.

"Lee MinHo, right?" He nods and the female explains how this would work. So, this tour needs to keep going and as he is clearly pretty interested in hugging the tree that is right there to hold him, he should wait for the other group tour. It would cost him a lot because the next group tour has the option to stay the night to wait for the beautiful dawn. He agreed still because he wanted them pictures, it didn’t matter if he had to sneak in someone’s tent. “Your client’s code is 1441, please let it know to the next tour guide so he would include you in the other package.”

He buys an extra bottle of iced tea for everyone as he apologizes once more before he says goodbye and apologizes again to the rest of the group tour. Minho takes beautiful pictures as he walks near the damn bridge he doesn't want to cross but he needs to, he has around two hours to enjoy and to prepare himself.

You have to do it MinHo.

You have to.

"Are you sure you are going to hike that mountain? Like really sure?" He remembers Changbin questioning him and MinHo gasped. That asshat knew about the thin bridge.

Whatever, he is already here.

He is distracted with the beautiful little birds that let him take photos of them when he hears noise about a group coming. His moment to shine has come.

He just needs to look forward and not down because he would probably die. Ok, he 's ready. Really ready. Completely ready.

Oof.

"I'm not ready!" What- He is engulfed in his own thoughts of being terrified of heights, he didn't notice the girl that is making a funny scene about being nervous. MinHo approaches the group taking out his headphones and feels a bit better, he is not the only one having a mental breakdown because of the damn bridge. Everyone hypes her up to cross the bridge and cheers, she ties her hair up and gives a step forward and squeals.

"I'm sorry my friends! But I'll need a diaper."

"Uh, excuse me? Is this the second group of the tour to see the dawn?" He approaches the lady who had the little bright flag and after she nods kindly, he gives her his ticket saying his client code was 1441. "Oh yes! Come with us, please. This group usually goes slower so take your time to cross the bridge as you see, there's another client who is a bit nervous."

"I'm not nervous, I just wanted to take more pictures."He says and the lady nods and smiles, the tour guide seems close to the girl laughing anxiously that tries to cross the bridge because she whispers to her something about being a chicken. The girl, undeniable attractive just keeps laughing, voicing out she hopes to not die today. "Huh? Another person that is afraid to cross? Where?"

Damn. They are talking about him. The smile that was on his face dissipates and turns into a serious frown as he tries to appear concentrated to look at some flower. "Guys keep going, I will cross alone and safe! I promise!" MinHo hears the girl say to the group and hurried steps that come closer to him after that. "Hi? Are you the scaredy cat?"

"What?" He quickly turns around and scoffs, she is the scandalous one and she starts with this, pfft. "Are you talking about yourself? I don't remember being the one who squealed."

"Yeah right. Come on! Don't be shy, let's cross together because I'm scared too."

"I'm not scared!"

"Mr. 1441, please. We can be stubborn after crossing this bridge." You stick out your hand at him and he raises an eyebrow. "Are you going to give me a piggyback ride or what? Because Miss Chicken, I am not interested."

"What- Chicken? You are the chicken! Oh, is this a way to ask for my name? I'm Y/N."

"MinHo. But I wasn't asking."

"Me neither, MinHo." You laugh as he doesn't have an answer and you grab his hand. "Let's do this together, it's okay to scream and insult. I do that a lot so I don't mind."

" Wait, wait!" He says as he is dragged by Y/N, the girl who seems eager to cross but is as much as terrified as him or even more. "Why are you so eager if the lady said we can take it easily? You were screaming a second ago!"

"I know but the adrenaline is awesome and someone who understands the frightening feeling will make you feel secure, I promise two chickens make a good team."

"I'm not a chick-" His words die as he is at the start of the bridge, instinctively he holds your hand tightly. He takes a deep breath and looks at you, you smile at him. MinHo wants to run away but something in your secure hold of hand makes him believe.

"So you don't have friends to come with?"

"I do have friends! How can you come to that conclusion just by one look? You also look like a loner." He bickers and you immediately answer. "I am not a loner! The lady guide is my friend, she said this dawn is going to be probably the most beautiful of the year as the weather is awesome."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah! I hope you didn't bring too much stuff because it's hot up there, people don't even bring tents and prefer to talk with everyone and take naps looking at the stars and stuff like that, it's pretty safe too and the tour gives tents if you feel uncomfortable."

"Really?"

"Of course! Is this your first time hiking this mountain?" He nods and as the conversation dies for a moment he remembers he is actually on a freaking bridge that looked too thin to hold him safely so he looks down. He is stepping on plain land.

He crossed the bridge bickering with the woman he is still holding hands with.

Wow.

MinHo bickers a bit more to hold her hand a bit more as she gets distracted easily. Y/N. It is a pretty name.

He smiles.

"So are you going to ask me out or are you ready to let go of my hand?" There is a tiny possibility he would have choked on his idea tea at this statement.

"Wow, that was smooth and pretty direct." He lets go of her hand and she laughs. "I don't date chickens though."

"I don't date chickens either." He scoffed at her attitude, damn. Is there a divinity of summer he can thank for?

After a night of bickering and photos of the incredible dawn, you agreed to give him your number so he would send the pictures he took.

It would be the first of many hiking trips that would turn into summer dates.

You open your eyes finally and your hands search for your phone to see the hour. You slept two hours! Felix said he would call for you to come and eat brownies with MinHo.

"Shouldn't you search for me first?" Your boyfriend sat on the end of the bed eating the last bag of chips making you whine.

"MinHo! Spill my chips!"

"Give me your hand to spill it."

"Ew."

"Tell Felix you are a taken chicken. He is not going to seduce you with brownies, you are more spoiled than anyone could ever think."

"Listen chicken, sweet Australian man is going to invite us both brownies so shut up. Also go tattoo yourself the word taken on your forehead. Girls think my chip robber is single? Tsk." As always, your unexpected statements make him choke, this time on the chips and laughs at your rolling eyes. "Am I spoiled? When? Where?"

MinHo throws himself on you and tickles you until you are kicking him off you, showing him the white blanket as a surrender sign.

"Should we go on a hiking date?" You suddenly ask.

"Why?"

"Why not? Maybe I want to commit murder and take revenge because they were my favorite chips."

"Jirisan?"

"No, the one we met!"

"Huh? Really?" He takes his phone and casually books a tour already for this weekend. "Maybe I should propose to you so you won't kill me."

You both laugh.

But he isn't joking. He also messages the boutique, he would need the ring for this weekend.

© aquamoonchaii. all rights reserved

REPOSTED.​

[nickjunesource]

Full article below.

Max Minghella is sitting in his backyard in the LA sunshine, his t-shirt an homage to the French filmmaker Mia Hansen-Løve, his adopted shepherd mix, Rhye, excited by the approach of a package courier.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asks — the dog, not me — tenderly.

Minghella, who at 35 has dozens of screen credits to his name, is best known as The Handmaid’s Tale’s cunning chauffeur Nick Blaine, a character who it’s difficult to imagine saying sweetheart. In airless Gilead, of course, a cautious hand graze with Elisabeth Moss’ June can pass for a big romantic gesture. In a Season 1 episode featuring child separation and hospital infant abduction, Nick’s major contribution is to trade stolen glances with a sex slave while “Don’t You (Forget About Me)” pumps discordantly along. I ask Minghella about playing the series’ closest approximation to a dreamy male lead against the show’s dark narrative of female subjugation.

“I know this is not the answer you want to hear,” Minghella says with none of Nick’s hesitation. “But I like that stuff, right? In the pilot, I think Nick only had a handful of lines. It wasn't clear that this is what the character would turn into. And it's quite fortunate for me personally, because I'm not a massively sort of intellectual person in my real life. I love Fifty Shades of Grey. That's like my Star Wars. It suits me to play a character like him.”

Minghella surmises that this enduring romanticism is an outcome of nurture. His father, the late British director Anthony Minghella, made grand romantic dramas like Cold Mountain and The English Patient. And there was the young, cinema-mad Max sitting on the living room sofa, absorbing everything. “It’s taken me a long time to understand this,” he says of his prolonged childhood exposure to love stories. “My dad made The English Patient when I was 10. So it was two years of watching the dailies to that movie and then watching 50 cuts of it. And then [The Talented Mr.] Ripley he made when I was 13, and it was the same thing.” These were an adolescent Max Minghella’s alternative to reruns. “I think they did shape my perspective on the world in a lot of ways, specifically The English Patient. That was a complicated love story, and I wonder sometimes how much it's affected my psychology.”

Some sons rebel; others resemble. Minghella’s co-star O-T Fagbenle, who plays June’s other lover from before the time of Gilead, got his first job acting in Anthony Minghella’s romantic crime film Breaking and Entering. “Anthony is one the kindest, most beautiful men that I've ever had the privilege of working with before,” Fagbenle says. “And Max has his gorgeous, sensitive, open-minded soul.”

Though Minghella spent his childhood on the set of The Talented Mr. Ripley, playing an uncredited Confederate soldier role in Cold Mountain, and tooling around with a Super-8 camera Matt Damon gave him, he insists his upbringing was normal. He grew up in South Hill Park overlooking Hampstead Heath in London with his father and mother, the choreographer Carolyn Choa. (Minghella also has a half-sister, Hannah Minghella, who is now a film executive.) Yes, technically, it was London, but that’s not how it seemed. “I feel like I grew up in a very small town. Every school I went to was in Hampstead. I was born in Hampstead,” Minghella says of the small map dot of his life before university. “When I went to New York, I felt I was going to the big city.”

Despite his illustrious surname, movie-watching was far from restricted to the classics. “Beverly Hills Cop is definitely the movie I remember having an unhealthy obsession with. I think I saw it when I was 5 for the first time, and I'd watch it just two or three times a day for years. I'm just obsessed with it.”

Plenty of actors can trace their love of movies back to a love of stories, but for Minghella the relationship seems to flow in reverse. When he left for Columbia University, Minghella opted to study history for its connection, through storytelling, to film. It was during the summers between his years of college that he started taking acting more seriously. Before his graduation, he’d already appeared in Syriana, starring Damon and George Clooney. Soon, he’d make a splash as Divya Narendra in The Social Network in 2010 and be cast in Clooney’s Ides of March. As all young actors eventually must, Minghella moved to Los Angeles.

It’s been over a decade since he last lived on the Heath, but, perhaps unusually for a person who’s chosen his profession, Minghella is adamantly not a “shapeshifter,” in his words. Home for Christmas this year, he started sifting through old journals stored at his mother’s house, “just like scraps of writing from when I was extremely young up through my teenage years,” before coming to America. “It was hilarious to me,” Minghella says of staring at his childhood reflection. “My review of a movie at 7 years old is pretty much what my review of a movie at 35 will be. My taste hasn't changed much. And when I sort of love something, I do tend to continue to love it.”

Which brings us back to his enduring love of romance, born of his bloodline, which is all over Minghella’s own 2018 directorial debut. Teen Spirit is a hazily lit film about a teenage girl from the Isle of Wight — the remote British island where Max’s father Anthony was born — who enters a local X-Factor-style singing competition. (It stars Minghella’s rumored girlfriend of several years, Elle Fanning.) The story is small, but its crescendos are epic.

Minghella calls the movie — an ode to the power of the pop anthem — “embarrassingly Max.” Max loves a good music-driven movie trailer — he’s watched the one for Top Gun: Maverick “many” times. And Max loves the rhythmic beats of sports movies like Friday Night Lights. Max loves movies with excesses of female energy, like Spring Breakers. He likens Teen Spirit to an experiment, his answer to the question, “Can I take all these things that I love and find a structure that can hold them?” The result is a touching “hodgepodge” of Minghella’s fascinations, inspired by the songs from another thing he loves: Robyn’s 2010 album Body Talk (itself a dance-pop meditation on love).

Minghella hasn’t directed any films since, but he sees now how making movies fits his personality — organized, impatient — more organically than starring in them does. Directing also helped him to appreciate that acting is “much harder than I was giving it credit for,” which, in turn, has made him like it more. Besides The Handmaid’s Tale currently airing on Hulu, Minghella appears in Spiral, the ninth installment in the Saw horror franchise and, from where I’m sitting, at least, a departure.

“I do like horror movies, but the thing that was really kind of magical is that I was feeling so nostalgic, right? We talked about Beverly Hills Cop earlier. I was just missing a certain kind of movie,” Minghella explains of his new role as Chris Rock’s detective partner. He was yearning for simple story-telling, like in the buddy cop movies of his youth, especially 48 Hours. It almost goes without saying that a buddy cop movie is another kind of love story. “And then I read the script and it was very much in that vein.” He clarifies: “I mean, it's also extremely Saw. It's very much a horror movie.”

His renewed excitement for acting translated onto The Handmaid’s Tale set, too. Veteran Hollywood producer Warren Littlefield describes casting Minghella in the role of Nick as an effortless choice: “Sometimes you agonize over things. [Casting Minghella] was instantly clear to me, and everyone agreed.” Now in its fourth season, the tone of the Hulu hit is graver than ever. Gilead is more desperate to maintain its rule, and so more audacious in its violence. Perhaps it’s fitting that the show’s romantic gestures finally match that scale.

In one particularly soaring moment, Elisabeth Moss’ June and Minghella’s Nick meet at the center of a bridge and crush into a long kiss. It’s been two seasons since they held their newborn daughter together, and it’s hard to see how this isn’t their last goodbye. Littlefield, like Minghella, is here for the romance among the rubble. “It's spectacular when they come together. In the middle of all of the trauma is this epic love story,” he says. “Max is just magnificent in the role.”

For Minghella, the satisfaction is more personal. He works with good people, he likes his scenes, and he thinks Nick is a complex character. Minghella read The Handmaid’s Tale for the first time in college in 2005. Like all the things Minghella has ever liked, he still likes it. He’s as proud of this most recent season as he is the show’s first. And he watched Nick and June race recklessly back to each other across the expanse of the screen exactly how you might expect. “I watched it like a fan girl.”