#YES YES I REMEMBER SO MANY OF THESE NOSTALGIA..

[burningcomputerpersona]

guess who got a good grade in song request today :3

[stormflypirateskin]

Oh my fucking God I passed by my old high school just a bit ago cuz they were having a party and blasting music and Jesus Christ I'm very emotional right now, I remember the year I spend there and all the field trips and everything and the fandoms I was in and man, it was really something. Low-key wished I took more pictures inside that school to have things to be nostalgic about other than screenshots of fics and other stuff I used to read in there sksksk

[1lovewony]

Old flame, turned on (Wonyoung x Male Reader)

Finally wrote her. As the evening wore on, the adults continued their conversations, oblivious to the charged atmosphere between Wonyoung and you.You found yourself stealing glances at her across the dinner table, noticing how the soft glow of the candles accentuated her delicate features and the curve of her neck. She caught you looking once and held your gaze, her eyes sparkling with a mix of nostalgia and something else, something unspoken

Later, as you stood in the kitchen grabbing a glass of water, you heard the soft click of the door closing behind you. You turned to see Wonyoung leaning against the counter, her arms crossed over her chest. She looked tired, but there was a spark of excitement in her eyes.

"I'm sorry about earlier," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean to make things awkward."

You shrugged, taking a sip of water."It's fine, really. I understand that things are different now."

Wonyoung pushed herself off the counter and took a step closer to you."Different, yes, but not in every way," she murmured, her gaze drifting down to your lips for a moment before meeting your eyes again.

She reached out and took the glass of water from your hand, setting it aside on the counter."Remember how we used to sneak out and meet up at the park when we were kids?"she asked, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

You nodded, feeling a flutter of excitement in your chest."How could I forget? We'd stay out until midnight, telling each other our secrets and dreaming about the future."

Wonyoung's smile widened, and she took another step closer, closing the distance between you. "I've missed that,"she whispered, her hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear."I've missed you."

Your heart raced as Wonyoung's fingers lingered on your cheek, her touch sending shivers down your spine. You leaned into her hand, savoring the warmth of her skin against yours.

"I've missed you too,"you whispered back, your voice trembling slightly."More than you know."

Wonyoung's eyes searched yours, a mix of longing and uncertainty flickering in their depths.Slowly, hesitantly, she leaned in closer, her breath warm against your lips.

Just as you thought she might kiss you, the sound of laughter echoed from the other room, breaking the spell. Wonyoung jumped back, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"I-I should go," she stammered, glancing towards the door."I'lltext you about the trip, okay?"

Before you could respond, she hurried out of the kitchen, leaving you standing there, your heart pounding and your lips tingling with the memory of a kiss that never was.

The days that followed were a blur of anticipation and uncertainty.You found yourself checking your phone obsessively, waiting for Wonyoung's text. When it finally came, it was brief and to the point:"Meet me at the park. Midnight.Come alone."

Your heart raced as you snuck out of the house, making your way to the park where you and Wonyoung had spent so many nights as kids. Themoon cast a silver glow over the empty playground, and you could see her silhouette sitting on their favorite swing.

As you approached, Wonyoung stood up and turned to face you, a small smile on her lips."You came," she said softly, her eyes shining in the moonlight.

"I said I would," you replied, stopping a few feet away from her. The air between you felt charged with tension and unspoken desires.

Wonyoung took a step closer, her gaze never leaving yours."

"I've been thinking about that night in the kitchen,"Wonyoung whispered, her voice low and husky."About how close we were, how much I wanted to kiss you."Your breath caught in your throat as she closed the distance between you, her body pressing against yours.You could feel the warmth of her skin through her thin dress, the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed."And now?"you managed to ask, your voice barely audible."Now," Wonyoung murmured, her lips brushing against your ear,"I don't want to stop."

Her hands slid up your arms, wrapping around your neck as she pulled you closer. This time, there was no hesitation, no interruption.Her lips met yours in a passionate, desperate kiss, pouring years of pent-up longing and desire into the moment.

You kissed her back fiercely, your hands gripping her hips as you deepened the kiss.

You hesitated for a moment, breaking the kiss as a sudden thought crossed your mind."Wait," you murmured, glancing around the park nervously."Whatif someone sees us? You're an idol, Wonyoung. Weshouldn't be doing this out in the open."

Wonyoung's eyes flickered with disappointment, but she nodded understandingly."You're right," she sighed, stepping back and smoothing down her dress."I didn't think... I just wanted to be with you, without any barriers or expectations."

She looked up at you, her gaze intense and filled with longing."Come With me," she said suddenly, reaching out to take your hand."I know a place where we can be alone, where no one will bother us."

Without waiting for a response, she tugged you towards the edge of the park, leading you down a narrow path that wound through the trees.

The path led you to a small, secluded cabin nestled in the woods, hidden from view of the park and the surrounding houses. Wonyoung pulled a key out of her pocket and unlocked the door, ushering you inside."It's my parents' old hunting cabin," she explained, closing the door behind you and flicking on a small lamp."They never use it anymore, so I thought... it would be the perfect place for us."

The cabin was cozy and warm, with a fireplace in the corner and a comfortable-looking bed in the other room. Wonyoung turned to face you, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shining with desire."Now," she whispered, closing the distance between you once more,"where were we?"This time, there were no hesitations, no interruptions. Wonyoung kissed you deeply, passionately, her hands roaming over your body as she pushed you back towards the bed.

You tumbled onto the bed together, a tangle of limbs and urgent kisses. Wonyoung's hands slid under your shirt, her fingers tracing the contours of your muscles as she explored your body. You gasped as her touch sent shivers of pleasure coursing through you, arching into her caress."Wonyoung,"you breathed, your voice husky with desire. "I want you. I've wanted you for so long."She smiled against your lips, her eyes dark with passion."I'm yours," she whispered, pulling back just long enough to tug her dress over her head, revealing her curves in a lacy black bra and matching panties.

You drank in the sight of her, your heart racing. She was even more beautiful than you'd imagined, her skin glowing in the soft lamplight.

Wonyoung straddled your hips, leaning down to capture your lips in a searing kiss. Her hands worked quickly to remove your shirt, tossing it aside before trailing her fingers down your chest and abs.You groaned at her touch, your hips lifting instinctively to press against hers.Through the thin fabric of her panties, you could feel the heat of her core, and it made your head spin with desire. Breaking the kiss, Wonyoung sat up, reaching behind her back to unhook her bra. She shrugged it off slowly, revealing her full, round breasts topped with hardened nipples.Your breath caught in your throat as you gazed up at her, taking in her beauty. "You're perfect," you murmured, lifting your hands to cup her breasts, thumbing her nipples gently. Wonyoung arched into your touch, a soft moan escaping her lips."Touch me," she pleaded, her voice trembling with need.

You sat up, wrapping your arms around Wonyoung's waist and pulling her flush against you. Yourlips closed around one of her nipples, sucking and teasing it with your tongue as your hands roamed her back and sides. She gasped and shuddered, her fingers threading through your hair to hold you close.

Your other hand slid down her stomach, slipping beneath the waistband of her panties to find her wet and ready.Wonyoung cried out, her hips bucking against your touch as you explored her folds, circling her clit with your fingertips.

"Yes," she panted, her head falling back in ecstasy."Just like that. Don't stop."You continued your ministrations, alternating between sucking her nipples and stroking her center, building her pleasure higher and higher. Wonyoung's movements became more urgent, her breathing ragged as she chased her release."I'm close," she warned, her voice strained with tension.

You slipped a finger inside her, curling it upwards to hit that sensitive spot that made her see stars.Wonyoung shattered, her body convulsing as a powerful orgasm washed over her.She cried out your name, her nails digging into your shoulders as wave after wave of pleasure consumed her.You held her close, continuing to stroke her through her climax until she collapsed against your chest, spent and trembling.You kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her lips, whispering words of praise and affection as she came down from her high."That was... incredible,"she murmured, nuzzling into your neck."I want to make you feel just as good."She slid down your body, kissing and licking a trail down your chest and abs.When she reached the waistband of your pants, she looked up at you with a wicked grin, her fingers deftly undoing your fly."Lay back and relax,"

You obeyed, lying back on the bed as Wonyoung tugged your pants and underwear off, tossing them aside. She took a moment to admire your naked form, her gaze hungry and appreciative.Then, she leaned down, wrapping her hand around your hardened length and giving it a slow, firm stroke. You groaned, your hips lifting off the bed at the sensation. Wonyoung smiled, her breath warm against your skin as she licked a slow stripe up your shaft from base to tip.You shuddered, your hands fisting in the sheets as she took you into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the head before sucking gently. She bobbed her head, taking you deeper with each pass, her hand working in tandem with her mouth to drive you wild with pleasure.Your breath came in ragged gasps, your body tensing as she brought you closer and closer to the edge."Wonyoung,"youwarned, your voice strained,"

Wonyoung pulled back, releasing you with a soft pop. She looked up at you, her lips swollen and glistening with saliva, a mischievous glint in her eyes."Not yet," she whispered, crawling back up your body.She straddled your hips, reaching between your bodies to guide you to her entrance. Slowly, torturously, she sank down, taking you inch by inch until you were fully sheathed within her.You both groaned at the sensation, your hands gripping her hips tightly as you savored the feeling of being one. Wonyoung began to move, rocking her hips in a slow, sensual rhythm that had you both gasping and moaning. She leaned down, pressing her forehead against yours as she rode you, her breath mingling with yours. "You feel so good," she panted, her nails digging into your chest."So big, so perfect inside me."

You leaned down, looking between your bodies as Wonyoung rode you slowly. That's when you saw it - a faint smear of red on your skin, and a trickle of blood mixing with her arousal.Your heart skipped a beat, realization dawning on you. Wonyoung was a virgin.You looked up at her, finding her gaze already locked on yours. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes shining with a mix of pleasure and something deeper, more profound."I've never...with anyone else," she confessed softly, her hips still moving gently against yours."Only you. Alwaysyou."The knowledge filled you with a surge of emotion - protectiveness, tenderness, and a fierce possessiveness.You reached up, cupping her face in your hands and pulling her down for a deep, passionate kiss.When you broke apart, you rolled her onto her back, settling between her thighs and gazing down at her with love and desire in your eyes."

"I'll be gentle,"you murmured, pressing soft kisses along her jaw and neck."We'll take it slow."You began to move, your thrusts shallow and deliberate, giving her time to adjust to the new sensation. Wonyoung's legs wrapped around your waist, her heels digging into your back as she urged you deeper.You obliged, sliding in further with each thrust, until you were fully seated inside her. She gasped, her back arching off the bed as a mix of pleasure and discomfort washed over her.You paused, giving her a moment to breathe, kissing her deeply and soothingly."You're doing so well,"you praised, brushing her hair back from her forehead."You feel incredible."Slowly, you began to move again, your pace steady and controlled. Wonyoung's discomfort faded, replaced by growing pleasure as her body adjusted to yours. She met your thrusts eagerly, her hips lifting to take you deeper.

As you moved together, the cabin filled with the sounds of your lovemaking - the soft creaking of the bed, the gentle slap of skin against skin, and the increasingly urgent moans and gasps that spilled from your lips.Wonyoung's fingers dug into your shoulders, her nails leaving crescent marks on your skin as she clung to you desperately."Harder," she panted, her voice ragged with need."Please, I need... I need more."You obliged, your thrusts becoming deeper and more forceful, hitting that sweet spot inside her with each snap of your hips.Wonyoung cried out, her body trembling beneath you as she raced towards her climax.You felt your own release building, your movements growing erratic as you chased your pleasure."Come with me," you growled, your voice low and commanding."I want to feel you, Wonyoung.I want to feel you come apart around me."

Wonyoung's body tensed, her muscles clamping down around you like a vice as she shattered in your arms. She screamed your name, her voice echoing off the cabin walls as a powerful orgasm tore through her. The sensation of her pulsating around you pushed you over the edge, and with a final, shuddering thrust, you spilled yourself inside her, filling her with your hot seed.You collapsed on top of her, both of you panting and trembling in the aftermath of your lovemaking. Wonyoung wrapped her arms around you, holding you close as you caught your breath.You rolled onto your side, pulling her with you so that you were facing each other, your legs tangled together.You kissed her softly, tenderly, pouring all the emotions you'd been holding back into the gesture."I love you," you whispered against her lips."I've always loved you, Wonyoung."She smiled, her eyes shining with tears of joy."

"I love you too,"she whispered back, her voice trembling with emotion."I think I've loved you since we were kids, playing and dreaming together in this very park."She snuggled closer, resting her head on your chest and listening to the steady beat of your heart." I'm glad we found our way back to each other,"she murmured, tracing patterns on your skin with her fingertips."

No matter what happens, no matter where life takes us, I want you by my side."You held her tighter, burying your face in her hair and inhaling the sweet scent of her."Always,"you promised."I'll always be here for you, Wonyoung.Through everything."

You drifted off to sleep like that, wrapped in each other's arms, the soft glow of the lamp casting a warm, intimate light over your entwined bodies. Outside, the world continued on, unaware of the love and passion that had blossomed in the secluded cabin. AN: Yay, Wonyoung Wony Wony Wonyoung I love her

[newobsessionweekly]

She's my wife

Main masterlist | The Rookie masterlist

Tim Bradford x wife!reader Fandom: The Rookie

part 2

Summary: You are Tim's wife and join him to the station for the day, looking for a Metro recruit.

Fluff

A/N: I loooove this, I start to love writing fluff. Thank you for this request. I have so many ideas and I don't know where to start. Also, I'm looking forward to your requests. Thank you for your support and your feedback is more than welcomed and appreciated! Have a wonderful day, bubs and enjoy this story! Lots of love

Warnings: None, pure fluff, not proofread yet

Requested: Yes! Words: 3.8k Photo not mine, credits to the owner @renegadesstuff !

The familiar scent of stale coffee and printer ink hits you as soon as you step through the doors of the station. It's been years since you last set foot in that place, but the memories come rushing back with startling clarity. The station hasn't changed much—it's still a hive of activity, with officers rushing to and fro, phones ringing off the hook, and the occasional burst of laughter echoing through the halls.

As you make your way through the bustling room, you can't help but feel a pang of nostalgia. This place holds so many memories for you—the late nights spent poring over case files, the adrenaline-fueled chases through the city streets, the quiet moments of comradery with your fellow officers. It feels like a lifetime ago, yet the memories are as vivid as ever.

You pause for a moment to take it all in, your gaze sweeping over the familiar surroundings. The bullpen, with its rows of desks and cluttered bulletin boards, holds a special place in your heart. It's where you once stood as a training officer, guiding rookies through their first days on the job.

Tim Bradford was your favorite and a handful from the start—a troubled rookie who struggled to follow orders and grasp the basics of the job. You remember the frustration of trying to teach him the ropes, the countless hours spent drilling him on the rookie book, only for him to push back and resist at every turn.

You remember the determination in Tim's eyes, the way he refused to give up even when the odds seemed stacked against him. And despite his rebellious nature, there was something about him—a spark of raw talent and an unwavering sense of loyalty—that set him apart from the rest.

But amidst the nostalgia, there's a sense of purpose driving you forward. You're here on official business, after all— you were sent there to find a new recruit to join Metro. And while part of you wishes you could stay lost in the memories of the past, another part knows that you have a job to do.

You're greeted by familiar faces at every turn. The joy radiating from your former colleagues as they see you again warms your heart, and you can't help but return their smiles with genuine affection.

Among the crowd, you notice Tim watching you from across the room, his expression a mix of confusion and curiosity. You shoot him a reassuring smile, silently promising to explain everything later.

Lucy stands beside Tim, a look of bewilderment on her face. "Who's that?" she whispers to Tim, nodding in your direction.

Tim's brow furrows for a moment as he studies you, then he turns back to Lucy with a shrug. "That's Y/N," he answers simply. "She works with Metro."

Lucy's eyes widen in surprise, her gaze darting back and forth between you and Tim. "What's she doing here?" she asks, her curiosity piqued.

Tim gives a nonchalant shrug, trying to downplay the situation. "No clue," he replies, though a hint of curiosity lingers in his tone. "Maybe she's just passing through."

As Tim watches you from across the room, a wave of warmth washes over him. Seeing you here, in the midst of his workplace, brings back a flood of memories—of late-night patrols, of shared laughter, of the bond you forged as rookie and TO. Despite the hustle and bustle of the station, his attention is drawn solely to you, his heart skipping a beat at the sight of your beauty.

It's an understatement that he adores you. He loves you with every breath, every heart beat and he couldn't get enough of you. Since you were recruited for Metro, he missed you every shift, longing for you to make his duties more bearable.

There's a softness in his eyes as he approaches, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Despite the secrecy surrounding your relationship, seeing you there fills him with a sense of comfort and belonging. In that moment, surrounded by the chaos of the station, all that matters is the connection you share—a bond that transcends the boundaries of your professional lives.

"Hey there," he greets you warmly, "What are you doing here?"

Seeing him there, in his element, reminds you of the journey you've taken together—from a rookie and his training officer to partners in both crime and love.

You return Tim's smile with one of your own, your eyes twinkling with mischief. "Oh, you know, just thought I'd drop by and say hi," you reply casually, purposely avoiding his question. "How's your day been?"

There's a twinkle in your eye as you meet his gaze, a silent acknowledgment of the love and understanding that binds you together. Despite the complexities of your situation, there's an unspoken agreement between you—a shared understanding of the sacrifices you've made for the sake of your relationship.

Tim chuckles at your playful evasion, rolling his eyes. "Smooth as always," he replies, though there's a hint of amusement in his tone. "But seriously, what are you doing here?"

You feign innocence, batting your eyelashes at Tim with exaggerated sweetness. "You know I can't tell you." you tease, knowing full well that your response will only fuel his curiosity further.

Tim lets out a mock sigh, shaking his head in amusement. "Fine, keep your secrets," he says with a playful grin. "But just remember, I know where you sleep at night."

You laugh at his playful threat, leaning in to give him a quick peck on the cheek. "Wouldn't dream of it," you reply with a wink, before turning your attention to Lucy, who's been watching the exchange with interest.

A curious expression played on her face as Tim takes the opportunity to introduce you. "Officer Chen, meet Y/N," he says, gesturing to you with a fond smile. "She's a pain in the ass sometimes, but if you ignore her, she's ok."

"Nice to meet you, Lucy," you say, your tone friendly and inviting as you offered Lucy a warm smile, extending your hand in greeting. "I've heard so much about you."

Lucy returns your smile, her curiosity piqued. "Nice to meet you," she replies, shaking your hand. "How do you know Tim, if you don't mind me asking?"

You glance at Tim with a mischievous twinkle in your eye, a playful smirk playing at your lips. "Oh, you know," you reply cryptically, earning a raised eyebrow from Tim. "We go way back. Let's just say he owes me a few favors."

Tim lets out an exasperated sigh, knowing full well that you're enjoying teasing him. "Don't listen to her, Chen," he says with a chuckle.

"You should listen to me if you want to survive him." you winked at his rookie " I created the monster and I'm the only one who knows how to defeat him."

Tim's eyebrows shoot up in mock indignation, his lips curling into a playful smirk. "Hey now, watch it," he retorts, feigning offense. "I'll have you know, she doesn't need any help from you."

You laugh at Tim's exaggerated reaction, shooting him a knowing look. "Oh, I'm sure Lucy can handle herself just fine," you reply with a wink, earning a chuckle from Lucy.

"Wait–" the rookie began as realisation hits "You are Tim's TO?"

You glanced at your husband, smiling brightly as he put his grumpy expression on, "Guilty as charged."

As Lucy's eyes widen in shock and excitement, she can barely contain her enthusiasm. Her mind is racing with questions as she tries to process the realization that she's standing face-to-face with the legendary training officer.

The rookie turns to Tim, her expression incredulous. "You never mentioned her before!" she exclaims.

Tim crossed his arms above his chest, a hint of irritation creeping into his voice. "Because my life is none of your business, Officer Chen," he retorts.

She faced you with a barrage of questions, her enthusiasm didn't wane, "What was Tim like as a rookie? I heard he wasn't so keen on following orders, is it true?"

You smiled at her, starting to like her more and more. She's definitely giving Tim a hard time. What you know from Tim and seeing her so curious and exited, you knew she has what it takes to be a successful cop.

Before you can respond, Tim interrupts, his irritation growing by the second. "Alright, that's enough, Chen," he barks, his tone firm and commanding. "Shop, now!"

"Yes, sir."

Lucy's excitement fades as she reluctantly obeys Tim's orders, shooting you an apologetic look before hurrying off to prepare for the patrol. As she disappears from view, Tim lets out a frustrated sigh, the grumpiness lifting slightly as he turns back to you.

"She seems nice," you comment, nodding towards where Lucy disappeared. "She's a good kid."

Tim sighs, running a hand through his hair as he considers your words. "Yeah, you're probably right," he admits, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

You reach out to gently squeeze his hand, a reassuring smile playing on your lips. "I know, and I know that sometimes a little kindness goes a long way," you say gently. "She'll appreciate it in the long run."

As Tim gazes at you, a mixture of admiration and gratitude flickers in his eyes. He's more than just a grumpy, hard-to-please man—he's a devoted husband, a dedicated cop, and a man who carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. Despite his tough exterior, there's a vulnerability in his gaze.

The sun filters through the windows of the station, its golden rays dance across Tim's face, casting a warm glow that accentuates his rugged features. He appears even more handsome in this moment, his chiseled jawline and piercing gaze illuminated by the soft light.

His sandy blonde hair catches the sunlight, creating a halo of golden warmth around his head. His eyes, usually sharp and focused, soften in the gentle light, revealing a depth of emotion that takes your breath away.

As Tim searched your face, you're bathed in a soft, ethereal glow, the sunlight highlighting the delicate contours of your face and the warmth of your smile. Your eyes, a mesmerizing shade, sparkle with mischief and warmth, drawing him in like a moth to a flame.

He peaked around at the officers, everyone minding their business, before he leaned in, his warm breath caressing your skin, sending shivers down your spine. His hand gently cups your cheek, his touch tender yet possessive, as if he never wants to let you go. You feel the soft brush of his lips against yours, a gentle yet insistent pressure that ignites a fire deep within your soul.

As the kiss deepens, you feel his other hand slide around your waist, pulling you closer until there's barely an inch of space between you. His touch is electrifying, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body as you melt into his embrace.

His lips move against yours with a hunger that matches your own, each kiss a testament to the love and longing that burns between you. There's a raw intensity to his touch, a desperate need to be as close to you as humanly possible.

For a brief instant, time seems to stand still as you respond eagerly, your heart racing as you lean into the kiss, savoring the warmth of his embrace. Despite its brevity, the intensity of the moment leaves you dizzy with desire, longing for more even as you reluctantly pull away.

Before the moment can linger, Tim's attention is drawn to something behind you. With a quick glance over your shoulder, you realize that Lucy is watching from afar, a curious expression on her face, sided by her mouth forming an "o" shape filled with surprise.

Tim's lips curl into a wry smile as he leans in to murmur in your ear, his voice barely above a whisper. "Looks like we've got a little shadow," he says, amusement dancing in his eyes. "She's gonna be a pain in my ass all day!"

You laugh softly at Tim's comment, shaking your head in amusement. "Well, you did sign up for this when you became her TO," you tease, a playful glint in your eyes. "Just be nice, okay? She's just curious."

Tim rolls his eyes at your advice, but there's a hint of affection in his gaze as he gazes at you. "Fine, I'll try to play nice," he concedes with a grin. "But no promises if she starts asking too many questions."

As your husband heads off for patrol with Lucy, you find yourself seated across from Sergeant Grey in his office, the familiar surroundings offering a sense of comfort amidst the chaos of the precinct. His office is tidy yet lived-in, with stacks of paperwork neatly organized on his desk and a few personal mementos scattered about—a photo of his family, a commendation plaque from his years of service.

Wade offers you a warm smile as you settle into your seat, "Y/N, it's been a while. Think the last time I saw you was at your wedding?"

You nod in agreement, "It hasn't been that long. But you know Metro, it keeps me busy."

"Well, it's always a pleasure to have you around." Sergeant Grey's words of praise for your time as an officer at the station warm your heart, "You were one of the best we had," he continues, sincerity evident in his tone. "It's a shame to lose you to Metro."

As the conversation progresses, you take a deep breath before broaching the subject of your visit. "Sir, I'm here on official business," you explain, your tone serious. "Metro is recruiting, and I'm here to find the best officer for the job."

Grey nods in understanding, "I see. And do you have anyone in mind?" he asks, leaning forward slightly.

You hesitate for a moment before responding. "Actually, I do," you admit, your gaze meeting his. "I think Officer Bradford would be the best fit for Metro."

He considers your words for a moment before responding. "I have to say, I agree with you, Tim would make an excellent addition to Metro."

There's a hint of hesitation in your eyes as he speaks, and you can tell that he senses there's more to your recommendation than meets the eye. "Is there something else on your mind, Y/N?" he asks, his tone gentle but probing.

You paused, choosing your words carefully before responding. "Well, sir, it's just... I'm not sure if it's appropriate for me to recommend Tim," you admit, your voice tinged with uncertainty. "I don't want it to seem like a conflict of interests."

You found yourself grappling with a mix of emotions. There's a deep-rooted sense of pride your work, coupled with a genuine desire to see Tim succeed in his career.

"Trust me, Y/N, Officer Bradford's qualifications speak for themselves." he leaned back on his chair, "Don't worry about it. I'll handle it from here. We both know you and Tim keep your private life apart, and I'll make sure Metro knows this decision is based solely on Tim's achievements."

Sergeant Grey's words sink in, a rush of relief floods through you, washing away some of the anxiety that had been gnawing at your nerves. It's comforting to know that your integrity as an officer won't be called into question, that your personal connection with Tim won't overshadow his merits.

With a grateful smile, you nod in appreciation, the knot of worry in your stomach loosening with each word he speaks. "Thank you, Sir."

"Now go find your husband!"

In the dimly lit interior of the shop, the tension between Tim and Lucy was palpable. Lucy's curiosity burned bright, fueled by suspicions and unanswered questions.

"So..." Lucy ventured, breaking the uneasy silence. "I saw you and Y/N kissing, back at the station. Is she your girlfriend?"

Tim's jaw clenched at the inquiry, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. "That's none of your business, Chen," he shot back, his tone gruff.

Lucy persisted, undeterred by his dismissive tone. "Come on, Tim," she pressed. "You can't just brush this off. I obviously know there's something going on between you two."

But Tim remained stoic, his frustration simmering beneath the surface. "I said it's none of your business," he repeated, his voice terse.

Lucy gaze lingered on him, studying his face. She couldn't read anything but irritation caused by her intrusion into his private life. She searched his hands, no sight of any ring, so the possibility of you being his wife dropped.

"Do you like her?" she insisted.

"What's the proper procedure for securing a crime scene?" he replied to her question, avoiding giving any details about you.

"Come on. You can't avoid this forever. Are you and her just colleagues, or is there something more?"

Tim's irritation simmers beneath the surface, his frustration mounting with each passing moment. He had hoped to avoid this line of questioning, to keep his personal life separate from his professional one. But Lucy's relentless curiosity had pushed him to his breaking point.

"What's the recommended procedure for securing a firearm during an arrest?"

She couldn't shake the feeling of defeat, knowing deep down that Tim wouldn't give her the answers she sought. Despite her best efforts to uncover the truth about Tim's relationship with you, she found herself hitting a dead end.

"I saw the way you look at her. You have feelings for her?"

"When searching a suspect, what areas of their body should you prioritize for pat-downs?"

"Fine. I'll shut up."

Confusion clouded Lucy's thoughts as she struggled to make sense of the situation. She couldn't understand why Tim was so guarded about his personal life, especially when it came to someone who seemed to hold such significance to him. It left her feeling unsettled, a nagging sense of curiosity gnawing at her.

As he focuses on the road ahead, he can't help but feel annoyed by Lucy's persistence. He knows she means well, but he's not ready to share the intimate details of his relationship with the woman he loves. He just wants to focus on their job, to keep their partnership strictly professional.

As lunchtime approached, the bustling street food area near the station came to life with the sound of chatter and the aroma of sizzling food. Amidst the crowd, you found an empty table, enjoying the inviting atmosphere, with colorful umbrellas providing shade from the midday sun as you waited for Tim.

Your husband approached the table where you were seated, a sense of defeat hung heavy in the air, exhausted from all of his rookie's questions. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, as he leaned down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine, a tangible reminder of the connection you shared.

As the conversation turns to you, Tim leans in with a curious glint in his eyes. "So, what were you doing at the station earlier?"

"Metro sent me to find a recruit," you confess, your gaze meeting Tim's.

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "And did you find one?"

Angela rises from her seat, flashing a smile, "I hate to break up the party, but duty calls. I'll catch you guys later."

You nod understandingly, bidding her farewell with a wave as she heads off to resume her patrol.

You return your attention to Tim, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Yeah. You."

Tim's eyes widen in disbelief, his expression a mix of shock and excitement. "Me? Are you serious?"

Nyla's figure blended into the bustling crowd as she disappears down the street with her rookie, leaving you and Tim alone.

You give him a knowing smirk. "Dead serious. They've been considering you for a while. Sending me down to the station was just a formality—a test, to see if I was ready for a promotion or something."

"You're getting promoted?"

"Uh-huh."

"That's awesome, babe. I'm proud of you."

As the lunch break comes to an end for Tim, he and his rookie prepare to go on patrol again. They stand by the patrol car, gearing up for their shift.

"Lucy, you're driving," Tim says, tossing her the keys with a grin. "Show me what you got."

Lucy's eyes light up with excitement as she catches the keys, nodding eagerly. "You got it, Officer Bradford. Shotgun!"

While Tim is in the shop, double-checking some equipment, you lean over the car door, catching his attention. "Hey," you say softly, a hint of concern in your voice. "Be safe out there, okay? And have a good time."

Tim gives you a reassuring smile, placing a hand over yours on the door. "Always am, love. Don't worry about me."

Just as the car starts to move, you lean in closer, your voice barely a whisper against the noise of the street. "And Tim... I'm pregnant."

Tim's eyes widen in surprise, his heart skipping a beat at the unexpected news. You placed a playful kiss on his cheek, before the car pulls away, you watch Tim drive off with a mixture of excitement and fear.

You were scared of his reaction, delivering him the news this way gave you time to process and turn all the possible scenarios upside down.

He meets your gaze one last time before the car disappears down the street, a rush of emotions flooding his mind—joy, excitement, and a touch of nervousness. But above all, there's a deep sense of love and gratitude for the life you've created together.

"Did you get your TO pregnant?" Lucy asks, her tone a mixture of surprise and incredulity.

Tim's jaw tightens, a flash of irritation crossing his features at the inappropriate question. He takes a deep breath, gathering his composure before responding firmly.

"She's my wife," Tim states, his voice leaving no room for further inquiry. "Now, shut up and drive."

He reaches up to where his uniform shirt collar meets his neck, pulling out a small chain with a wedding ring and some dog tags hanging from it. It's a subtle gesture, but one that holds immense significance—a symbol of the most important moments of his life, from fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan to marrying you.

Lucy's eyes widen in realization, a flush creeping up her cheeks as she realizes her mistake. Without another word, she focuses on the road ahead, her cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Meanwhile, Tim sits back in his seat, his mind still reeling from the unexpected turn of events. Despite the initial shock, a sense of pride and excitement fills him at the prospect of becoming a father. And as the patrol car speeds through the city streets, Tim's thoughts are consumed with thoughts of the future.

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

another childhood friends to lovers believer???? YES YES YES!!!! can i please request bakugou and reader moving in together, and reader shows him a memory box she's kept since they were kids...like photos, random trinkets he got her, pressed flowers, birthday cards...and he's like one second away from bursting into tears, because this is 2 decades worth of love (and many more to come) 😭🥹💗 thank you, mwah x 💖

memory box !

you take a trip down memory lane..

a/n : OH. MY GOD. I literally Had to write this this is genuinely adorable anon you are SMACKING. i lub this

cw: literally all fluff, CHILDHOOD FRIENDS TORAGAHAHEHG, katsuki gets emotional quickly and i live by this, lmk if i missed sum !

“oi !” katsuki calls out from behind you “do i throw this out or not ?”

you look back, only to see a little red box in his hands. your little red box.

you shoot up, dropping the clothes you were stacking in your shared dresser. “no, don’t!” you reach out and hold your arms up, katsuki looks even more confused, eyebrows furrowing harder.

he shakes your box around, bringing his ear to it to hear the rattling and clinking of the objects inside. “what the hell is in this thing ?”

“don’t shake it around like that !” you shriek, ripping the box out of your boyfriend hands and leaving him shocked. you smile to yourself, slowly sitting down on the wooden floors of your new apartment. your new apartment with katsuki.

“i never actually showed you this, huh.. ?” you watch as he follows you after a moment of looking at you like you’ve grown a second head, crouching down next to you with eyes fixed on your little shoe box. you remove the lid and immediately a sense of nostalgia shoots through you, you hadn’t looked at this for a while now.

“this is my memory box, i’ve had it for years.. i think since i was..what, seven ?” you wonder out loud, you’d definitely had it for a long, long time. katsuki sits next to you silently while you excitedly look through it.

“oh yeah, definitely seven—look this is the friendship bracelet i made for us !” you exclaim excitedly. it’s definitely more than a bit worn, that was the main reason you put it in this box, it was the first item you’d put in there.

you’d made one for you and one for katsuki, using your precious loom band box set you’d gotten for christmas. you’d used up all of your orange and black for it and worn yours until it started fraying. you almost cried when one of the bands snapped and you’d gotten too big for it, or it had just gotten too little for you. you refused to throw it away and found a random empty shoe box to put it in, and the rest was history.

“oh, and these are left over tickets from when we went to the fair, my keychain you got me from the aquarium—i remember you begged your mom for it.” you laugh, begged was an understatement. you remember how mitsuki pulled him away because he was causing a scene, you didn’t understand why he was so insistent on getting a souvenir, you had a good day as you all walked around looking at fish and katsuki dragging you around by the hand like he built the place himself. you remember how excited he got when you got to the shark exhibit.

you didn’t get it, until he stopped you when you were ready to leave with your own parents, grabbing you by the back of your shirt and avoiding your gaze as he stretched his little arms out and wordlessly offered you a little penguin keychain, mumbling something about how you looked happy when you saw them, ears pink while his mom smirked behind him, his father smiled down at you both kindly.

that was the first present he’d ever bought for you. with his mom’s money of course, you giggle at your own thoughts. but he’d still gotten it for you because he thought it’d make you happy. it was your treasure and you wore it on your bag for years until it started getting dirty, and you’d hid it in your shoebox to keep it safe.

you suddenly realize your boyfriend’s been awfully unlike himself for the past few minutes, silently blinking at the contents of your box and now at your little keychain.

you suddenly feel a bit self conscious, maybe he thought it was weird..

you blink in surprise when he reaches for your penguin chain and you offer it to him. it’s a bit brownish now, having lost its shine over the years. he runs his thumb over the fuzzy faux fur.

“thought you forgot about this..” he mumbles to himself.

your eyes shoot wide. “wha—no way ?!”

“ya stopped wearing it on your bag so i thought you got rid of it.” he doesn’t look angry, simply observing the chain, letting it dangle in the air.

“i just didn’t want it to get any dirtier than it clearly already is” you joked. you’re in deep now, shuffling around for more items in your box. katsuki joins you this time, pulling out an old picture.

“holy shit.” he breathes. you catch a peek at what he’s looking at only to see the both of you.

“woah, we were so small !” you giggle. it was a picture of your grade school entrance ceremony. you remember katsuki stubbornly refusing to take it and it took his mom about ten minutes to get him to stay put and take the shot. you’re all smiles, waving at the camera like you’d been instructed to and gripping katsuki’s hand. said little boy had an angry, angry frown on his face, sticking his tongue out at the camera.

“you’re cheeks were huge.” you laugh, katsuki sits down properly to nudge your shoulder with a huff. “shaddup,” he says, though there was no real bite to his words. “you weren’t any better than me.” you laugh some more and continue to pull things out. “where’d you even get this ?” he asks.

“your mom gave me a copy.”

“fuckin—of course she did.”

there’s a blurry picture you’d managed to take of katsuki when you’d gotten your first polaroid camera, and some pictures from when you’d convinced him to get in a photo-booth from your first date at the fair. dozens of birthday cards he’d written for you, you’re tempted to read them all right now but you worry katsuki might get embarrassed and actually throw the box out, so you’ll do that later.

the flowers he’d plucked out of the ground one random afternoon at his house, a rock he'd given you because it looked cool, a couple of seashells you found at the beach together, a dried up four leaf clover he claimed would bring you good luck, the container of the lip balm you were wearing when he kissed you for the first time. years worth of memories all in your little shoebox.

“fuck, you really kept all this stuff..” you hear katsuki mutter. you turn to see him still with that elementary school picture in hand, staring at it thoughtfully.

“course i did.” you hum, leaning against his side. “i spent all of my childhood with you suki, that’s unforgettable to me. i wanted to make sure i wouldn’t ever forget how much you mean to me.” katsuki’s eyes fix yours as you continue talking. and you realize how they slowly turn glossier. he realizes when you do and quickly ducks his head, scoffing to himself but a sniffle slips out.

“hey..” he shakes his head, you don’t continue, only reaching to hold him in your palms. he shoves his cheek against one, chuckling to himself.

“shush.” he mutters, voice cracking, his eyes remain shut to not let anything slip. he presses a kiss to your skin, grabbing at your wrist. "you're gonna be the fuckin' end of me, y'know ?" you laugh, rubbing your thumb against his skin, you feel him sigh against your palm.

"love you."

you smile "i love you too" you whisper back. "so, you still wanna throw it out ?" you joke, katsuki's eyebrows furrow.

"fuck, no." he asserts "it's staying here, an' i'll give you more shit to fill it up with."

and you truly couldn't be more excited, starting a new chapter of your life with the boy that had shared it all with you. you want your shoe box to be filled to the brim with more and more memories of you both, all of them just as close to your heart as the last.

"hmm," you hum "can't wait."

taglist :

@napbatata @andysdrafts @queenpiranhadon @jastoo46 @cecelia77

@katszumi @m-inluv @monchurie @the-hangry-otter @starlostlaiba

@moonshuul @erenstitanweave @katsus-mistress @dondeh-zedonutqueen @liluvtojineteyam

@aspiringwriter1111 @sugurusmoon @redvelvetstan1

@niktwazny303 @nemisimp @kit-katsukii @alphasage @milktea-academia

[taegularities]

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

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

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

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

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

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

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

“Angel? Breathe.”

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

Sighing, you ask, “Are you okay?”

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

“Yes… I know.”

“Let’s go?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes.

Has he been keeping up with stuff?

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

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

“Oh, I’m…”

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

“What’s that mean?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

In some sense, it’s worse.

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

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

You follow.

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

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

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

And in the end, it’s still his dad.

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

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

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

You’re incorrect.

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

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

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

“Mhm,” Jungkook merely responds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The city called and it kept them.

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

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

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

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

“Ah. Is it that pretty?”

“It’s pretty amazing.”

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

“I’m trying to, really.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s unnecessary.”

“Okay.”

Tense. Quiet. Gulping.

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

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

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

“I was.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Damn, Kook.”

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

“Yeah. I really like it here so far.”

“Good.”

“Are you?”

“Yeah. It’s okay.”

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

“Good. I think we cou—”

Pause. 

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

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

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

“Helloooo!”

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

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

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

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

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

You giggle. Goodness.

“Gosh, sure!”

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

Weird.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She’s not going to…

No.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s crazy.”

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

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

“What is?” you ask.

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

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

The weeks of insecurity and then the trials of life.

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

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

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

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

Yeah… yeah, it sounds like him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Some people I knew…”

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

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

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

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

“You say it so… weirdly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She calls, “Ah! You’re finally here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hum, “I’m getting tired, yeah…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yearning.

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

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

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

Reminiscent of a youth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Victoria’s Secret?”

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

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

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

“Never threw it away, though.”

“Never thought of it.”

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

“You okay?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But then again…

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

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

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

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

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

“Baby!” he exclaims back.

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

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

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

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

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

“Gureum?” you repeat.

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

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

“Okay. Okay…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This is so pretty,” you say.

“Right?”

“Was this the surprise?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You could take him to the city.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s old?” you wonder.

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

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

He just is… He just is.

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

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

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

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

Jungkook…

He took you strawberry picking.

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

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

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

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

“Oh— Really? How so?”

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Try it, too,” he then instructs.

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

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

“You’ll have to eat mine, then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That too.”

Oh.

“What else?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Now?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course. Gotta wash them, though.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Right?”

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

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

“No bullshit berries indeed. So good.”

“You picked good ones!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh… yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You understand.

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

The affection is unfiltered and crystal clear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can wait. Things can wait.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I really wanted to help, though.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Offended indeed. You learned this?”

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

Junghyun chuckles. “Even I remember.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nonsense.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jungkook—” Junghyun interrupts.

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

“What are you talking ab—”

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

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

But it’s hard to listen.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Watch your mo—”

“Or wha—”

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

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

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

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

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

The fire in his eyes is blue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kook…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know. It’s okay.”

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

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

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

Why can’t he love me?

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

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

But he keeps believing—

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

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

“Your mother doesn’t either…”

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

“Didn’t you… hate me, too?”

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

“Not for a second,” you say.

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

“Yeah. I’m okay. We’re okay.”

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

“I know. I love you, too.”

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

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

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

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

And it does fifteen minutes later.

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

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

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

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

“It’s okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah… yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hmm…

“What did he go down for?” you ask.

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

After a fight.

Like the breakdown last night. You understand.

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

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

“Sure!”

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

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

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

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

You’re thankful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She’s so wrong. Both she and him.

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

You remember…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit…

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

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

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

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

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

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

You walk down the steps to the basement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uhmmm, just looking through old stuff.”

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

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

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

He does this often. Zone off like this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Too much of a fool for you, yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up.”

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

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

“Ah. That’s kinda sweet, though.”

“Isn’t it?”

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

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

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

“Yes, I did. Don’t be a brat.”

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

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

Make up, probably.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Does he feel the same about you? Probably.

Because he curses, “What the fuck.”

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

“What are you even?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He chuckles. “They can try.”

“They? Well, shit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Damn it. Both of them deceived you.

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

“And I got it for you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’ll suit you.”

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

“Ah… I can try.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A tease here, a flirt there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah.

Ah…

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

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

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

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

Ahhh…

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

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

Come on. Unrealistic.

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

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

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

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

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

What? When?

“When?” you echo.

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

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

For the very first time.

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

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

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

Fuck, what if it happens again?

“I’m going to panic,” you tell Ria.

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

“But now I might keep thinking about it.”

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

“No… no, it’s okay. You should’ve.”

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

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

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

Well. Okay.

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

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

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

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

You smile.

Okay…

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

Okay.

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

Breathe in. Breathe out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You take a deep breath.

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

It’s not too much to ask, you reckon.

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

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

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

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

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

You soon meet the first one of the latter kind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Up and down. Smile telling. Uncomfortable.

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

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

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

“Nice. And wait, sorry, you were…?”

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

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

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

“Lucky. You look pretty together.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook nods. “Christian Yu now. Yup.”

“Right.”

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

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

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Me neither,” Ria confirms.

Of course he didn’t like it.

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

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

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

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

“Okay.”

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

Ah…

“Hm?”

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

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

“Oh— Kook—”

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

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

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

Well… at least now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ve been thinking it all dead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I tell you something mainstream?”

You hum, “Hm?”

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

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

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

I’ll spend my life with you.

Not a question. Not a need.

But a confession. A goal. A plan. 

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

It’s a song.

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

“You probably do.”

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

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

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

“You did? Then she must’ve…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This… this is it.”

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

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

[xjulixred45x]

Okay so I need to know:

How many times has Lilia ‘kidnapped’ Yuu’s baby? Or Yuu has gone to the nursery to find Lilia there just rocking and holding them like ‘how tf did you even get in?!’ 😂

Yuu: WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE?!?

I feel like Lilia takes a specially liking for Yuu from the start, and likes to startle her sometimes by showing out of the blue ON THE CELLING like he always does, but he stops once he realizes that Yuu is with child. Then the instics kick in.

Lilia remembers certain... Things from the past, upon this. So he becomes quite protective of Yuu and her baby. He tried to make it look sublte, he befriends her, keps her close, specially when the students are specially roudy... He can't help but have a great attack of nostalgia when Yuu does things like singing to her Child or talk to them about how excited she is that they'll be born soon.

When the Baby is born, whoever, Lilia shows up to meet them ASAP! The little baby girl is such a cutie patotie! He could just eat her up! Ay least Lilia is responsable enough to carry the baby in a safe way, Even when he is in the celling.

And yes, there has been "kidnapping" but in the more literal sense.

There were times when Yuu wakes up in the middle of the Night, and for Mother instics, she goes to check on the baby (should we give her a name??) and she is GONE!

Yuu starts panicking and searching for ramshakle until she goes downstairs and finds Lilia holding the baby, who is sleeping peacefully, and Lilia just looks suprised to see her awake.

"she was Crying, and i didn't wanted to wake You up!" It's His response as he rock the baby to sleep again. While Yuu is just having the crisis of her life because how the hell Lilia get into her house--

In the end, Lilia has "Kid-napped" the baby too many times to count🤣

[starsintheendlessnight]

The beauty

And pain

Of remember

A person always has one or several memories that they keep with them no matter how time passes. It’s a universal experience that we have all experienced at some point in our lives, it doesn't matter if the memory fades as the days go by bc they are not perfect, in the end they are narratives in construction that in some way marked us as people.

Remember something can be both a beautiful experience and a painful feeling.

Remember helps us to better appreciate things and to understand both our values ​​and past experiences, whether those are moments with family or friends or simply having a good time. They are moments that we adore and keep in our minds with affection but these can also be transformed into a feeling of sadness, a part of us that was taken away from us, a piece of our identity away from us for who knows how long or even forever.

Many times “remember” makes us feel empty bc of what we no longer have and it is because emotional pain doesn't follow a specific script and cannot even be explain only in physiological terms, it’s something more complex and irrational and looking for a specific reason would be like looking for water in the middle of the desert. It hurts us emotionally to have to remember those people who are no longer with us or those happy moments that will never be repeated. Although within that same pain you can find beauty, it is still something irrational and meaningless bc yes, you remember with love and affection but you still feel pain bc of what those people or those moments represented for you and they are simply no longer there.

A memory can appear in many ways, whether it be from a song, a simple word or… Flowers.

Sunflowers are beautiful and radiant flowers that always seem to catch the eye, they are a small reminder that Eurylochus keeps of his home while he resided in Olympus, bright and so cheerful they were the only respite that Eury kept from his already distant home, he took care of them and adore them for the love and nostalgia that they transmitte to him at those moments from which he was separate. Little by little his appreciation turned into pain, a sweet memory of his home transformed into sadness and guilt.

He refused to go back to his flowers, remember his home only made him feel worse about himself. How could he long for something that he did not deserve? The pain stopped being just that and turned into guilt. He did not deserve those flowers, he did not deserve those seconds of escapism and as he did with anything that caused him pain he just turn away and ignored it thinking that everything would be fine if he did not think about it.

As the weeks went by, Eurylochus needed a moment to himself again and he remember his flowers. He wasn't in his best moment and he needed to try to feel again that peace that he felt the first time he saw his sunflowers, but it was too late... His flowers were already dead, he felt distressed bc the only memory of his home was withered before his eyes. He felt pain, but not only because his flowers died. That pain is not going to heal by simply planting others and then as if he hadn't let them die. That pain is about what those flowers represented for him and how he let them go in the face of that pain that made him feel inferior.

Pain is irrational. They may seem like just some flowers, but for Eurylochus they represented much more than that, and it’s in the memory of what he lost that he appreciate and love what gave him calm at the time. His flowers are dead, he let them die but he loves them for the peace of mind they gave him, even though the pain and nostalgia of his far away home is still with him at least he can appreciate it a little more even though he feels sad for remember those good times.

.

.

.

I feel like I'm VERY annoying with the ClosureAU (mostly on Twitter) and I apologize for that again, a new year started and I felt like I needed to do something decent, something meaningful not just a doodle or a funny video. No idea came to mind until I watched some videos of my fav youtubers again and this idea came up. I'm sorry if I'm being so annoying with all the angst I'll try to make not so sad content of the AU I promise. Happy new year to everyone I wish you all the best and thank you for supporting me at all times, I love you all so much 💚

[sorrowsofsilence]

intimate silence I • n.s

pairing: Noah Sebastian x fem!reader

words: 7.8k - part 1/2 - read part two here

warnings: (general warnings for part 1 and 2) 18+, angsty shiz, (years of unsaid feelings), smut, making out, fem!receiving, male!receiving, p n v, creampie, mentions of drinking, friends to lovers

prompt: After seeing each other for the first time in years, all the old feelings you tried to bury come flooding back. Noah admits he regrets not choosing you, especially when he’d felt the same way all along. Perhaps years of intimate silence weren’t the end… just the prelude to everything you were always meant to be. (This is like* a part 2 of desolate love - same vibes and storyline-ish.)

+

THIS IS A FANFIC ABOUT REAL PEOPLE IN FICTIONAL SCENARIOS. I AM NOT IMPLYING THIS IS HOW THESE PEOPLE ARE IRL OR THAT THIS SITUATION WOULD HAPPEN. IT IS FOR FANFIC PURPOSES ONLY!

+

You hadn’t anticipated him being at the pub as you walked in. It had been years since you last saw him, and surely many more since he last thought of you.

Yet, when you followed the server to your designated booth, only to pass his- his gaze latched onto yours. Your lips parted with recognition, heart immediately racing when his smile made way to his eyes.

It was hard to decide whether to stop amidst the bustling tables and scattered voices in the restaurant; but when he reached out his hand to touch your arm, hesitating for a mere moment before turning it into a subtle wave- you stopped.

"Noah?" you breathed his name as he took in your face with his dark eyes, unsure whether he was searching or reminiscing over past memories. You glanced at the others at his table, offering a brief nod before looking back at him shyly. He chuckled softly, disbelief colouring his expression, as he leaned his elbow on the chair's headrest.

"Date night?" he asked, his gaze shifting to the man behind you, prompting an awkward cough as you stepped aside, letting your friend join in. Shaking your head while exchanging a glance with the hostess at your booth, you laughed nervously and looked away from Noah.

"No-just drinks with friends." Your mind spiraled with the accusation, and the hint of something lingering within his words tugged at your throat.

The brunette noticed you fidgeting with your sweater sleeve and nodded, "Well, it's nice to see you. It's been a long time."

Meeting his stare, you offered a stiff yet warm smile, "Yeah, it has."

You glanced at the hostess again, apologetically raising your hand before heading toward your booth, leaving behind the tangled threads of old emotions. "I—I shouldn't keep her waiting. Nice seeing you, too."

As you walked away, there was an unspoken sentiment that seemed to surge between you two. You felt Noah's gaze linger on your retreating form, and despite the peculiar stirring of forgotten feelings, you were gently cocooned back into the familiarity of your friends’ laughter as you slid into the worn leather of the booth.

You tried to shake off the flush of surprise that still heated your cheeks, and across from you, your friend observed the disarray with a curious gaze, his brows furrowing as he leaned in.

"You okay?" he asked, dropping his voice so the clamor of the pub's crowd swallowed his words.

You met his eyes and nodded stiffly. "Yes, just... haven't seen him in a long time."

"I can see that," your friend responded, his gaze flicking momentarily in the direction you had come from, then returning to you with a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It was a gentle tease, immediately soothing away the tension that knotted your heart.

Across the room, a new round of drinks arrived at Noah’s table, followed by a chorus of laughter. Glancing over, you watched as he lifted his glass in a toast, his gaze straying once again towards your booth. The soft glow from the pub lights made his features appear less harsh than you remembered, shaping half-forgotten memories into something akin to nostalgia.

"Old flame?" Your friend's words snapped you back from your thoughts. There was a taunting lightness in his tone that said he guessed more than what he dared to ask outright.

"Something like that," you admitted, idly toying with the flimsy drink coaster before you.

"He never really left your thoughts, did he?" His words tinged with curiosity.

Your face warmed at his comment, subconsciously glancing over at Noah once more as if to confirm something you hadn't voiced out loud in years.

"Not really," You confessed, heart clenching as you sucked in a breath- something that felt harder to do now that Noah kept flicking his eyes back to your table.

You were grateful when the waiter arrived with your drinks; a timely distraction. But as jokes flitted across your table and ice clinked in your cocktail, a shadow of melancholy slipped into your chest.

Your friend's voice cut through the low hum of pub conversations, contrasting the bought of laughter from Noah’s table. “Did you ever date?” He asked nonchalantly.

You gave him a curt shake of your head, savoring the tartness of your drink. “No," you replied, with a rueful smile.

"But you wanted to?"

His question was more a statement and you could only nod, the sudden knot in your throat making words impossible. He watched you in silence, allowing you a moment to regain your composure.

"He didn’t choose me," you finally managed, swirling your drink in your glass. "He liked someone else at the same time. Things were complicated.”

Your eyes scanned the pub's old wooden ceiling, following a vague pattern in its grooves as if it held answers. Suddenly feeling Noah’s gaze on you again, the tight fluttering in your chest resurfaced.

"Does it still feel complicated?" Your friend asked gently.

"Uh…No..." The lie came out hollow even to your ears, and the man across from you rolled his eyes.

"You're a terrible liar," he reproached lightly, reaching across the table to pat your hand, causing you to sigh.

"He is part of my past," you reasoned out loud, more for yourself than to convince your friend. “I moved on to date Erin, until well… you know…and as far as I know Noah is still with his girlfriend of three years.” The words fell heavy against the illuminating candlelight flickering in between the two of you.

"You don't hate him though?" He asked. A question you knew wasn't really a question.

"Hate him?" you shook your head as you scoffed, almost bitterly. “I tried to.”

Your fingers traced the outline of the coaster as you continued, "But hating him would have meant to forget all the good times- remove all the annoying memories of him that still seem to live in my mind. And...I didn’t want to do that. I don’t want to do that." you confessed, fighting the lump forming in your throat. "I'd rather remember and hurt than forget and feel hatred."

There was a pause as your friend digested your words, looking at you as if he were seeing a different side of you, one he never knew existed.

"But doesn't it just hurt," he began carefully, “to keep remembering?”

A soft sigh escaped your lips as you watched the bubbles gently float to the top of your glass. "Sometimes," you admitted, turning your gaze back to Noah. His laughter echoed across the room, drowning out the music momentarily. A smile tugged at your lips unknowingly.

"Then why keep doing it?" he questioned further.

It was when Noah made another loud joke to his friends that he turned once again, meeting your eyes for what felt like the hundredth time that night- that you caved.

“Because the way he has looked at me never changed. Not through relationships, not through time apart- never. There is always that same annoying and infuriating look of hope.”

"Hope?" Your friend repeated, tilting his head as he wrapped his hand around his glass, fingers tapping lightly against the surface.

You nodded, stealing another glance at Noah. He was leaned back in his chair now, a relaxed smile on his face that countered your turmoil, unravelling you with every gaze he cast your way.

"It's the kind of hope that asks 'what if'," you explained, voice low and barely audible over the commotion of the pub around you. "What if things were different? What if we had chosen each other? Like an opportunity lost, but not entirely forgotten."

The man across from you was contemplative, taking a thoughtful sip of his drink before leaning in closer to you. "What does that look like? This hope you see in his eyes?"

You pondered over his question, swallowing thickly as you tried to form words that would make sense to him, let alone you.

“It’s like this lidded gaze- a soft shine of longing subdued by realism that has never entirely disappeared. It’s a look that says he still sees what he saw in me when we were just kids in high school- like I’m still important to him, in some way. It tells me he understands that even when it seemed like I moved on, he knows deep down that I really didn't. And neither did he. And it's not right. But it’s too late."

It was silent for a moment as you fought the water treading within your eyes, chugging the rest of your drink as a distraction.

"That's a lot to collect from a look," he said eventually, observing your flustered expression with raised brows.

"I’ve had a long time to think about it," you conceded with a shrug, ripping the edge of your coaster absently. But inside your chest, your heart beat a frantic rhythm that suggested it agreed with your words.

Your friend glanced towards your unease, watching how Noah pretended he was never really looking over at your table. "And if he weren't in a relationship now? If circumstances were… different?"

Your reply, when it came, was barely above a whisper. "Doesn’t matter," you lied, heart pounding against your ribs as the truth nudged at your denial.

"Even if things were different… he never chose me. Refused to. Told me he promised someone else his heart after high school."

"And you still hold it against him?" The question hung heavy in the air, though your friend's tone was light, almost indifferent.

"No," You denied, feeling a twinge of pain claw at your chest. "I suppose... I have come to terms with it. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to choose me. He never had that high school girl anyway, either. She moved on before him."

"But you haven't moved on." The words slipped from your friend’s lips as an affirmation. His gaze wandered back to Noah, where another round of laughter punctuated the air.

You stared at your empty glass, chewing on your lower lip as the silence festered. For a moment you considered denying it, but what use was there in pretending when the truth was palpable in every word?

"No," you sighed, looking back at Noah. "I guess not. Not really."

Your friend nodded understandingly, tossing back the remaining contents of his glass before placing it back onto the table.

“Well,” he started, and you turned to look at him as he refilled his drink from a bottle that had been ignored until now. “In this life, we rarely get second chances with things that truly matter.”

It was then Noah stood up from his table, turning to cross the room. His stride was slow, confident, a stark contrast to the unease in your chest. His eyes were on you, and you pretended not to notice. Your friend did, though.

A sudden feeling of dread crushed your heart as you followed his frame out of the corner of your eyes, the shadows stretching out on the worn-out wooden floorboards.

"Why is he heading here?" you whispered, not daring to voice your suspicion too loudly, as if to break the bubble surrounding both of you.

Your friend merely shrugged, a sly grin replacing his earlier curiosity. "No idea. But I am eager to find out," he said, leaning back into his chair and taking a sip from his drink, all whilst watching Noah’s approaching figure as though it were an intriguing spectacle. As Noah got closer, your pulse quickened its pace, pounding rhythmically against your chest while your mind raced in frantic circles.

He smiled at you for a moment before nodding at your friend, flicking his short brunette strands out of his eyes.

“Uh hey, my friend’s are about to head out…” He said, throwing a thumb back to the crew that was now throwing him half amused glances and thumbs-ups. He glanced back at you, "and I'd really appreciate the opportunity to catch up. Would you mind if I joined you?"

Your friend looked at you, your widened eyes meeting his amused gaze before he shrugged and gestured to the vacant seat next to him, sliding further into the booth, “By all means,” he invited.

“Thanks.” Noah nodded gratefully, taking the seat beside your friend, and now sitting across from you.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” he added, glancing back and forth between the two of you.

“Not at all,” your friend assured him, though his eyebrows remained slightly arched.

You gripped your empty glass tighter in your hand, swallowing down the sudden dryness in your throat. “Yeah, Noah… it’s been forever,” you managed to croak out in what you hoped passed for casual indifference.

He flashed a quick smile at your words, his eyes crinkling around the edges. Beneath the guise of casual banter, the years that had passed were muffled whispers hidden in plain sight.

"Yes, it has been," Noah responded, while his gaze danced over you, "How’s life been treating you?"

You shrugged nonchalantly, trying to cloak your nervousness under feigned ease. "Oh you know, ups and downs. Mostly well."

A smile played on your friend's lips, a look of knowing graced his features as he stared at the exchange between you two.

"Same here," Noah replied, sipping from his glass.

A skillfully avoided conversation unfolded between you, where inquiries about work and general well-being served as shields against the veiled curiosity itching to break free.

Your chest clenched again, and as the waitress came over to give you another drink, you took the opportunity to head to the washroom.

Your friend watched you rise from the booth, catching your eye in a silent exchange that offered reassurance. Noah politely nodded as you slipped out of the booth and disappeared into the crowd.

Locking the door behind you, you took a moment to collect yourself, splashing water on your face in an attempt to steady your racing heart.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair how Noah just waltzed back into your life after all these years, bringing rainstorms of feelings you had worked so hard to forget- yet really didn’t.

In the reflection of the bathroom mirror, you saw a ghost of your younger self, the one who spent hours decoding Noah's glances and gestures. The one who would stay up late just to watch his favourite shows so you had something to talk about. The one who would wear his sweaters because he said they looked better on you. The one who obsessed over his lingering touch and flirty banter.

The one who was not good enough.

Overwhelm washed over you like cold water, stealing your breath. You pressed your palms onto the edge of the sink, clenching your jaw as you wrestled with the torrent of emotions that roared through your veins.

With a quiet sigh, you patted down your face with a rough paper towel and straightened your sweater. Ducking your head, you drew another deep breath.

This was just Noah. Just a boy from your past. Just Noah.

Slipping back into the booth, you offered them a small smile before turning towards Noah who seemed genuinely involved in the story your friend was narrating. The air was lighter now; there was an ease that settled around the table as rounds of laughter traveled between the three of you while your friend indulged Noah in stories about a mutual friend who had recently moved out of town. You took occasional sips from your drink, contributing where necessary while primarily focusing on observing the somewhat restrained interaction between Noah and your friend.

You welcomed the change in atmosphere. No sparks were flying around or deep murmurs floating in the air, nor heavy gazes locked onto each other. It was simple, casual – as mundane as any other night at the pub could have been.

Yet in the lulls of conversation, Noah's gaze met yours; keenly observant but surreptitiously so. There remained a certain intensity that made you uncomfortable and yet to evade it, felt unnatural. It was like there was an undercurrent running beneath his apparent nonchalance, manifesting as veiled glances and half-crafted jokes aimed to get that entrancing laugh from you.

“Guys, it’s been real, but I am gonna call it a night," your friend announced, a yawn stretching from his mouth.

"Already?" Noah questioned, sparing you a glance as though to silently ask whether you too were planning to leave.

"Got an early start tomorrow." Your friend assured, pushing himself out of the booth and giving a cheeky wink in your direction.

Your heart pounded in your chest as he left a void beside Noah, and a shiver of nervousness ran down your arms.

After bidding goodbye to him with an amused half-smile, Noah turned his attention back to you. His expression was unreadable, a cryptic mask that did nothing to ease your anxiety.

"Do you mind if I stay awhile longer?" He asked softly, his gaze meeting yours across the table.

You paused for a moment, finding your voice caught in the back of your throat. You could turn him away, tell him you'd rather be alone. But you couldn’t bring yourself to do that. You didn’t want him to go.

"No, not at all," you said, trying your best to sound as neutral as possible.

Noah shifted in his seat, leaning back with a distant look in his eyes before returning his gaze to you. His inked fingers drummed lightly against the wooden table top, suggesting a nervous energy beneath the seeming calm in his demeanor.

Shading his eyes with the back of his hand, Noah contemplated for a moment. “You know… life is strange sometimes,” he began haltingly and flashed a smile that never quite reached his eyes.

You quirked an eyebrow in question but did not interrupt, welcoming him to fill the silence that had fallen over the booth.

He let out a sigh, his fingers tracing the rim of his still fresh drink. "Sometimes," he started again, his october eyes fixing on yours, "we find ourselves living in a constant cycle of 'what ifs' and 'what could've beens'."

You swallowed hard as you tried to untangle his words. "And where has that cycle led you?"

Noah's gaze dropped from yours to his hands, "It led me here...sitting across from you after years, yet feeling as though I've never left." He let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head a little. "It's funny how life works."

You found yourself nodding, the corners of your mouth twitching at his admission. "Life has a strange sense of humor, doesn't it?"

"Indeed it does."

He took a sip of his drink, eyes twinkling under the dull bar lights. There was comfort in his silent observation; a mirroring dance between two people separated by years and experiences yet wound together by obscured ties.

"Can I ask you something?" Noah asked, his fingers idly drumming against the table's wooden surface.

Raising an eyebrow, you shrugged nonchalantly in response, not daring to trust your voice to betray the sudden discomfort stitching itself into your chest.

Taking your silence as approval, he leaned in, elbows resting on the table. A stray lock of hair fell onto his forehead as he leveled his gaze with yours. You took that moment to reminisce how long his hair used to be. Reminisce in the feeling of it tangled between your fingers when he asked you to play with it; or put it in a bun.

"Do you ever feel... like we missed out on something?" His voice was low, barely above a whisper, as if he feared someone might overhear the intimate nature of his question.

There was a moment's silence as you held his gaze, your heart hammering an erratic beat against your chest. Your mind raced to find a reply; a sentence that would adequately encase the pain, longing, and disappointment that had been the backdrop of your heart after Noah had been written out of it.

"Noah..." you breathed out, throat tightening.

"I mean," he hurriedly continued before you could voice any objection or sentiment, "it's just... Have you ever wondered how different our lives might've been if we..." He trailed off, seeming unsure of how to complete his tangled thought.

"...if I had chosen differently?" The last word of his sentence dissipated. His dark eyes were vulnerable, more than you remembered as they bore into yours.

"I..." You hesitated, stammering over your own words as an uncomfortable silence stretched between you two.

It was filled with unspoken regrets, unsaid words, and all those missed moments that formed a silent echo in your hearts.

"Yes," you finally admitted, sipping from your glass to wet your dry lips. "I have thought about it."

Noah let out a breath he seemed to have been holding, his shoulders dropping with the release of tension. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he looked down for a moment before meeting your gaze once more.

"But we can't rewrite the past, can we?" he said dryly, sipping from his glass.

"No, we can't," you agreed, your pulse dancing in your ears. You leaned back in the booth, turning your gaze away from Noah and towards the crowd of others around you. The music filled in the gap left by your silence.

"You know," Noah began again after a few moments, turning to face you fully, "I was happy to see you tonight."

"I'm...glad to know that," you replied uneasily.

He tugged at the collar of his shirt anxiously, taking in another breath. You watched as his fingers seemed to tremble, clawing at his tattooed neck. “I’ve missed you.”

You swallowed, nodding as you gave him a soft smile, “I’ve missed you too.”

And when it was silent again, neither of you could look at each other.

“So how’s Hannah?”

When you asked, his body stiffened momentarily before giving you a tight smile.

“We broke up a couple months ago,” He said, tilting his head to the side.

Your brows furrowed in an attempt to look sad; but the way your stomach began to spin in circles told a different story altogether.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, despite the fluttering inside you. “Hope things are better now.”

"Yeah," he gave a dismissive shrug of his shoulders. "Things happen. We're on good terms, so it’s alright."

Nodding, you waved the server over for another drink; this time asking for something stronger.

"Your turn," he gestured towards you with an encouraging smile. "How’s Erin?"

You didn’t miss the way your ex’s name sounded sour on Noah’s tongue.

"We broke up too," you admitted, finding solace as his reaction mirrored yours- surprise and awkwardness intermingled with a caring depth.

“I’m really shocked,” He said, blinking repeatedly before running his fingers through his hair, “You were together for eight years. Right since the end of high school.”

Nodding you chewed on the inside of your cheek,

"Yeah," you acknowledged, a ghost of a smile playing on your lips. "But things change, people change. I guess it just wasn't meant to be."

Noah was silent for a moment. It wasn't hard to see the shock in his eyes as he processed your words- after all, he had known Erin too.

"You... okay?" he asked softly, daring to meet your gaze again.

Nodding, you shrugged slightly, "Yeah. Took some time but yeah, I am."

Neither of you said anything further then; the server arrived with your drinks and the concentrated clinks against the mugs filled up the silence. You thanked her with an absentminded nod before she retreated back into the crowd.

“Want to get out of here?”

Noah's question hung in the air, and you blinked, taken aback.

"Where to?" you stuttered, your voice barely above a whisper.

He shrugged, the side of his lip twisting up in a lopsided smirk. "Somewhere quieter?"

You looked at him, heart thudding against your chest as you considered his offer. Whatever doubt resurfaced about this spontaneous venture was silenced by the surprising hope lighting up his eyes. The same, annoying, stubborn hope that seemed untouched by time. And perhaps it was enough to convince you to take that leap.

"Sure," you agreed reluctantly, avoiding eye contact as you slipped yourself out of the booth, placing some bills on the table next to your untouched drink.

The night felt different as you both stepped out of the pub and into the lightly lit streets. The breeze brushed past your face, carrying with it a scent of rain soon to come. Walking side by side, you could feel the palpable quiet weaving a comfortable cocoon around you.

"No regrets?" he murmured, hands slipped into his pockets as he glanced down at you.

"No regrets," you echoed, more to reassure your own trembling heart than to provide him with closure. He nodded, falling silent once more as your steps echoed against the cement streets.

“You never used to be this quiet,” Noah broke the silence, running a hand through his unkempt hair. “Couldn’t shut you up half the time.”

You laughed gently at that and glanced aside, “Well, life...” your voice trailed off, shrugging at your failed attempt at an explanation.

“I get it,” Noah hummed and nodded. He didn’t press for more; he never did, even back then.

A few paces ahead, Noah's car sat serenely below the dim glow of a streetlamp. As he unlocked the doors and you slid into the passenger seat your heart raced faster. It was just the two of you- after so long.

The soft hum of the car engine filled the small slice of your shared reality while Noah navigated through the late-night streets. Your eyes danced over the passing buildings and strangers walking, avoiding to look anywhere but at him.

Suddenly, he turned up the volume of the car's stereo, cutting through your contemplations. An old song wafted through the speakers, a whisper from years ago that wrapped around you both. The familiar melody made your heart twinge with nostalgia.

"Do you still like this song?" you said suddenly, blinking away unseen tears as you looked at the words slide across the small radio screen.

“I do,” He said softly, thumbs beginning to tap along to the melody.

A gentle smile pulled at your lips as the chorus began, your voice barely audible over the strumming of the guitar and drums. “We danced to it once. At that fundraiser thing.”

Noah glanced over at you, expression unreadable but the sparkle in his eyes betraying a mutual remembrance. "Yeah,” he murmured. “I remember.”

Memories began to float back, images flickering behind your damp eyes. That high school dance where you purposefully bought that floral pattern that made your skin pop- your eyeshadow contrasting the dark hues. Your hands were clammy as Noah approached you for a dance, saying it’s what ‘friends do’. You remembered the feeling of his fingers wrapped around your waist and back, delicately placed as if afraid you’d burn him- your hands resting behind his neck, while you two swayed.

I don’t believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now.

You’re my wonderwall.

The song faded out, replaced by another unfamiliar one whose words became background noise to your racing thoughts. Noah’s inked knuckles turned white on the steering wheel as a sigh slipped out from between his lips.

“Um, we're here," Noah finally broke the silence. The car came to a halt, the engine purring low before dying out completely. You blinked in surprise, trying to figure out where you were.

Looking around, you noticed that you were parked on top of a hill overlooking the city. You could see all the lights twinkling like stars; the night sky framed by the silhouette of towering skyscrapers and flowing ribbon of highway tracers in the distance.

"Well, this is quieter indeed," you mumbled, mostly to yourself. A chuckle escaped Noah as he reclined back into his seat.

"Yes," he murmured looking out through the window at the shimmering spectacle below. “Remember when I used to tell you how people always made out up here? And then you told me you didn’t know how to use tongue? And then I used to tease you?”

You blushed, a soft laugh escaping your lips at the memory. "How could I forget?" You shook your head slightly, feeling more loosened now. "You never let me live that down."

"True," Noah chuckled, a reminiscent glint in his eyes. "I believe you also made me swear that I would never make out with anyone up here because it was so cliche."

You rolled your eyes at him, a grin tugging at your lips. “Sounds like something I’d say.”

"Was Erin your first kiss then?" He gently nudged a question into the silence.

"Yeah" you confessed after a moment's pause. His gaze flickered to yours, curiosity mixed with surprise evident, “I didn’t want to kiss anyone unless I loved them.”

He nodded slowly, processing your words. "That's... admirable," he concluded with a soft smile.

"Is it?" you muttered, feeling the warmth rise on your cheeks as you laughed, ready to pester him, “Because apparently it was a joke I couldn’t kiss with tongue due to lack of experience.”

"No, no," Noah chuckled, leaning back against the headrest of his seat, staring out at the cityscape. "I only teased because you were somehow so sure that tongues were not involved at all."

You laughed, the twinkling lights reflecting in your eyes. "Well, how was I supposed to know!?" You mockingly defended yourself, playfully punching him in the arm.

He laughed heartily, his voice echoing within the confined space of the car. His laughter was a warm sound, a comfort from distant memories that wrapped itself around your heart. It was something you didn’t know you missed so much.

Once his laughter had subsided into a chuckle, he looked at you for a moment too long. The intensity of his gaze took your breath away. You could see hints of affection and longing there- an open invitation to walk down memory lane yet again.

"I was a jerk then. I bet you turned out to be an amazing kisser."

Your cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red at his words, and you found yourself turning away from his gaze, too flustered by the sudden compliment. He chuckled lightly, licking his lips briefly.

"Guess you'll never know," you retorted, burying your flaming face in your hands, “But no, not really.” you protested half-heartedly, looking out of the window to hide the warmth that was creeping up your neck.

"Still got that blush," he observed teasingly, causing your cheeks to burn even more fiercely.

"Shut up, Noah," you laughed it off, swatting at his arm. He raised his hands in a mock-surrender as another round of laughter echoed through the car. The space felt warmer, more familiar than what it had been just a few minutes ago.

The conversation lulled once again, filled with merely the hum of the cool evening breeze rustling the leaves outside and old tracks playing softly through the car's speakers.

"I used to come here after Hannah and I broke up... It helped me think."

The confession hung between you two, heavy and uncomfortable.

"Why are you telling me this?" You asked.

Noah was silent for a moment, the dim car light illuminating his face in an array of shadows.

"Because," he began slowly, "I think it's important for you to know. And it doesn't just remind me of her, it reminds me of what could have been- and what's no longer."

You nodded, swallowing down the lump in your throat as you turned your gaze to the cityscape below. It was beautiful, indeed.

Perhaps Noah had found solace in this beauty during his broken times.

Perhaps, right now, it was the sanctuary that you needed too.

"You never asked me why we broke up," Noah’s murmur brought you back from your thoughts.

"Why did you?" You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

His gaze shifted to meet yours, his chocolate eyes soft under the pale moonlight streaming into the car. "We fell out of love. Or maybe, I never even fully loved her."

For a moment, you were silent, digesting the harsh simplicity of his words.

"Love can be fleeting," you said softly, more to yourself than addressing Noah.

"No," he countered after a beat, "Love is constant. It's the people who are fleeting."

His sentiment hit a chord deep within you that resonated with your unspoken feelings.

"People change," you agreed, your fingertips brushing over the chill of your glass. "They grow...sometimes apart."

Noah hummed in response, his gaze distant as though lost in a maze of recollections. “Yes, we’ve changed, haven’t we?”

“Yes,” You mumbled, picking at the seam of your jeans.

“But I don’t think I ever stopped loving you. I didn’t even know at the time that I was in love.”

Your breath hitched in your throat at that moment, his words burning through your mind. Love. Loving you.

All that could be heard was the racing of your heart as your ears flooded with every panicked beat.

"You..." your voice faltered, unsure of how to respond. His gaze was relentless; not challenging you but pleading for understanding that you weren't quite sure how to give.

"Noah..." Your voice came out as a mere whisper, the name tumbling from your lips almost involuntarily, your mind still struggling to catch up with his declaration. He examined your expression in quiet apprehension, his hands clenched on his thighs.

"I mean it," he persisted, reaching over to gently cover your fidgety hand with his own larger one. His tattoos seemed even more prominent against your smooth skin - alive, just like the feelings that were coming alive in his presence. "Even though we’ve never been together... I don't know if I ever stopped thinking about you."

Your breath hitched as his words hung heavy in the air.

“I regret not choosing you. Every single day I’ve regretted fucking up the chance of us.”

Your heart raced in your chest, the thunderous pulse drowning out all other sounds. The feel of his warm hand on yours, the earnest look in his eyes- it was almost too much.

"Stop, Noah," you found yourself whispering, a plea more than a demand. His eyes flickered with hurt but he took his hand away nonetheless- an action that seemed to echo painfully around you.

He swallowed hard, leaning back against the car's seat while respectably creating distance. His gaze didn't leave yours, as if trying to convince you of the sincerity of his confession.

"I'm sorry," He apologized after what felt like eons, "I just... needed you to know."

“But you knew how I felt. All those years ago you fed into my feelings- when you knew. You knew I liked you- fuck, loved you. Which is pathetic because how do you know you love somebody you never even kissed, or hugged, or held hands with- at fifteen years old?” You sucked in a breath, tears welling in your eyes as you stared at your shoes but you blinked them away stubbornly. "But I knew. You knew.”

His hand twitched on the gear stick as though wanting to reach out to you once more, yet he restrained himself, a mask of remorse settling over his features.

"I didn’t know how to feel. I was confused. I thought I didn’t want to take the risk of losing you by dating you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought my feelings would disappear…that they were just an infatuation.”

You nodded slowly, a storm of unsettled emotions making your voice tremble, "But they didn't." It was not a question; it was a confirmation. One that stripped away any ambiguity still lingering between you.

"No," he agreed with a shaky sigh, “Sometimes I wish they did.”

You laughed bitterly, sniffing, “I wish they did too. Because I just spent eight years in a relationship secretly wondering ‘what if Noah chose me instead’. ‘Why do I still love him’, ‘Why do I feel this way’.”

The words hung heavy, your confession giving more weight to the silence suffocating you both. Noah's eyes were wide, a mix of shock and something akin to longing etched into his features.

"I... I didn't know," he finally managed, choking out the words as if his regret was a tangible thing constricting his throat. "I always thought you were happy with Erin."

Your laugh echoed through the car, hollow. "And I thought you loved Hannah." you shot back, ignoring the sharp sting in your chest. Light spurts of rain began to fall outside, the dispersed patter of the drops landing on the car roof distracting.

He flinched visibly at your retort but made no attempt to defend himself. Instead, he dropped his gaze to his hands where they lay clenched in his lap.

"Life is ironic, isn't it?" he murmured after a while. His voice was quiet but resounding in the stillness of the moment.

"Yeah, it is." You agreed, gazing out of the window again.

The brunette beside you shifted in his seat again, taking in a slow breath. "I want to kiss you."

His words were so soft, they almost melded with the low murmur of the far away traffic.

Your wide eyes whipped to him in a glance that was all too revealing. A gasp escaped from your clenched jaws, an unexpected note in the heavy silence of his trembling confession.

"What?" Your voice strangled itself into a whisper, hands fluttering against your chest as if trying to stifle the mounting panic.

Meeting your gaze head-on, Noah cleared his throat, "If that's okay with you, I mean...I'm not..." he sighed, raking a hand through his tousled hair in frustration, "Nevermind."

A thousand thoughts and feelings flooded through you.

“I- I can’t go down this road again.”

At that moment he unbuckled his seatbelt, hastily crawling out of the car. Your breathing quickened as you watched him walk around the hood to your side, opening your door. He held out his hand, waiting for you to take it.

Shaking your head, you remained unmoving, the sudden rainfall outside creating a rhythmic backdrop to your racing pulse. His outstretched hand trembled slightly under the raindrops gently cascading down on them.

Stubbornly, he didn't retract it, "Please," Noah pleaded in a tone akin to a whisper.

An unknown force urged you to take his hand, pulling yourself out of the car and into the rain-soaked night. It was hammering down now; each drop was its own parade, a silver bead in the sea of dirt beneath your feet. Your clothes began to cling to your skin as the rain showered over you, yet you couldn’t tear your gaze away from Noah's.

Pulling you into a hug, he enveloped you fully in his chest.

His scent hit you first– a distinct mix of old spice and musk, something so uniquely Noah. His heartbeat echoed against your ears, beating in time with the thrumming of rain on the car roof.

You wrapped your arms around his torso, your fingers clutching at the fabric dampening underneath your grip. His body next to yours felt like a patchwork quilt of memories- a warmth that was familiar yet now foreign all at once.

He sighed gently above you, one hand moving to lightly stroke the small of your back. It was subtle, almost hesitant; as if he feared this moment to be just another figment of the past.

“I can’t change what happened- and I need you to know that I wouldn’t have changed it. Even if I regret it.”

“Why?” You asked.

"Because it made me realize how much I lost in not choosing you," he answered, his voice barely audible above the sound of the rain pounding against the pavement.

Your heart ached as his words rang in your ears, each syllable echoing with a pain you related to all too well.

“It made me realize how much I wanted you, and how it’s always been you. Maybe I wouldn’t have been a good partner for you because I was just a dumb kid. Maybe we were meant to experience other people before getting here- I don’t know. I don’t have all the answers.”

“But regretting it brought me back to you,” he finished, pulling you away from him as his hands reached up either side of your face, caressing your cheeks with his cold hands. His expression was raw and open, every hiding place stripped bare as he studied you.

"I need you to understand one thing," he continued, his voice barely a whisper against the pounding of your heart. "My feelings for you...they’re not fleeting."

The wind had picked up, tossing small flurries of rain sideways; droplets traced pathways down his inked skin, catching in the hollow of his throat. There was an otherworldly beauty about him in that moment, one that had you transfixed.

"You were always with Erin. What was I going to do, stroll up to your house and confess?" he broke the silence once again, his knuckles brushing stray strands of hair from your face.

His eyes bore into yours, an unearthly intensity in his october gaze that made you tremble. His fingers traced your jawline in a gentle caress, quivering as they brushed over your lips. His quiet admittance echoed deafeningly in the space between you, wrapping itself around the settled tension in the air and filling you both with an unbearable longing.

"Noah," you whispered, your eyes fluttering closed. The rain was persistent; its rambling rhythm provided a haunting melody to your escalating heartbeats.

You placed your hands on top of his that held your face.

"Why now?" You managed to make your voice steady amidst the turmoil within.

"Because it's never too late, right?" His voice quivered with a hopeful note. You nodded weakly against his touch before daring to open your eyes again, “There are no longer any barriers. You’re here- I’m here- nothing else is in the way to hold us back anymore.”

He was holding his breath, terrified that with the next exhalation he might shatter the moment hanging between you.

"Maybe..." he began, his voice barely above a whisper, "Maybe it's time we take a chance on us."

A dozen emotions warred within you, and it was terrifyingly beautiful as pieces of him echoed through your nerves.

"Is there an 'us'?" You countered quietly, words tangled in a knot of apprehension.

"There could be," he whispered, placing his forehead against your own. Droplets of water fell between your skin.

Your heart stuttered inside your chest at his words.

“Can I kiss you now?” he took a deep breath swallowing his nerves.

Feeling your pulse quicken, you let out a shaky sigh. This wasn't how you had planned your evening- certainly not a premature reunion with long-locked-away feelings.

Yet, in that moment, any traces of reluctance were drowned by the insistent tug of something deep within you; a longing for closure, perhaps, or maybe even the feeling of what should have been all along?

"Yes," you barely recognized your own voice.

The corners of Noah's mouth curled into the semblance of a smile. He didn’t hesitate as he leaned in close, his warm breath fanning over your cheeks and making your eyelids flutter shut.

The world came crashing onto a standstill as his lips met yours, slow and hesitant at first before engulfing you in a fervor you could only associate with years of suppressed desire and regret. The taste of his lips was like coming home after an eternity; familiar yet carrying hints of something new and enticing.

Your body ached with need as reality blurred around you and Noah, your lungs catching every roll of his lips and breath as your mind raced. He was everything you had ever wanted- and this moment was something you dreamed of years ago.

He pulled you against him, the force of it making your teeth click, but not enough to hurt. Your hands clung to his shirt, cloth wrinkling beneath your desperate grasp as the intensity of your kiss increased. His hand pressed between your shoulder blades, fingers splayed widely against the drenched fabric of your top. Noah’s grip was so tight, his lips so hungry, as if afraid you’d let go.

"Noah," you mumbled against his lips, his name a soft plea. The kiss deepened, his body pressing further into yours with possessiveness and urgency.

Each drop of rain felt like a spark against your skin as his tongue traced the seam of your lips. His arm around your waist pulled you closer until there was no room left for regret, only the raw shiver of anticipation simmering beneath every touch, every breath.

"I've wanted this for so long..." He confessed between kisses, his voice breathless and filled with longing.

His words danced over your skin like electric shocks, each syllable a promise etched against your parted lips. Noah was a heartbeat, a rhythm so intimately familiar that you wondered how you ever survived without it.

“Me too.” You mumbled.

Slowly, he broke away; pausing just inches from your lips to simply hold you in his arms.

And as his brows furrowed and eyes darkened even more than you thought they possibly could, you swore there were tears mixing with the rain that fell down his cheeks.

His thumb traced the curve of your chin, an absent-minded gesture as he gazed at you.

"Did that... did it feel right?" His voice held a hint of insecurity, a shadow of doubt. Swallowing hard, you nodded, unable to say anything before reaching up to hold the back of his neck, and pull him into another long kiss.

You smiled, “I want to know what should have been. What will be. With you.”

His lips crashed into yours again, this time with a fervor that sent shockwaves through every nerve in your body. His hands were an orchestrated chaos, roaming your back and sides, desperate to elicit a response that would match his own longing.

“I want that too,” He whispered against your mouth, the utterance of those five words producing an unforgettable melody echoing the long-suppressed desires within both of you.

Your tongue lightly danced along his lip, and Noah held the back of your neck, pulling you closer to his mouth. The taste of him against your tongue made your limbs warm despite the cold, the craving of his fingers pressing into your skin irreplaceable to anything you ever felt before.

It felt right somehow, breaking barriers of the past and what could have been, only to embrace this newfound feeling- electric and full of hope.

Noah carried you back to his car after some time, both drenched from standing too long under the downpour.

In silence, you relished the warmth seeping through you. The radio sprang back to life as Noah fired up the engine again, flicking on the windshield wipers. He sighed, glancing at you with a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he reached over to manipulate the car's heater settings.

The journey back into town was quieter than before. The rain tapped rhythmically against the roof as you leaned against the window, staring absently at the stirring city below. Noah drove in silence, occasionally stealing glances in your direction- a soft yet unreadable gaze that sent shivers running down your spine.

“You’re a great kisser- so please forgive my younger self’s ignorance.”

"Will do," you managed to laugh, your chest tight with a newfound vitality. He chuckled, throwing you an amused sidelong glance.

The city lights streaked past in a blur, reflecting off the wet streets. The late-night pedestrians were rushing into their homes or into nearby pubs, attempting to dodge the heavy downpour. But inside the car, everything felt muted; as though time had been brought to standstill, after all this time.

You traced your slightly swollen lips with fingertips trembling faintly from leftover exhilaration. You could still taste him on your tongue; it was a taste you already knew you yearned to become familiar with.

Suddenly, he slowed the car to a halt in front of your apartment complex.

"I should get going," you murmured quietly, lying to him and yourself. "Thank you for tonight.”

He nodded, turning to face you once again. You watched him, your eyes tracing over every detail of his face; the bridge of his nose, the shape of his lips, and the curve of his cheeks- all before latching onto his gaze.

You unbuckled your seatbelt and before opening the door, hesitating for a moment.

“Do you want to come in?”

+++++

part two here

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[leyavo]

| I am my father’s daughter | 11 |

💖 Dad!Price & Daughter!reader, eventual Soap x reader.

PART ELEVEN: John Price hasn’t seen or heard from his daughter in over a year, but that changes when she calls him one night asking for help. 2.5k+words

[18+] MDNI | TW: hurt/angst/mentions of abuse/ complicated father-daughter relationship

Previous parts -> [series masterlist]

🔈Readers view of John is different, he’s come and gone in her life etc so she thinks he’s not that great. So don’t send me hate

Nostalgia, it hung in the wardrobe. A hoody swallowing the flimsy metal hanger, charcoal jersey soft between your fingers. You don't know how it got mixed up with your own clothes, but you were in such a rush you'd stuffed everything you could before he came home. Tyler's hoody, the one he gave you whenever you were cold. The same person that took so much from you too. You hadn't unpacked until the Captain did it for you. Of course he would, even folded your tops neatly away in the chest of drawers which were creased to hell.

Some sort of cosmic joke, for it to appear today. You snatch it off the hanger, clutching it to your chest. His scent clinging to the fabric, not so overpowering. You could finally breath, no figure caging you in or shoving you away. Maybe you should wear it today, remind yourself why you said yes to Kyle's offer. You shove it over your head, not giving yourself a second to think it over again.

Is this you reclaiming your power? A ratty old hoody that smells like him. The inside scratches your bare arms and the ribbing rubs against your neck, but it’s too late to change it. Too late to go back. You’re already half way to the gymnasium, promised that it would be dead since no one bothers going on Sunday afternoons. Most of those with families travel home to visit their loved ones on the weekends, just like the Captain and his perfect family. There’s probably a permanent frown line between your brows, you can’t think about them without your face scrunching up in disgust or maybe jealousy.

Jealous that your little brother has a stable foundation, a sickly sweet mother to coddle him. They’ve had another kid since then too, but you try not to think of the three year old girl, your sister. A do over for the Captain. You’ve never met her and you hope it stays that way. John’s been discreet, video calling the babbling baby in his office instead of the house. You don’t really remember much of your brother either, he was hardly talking the last time you visited. Angie’s not your mother, no you hate the way she tries to insert herself into your life. Rubbing it in your face, how could you not compare Lena to the angel, Angie Price. No one can be that nice.

Perfect, little family for the Captain to fall back on when you fuck it up like everything else in your life. How many times did you act out as a kid hoping for him to turn up? You didn’t even care if he gave a raised voice or a heavy hand, least he’d be there. He wasn’t though.

Ungrateful, just like Lena used to drum in your head. Ungrateful, kid. Ungrateful, kid. No, every other man Lena jumped to never treated you like a daughter or a child for that matter. You were left to fend for yourself and in doing so created your own inner world to get through it.

The heat hits you as soon as you push the heavy fire door open and to Kyle’s promise, the gymnasium is empty. The figure in the centre of the room stops you in your tracks, scuffed trainers toeing the edge of the training mat. Part of you wants to turn back, but he turns to you before the thought leaves your mind.

“Johnny?” You blurt out, heart hammering in your chest. God, you did not want him to see how pathetic you were.

“Kyle couldn’t make it.”

What was he wearing? Your gaze lingers on his muscular thighs, navy baggy shorts swishing around as he walks closer. A sheen of sweat coats his skin, short sleeve t-shirt clinging to his chest. You didn’t realise quite how powerful he was, prominent veins of his arms and flex of his biceps as if he knew you were checking him out. No, you’re also sizing him up.

“We don’t have to do this, totally up to you.”

The Captain had told you to say no if that’s what you wanted. No pressure, but it didn’t lift the crushing weight off your chest. You needed to do this, learn how to fight, because no one else is going to do it for you. It’s always been you against them. Alone.

He’d probably flick you and you’d go down. Scratch that, one move and you’d drop to the ground. “No, I want to do this. Suppose it’s better than doing it with the Captain,” you mumble, dumping your bag on the floor and stepping over the training mat. You can’t think of anything more awkward.

The Captain forever leaving space between you and him, never finishing his thoughts or attempting to draw them out of you. You wanted him to do anything instead of nothing.

“Well you know the basics, like moving around and holding up a good defence?” Johnny circles you, pulling one arm across his chest and stretching his muscles. You mirror his actions, knowing that you’ll be hurting after if you didn’t.

Defence, the word makes you wince and you play it off as if you’ve over stretched.

You scoff, “well the Captain did say knee between the groin and back of elbow as last resort.” Not that you’d used any of those moves, you’ve never had much fight in you. You’d think with your parents, you’d be more capable at throwing a punch and screaming in someone’s face, but you froze. Every single time.

“Well I don’t fancy practicing those moves today,” Johnny chuckles, trying to lighten the mood. He scratches the back of neck, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as if he were nervous too.

“Don’t worry, I’m more of a drop to floor and cover my head type.” You point to the scuffed mat, trying to laugh it off but Johnny’s lip doesn't twitch. He glances to the side, muscle of his jaw flexing.

Small spaces made it difficult to outrun the hands grabbing at you. Always better to take the first hit, arms covering your head and knees tucked to your chest on the floor. Fighting back prolonged the punishment and doubled the pain, surrendering eased and lessened it. Just like the Captain taught you, choose your battles wisely. Know when to stand and when to walk away. You did neither of those till the night you called your dad.

Johnny points to the cross on the mat, black gaffa tape overlapping a tear beneath it. "wider stance," he says, tapping his trainer in the spot for yours to go. "Self defence, okay. I ain't gonna hit ya."

You chant the last part of his words in your head, he's not going to hit you. "Okay, I'm ready." You nod, trying not to overthink and convince yourself of the worst. He wouldn't hit you.

He pats his chests, "Start with a front grab, so you take me t-shirt in one hand." His eyes flit to your twitching fingers by your side, "It's okay, take a breath. Not gonna hurt ya'." And you believe him, but it doesn't unravel the knot in your stomach or soften the scratch at the back of your throat. His fingers curl gently around your wrist, guiding your hand closer.

"Like this?" You twist the sweat drenched shirt in your grasp, staring at the dark tufts hair on his chest now that his neckline is stretched down. His dog tags glisten in the dingy lighting, numbers etched into the silver plate.

There's five years between you and him, a whole world too. He's seen things you haven't and prepared himself for any threat. It's strange to think of him as a gangly teen joining the army. You wonder what he was like at your age, twenty one. He's still got a boyish charm though, a stubbornness the Captain said would smooth out with age. His patience with you though is never ending as he talks you through the move. His movements slow, voice firm as he explains each stage of it.

The first few walk throughs you flinch and he slows down his movements, warning you sooner than the previous take. You slip a few times with the motion as he throws you off, the sole of your trainers worn and rid of any grip. Johnny catches you each time, righting you before he demonstrates again.

It's not till the roles are reversed, Johnny's hand grasping the front of your hoody and tugging you closer, do you freeze. Your focus on the crease on the front of his t-shirt, vision blurring as you exhale a trembling breath. He doesn't let go, no he ever so quietly reminds you that you can do this. His hand placement the same as Lena's two days ago.

"Please, I can't," you whisper, stumbling as he releases his hold on you. "Dammit, I just keep.." you curse, kicking your bag to the side. Why can't you fight? Fear a bigger monster than the people around you. That's the thing controlling you, not Tyler anymore.

"It's how you survived, everyone's different. Why don't we try somethin else?" Johnny says, offering you his dented water bottle. He wipes the sweat on his forehead with the hem of his shirt and you stop mid sip, stealing glances at the defined muscles of his stomach and the line of hair trailing down to the waistband of his shorts.

You should not be looking at him like that, not after what happened. He doesn't say anything though, grabbing your bag and his leading you to the back of the gym. Smeared mirrored wall and a row of brown leather punching bags dangling from the rafters.

"Maybe we just need to build up some confidence," Johnny says, knuckles driving into the punching bag. "How about some boxing?" He catches the bag as it swings back, arm hooking around it and smiles down at you.

"Boxing," you mumble, your fingers tracing the battered leather. The Captain used to have a punching bag at home when you were little, you remember him warning you not to touch it though incase it swung back and hurt you. He left when you were seven, Lena selling most of his belongings along with that too.

Fighting against people felt daunting, but punching a bag you could do. Johnny doesn't start the boxing lessons yet though, not till you've got a decent pair of gloves and some wraps to wear underneath. He's already enlisting Kyle as the main instructor, he's more disciplined and skilled than Johnny is at boxing. Learn the fundamentals and then you can train with Johnny more consistently. You stay in the gym, sitting next to him on the bench as he scrolls through some possible kits you need. Your shoulder leaning against his arm, eyes follow his finger as he describes each product.

Lena's grip still on you as you're forced to go without once again. Least you’re not starving. There's no fighting her even if you learn how to box. "I don't really have the money to buy all this stuff at the moment." You’ll have to wait till your next pay check at the end of the of the month.

Johnny's thumb hovers over the screen of his phone, brow furrowed. "Didn't the Captain give you some money?"

Fuck, how did he know that? You’re on your feet, head dipping to the side as you avoid his gaze. You grab your bag, but he’s sitting on one of the handles that you can’t move till he stands too.

"Yeah, but I gave it to my mum," you say, slinging your bag over your shoulder and walking across the training mats. The room feels longer than before, the door too far and you can't shake Johnny off. He's like a bloodhound, he can sense there's something there. You're honest, but holding back. Sometimes half the truth is better than the whole truth. Give them something to go on and make them feel like you trust them entirely. They’re less likely to question you.

He's pushing the doors open before you can, "What, why? Is that who you were with Friday evening?"

And it’s like there’s ice in your veins, hair standing up at the back of your neck as you descend the crumbling concrete steps. "What did you say?" You snap, snatching your hand back from Johnny’s. Is that why he made you do the stupid front grab move for your first self defence? You’re getting too comfortable, that’s when you slip up and make mistakes.

“I wasn’t following you,” he says, standing in front of you and blocking the narrow path. “I drove past your work Friday evening, saw you with a woman and when I circled back you were gone. Looked intense.” He smooths his palm up and down your arm, but this time it doesn’t calm you down.

No, you snap. Closed in, backed into the corner and his shadow looming over you. Not so different from how it normally started. “The only intense thing is you,” you say, elbowing him out of the way.

“I’m sorry, alright. Don’t wanna see you get hurt,” Johnny calls after you, tugging the strap of your bag and you turn to face him trying to remove his hand, but he doesn’t let go. Knuckles turning white as he tightens his grip. “You gotta tell your Da’ or I will.”

“Oh fuck off, Johnny. None of your business,” you snarl, ripping your bag from his grasp and walking off. What did he know, nothing.

The air in your lungs burn as you breathe in, chest shuddering and you know you’re half gone. Palms sweaty and vision blurring. All you had to do was focus on one spot, a flickering bulb of a distant lamppost drawing you in.

This is not how you planned it. No, the Captain didn’t need to know what happened years ago. You just wanted to forget it all. No use dragging up old memories and picking that wound apart again. Like slapping a plaster over a gash that needed stitches, it never really healed. So why pick at it?

Fuck, why did it always feel like your chest was going to cave in and your ribs were tightening? You can’t lose it now, not when you’re so close to the house. Johnnys voice muffled as you leant forward and put your hands on your thighs, head dipping to blink at the specs of dirt on your trainers. Another distraction, counting.

A weight lands on your back, but you can’t break your focus or your counting. One, spec of dirt. Two, the twitch of his fingers against your spine. Three, breathe you hear him telling you breathe. Four, a water bottle enters your eye-line. Five, you stand and grab the bottle. Six, you take a sip of water. Seven, his calloused hands frame your face. Eight, you blink up at him. Nine you grab the front of Johnny’s jacket.

Ten, you kiss Johnny Mactavish. Lips crashing into his, fingers twisted in his jacket.

Maybe this is your only form of self defence?

[Part twelve]

Ohhh will Johnny tell the Captain?!😲 do we need a Johnny pov in the next part???????? 🫡 please note I am dyslexic so there may be errors/mistakes. I do edit multiple times but miss out things - Leya

Taglist: @unclearblur @enfppuff @elita1 @tired-writer04 @kaoyamamegami @gallantys @leon-thot-kennedy @trulovekay @harley101399 @misshoneypaper @rpgsandstuff @tomatto1234 @lolyouresilly @madsothree @astrothedoll @grandfartvoid @delaynew @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @little-mini-me-world @exitingmusic @majocookie @elegancefr @jesskidding3 @thepowers-kat-be @frangiipanii @ye-olde-trash-panda @sleep101 @bluebarrybubblez @shitaaba @muraaaaaa @vajjaa @rafaelacallinybbay @jeannieboys

[appocalipse]

doomed plans : ̗̀➛ eddie munson

you and your ex, eddie, are trying to be "just friends". it's harder than you thought it would be. | exes to lovers, suggestive but no smut, 2.2k words

"Fancy seeing you here."

His tone is jocular, but the comment is more of an understated question than a simple greeting. There's no mistaking it—he's pleasantly surprised to see you here at this party.

He looks good.

Eddie Munson looks really good.

Or maybe it's just that being around him makes you feel good, after too many weeks of forcing yourself not to miss him. "Fancy seeing you, too," you respond. "Funny how Nance forgot to mention you'd be here."

A playful glint lights up his eyes as he sidles closer, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth—and the expression is so familiar that your heart leaps before you can think to tamp it down.

"Ah, well, I have a theory about that, actually."

"Do you?"

He gives an energetic nod. You're still trying to muster a casual air, despite the surge of...whatever the hell this is that's hitting you right now; a rush of emotion that's just different enough from mere nostalgia to be unsettling in its intensity.

"I do," he says with another nod, this one emphatic. His smile broadens as he peers down at you.

Oh, Jesus Christ. His grin. The warmth of it. The conspiratorial joy in it.

"Wheeler's too nice for her own good," he informs you. "She didn't want to mention me because she knew you'd bail."

"Why would I bail if you were coming?"

"Because of... you know." He reaches out and taps your hand—just a quick gesture, not lingering, but you feel the feather-light touch of his fingertip like an electric shock that ricochets up your arm. "The unresolved sexual tension and everything."

"What?"

"What what?" he echoes innocently, batting his eyelashes at you with exaggerated sweetness. Eddie loves this game, and he plays it well, even now. "Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. You and me."

"You and me?"

"Me and you," he says, shoving his hands into his pockets and bouncing on the balls of his feet like an eager child on Christmas morning. The taunting tone is still there, but so is something else that makes your breath catch in your throat. "Done with that yet?"

"With what?"

"Whatever it is that's keeping us apart," he says airily, and then frowns as he eyes you again. "Which, come to think of it, I don't actually know. So, hey, let's talk about that."

"Eds," you begin, then catch yourself as his face lights up at the nickname, "Don't look at me like that. We agreed."

"We did?" He tilts his head and gives you a quizzical stare. "I don't remember that."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don't."

You just give him a pointed look.

"Come on, Y/N." His tone softens, turns low and quiet and more serious than you're expecting. "I miss you. Do you miss me?"

He's staring at you so intently that you can't bring yourself to lie. You grab your drink and take a quick sip, to stall for time, because the real answer to his question is complicated.

The beer goes down too fast. "Eddie."

"What?" He sounds innocent, but he isn't fooling you for one second.

"Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"You know like what," you retort, trying to pretend that your pulse isn't pounding in your ears right now. "You're playing with me."

"Do you want to be played with?" he asks, dark eyes glinting again.

The playful remark makes your skin tingle with a heat that's all too familiar. It's not just the words, either. It's the way Eddie is watching you, the slight smirk curving his lips, the flirtatious shift in his posture as he leans into your personal space again, intentionally crowding you this time.

There's an answering heat in your face now, a flush spreading across your skin.

Fuck.

"You have no idea what I want," you retort, deciding that it's best to keep this exchange lighthearted.

"Bullshit," he replies. "I have a very good idea of what you want."

Eddie looks entirely too pleased with himself right now. You reach out and poke him in the chest. "And what is it that I want?"

He doesn't back away from the touch. Instead, he reaches out and pokes you back, touching your shoulder with gentle insistence as he inches even closer, until your face is just inches from his. "You want this," he says softly, gaze darting to your mouth and then back up again.

Oh.

"Don't," you say.

It's a halfhearted protest at best, though. And when Eddie raises an eyebrow, you shake your head with an exasperated sigh. You're well aware that you don't sound convincing at all. This conversation has spun wildly out of control in the space of seconds.

"Don't?" He parrots the word back to you in an incredulous tone, then pulls his lower lip between his teeth, watching you closely as he lets it slide back out from under his bite again, plump and pink and glistening in the low light. "I'm not doing anything."

Back up, you think. Move away. You shouldn't be standing so close.

You find yourself staring at Eddie's mouth for a beat too long before you look back up into his eyes. You smile. "You're going to get me all confused again."

"Good." He leans forward until your foreheads are nearly touching. "If I do it right, you'll start forgetting all those reasons you were using to convince yourself we should stay broken up."

You laugh as you shove him back a step, shaking your head. "See? There you go again."

He holds his hands up in front of himself, grinning widely as he speaks. "Look, all I'm saying is, sometimes you get all twisted up in your head about things. But, other times... well, you listen to your heart instead. You just need a little reminder that the heart is usually right."

"Oh, really?" You take another sip of beer. Tastes terrible. You wish it would at least do more to quell the butterflies suddenly fluttering in your stomach. "And who told you that?"

"Said so yourself, last summer." He stares at you with a wistful expression. "Remember? The lake. Sunset. I'd like to think you remember that day."

"Eds," you warn.

"And the night after that," he continues, his gaze turning molten now as he reaches out to smooth a stray lock of hair away from your face. "I remember every detail, I can refresh your memory if you want."

It's been too long since anyone has touched you like this, and your heart leaps as his fingertips brush your cheek. It's just an instant, gone in the blink of an eye. Still...

You really are touch-starved, though, if just the whisper of Eddie's hand against your face is enough to make you want to lean into his palm. "So, what are you suggesting?"

"Well..." His mouth twitches. "Are you going to kiss me, or should I kiss you?"

"Neither." You step back and take a sip of beer. Nope. Still terrible. "I, uh, gotta get some...air. Or something."

"Air, or something?"

"Yeah, I'm good," you mutter, setting the plastic cup down on the nearest available surface, which turns out to be a table stacked with pizza boxes. Your fingers find the wooden edge and you cling, leaning your weight into it. "Look, you need to stop doing that thing."

Eddie is watching you like a cat about to pounce on its prey. "What thing?"

"You know, the thing. The thing you do. It's very... persuasive. Very convincing." You fold your arms over your chest, because the safest course of action right now is clearly not letting him get close enough to touch you again. "And it's also not fair, because we agreed."

Eddie puts his hands on his hips and tips his head back, letting out an exasperated huff. "No, you agreed. I didn't agree to anything."

"Oh, c'mon. You did. And you know you did. We both did. It was mutual."

"Uh-huh." He makes a sound of amusement as he steps closer again. "Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?"

"I just—"

He reaches up, grips your chin with gentle insistence, and tilts your face up until your eyes meet. The world narrows until there's nothing but Eddie, who's looking at you with the same sweetly teasing expression he used to wear when he would lean over and whisper stupid jokes in your ear during class, back when you were still tentatively learning how to navigate each other, still in the shy, testing stages of that first year.

Except now, he doesn't look away as soon as you glance at him.

Now, he holds your gaze.

Now, his thumb traces your jawline.

Now, he gives you a moment to consider, before he leans in closer and presses his lips against yours.

It's not a kiss, really. Not quite. Just the suggestion of a kiss, a faint brush of his mouth against yours, a fleeting warmth that lingers for the space of a breath or two, there and then gone again.

You blink up at him, startled by the rush of heat that sweeps through you as his fingers linger on your skin. "Eddie—"

The next kiss is softer, slower, firmer. The gentle, searching pressure of Eddie's mouth on yours, unhurried and deliberate and sure, tugs at a piece of your heart that you thought was already mended, but he coaxes it into breaking open all over again.

"We...we..." You gasp, trying to remember why this is a bad idea. But the rational part of your brain is gone, shut off entirely by the little hum of contentment Eddie makes as he shifts his lips against yours. 

"We what?" His words are murmured against your lips.

Your mouth still feels like it's tingling from his kiss. You lean forward, swaying into him without realizing it. "We shouldn't—"

Another kiss. You let your eyes flutter closed, and Eddie nudges you backward until your shoulders hit the wall. 

His hands slide into your hair, fingers brushing through the strands, tilting your head back. You know you should stop him, but instead, you pull him closer, chasing the kiss when he breaks away, and, oh... his mouth is back on yours again, still slow, still soft, still measured. Not enough.

He is chuckling when he pulls back, the sound so quiet that you feel it more than hear it.

You think, This isn't fair. You shouldn't be able to do this to me. Not anymore.

The whole point of breaking up was so you could get over each other. This, right here? It is not helpful.

"Why, uh..." He clears his throat and trails off. When you open your eyes, you see him smiling down at you, flushed and disheveled, with a smudge of your lipstick on his mouth. "You've gotten really good at that."

Your hand goes up to his lips, finger swiping over the mark left behind by your lipstick. "So...you're saying I wasn't any good at this before, huh?"

Eddie bites his lower lip, his gaze darting to your mouth before sliding back up to meet your eyes again. "I'm saying we could've been doing this the whole time."

"We should stop, before...before...you know."

His nose nudges yours, a touch so fleeting it makes you want to tilt your face up to chase after it, but you stop yourself, because if you keep kissing him, you won't be able to bring yourself to stop. And that would be...bad. Definitely bad. You just can't remember exactly why right now.

"Before what?" Eddie asks in a low voice.

Your mouth, lips still warm from his, curves into a reluctant smile. "Eddie."

He's a breath away. "What, sweetheart?"

Oh, oh. You're in trouble. 

"You gotta stop kissing me," you say, as your fingers trail down his chest. He's so solid, warm under your touch. Your hands settle on his waist, and you grip the worn denim of his jeans to tug him closer even as you keep talking, trying to remember why you even wanted this breakup in the first place. "I'm, uh, working on getting over you."

"How's that going, by the way?"

"Terrible."

Eddie just laughs. "It is, huh?"

"Yeah, it is," you say. "But, see, I have a plan, and your kissing is messing up my plan. And my plan is a good one. So, don't mess it up. Please."

Eddie watches you, that fond, slightly smug smile on his lips again. He takes one of your hands in his and presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist, mouth lingering, his breath warm, eyes still on yours. "Tell me about this plan, then."

You make an indignant sound and try to tug your hand away. "It involves trying to spend less time with you, Eds. Like, you know, avoiding parties at friend's houses and all that. Gotta avoid those kinds of situations."

He presses his forehead against yours, and you sigh, leaning into the touch. "Why, exactly?"

"Because it's too... it's just too hard. It's really hard."

"I'll give you something hard, if you want," he says, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

You can't help but laugh. "You are the worst."

But maybe that's exactly what you need.

Well...that plan was doomed from the start anyway.

[oncasette]

𝗦𝗞𝗬'𝗦 𝗦𝗧𝗜𝗟𝗟 𝗕𝗟𝗨𝗘

caleb xia x fem!reader, boyfriend!rafayel qi x fem!reader

summary: 1.0k

He doesn’t know what he expected. For you to wait for him? For you to mourn him to the point of never moving on, if there was something to move on from in the first place? To you, he was dead for a year. He’d just have to live with the consequences of that.

or the one where you convince caleb to come with to you an art exhibit in which he learns more about who you've been hanging around since he's been gone.

content: jealousy, unrequited love

masterlist | beat you to it masterlist

When you had initially invited Caleb along to an art exhibition, he’d been confused. Don’t get him wrong, he was happy to go with you–more than happy to accompany you on what he thought to be the first of many date-like outings since he’d come back, saying yes with a dopey grin on his face–but this hadn’t ever really been his scene. Or, your scene, for that matter. He remembers the field trip your class had taken back in grade school to the Linkon City Art Museum, when you were still only single-digited in age, and how you’d begged Gran to let you stay home for weeks prior. Even the morning of, when you’d pretended to have the flu by sticking your thermometer in front of the space heater in your bedroom.

So, for you to now be dragging him along to some artists’ showing by choice… yeah, he was questioning things. You’d simply shrugged your shoulders when he’d asked the day before, smiling softly, “I know the artist.”

“Oh…” he’d said. “That Rafayel guy? The one who pays you to go on trips with him?”

It should’ve clicked then, he thinks, rather than after you’d already dragged him through dozens of paintings he could care less about, only to stumble up to the final piece which was undeniably a portrait of you. In molten shades of reds and violets, the colors blended your features into something divine. Something worth worshipping, if he hadn’t already been prepared to drop to his knees for you before you had the chance to ask.

Caleb’s jaw nearly dropped, his hold on your hand loosening as he let you step closer to the painting. It was beautiful, truly, the only artwork he thinks he would hang on his walls if given the chance. But, then again, what was this Rafayel guy doing painting such a portrait of his girl. 

“Hey, pipsqueak?” he asks. The sound comes out, but it sounds distant. Far away from the cotton currently filling his brain. 

You turn to face him with that cheeky grin he remembers from so long ago, the nostalgia tugging even harder at his heart. You were still that same girl he’d fallen for all those years ago. The only girl he’d fallen for, and probably ever would.

“Yeah?” you ask.

“Aren’t you his bodyguard?” he asks, more for reassurance of his own thoughts than anything else. Aren’t you just his bodyguard?

You nod, returning back to his side. For some reason, it didn’t give him the assurance he wanted. Then, with a flicker of your eye line, your attention on him wavers. In an instant, it’s like you’ve forgotten him.

“Raf!” you squeal, wandering away from him to throw your arms around a purple haired man in a navy suit. 

“Hey, cutie,” the man snickers, lifting your feet up and off of the ground as he accepts your embrace. “How’d you like it?”

He nods toward the portrait behind you. Your eyes don’t leave his even as you nod enthusiastically. Rafayel’s smile softens a bit as he sets you back down, lifting his hands to your cheeks to pull you into a reserved kiss. Caleb thinks about excusing himself to go and throw up in the restroom. 

“Oh! Raf, this is Caleb,” you say as you tilt your head to face your childhood friend. So you do remember him. Rafayel nods as he sticks his hand out to shake Caleb’s, a gesture he tentatively takes. 

“Pleasure,” Rafayel hums. His arm wraps around your waist. The look you give the artist, your head resting delicately on his shoulder, has Caleb’s stomach churning further. He hadn’t realized how moon-eyed you’d been over him as a child until he saw that gaze turned onto someone else. 

Rafayel blinks a few times, tilting his head as he squares up Caleb. It feels like a laser focused on the raw points of his heart, exposed and beating and freshly bruised. Though it feels like hours, in a moment the artist’s gaze returns to you.

“Are you coming to dinner with me and Thomas tonight?” he asks.

“Dinner?” Caleb’s throat is dry and he nearly coughs the statement out. 

“My beloved usually joins me for celebratory dinners after these exhibitions,” Rafayel says, using his spare hand to cradle the side of your head briefly. You hadn’t mentioned anything about dinner. Caleb had already been planning on making something when you got back home. 

“I told you I couldn’t,” you say, poking the pout that appeared on Rafayel’s lips. The pilot bit his cheek. Hard. “Caleb’s staying with me for a bit. Remember?”

“You should go,” Caleb hears himself say. He’s off somewhere else in his mind, watching these events unfold before him. He’s sitting in the attic of your old house, a hand wrapped tight around yours with you kneeling between his spread thighs. You don’t need him anymore. That’s what you’d said.

“Really?” you ask. “You think you can make it back to my apartment okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I can get there alright. I’ll wait up for you,” he swallows. 

“You don’t have to do that. I’m not sure when I’ll make it back,” you say softly, reaching out a hand to rest gently on his shoulder. It’s fire and ice all at once. All Caleb can do is nod helplessly.

It’s not long before Rafayel is ushering you away from him fully, whispering things he can’t hear–and, likely, doesn’t want to–while he continues to stand there at the heart of the exhibit. There’s a couple of paintings surrounding the painting of you. Various land and oceanscapes strung together in violets and maroons. Periwinkles, navys, ocean skylines that have him craving the comfort the clouds give him back in Skyhaven. 

He doesn’t know what he expected. For you to wait for him? For you to mourn him to the point of never moving on, if there was something to move on from in the first place? To you, he was dead for a year. He’d just have to live with the consequences of that. 

[meyhew]

“WHAT WE MOURN FOR THE DEAD IS THE LOSS OF THEIR HOPES.”

I never thought I’d make this post. Any time I imagined a One Direction member dying, I pictured myself weathered and grey. This was an eventuality that wasn’t supposed to be actualized until the boys and I had lived full lives. To have to come to terms with Liam’s death—his perpetual absence moving forward—in my mid twenties feels absurd. I wrote a long thing the day after I found out, so I’ve already gotten some thoughts out. I’m going to try and keep this short. I likely won’t succeed.

Liam was kind. If he’s remembered for anything, I hope it’s that. I know he helped out with food banks in London during lockdown because there were photos of him packing boxes, but I didn’t know until now how much money he gave them. £80,000 without any publicity. And it wasn’t a one-time donation. He kept working with various orgs to help food insecure people. In the week leading up to that unfortunate Wednesday, he gave away thousands to fundraisers—primarily set up to help people with severe illnesses. He’d been part of Soccer Aid for years. He was involved with anti-bullying campaigns. He worked with Rays of Sunshine to make hundreds of sick children happy. Over the years, he also donated to nonprofits that help children in Gaza and other places. The T-shirt he designed for Choose Love has garnered nearly £200,000; Choose Love has been working with the Palestine Children’s Relief Fund and Medical Aid for Palestinians to provide desperately needed aid in Gaza. Liam understood the value of his wealth, and what his social responsibility was. He did his part to make this world better.

All that without taking into account everything Liam did for us. The youtube videos he started during quarantine because it was a way to distract people, give them something to look forward to. His comedic timing was something special. The discord server where he talked to fans and highlighted their creative endeavors. His livestreams, the endless culture-defining tweets he made. I still see people laughing about his tweets. We all remember Mrs. Horan, yes? I mean, go all the way back to TwitCams. Just google the phrase and one of the first videos you get will be Liam’s. From day one, he took it upon himself to make sure the fans were happy. That we felt seen, heard. And he kept One Direction alive for us, on occasion at a great personal cost. He performed deep cuts we’d never seen sung live, he was always so enthusiastic about everyone else’s projects, he never shied away from talking about the band—because it made us happy. He knew what the band meant to us, the blend of hope and nostalgia many of us clung to, and he held on with us. For us. The masses ridiculed him for his clinginess, and he didn’t let go—for us. I’m sure he knew there are those of us for whom the name One Direction still means everything. And how right he was. Look at the global charts for the past two weeks. We’ve made history again. Because of Liam. He had been the glue holding a lot of the fandom together, whether people realized it or not. He brought us all together again in the most heartbreaking of ways.

One Direction came into my life at a time when I was becoming lonelier by the day. I had moved to a new country two years prior, and I didn’t yet have many friends because I knew only enough English to get by at school. Outside of school, I had no friends. They were all back home in the place I’d left. All I had was my two siblings—and when you’re 13 years old, your 14 yr old sister is hardly the person you want to spend all your time with. I didn’t have space for me, to do and to be something that was just mine.

Then I found 1d through a girl at school and they became that something for me. I bettered my English by watching them talk. I found this community because of them, and I have learned so much from being a part of it. So many wonderful people have touched my life because of them over the years, some I’ve fallen out of touch with and some I hung out with just this month. They—and, by extension, Liam—have made me wealthy in friendship.

Claudia, Ingrid, Mery; Thank you for putting up with my insanely specific demands and making headers for me. Ingrid, you’ve been so patient about teaching me how to gif. Mery, I still have your rec list for learning Spanish saved in my notes app. The TPWK print you gifted me hangs on my wall. Cloudy, do you remember that lineart you made of me? I still have it. You’ve all been so kind to me.

Rafa; You have no idea how much you’ve helped build my confidence as a writer. Lyab is a thing of the past now, but those hours you spent fleshing out the details of that fic are priceless to me. I’d never written anything so ambitious before. And, frankly, I don’t think I would’ve attempted a novel if I hadn’t written a 100k fic—which I couldn’t have done without your encouragement. I think this is my first time telling you I finished the first draft of my novel in September. Thank you <3

Yas; Beloved you are so dear to me. You have shown me such kindness over the years, at times I wondered what I had done to deserve it. Not many people check in with me the way you do. I value your presence in my life beyond words. You have so much love and affection to give, and I’m glad I get to receive so much of it.

If I wrote a personal note to everyone who’s in my life because of Liam we’d be here for hours and hours. Jess, Bella, Alex, Jack, Hayley, Hope, Soni, Kayla, Sara, Arsh, Tina, Ola, Cristal, Kylee, Hana, Ali, Antonise, Clare, Abby, Nina, fnh, mert, people I don’t follow anymore, everyone who’s come into my life because of liam—I love you. Literally every single person I follow should be named here because I wouldn’t even be on this website if it weren’t for 1d. You’re all so special to me.

I still can’t believe Liam is gone. I was at the grocery store and it hit me that it’s real, and I thought, no, there’s no way. It feels so fucking weird having this invisible hole in my life that’s never going to go away. But I’ll always be grateful for everything Liam brought into my life. I know I’ll grow old with a whole bunch of you in my life—I’ve already spent a decade with some of you in my life—and I wish Liam got to grow old and weathered with us all.

This is such an inadequate goodbye. I think I’ll keep coming up with things I wish I could tell Liam, or things I want to say to you all. There’s so much history here, so much to reminisce about. He took a piece of my adolescence with him. I’ll miss him forever. Too many of my memories are intertwined with him and I’ll miss him forever.

Sleep easy, Liam. I hope, in time, you’re remembered for your limitless capacity for love and your desire to do better, be better. You deserved more. 🤍

—————

tagging 1d people here because i know many blogs aren’t active on a regular basis. apologies if i missed someone (i’m sure i did). hugs for everyone

@1dclowns @hrrytomlinson @sandiazucar @fookinfreezin @hoeranghae @wlwmermald @tomlinsun @epubgf @heyangel @fireproofs @90sgrungelouis @lirry @iconichalo @itsnotreal @aquickstart @roguecurls @harryscuddles @hoteyelinerguy @babyy-honey @goldencereza @kindathoughtprovoking @kindofsharethat @fuchsiasea @queerbloodyangel @tofiveohfive @aboutmetamorphosis @wastelandbabyblue @delicatepointofview @twentybiqueen @girlcrushau @chaoticsue @chimnation @akasakasads @icouldbeluckyagain @alloutshirt @half-lightl @halohamilton @willowfey @meltedwings @softandslow @loustyles @onedirectiom @pop-punklouis @pridesobright @finexbright @femstyles @baawree @iamnathanscott @avocadolouie @userautumn @niallerer @itsnothesameasitwas @usignedupforthis @svpportive @svncourt

[oldinterneticons]

We would all like to thank you for your lovely niche as a) you keep that part of history alive and b) we need more late 90s/early 2000s content that's actually from that era & not just the y2k aesthetic lol

Yes, thank you! I prefer nostalgia blogs that post stuff from the era to just Y2K aesthetic. A lot now is just sort of filtered through a vague idea of the general style of the 2000s when there was a lot more than that. I guess sort of like when I was a kid back then, I remember 60s and 80s style being popular and it was just stereotypical hippie stuff with peace signs for the 60s or people dressing like early career Madonna for the 80s, when obviously most of those actual decades were not like that at all.

I've had people message before asking why I post icons for "problematic" bands/franchises and I guess I just like presenting the era as it was, for better or worse. Like, I get why people don't want to support Harry Potter stuff now, or around his trial a few years ago I had people complain about how many Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean icons were posted, for example, but it's hard to explain just how omnipresent both of those were on the Internet, especially in fandom spaces, in the 2000s. Then there are icons I've collected that I don't post because they'd break Tumblr's TOS, ie. they depict self-harm or eating disorders, use slurs, sexualize minors etc and all of that was quite a regular sight on MySpace etc. It certainly wasn't all glittery Invader Zim gifs.

Plus, on a less serious note, I find it fun to go through the Internet Archive and sites like Livejournal that are still up, it's like a little treasure hunt. And the ones that are just silly, like the "XD so random rawr!!" ones, I honestly find charming in the fact that they were sincere back then; the internet is way too concerned with not being "cringe" now (or I guess on the other hand, doing it ironically as an aesthetic)

[kiwiikato]

mommy’s here // kenji sato x reader

Chapter Twelve

masterlist

note! AT BOTTOM!!

a giant aircraft flew through the air, the tail of the vehicle turning around as stands came out, creating a soft landing. a vertical door came down, showing the five of you together, like a family.

you walked in the middle, between professor sato and kenji, your hand in the tanned males arm as he gently guided you down the slanted walkway. you smiled at kenji quickly, turning to listen to his dad as he spoke.

"i thought it would be good for all of us to get out of the house." he soft voice spoke as you both trailed behind him, the view capturing your eyes. it was gorgeous to say. a soft golden hue hugged the grassy mountains, their trees casting shadows that made the view almost look unrealistic. it was like staring at a painting, only this time, it was all in front of you.

you couldn't help but gasp seeing the giant body of water glimmer under the soft rays of light. the sight would never bore you, no matter how many times you've seen it. "it's exactly the same" ken said in awe, feeling equally as captivated. you turned around to hear emi's chitters of excitement as she stared at the life around her.

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a traditional shoji door slid to the side as professor sato let you in. "haven't been in a few weeks" he grunted as he pushed the sliding door open. you smiled at him, helping him open it how you usually would. it was a sad thought but he was getting older and sadly weaker, so you tried to help him as much as you could when you both worked together.

"thank you y/n." he said smiling, to which you nodded with a smile as you flickered the lights to the room on. kenji walked in, his eyes filled with awe stepping into the all familiar room. "so many great memories here." the words left his mouth as a breathy whisper, letting nostalgia course his veins.

"i repurposed it into a bit of a lab after you moved away." professor sato spoke up, walking slowly to the map that hung on the wall. you quickly rushed to him, placing your arm around his waist to help. he smiled at you, turning back around to walk to the map with you.

kenji stared at the map on the wall, his fingers grazing the post-it notes that stuck on it. pins and threads of red yarn stuck on the map, with photos of his mother hanging around. "you know your mom, she could never sit still." he said, an audible sound of love lacing his words.

the tanned male turned to his dad, "you did search for her." he couldn't believe it. he had grown to believe that his father stopped looking for her after she disappeared. that just maybe, just maybe, his dad actually gave up on her. his heart ached slightly, remembering how he yelled at his dad when they first saw each other.

he was so stupid. he felt stupid. how could he accuse his own father of giving up on his mother? on his wife! the literal love of his life!

he snapped himself out of his thoughts, taking in the sad look in his dads eye. "yes... god, i miss her. her heart, her passion for life, she showed me what it means to be human." his voice cracked. god he really did miss her. what could he do not knowing where she was. he turned to the side, facing the map with you helping his stability.

his hand reached out for her photo. she looked so happy. one could mistake her for an angel. and that's what she was. to him at least, that was his angel. he very reason for life. he felt your hand lightly squeeze his shoulder in reassurance, to which he squeezed back with his own. he was thankful he wasn't alone all those years kenji was abroad.

"i-im so sorry, dad." kenji leaning dad and placing his hand on his dads other shoulder. you smiled seeing professor sato take his hand back and place it on his sons. they had gradually begun to get closer over the duration of taking care of baby emi. it was heartwarming.

you slowly walked out of the room, letting the two of them reconnect. it had been a while since they both had time for one another, to be father and son. not instructor and student.

you feet lightly tapped as they walked towards the kaiju, watching as she hopped around in excitement. mina flew around her, making her play almost a game of chase. "mind if i join you both?" you ask, making emi run to you. "hi emi, how's my baby doing? are you enjoying yourself?" you ask her as she rests her head on your small palm.

you couldn't help but laugh at the size difference between you. mina floated down to you. "we can play a game of catch, it appears to be emi's favorite." at the sound of catch, emi opened her eyes as she ran to the empty patch of grass up ahead.

"a game of catch sounds amazing!" you say, you walk over the small bag of baseball equipment that kenji brought for moments like this. picking up the ball, a regular sized bat, a glove, and even dragging emi's bat over, you handed the items amongst the three of you.

mina took the glove in her mechanical arm as you passed emi her giant bat. you kept the baseball in your hand, deciding that you'd be the one to pitch it to emi, with mina behind to catch the ball if the adorable kaiju were to miss.

you all took your positions, emi's tail slightly wagging from excitement. you couldn't help to giggle as you launched the ball over to emi, now waiting to see if it was a hit or strike.

emi missed the ball by a smidge, making her slightly sulk as mina caught the ball in her glove. you called out to her. "it's okay baby! just try it again, you got this! show mommy how much of a good player you are, just like daddy!"

she cheered up, lifting up the bat as mina threw the ball at you. you caught the ball, holding it in the palms of your two hands. "ready?" you asked emi as she chirped back in confirmation.

"here it goes!" you yelled out as you launched the ball towards her. it almost felt like slow motion when you watched desperately, nervous to see if she'd hit it this time. a loud smack was heard as emi's bat smacked against the white ball. the ball flew towards you, making you yelp as you jumped away to avoid getting hit.

almost as luck was on your side, an arm circled around your waist, preventing you from falling to the side as their other hand caught the fast paced ball in their grip. you looked up to see that kenji had been the one to catch you, making you sigh in relief.

"you okay y/n?" he asked with worry in his eyes when he saw how fast the ball was flying to you. she was lucky to have had him come out of the room with his dad at the sound of a clang coming from emi's baseball bat.

"yeah!" you slightly yelped out in shock. he chuckled, glad to see that you were okay, although even with a bruise of mark on your face, he'd still find you beautiful in his eyes. "atta girl. here let me help you."

kenji smiled as he pulled you more upright so you could stand on your own. you stood straight, your ankle suddenly aching from applying pressure. it wasn't bad, but it wasn't comfortable and you'd knew it would get in the way of you being able to play.

you slightly winced but kenji had caught on to the slight stumble you had as you tried walking it off. "nope nope, not on my watch, come on." you almost yelled when you felt your body lift off the ground, but saw that it was only kenji.

he turned towards his dad, "dad! i'm gonna treat y/n, we'll be back in a bit." his dad nodded as he turned to watch mina and emi play. you couldn't help but grumble in annoyance at having to leave the game, you knew you'd have to make it up to emi soon.

kenji made his way up to the aircraft you all had came in. he walked with ease up the ramp, surprising you with how easily he had carried you. his eyes linked with yours, giving you a small smile as his footsteps tapped at the metal flooring.

it wasn't long till he found a restroom, softly setting you down on the toilet seat so you wouldn't apply pressure to your foot while standing. kenji bent down to the cabinet in the restroom, pulling out a first aid kit. "here it is." he mumbled to himself as he pulled out a roll of bandages and ointment.

he turned towards you, rolling up the bottom of your jeans to see a cut on your leg. he winced seeing the redness and the slight blood that pooled from it but quickly grabbed a rag and wet it. using the wet rag, he wiped away lightly at the cut to clean it up.

you sighed at the feeling of the wet rag, bringing some comfort to the area. you watched as he twisted the bottle of ointment open, applying some on the tip of his finger. he softly rubbed the ointment onto the wound, making you smile.

"you remembered." you said looking down at him. he smiled up at you. "yeah i did, i had to remember if i wanted to help you properly with your wounds the way you helped me with mine that one time." he said as he began to wrap at your ankle with the bandages he took out, making it tight but with not too much pressure.

"thank you kenji." you say smiling getting ready to get up. "of course, anything for my girl." you couldn't help but feel your face heat up, a noticeable blush on your face for him to see. he chuckled seeing you red, making you even more nervous. 'curse how good his laughs sounds'.

you nervously looked around, trying to avoid becoming even more flustered cause of the man in front of you. kenji looked back at you seeing you looking the other way, he couldn't help but smile at how you avoided him.

how badly he wanted to kiss you. it had been a little while since he did. the both of you had been busy with his dad around and trying to train emi, it felt like moments of privacy hadn't happened in a while for the two of you.

before he knew it, he was in front of you, the palms of his hands turning your face look at him. your face was red as your eyes slightly widened at him suddenly appearing in front of you. his fingers delicately tracing at the outlines of your cheeks, pressing each mark.

"hi," you awkwardly said, mentally facepalming at your words. 'hi?? seriously??'. kenji smiled still, snapping you out of your words. "i've missed you." you heart melted, he was always so sweet with his words, it was easy to become flustered.

"i've missed you too. i'm right here." you said reaching up to hold onto his hand that held your face. "i know, but i've missed this, having privacy with you. i feel like we barely have enough time with one another, just me and you." he softly says, you smile now knowing that you weren't the only one feeling that way.

"i've missed that too. i love all the time with emi and your dad, but i miss those times we had just for ourselves, but it's okay, cause we'll find time when we come back." you say smiling at him softly.

he was silent for a second, his eyes flickering between your lips and your eyes. you couldn't help but blush feeling his stare. "i want to kiss you so bad." he suddenly blurted out. his tan skin held red on his cheeks, making you smile at how shy and bold he was. you were the same way either way.

"i never said you couldn't." you whispered back making his eyes widen. it didn't take long till you felt his lips slam against yours, his hands pulling you closer by your neck to instantly deepen the kiss. he was desperate. it was obvious as day that he had missed the feeling of your lips on his. but gosh did you feel the same.

your hands found his hair, messing up his neatly brushed locks. kenji moved more forward, kneeling on his knees to reach your height as you bent down as close as you could to him.

the kiss was needy, like an animal that hadn't eaten in weeks. he was craving more even while he still kissed you. kenji pulled away, catching you off guard as his lips found your neck, playing soft kisses to every inch of it. a gasp escaped your mouth as you felt him bite down, his tongue licking at the indent right after making you shiver.

kenji suddenly separated from your neck, standing up off the floor. you stared up at him, watching what he was going to do. strong, firm hands grabbed you as he threw you over his shoulder, causing you to shriek slightly as the sudden movement.

"k-kenji?!" you yelled out, confused. he was silent, opening the door from the restroom as he moved quick through the hallways. his hand found your ass, grabbing a handful with a squish as you turned red from his sudden boldness. 'oh god what did i get myself into'.

it wasn't long till he stood in front of a door and opened it. he walked it throwing you on the bed, being gentle to not hurt your injured ankle. you gasped when he followed in trail, crawling over you.

like a fly in a web, he hunched over you like a spider about to eat their prey. "can i? please." was the only thing that left his mouth as he stared down at you. you could only nod as kenji's lips found the crevice of your neck. his tongue trailed down, slightly sucking like he was trying to find something.

and he found it. a soft moan left your lips as you closed your eyes in shock at the sensitivity of your sweet spot. he couldn't help but smile at the sweet sounds of pleasure you made, it made him excited.

he quickly captured your lips in his, his hand running down the side of your torso, gripping at your waist to keep you under him. your hands attacked his disheveled hair, hearing him groan from small pulls at his locks.

kenji rose up, pulling you up with him as he flipped the two of you in bed. he now laid down with you hovering over him. grabbing you by his neck, he pulled you down to him, giving animalistic licks at the side of your neck, only to nibble at the lobe of your ear slightly.

kenji's hands found your ass, his thumbs kneading at your skin through your shorts. "kenji? what about your dad?" you asked nervously, worried about taking a long time. "oh god, i forgot about them." he instantly sat up, you still in his lap. "i hope you don't mind, next time?" he asks making you laugh.

"next time then." you say smiling. kenji gives you a quick kiss on your lips, now helping you get up off the bed carefully so you don't fall. the both of you walking back, slightly embarrassed for taking a little while longer than planned.

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note! GUYS IM SORRY - im not trying to tease you all or anything, or uh c***block you all but i'm just so hesitant to write more steamy scenes. trust me i am not innocent at all, i just worry about younger readers seeing that and ruining themselves.

before anyone starts saying they're not pure at all at a really young age - some of you guys are still minors. it's my responsibility as the adult here to look out for you all. besides i feel like a scene here is just too out of nowhere, not enough privacy or the chance to throw this into the story line without messing it up a bit.

now how do you all feel about me just giving you guys some 'action' more later on? as a separate chapter, it's tied to the story BUT it's barely mentioned at all so it could be separated for those who don't really like this type of content?

TAGLIST — CLOSED!

@ilovemyhusbandaaravos @miffysoo @ldykir4 @chaoticotaku @channit @shingsoluvely @m00nd0v3 @mixvchelle @ifharbingerbad--whyhot @dreamayy @justanotherkpopstanlol @bat1212 @angelitadiaz @snowbusiness @witcwitchy @mizzowizzo @buggs-1 @mmeerraa @everywonuu @nevermorekisses @f1uveryysblog @t4naiis @stxrrielle @ixqiix @arrozyfrijoles23 @sincerest-one @imsimping4life @sassy-cat-in-town @jack-of-all-trades-696 @flutterfly365 @eternalgoddessofart @hulyenl @leabrainrot @sunmigs @m3q3kic @lynbubble @leviannx @call-me-nyxx @gurofushi @ya-boi-v @im-sidney @haitani-zoe @mtheooo @chreiiii @secretlyapartofthisfandom @greenmanshoe @badbishsblog @reallysparklychaos @deimmortales99 @ashsallyblue2 @matchalatte06 @random-3455 @reivelmin @jennyfernan @solatiiium @liliabrary @maxi-ride @22carolina08 @coffetears @vyxnn-xage

[theendorisit]

apropos of nothing, I made Tape-E

Who is Tape-E?

During one of the TMA livestreams (trying to remember which one), a fan question was asked ‘Is there a mascot (for the Archives or the show itself not sure)?’ One of the team suggested ‘Tape-y?’, to which everyone else responded with ‘Oh no!!’. So I thought, oh yes! So yeah, this is your fault 😘

What is Tape-E?

As Mr Bonzo is a parody of Mr Blobby, Tape-E is a parody of Clippy (these last two names rhyme).

Who is Clippy?

Clippy was a microsoft office assistant, introduced in 1997. He was a little virtual paperclip (officially called Clippit, but that name never caught on) who sat on the bottom right corner of the page, and was programmed to give advice in popup speech bubbles when certain actions were taken. For example, if you wrote out an address and ‘Dear’, Clippy would say ‘Looks like you’re writing a letter. Would you like help?’. The name Tape-E in the livestream seemed to be referring to Clippy, as there are many similarities in the behaviour of Clippy, and the actual tapes/ tape recorders in-universe:

always on by default

appears at inconvenient times

provides help you do not want

hated by (mostly) everyone

watching you with cold dead eyes

enjoyed by nostalgia and retro seekers

Why make Tape-E?

As I am of the same generation as some of the RQ peeps, I unironically loved Clippy and Mr Blobby as a child, and it gives me great joy to imagine, in the TMP universe, Sam getting a little pop up: ‘Looks like you’re trying to code a case file! Would you like some help with that?’ In our world this would be impossible - Windows NT (as the official name) was dropped in 1996, one year before Clippy was born, BUT there is voice recording on TMP’s ancient computers, so it’s not totally impossible! 😅😁

What are cassette tapes?

Just a little recap for those who didn’t grow up with tapes: Cassette Tapes contain information embedded in magnetic tape, wrapped around one spool and attached to a second spool. When played, the spools are turned by the machine and the magnetic tape is wound onto the other spool, the information read out through speakers as the magnetic tape moves through sensors. As the magnetic tape can contain different information depending on the direction of tape movement, you can flip the cassette tape over in the machine, and play the tape again, hearing another load of information. This concept is never utilised in the show, but it does mean that cassette tapes have A-sides, and B-sides (as Vinyl records do). Here, of course, this stands for Archivist-side, and Brutalpipemurder-side. On occasion, the magnetic tapes would become damaged, or bent, and could be pushed out of the cassette, causing a horrible noise, and terror to small children who were only trying to listen to their Just William tapes. When this happened, a pencil (or in my case, my little finger) could be jammed into the spiky spool ‘teeth’, to rewind the magnetic tape back into the cassette. Maybe that’s why the eyes are red? 🩸 I am very glad that the TMA tapes are magic, and record endlessly, never need flipping, and never get chewed up by the hungry machine.

Why is the name Tape-E?

Canon answer: the name stands for Tape-Eyes. Possibly Tape-Entity? Undecided.

Actual answer: Tape-y, Tapey and Tapie spellings look weird to me. I think Tape-E looks best.

Why a tape and not a tape recorder?

if you can crochet a tape recorder, you’re a genius and I love you.

What gender is Tape-E?

I might refer to Tape-E as male sometimes because that’s how people often referred to Clippy. But Tape-E is whatever gender Tape-E feels like being.

Why now?

Why not? also now is a good time because TMP episode 15 is an excellent episode

What’s going to happen to Tape-E?

I’m going to gift it to Jonny sometime, if we get more liveshows or book signings. It’s his fault this exists after all. Plus you can write whatever you like in the speech bubbles! Hopefully I can give it calmly? But maybe Tape-E will be yeeted in his general direction in a fit of ADHD-fuelled social anxiety. Only time will tell.

Tape-E is a pattern and design created entirely by myself. The inspiration and world building from whence it came, is entirely the genius of @jonnywaistcoat Jonny Sims, Rusty Quill @rqbossman and The Magnus Archives, which is a podcast distributed by Rusty Quill and licensed under a creative commons attribution, non-commercial share alike 4.0 international license.

Clippy was invented by Microsoft and Kevan Atteberry, who now illustrates children’s books.

Mr Blobby is an adorable abomination, created from a fevered mind.