#Guest Star (trope)

[mylittleredgirl]

watched sga “sanctuary” earlier today for the first time in a while! despite my abundant love of the first season i tend to skip this one, and so i have been missing out on some very funny things:

john for real going “that was my bad ¯\_(ツ)_/¯” about the wraith waking up and declaring war on everyone

elizabeth earnestly trying to sell “industrialization” to people living in literal paradise and wanting for nothing, like girl these folks are chilling with perfect health and abundance and you want to teach them to build factories. this one gets funnier as capitalism collapses around us

rodney's immediate flip from 😠 she's an ancient 😠 to wait you're for real an ancient??? 🤩 BIG FAN OF YOUR WORK 🤩

the powers that be apparently looking at this episode after the fact and going “yeah you know what actually it just feels wrong for john to be in any way a smooth ladies man willing to open up about his feelings, we shouldn’t do that anymore”

“how very 1967 of you” you just KNOW rodney loves telling everyone that william shatner is canadian

[inspectorspacetimerevisited]

David Langton wasn’t originally supposed to appear in ‘Tadolaeth Alive’, but as he was available, he turned up for filming

after the actor originally set to appear in that serial, Thomas Sutherland, ended up unavoidably detained in Brazil.

[thosetwofirefighters]

WIP Wednesday

me? posting a tag fill on the correct day? who am i and what have i done with myself?! anywayyyy, tagged by @lilbuddie and @the-likesofus aka the bestest people on this whole website

almost all of the writing i've done recently has been finished and posted, and i've already shown y'all all that i wish to regarding my fake dating au sooooo y'all know that scene in The Proposal where ryan reynold's character strips on the balcony before his shower and sandra's character forgets a towel and they end up running into each other naked?

yeah, that. but make it buddie:

There’s a dull thwack that sounds through the room before they both tumble to the ground, Buck on top of Eddie, who is naked, and so is Buck, and what the hell is going on? “Why are you naked?” Buck yells, and Eddie returns the sentiment as he scrambles away. Buck ignores the way his touch felt, the way he wanted to curl into Eddie, hold him down and keep him there, ravish him until they were both satiated and sleepy. He can’t do that—he won’t ruin the best friendship that he’s ever had.

@vancityreynolds what do you think?! hehe

part of me doesn't want to tag anyone else on this because like.....this is just pure crack and it's so silly and rough rn, but also....it's not that deep soooo tagging @justsmilestuffhappens @ajunerose @bloodydiaz if y'all haven't been tagged yet and want to join in!! anyone else who wants to be tagged in the future just lmk! <3

[taegularities]

meraki | jjk (m)

MERAKI (v., Greek). "to do something with soul, creativity, or love; to put something of yourself in your work." Summary: Jungkook finds you irritating; far too energetic and insistent. But his perception of you changes bit by bit, minute by minute, when he's persuaded into spending an entire night with you at places he doesn't know.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: e2l, grumpy!jk (+ photographer!jk) x sunshine!reader; fluff, smut ➳ warnings: bickering, bantering, jk is a bit rude at the beginning, flirting, tension, oc is bold and courageous, mention of someone being stoned, mention of insomnia, jk's lip rings <3, heights, not exactly e2l but more like "i find you pretty annoying" to lovers lmao, deep talks and sweet moments, one bed trope, guest appearance, jk takes pictures of pretty things, stars and sky talk <3, explicit sexual content: kissing/making out, implied pain kink? lol, fingering, manhandling, oral (f. & m. receiving), teasing, 69, spitting, one or two spanks, bit of choking, soft and hard sex, unprotected sex (oc has an iud), soft dom!jk but also glimpses of sub!jk, ofc biiiig dick!jk, doggy/riding/missionary, praises, more flirting, jk's godly body, masturbation, cum swallowing (he comes in her mouth); the lovely ending <3 ➳ word count: 26.6k <3 ➳ a/n: you guys built this fic!! 🥺 hopefully this is what we expected it to be. it's also yet another love letter to one of the gentlest men i know; happy birthday, jeon jungkook, you're the standard and i will never fall out of love with you 💕 i hope y'all enjoy it!! come and talk to me when you're done mwah <3

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST | WIPs

1:04AM, Her

There’s a word for how you do what you do.

A term you hold dearly in the crevices of your bright heart. Ever since you first learned its meaning two decades ago, you’ve made it your primary goal to breathe through life with it as your philosophy.

Passion, it is. A word certainly common in conversation and daily life — you’re not the only person to live by it. Doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to wallow in it.

Because there’s a fire behind your hard-working chest, lit up, pride residing next to it. It’s where you feel the most vivid light when you do what you love, blooming and blossoming. There are synonyms of it you know, and each of them are pretty as a growing garden.

You gatekeep them for now; haven’t yet found a person to share your knowledge with. Which is okay; in the meantime, you’ll keep looking. You do think everybody needs something like this in their lives.

Something that forces your body upright, sprinkling fairy dust and glimmer into your eyes. Something you can resort to in order to escape the trials of life.

For you, as odd it may seem to people, it’s your job.

You usually work late like today, surrounded by sounds and disquiet. But you enjoy it. You like stepping into the night afterwards, and you like the dark blanket above, the starlight sprinkled across the comforting blackness.

And you like it when it drizzles sometimes. The giggles of couples or groups of friends as they wade through the rain. The absolute quiet and relieving serenity.

You live for this. You enjoy people. You enjoy sensing life around you.

Tonight isn’t different. Even when you find yourself hastening by the end, wrapping up the event with a dozen chores to tackle; even when the host rushes to you, asking for help. Your shoes click-clack across the floor as you move left and right, up and down.

But by God, you never doubt these days’ worth.

1:04AM, Him

Sometimes, people don’t want to be photographed.

Jungkook learned that early on when he agreed to be a photographer at events. He’s encouraged and urged to ask people to pose; that’s his job. Waiting for them to force a smile before they can resume eating, debone their fish or work on their lobsters, beef, veggies.

They long to return to whatever they were doing, or to their conversations, mostly insignificant ones; Jungkook knows because he, involuntarily, hears too many of them. 

It’s only when they’re dancing or drinking that they open up. That’s when they’re okay with listening to him, obedient, almost as if he’s authority, staring into the lens with flushed cheeks and wide grins.

Though it’s irritating when every other person walks up to him afterwards, inquiring when they’d be receiving the photos, or, even ruder, if at all.

Today, there are a few more comfortable people around. Not as harsh, not as grim as he feels. You’re here, too, somewhere; of course you are — you got him here in the first place. Somehow, your paths often cross. You were ready for a picture immediately, drawn in by the host, smiling.

He perceived your presence just for a second, though. Doesn’t need or want any more than that. You’re too loud, too energetic anyway; he’s rather among himself, not in any photo, indulging in the job.

He loves clicking through his camera roll; it’s the people that tire him out. Working his way through the pictures he took once home gives him joy, though. Makes his fatigue feel worth it.

But God, you’re not the only one, right? So many people here are the same amount of enthusiastic, party people to the core. 

Which is why he’s happy when the night finally concludes, and he, far after midnight, stuffs his equipment back into his bag and slips into his at least somewhat chic blazer.

1:12AM, Her

You groan as your hand dives into your bag, fishing out the key that you already removed from your keychain an hour ago. Back when the man facing you approached you; he’s the last face you see when you step out of the somewhat stuffy hall.

Or so you think.

You don’t know that the night is far from over when you linger at the entrance, handing him a key that he encloses in his grip with a grateful nod and a goodbye-wave. The final interaction when you excuse yourself, breathing in the night.

It’s a hunch cooler than when you left home today; yet, the breeze feels pleasant caressing your skin. The end of August is still warm, still fairly far from fall; you regard summer nights as the best part of the season.

Sighing, you come to a halt in the middle of the pavement, studying the alley. You ponder until you remember a bus not too far from here; you need to turn left, right? Should be there. You have never been around here before, so you’re not entirely sure.

But you’ll just go with your first instinct for now. Keep walking until you detect any kind of a promising sign. You hold onto your roomy bag as you pass the rare people still around.

Some of them are faces you recognise from the party; some are strangers. One couple you spoke to just earlier even lifts a thumbs up for you, praising you for the exceptional organisation. They make you feel at ease until the road quietens.

And the place stays serene and silent until you hear the clearing of somebody’s throat. It’s not near; yet not far. Your eyes scan the area, not for long when they recognise a figure sitting on the opposite side of the narrow street.

It’s a man, clutching a heavy object with careful hands. A camera, you know it immediately. He’s hunting through the pictures he took, face slightly lit by the screen. Jutting lower lip, slowly blinking eyes.

Simple attire — dark jeans, a white shirt, and a blazer on top that hides the wide shoulders.

Constantly and undeniably handsome, albeit always grim due to the lack of a smile.

You squint to confirm it’s him you’re seeing; but when he smacks his lips in the dark of the night, nibbling at the shiny lip rings, you know you’re right. This is a habit you’ve never seen on anybody this persistently as on Jeon Jungkook.

And the one and only Jeon Jungkook must be feeling your eyes on him, because only a second later, he lifts his gaze. Instinctively, you wave a little, but Jungkook isn’t on board with your hospitality. He rolls his eyes; you don’t take it to heart, though. You’re used to this.

As he starts stuffing the camera back into his bag, you waddle over, crossing the street. Upon reaching him, you ask, “Got some good pictures tonight?”

“I’d guess so.”

His voice is as nonchalant as always, his shoulders relaxed, uncaring. To your vampire-novel-reading middle school self, he would’ve been the coolest and most mysterious riddle, waiting to be cracked. But you know how he feels about you, and that makes the situation just a little less intriguing.

Yet, you never stopped approaching him, because aside from conversations like these, you know he’s just human, too. He smiles at events whenever he gets the chance, content with the moments he captures; he likes what he does.

Photography has always been his thing; or that’s what you gathered, at least. You see the same sparkle in his eyes that you feel in yours when you work; the same joy when he fumbles with his camera, always checking, presumably changing the settings, testing it out.

You lean in a little, wondering, “Can I see?”

“Uhm…” He hesitates, lifting the strap of the camera bag higher up his shoulder. “Do you have to?”

“If I may. I brought you here, remember?”

Of course. It’s always you; you’re the one to organise this, and you’ve seen his pieces and albums before. He might not hang around you too much, always the first to tell you he has somewhere else to be, but you know he’s good. You trust him in this regard.

“You say that every time,” he argues, a tattooed hand settling on his bag, clearly reluctant.

So you click your tongue, waving your suggestion off. You try to sound as lively as ever, but your voice is more earnest as you say, “Okay, it’s fine. Don’t show me the pictures, but come on. Be a bit nice at least.

“Alright. What else? Do you need something?”

You sigh in defeat. “No. I was just going home.”

“You should go home. It’s pretty late.”

“Aren’t you going, too?”

“I am,” he responds, his voice going up at the end. “I just wanted a bit of peace before leaving.”

“Peace,” you repeat, as if trying out the word. “You can’t get it at home?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer this time. Instead, he only shifts his stare from you to the empty road ahead, exhaling a dramatically long breath before he gets into motion. You immediately react, by his side until he asks, “Are you following me?”

“Huh? Did you forget that I was literally heading this way?” He’s distracted, looking for the street signs, and you laugh at his own confusion. “Do you even know where you’re going?”

“I guess so.”

Okay, at least he’s honest, not giving himself airs. You want to see what his inner compass suggests, but then somewhat shun the thought of walking further into unknown terrain.

So you question, “You taking the bus?”

“Nope. Subway.”

“Ah. That should be this way, then,” you nod towards the direction you’re approaching, “I know the bus is, because that’s where I need to go.”

“…Are you sure?”

“Yep.”

That’s it. He doesn’t respond much; only lets out the millionth sigh, following you with something you might nearly call trust. He doesn’t attempt small talk or any other kind of interaction, so you let him sink into his thoughts.

But a beat of silence later, you still ask politely, “How did you like the party?”

“Uhhh, it was okay.” For the first time in minutes, he looks at you. “The people were weird, don’t you think? But I got some good shots in.”

“Hmm… okay. I didn’t notice anything weird about the people.” You shrug your shoulders. “Talking about shots… did you drink a little?”

He whines your name as the question is a tale as old as time, complaining, “Every single time? Why is this so important to you…” He waits, shakes his head. “No, I didn’t. Seems you did, though.”

“A little,” you say, bringing your forefinger and thumb together, indicating a tiny space. “But I’m all sober and well.” Another brief pause. “Are you okay, too?”

He licks his lower lip, dimples appearing that don’t ever need a smile to emerge. Then, he throws back, “Why shouldn’t I be?”

“Dunno. You always look so bored at parties. And you always go home alone.”

You don’t know if the following laugh is sarcastic or not, but you soon discover the very answer when he lifts a finger and counts, “First off, how would you know?” Another finger added to the mix. “Secondly, I’m not bored. I’m just focused. And I don’t know anybody there.”

His hand drops again, working on his bag’s strap again. Pushing it over his shoulder. He adds, “It’s a bit different for me than for you because they’re literally your clients and you know them at least a little.”

“I mean… you know me.”

“Yeah, but you’re…” He regards you from head to toe, not the softest of expressions, and you pout. You don’t ever take him seriously, but he can be hurtful sometimes. “I just don’t think we’d be good conversation partners.”

“Weird,” you challenge, “because you’re conversing with me right now, no problem. It’s also not my fault you always argue with me at every event.”

“I don’t. You approach me.”

“You do.” You lean your face closer to his, not making it very far when his palm pushes your cheek, and you, away from him. “Ugh. Okay. Seriously, though — why do you always leave alone?”

He exhales in defeat. Seems that Jeon Jungkook is too tired to take your idiocy tonight. You understand, but you’re just trying to figure out how to convince him that you’re normal, too. That he just dislikes you because you’re different from him, and nothing else.

“Hey…” he utters, out of energy.

“I mean it,” you still declare, “there are so many sweet and nice girls around. They ask about you sometimes, you know? I’ve also met many men on such pa—”

“That’s great,” he interrupts, a palm stopping you from spilling more info, “but… I don’t think I’m interested.”

“Oh.” The syllable is short, cut, harmless. That is, until it clicks in your brain, and your eyes widen, lips parting as you turn to him in shock, stating, “Oh, wait. Do you… play for the other team?”

Jungkook blinks at you. Then lowers his gaze, turning it a couple shades darker, staring at you from under his eyelids. He looks annoyed when he spits, “No, I’m not gay. And even if I was, it’d be none of your business.”

Shit.

Okay, you were sure about your assumption, but now that it turned out wrong, this sounds pretty shitty. And annoying. And awkward.

“Sorry,” you apologise, and he gives you a taunting head tilt. “Okay… different topic then? Tell me, what do you think of this dress?” You lift the hem a little, smiling; you were convinced the moment you first saw it. “Do you think I look pretty today?”

For a second, he joins; his initial gaze is still cynical, but his voice is appealing, a whisper when he leans in and asks, “Why? Do you want to be the one I go home with?”

Ah… why do the words, the way he speaks them, tickle you just right? You’re flabbergasted, seeing your reaction on the bare skin of your arms, but all he does is back away again and once again, shake his head.

You want to retort something snarky back, but you don’t get to it when he inquires a moment later again, “Are you sure we’re going the right way?”

Right… you need to go home. You forgot.

“Uh… yeah.” You look around, finally detecting a sign, picturing a bus and a number. “There’s the bus, so the subway should be…” You stop; hum; then see two women waiting at the bus stop. “Should we ask someone?”

“Sure.”

With a nod, you separate from him, walking towards the bus station bench they’re sitting on, hands folded, conversing quietly. They’re surprised when they see a figure advance, but relax when they catch your smile.

You ask the questions floating in your brain, trying to explain where you live, what you need. They attempt an answer, gesture around, and barely a minute later, you’re thanking them and leaving again.

Jungkook stands there in anticipation, waiting for you to deliver good news — yet confused when you return with slumped shoulders instead of an enthusiastic, “We were right! Come!”

Okay, there aren’t too many reasons for Jungkook to dislike you; you want to say this much. But when you see him understand that this is going nowhere, you do get his frustration.

Especially as you kiss your lips, staring at him like a lost bunny, and explain, “So… the subway isn’t here.” Big eyes meet yours. “I’m not sure where it is, and they,” your thumb points to the girls behind you, “couldn’t help because they’re tourists.”

“Ah. Great,” he says, delivering a falsely cheerful smile. Hands thrown into the air. “So we’re stranded and should definitely not be here. What about the bus? Where does it go?”

“Uhm…” You scratch your head. “Not where I need to go. It’s a different one. But!” Immediately, your voice rises, trying to approach this with hope. It’s not the end of the world, after all! “Don’t worry! We’ll get home either way.”

“Just a lot later than necessary.”

“But nothing’s lost yet. Don’t you trust me?”

And — much as you thought — Jungkook only ogles back in silence, blinking once again before he walks away with a curse on his lips.

1:25AM, Her

You catch up to him fast.

“It’s not that big of a deal, I promise!” you vow, but you reckon it only makes matters worse.

Because he breathes air through his nose, like a bull, arguing, “I’m tired, though. This is wasting so much of my time. You always do.”

You stop in your tracks. He doesn’t. You sulk, “That was mean.”

“And you’re idiotic.”

“Well… shit.”

This time you tilt your head, grinding your teeth; less out of anger, more out of embarrassment. You don’t respond much else, and he doesn’t throw another insult. Instead, he opens the bag again with the velcro’s ripping sound, heaving out his SLR. 

You peek over his shoulder, confused about the timing to indulge in a passion, and ask, “What are you doing with that?”

“Looking through them,” he mutters, thumb working on the switching button, “maybe I took a picture when I came here. A sign where to find the subway.”

His reasoning elicits a sudden laugh out of you, probably unfounded to him, but very amusing to you. He throws a bewildered and somewhat warning look, and you immediately silence; still holding yourself back when he turns away again.

You wait, listen to the quiet of the night. He doesn’t seem to find any success, and the more time passes, the funnier you find his mind. Eventually, you step next to him and give up, telling him, “Hey.​ Don't be so tetchy. I'm not that bad.”

Jungkook side-eyes you, tapping the screen of the heavy Sony A9 Alpha. Inhaling the pleasant late summer air, he defends, “I'm never tetchy! But you got us lost.”

“So? You’re being dramatic. There's still Google Maps.”

That’s it. This look of his.

Jungkook must’ve gotten stuck in a decade you’ve long left, because he stares at you dumbfounded, camera still firmly in his hands. He tongues his cheek, blinks.

And then, you mock, “Guess I’m not the only idiot here, right?”

His next breath is deep, and he soon averts your eyes again. You dig, “What? If anything, then low battery might be your only excuse, you know?”

He doesn’t look at you, and you break into a grin again. Shake your head. Then fish out your phone at last, ready to type in the goal, or at least, to search the nearest subway and bus that fit your demands.

Hmmm, okay. If you need to go where you think you need to go, then the subway will really be in immediate distance to the bus. So you’ll be heading in the same direction anyway.

You open your mouth to ask for his address, prepared to type it in — but as you look at him again, you detect a deeply focused Jungkook, pursing his lips at his camera and regarding it with glitter in his eyes. You see it even from here, the sparkle.

Maybe he’s waiting for you to deliver a conclusion, because you catch him moving through older pictures in the meantime. From here, you only see glimpses. Of forests and roads, and then of waterfalls. Even some of him and his friends.

He doesn’t notice it, but his eyebrows are much more relaxed now, expression not quite as steely anymore; and his lips even twitch for a tiny second, tempted to smile. As if he forgot where he’s currently standing.

You let your arms sink, both hands holding your phone, and just gaze for a while. Then move your eyes to the side. To the sky. Remember places you’ve seen and loved in this town. Still hear his harsh tone echoing in your ears.

In hindsight, you really don’t think you've ever personally hurt or offended him. He might’ve been annoyed by something else. Perhaps he was dealing with something that he never dared to speak about; or perhaps, his perception of optimism is warped, because he clearly doesn’t wade through life with it.

You’d like to see his real self, though. The real self, because your gut feeling whispers to you that this isn’t him. Maybe there’s a kind and kindred soul hidden somewhere; maybe his smile proves far more intriguing to you than these mysterious moods of his. Once it appears, that is.

But…

He’ll probably say no. Your idea isn’t dumb, you’re certain, but he very likely will not go with it. But you want to try. Want to show him that you’re not as bad, that he can trust you; want to know what burdens him; or why he talks to you like this.

You might be the only one to wish for more time with somebody who wants to avoid you like the plague.

Yet…

You don’t want this to end just yet. 

So you drop a suggestion that surprise even you—

“…You know what? Let’s try something fun tonight.”

“Excuse me?”

He voices it with his attention only half on you, not quite taking you seriously; so you swallow to dampen your throat and speak firmer, suggesting, “You need to trust me on this, though.”

This time, he does look at you. Works on stuffing his camera back into his bag, opening his mouth to retort something, but you stop him with a shushing finger that he doesn’t look too happy about.

“Hold on, okay?” you exclaim. “Listen. Are you busy tomorrow?”

“Uh… not until the afternoon.”

“So you can sleep in.”

“I guess.”

You clap once, loudly and dramatically, watching the man in front of you flinch. You can’t say if he’s irritated, shocked or terrified of you. But he looks hilarious like this, blinking, scowling as his fingers clutch his bag tighter.

“What is it?” he asks as if you’ve lost your mind.

“Look. Let’s not leave yet. Fuck Google Maps,” you suggest, and his eyes grow wider by the second, baffled, as if you’re caging him. “Let me show you pretty places until the sun comes up, and if you still hate me by then, I will never talk to you again. Isn’t this tempting?”

In your head, it is. Not for yourself, but for him. In your mind, he thinks of you as a constant nuisance that stands in his way, hopping around like an overhyped puppy.

Or not. Maybe he has a dog at home; maybe he regards you as worse than cute puppies.

Whatever.

You look at him expectantly, like your persisting stare could help him land a decision. Instead, however, he grimaces, his voice higher when he asks, “What even are you sa—”

No, you won’t give up yet; even if the recurring interruptions make him tear his hair out. You click your tongue and then argue, “Come on! Give it a try.”

Hesitation. Or rather, a question wondering if you’re crazy. Clear rejection. Are you losing?

“We’d be together, so nothing to fear,” you try further, “and how much time is there till sunrise?” You glance at your watch. “It’s barely half past one. The sun comes up in less than five hours. And like, I know it sounds like a lot, but if you give me some time, I’ll give you reasons to smile.”

He keeps looking at you in this questioning, are-you-fully-mad-manner, but you’re absolutely serious and you need him to know. You bat your eyelashes a little, offering your best laugh, and add, “Like this? If you really want to hate me after that, then okay. If not, then… maybe we could go get coffee someday.”

You’ve spoken enough. He raises a hand, quieting you down, and then finally says it.

“You must be crazy.”

“I am,” you confirm.

“You think I’d do this, huh?”

“…Maaaybe?”

“No.”

Jungkook’s answer is stone cold and direct, and it shuts you up with a near-wince. There’s a faint line between his thick eyebrows, lips pressed together; he looks dangerous and very, very mean.

So you don’t say much for another minute, following when he walks away. You side-eye him, notice him type his destination into his phone. Surrendering, you trudge the path he chooses, soon detecting signs leading to the subway.

He can’t say anything to your presence by his side. Even if his answer remains a steadfast, boring no, you’ll have to go in this direction anyway.

More than halfway through, you venture into a conversation again, “Have you ever tried anything like this before?”

“What? The nonsense you suggested?” he asks, and you nod, catching up with his long legs, slightly slower with your heels. “No. I don’t think I need to.”

“You’re so… don’t you ever try anything new?”

“I mean, is this your definition of something new?” He gestures at your surroundings haphazardly. “Going through town in the middle of the night instead of getting some decent sleep?”

You shrug your shoulders, defending, “It’s not like I do it every day. And nothing one can do every day anyway. That's why I want you to try it.” Your voice is soft, friendly. “But you don’t have to.”

He doesn’t answer; only comes to a halt when a bus stop nears, peeking up to the sign with the number before he asks, “That yours?” You hum in confirmation. “Okay. Will you get home well? It’s late.”

“Yeah, of course,” you pout, kicking off a tiny stone with your shoe, “done it a few times.”

He stalls. You don’t know why, but you’re sure he does. You notice it in his slow movements, the brief pause, the way he looks to the subway he needs to approach and then back to you. You smile when his eyes linger on you for a moment too long, and then he tilts his head, sighs.

“Alright. Then… good night.”

And that’s it.

You tell him to sleep well in return, earning a tiny nod, and then he’s leaving you stranded, walking away. Your eyes stay on him until he’s out of sight, down the escalator to the subway and far, far away from the fun idea you conjured.

You mimic his sigh. Take the two or three steps to the bench under the bus stop; and then you wait.

At this time, public transport operates irregularly, so you’re not surprised when you’re still there minutes later. For a while, you remain alone — that is, until a stranger tumbles to you, swaying before he takes a seat on the other edge of the bench.

You don’t look at him; don’t want his attention on you. But to your discomfort, he garbles just a second later, “This the bus to…”

He gets a hiccup, pointing to the bus sign, and then mumbles the name of the station he needs to reach. You don’t understand, however, so you prod, “What?”

Slower now yet similarly slurred, he repeats his question, but this time, you understand and nod your head yes. He overshares, “It’s just that I’m drunk, so I need to be sure. Sorry for interrupting.”

Suddenly, you feel kind of sorry for him. Your shoulders relax; you observe him letting his arms dangle between his legs, sniffling, incredibly exhausted, it seems. What did the fella experience tonight?

You respond, “It’s okay. It’s really late. Get home well.”

“Thanks. You’re very nice.”

The same finger previously signalling to the sign now points at you; but he doesn’t touch you. In fact, his digits are still a good distance away, already falling when you feel a hand on your elbow out of the blue; you nearly react on intuition, getting into position to break somebody’s nose.

But when your eyes meet the other man’s, you recognise him as the same figure standing tall that abandoned you a couple minutes ago. His hand is still grasping the camera bag strap, and he looks calm, confident when he speaks—

“All good? Sorry, I left for too long, right? Let’s go.”

Your voice changes, a chuckle hidden in it when you blurt, “What?”

“You wanted to take a walk.”

And just like that, the snicker dies again. Is he being serious? It seems so; it’s the whole package, even. The nod towards an entirely different direction and the sudden fingers around your wrist, pulling you away.

“Uhm…” you start, feet moving automatically. You turn to the guy drowning in inebriation, leaving a last, “Good luck!” as you wave, smile. Then, to Jungkook, “I thought you went away. Did you want to do this after all?”

You’re cocking an eyebrow, but much at the back of Jungkook’s head, so he doesn’t see. But it seems he hears the tease in your voice, because half-annoyed, half-argumentative, he explains, “No. Just wanted to be a gentleman. I was going to leave the moment you got on the bus.”

Ah. So he was waiting, hiding somewhere? But you don’t mention it; it’d probably just rile him up more.

Yet, you challenge, “You’re lying. You were concerned and you thought my idea was fun after all.”

“Whatever you say,” he says, waving the white flag, probably just to shut you up, “don’t know if I can do this until sunrise, but I can walk with you for a bit. Get you closer to home. And I swear!”

Now he turns, shooting a stare at you over his shoulders, lightning bolts in the middle of his pupils, “If you’re lying and there’s literally nothing special on our way, I’m actually never talking to you again.”

Nothing easier than that.

“Deal!”

“Cool,” he so nonchalantly remarks, finally letting go of your arm, “which way are you heading then?”

“North-east.”

“Good. Works for me.”

The sun is nowhere near up yet; of course not. It’s 1:37AM. Around four and a half hours.

You’re hopeful. In your head, you imagine an uplifted demeanour in no time; try to guess what his smile might look like. A genuine one. Maybe sweet? Maybe cocky? You’ll find out. You will.

So you straighten your stance, clear your throat, sigh a content breath, and step into the night with the courage the stars lend you.

2:13AM, Her

The first almost forty minutes of your night pass leisurely.

Jungkook’s initial sighs cease soon as you advance into the town, walking down a busy main street. You guess the bustling area, the sounds of the traffic and the lights of the flashing cars relieve him somehow. Give him an excuse to not talk to you.

But as the occupied road ends and you reach and pass a crowded square, you’re back in calm and serene alleys. Some people are still wandering around, passing closed shops, much like you.

You attempt conversation every now and then, and Jungkook, having eventually realised that he needs to cooperate with you — he agreed to your idea after all — isn’t as mad anymore.

At some point, he breathes in the late summer breeze, and your head swerves into his direction immediately — maybe the magic of the night has finally reached his core, too. Perhaps he’s appreciating the journey you set out to embark on.

You, for one, cherish the quiet; you know at least this much. The alley must be part of the older corner of the town because the lampposts seem Victorian. They’re fancy, bent at the top, the light a comforting golden.

You do admire the beauty in the dead of night, you do — but the weirdly bruising feeling on your skin becomes uncomfortably apparent the more you walk. Your heels and the Achilles tendons ache, the ball of your feet sensitive to each step.

For a while, you hide the stupid pain successfully, not wanting the night to end; and you do love the heels. Feel just the way those old romcom’s protagonists probably felt, strutting through town with a man whose life they’d change.

But as an involuntary groan slips out of you, Jungkook’s view changes from the old buildings to your struggling self. His eyes settle on your contorted expression before they move further down to your sudden limp.

He asks, “You good?”

“Yeah, yeah! Just been walking for a while, is all.”

“Hmm,” he hums, regarding your heels with a suspicious look. “Do they hurt?”

“Nah. I’m used to them.”

“…Oookay.”

He drags the word, as if in disbelief; and you can’t lie your way through the minutes when the ache worsens, the suddenly paved path too much of a chore. You nearly trip when your heel gets caught between the stones.

Jungkook immediately reacts when you hiss; you’re nowhere near actually falling, but his arms still reflexively jolt, the camera bag swaying and hitting your hand when he catches your shoulders.

“Okay, seriously,” he spits, eyes wide, “that’s enough. You can’t walk in these.”

“I can!”

“Not!” He takes a look around, inspecting the place; it’s quiet here, not too many cars driving by at all. So he points to the edge of the pedestrian zone, instructing, “Sit down there. Let’s see.”

See what?

You blink, but oblige. His pointing finger is dominant, and his eyes urging; you flatten your dress, taking a seat at the edge. The road isn’t high, so it’s a little uncomfortable; but you’re pleasantly surprised when he appears in front of you, crouching.

Very, very baffled when he requests, “Can you take them off?”

“Sure,” you say, unbuckling the straps around your ankles before removing the shoes. You sigh; you must admit, it does feel great. “I’m honestly okay, though.”

Jungkook doesn’t respond, ignores your statement; instead, asks, “May I?”

You don’t understand what he means until his hands come to a float right over your toes; he wants to check for bruises, doesn’t he? You nod curtly; something about this warms your chest. You don’t think you’ve ever seen this side of him before.

Not that you ever had the chance to.

He doesn’t really hate you, does he?

Carefully, his fingers reach for your ankle. The touch is warm and pleasant; doesn’t hurt until he moves his thumbs to your heel. Your feet are overworked; you notice. But rather than the annoying pain, you can’t help but focus on your view.

The big, round nose, hiding the plump, parted lips. His eyes look hooded from here, strands of his hair covering them. Intrusive thoughts plead for your fingers to card through the dark mane; it looks soft, pretty.

And the gentleness he handles your skin with fills you with fondness; you like being cared for.

Even when he shakes his head; pulling you out of your daydream. You take a breath, and then inquire, “You don’t have a problem with touching feet?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “It’s just feet. Besides,” he stops for a second, detecting something at the back of your foot, shaking his head, “Mom used to work as a nurse. Tough job. I massaged hers sometimes.”

Ah… a loving son, a family person. You smile.

“And I thought you have a foot kink,” you tease.

“Shut up.”

“Found anything?”

“Yeah actually. Do you know how wounded your skin is here? Were you wearing new shoes?”

You gulp with a thin-lipped smile, wondering if he’ll kill you now if you tell him. You look to some random spot on your right before you admit, “Yes.”

“God, you…” He clicks his tongue. Puts your foot on the ground cautiously, reaching for his bag. He rummages through it until he pulls out a bandage, holding it in front of you. “You’re lucky.”

You chuckle, relieved and flattered. “I guess I am.”

He puffs out a laugh, but stops it right away, calling your name under his breath before he says, “God, you’re crazy. Be careful. And admit it when you’re hurt. Why didn’t you?”

Well… you didn’t want the night to end—

“I…”

You hesitate.

He works on your other foot just the same, a tender thumb running over your ankle, probably used to the soothing touch. It distracts you. And when he stops and you don’t answer, he puts his arm on his angled leg, staring up at you in anticipation.

“Yes?” he prods.

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t think you’d care.” Nonchalantly yet pouting, you nibble at your lower lip. “And if I’d told you they’re hurting, you might’ve suggested ending the night.”

He cocks an eyebrow as if agreeing to the most self-explanatory statement ever, nodding as he confirms, “Damn right I would’ve. We should end the night right now if you can’t walk. Not in these, at least.”

Your chest is hot, your stomach twisting a little. Jungkook really does bother; if not due to a connection he shares with you, then simply because he cares for people. Never, you have never experienced him like this before.

With a tilt of your head and a batting of your eyelashes, you suggest, “And if I was barefoot?”

Which he reacts to with a roll of his eyes. “The night isn’t that warm. Don’t do this to yourself. The ground’s dirty, too.”

You take a look at the dark grey pavement upon his argument, much as if the night could allow you to detect any of the dirt he speaks of. Once more, you hum, pretending to contemplate what to do; and when you pick up your heels, suggesting to follow your idea either way, the back of his hand gives your knee the lightest of hits.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Watch.”

He does. Watches you place your spacious, black bag on your lap, opening the zip. Observes as your hand dips in, pulling out one pair of sneakers and replacing them with your treacherous heels. He keeps ogling when you put them on, mouth widening bit by bit.

He doesn’t speak until you’re done, socks picked out of the shoes, pulled over your feet, laces tied. You keep smiling, content with the moment, only dropping the grin when you see his puzzled expression.

“What?” you question.

“You had them with you and… Why didn’t you say so sooner?”

Your answer comes without hesitation; whatever timidity he elicited a moment ago slowly fades again. You clear your throat, back to who you are, and dauntlessly admit, “It was sweet. How you took care of me, I mean. I didn’t think you ever would.”

“But you could’ve at least worn them sooner and avoided the hurt?!”

“Well, it didn’t hurt then…”

“You’re…”

Jungkook uprights himself, towering above you. You put a flat palm onto the pavement, wanting to heave yourself up, but soon see a hand in front of your face. He’s offering it; and you’re quick to take it.

Warm and soft; gentle.

As he pulls you up, you land closer to his body than calculated; his face isn’t too far from yours… much nearer than it has ever been. He leans back; looks to the side; blinks. Clears his throat. Lets go off your hand way too late.

The breath you held escapes in a sudden blow. You swallow.

And when you’ve processed the strange moment, you feel the change in your stance. You’re standing taller now; your feet feel heavenly in your Nikes. Dusting off the front of your dress and your ass, you wait for him to say something.

But he keeps standing there on the road, in the middle of a parking space, hands on his hips. He’s judging you; you understand. Your mindset isn’t for everybody. You might seem crazy, alright.

Yet, he doesn’t scold you again. The up and down of his irked voice doesn’t appear this time when he speaks again; instead, his chin nods towards your legs, and he questions, “So you just carry around shoes with you?”

“I need to,” you say, matter-of-factly, “I can’t ride the motorcycle in heels. And!” Jungkook’s mouth opens, but you’re quick to explain. “Before you ask. No, I didn’t hide my bike anywhere. It needs some fixing, so my co-worker took it because he knows someone who’ll do it. And because he owes me a favour.”

“Right… how unfortunate.” He pauses; runs his tatted digits through the hair you longed to touch minutes ago. They look so silky, it makes you sick. His eyes settle on you, intrigued before he adds, “So, you have a bike, huh?”

“Yeah… why?”

“No reason. I do, too.”

“Mmmh,” you voice, nodding to the road ahead to suggest moving. He follows, trudging next to you again. “You didn’t use it today?”

“No…” He pats the camera bag. “Didn’t want to harm my equipment.”

You hum approvingly, fingers entangling in front of your body. You inch closer to his arm, nudging his shoulder with yours before you flash a sugary smile and say, “Thank you. For caring even a little, you know? Even if you’re always like that, it’s nice to see you like this for once.”

“I’m usually like this,” is what he, however, merely answers, accompanied by air quotes.

But you know you’ve gotten through to him at least a little. Melted bits of the frozen parts of his heart that feel so vexed by you on other nights. In truth, you think, there’s nothing but a delicate organ pumping behind his ribcage.

He’s not a robot; Jeon Jungkook is undeniably humane. If anything, then more than most people you have ever met.

And it shows when he looks away, barely able to hide his smile. You see it even from here — that the gesture does something to his eyes. Nearly squints them shut, makes them smaller, more joyful.

You inhale, proud of yourself. Watch as he toys with his lip rings before he asks eventually, “What do you mean owing you a favour, by the way?”

He sounds almost offended. You think he’ll ask about that favour, reprimand you for giving away your bike tonight of all nights. Tell you off for dragging him here, doing something big enough to entrust an entire motorcycle to somebody.

But instead, he continues with a question you never foresaw, “Are you in a quarrel with them? Am I not your arch-enemy?”

You burst into laughter immediately, covering your mouth as the other palm touches his arm. There’s a bulging bicep under his blazer, but you’ll focus on that later.

Right now, you’re fairly occupied by the satisfied eyes; he doesn’t really expect an answer. He wanted to make you laugh… Why does that set something loose in your brain?

“Oh… are you jealous? What if I told you it’s somebody else who occupies my mind at night and not you?” you wonder, wiggling your eyebrows.

“Don’t do this to me. I’ll find your co-worker and fight them for your enemyship. Word of honour.”

“It’s enmity. And stop flirting with me,” you tell him, moving towards him again, shoulder hitting shoulder. “Or is it something else with arch-enemies?”

This time, he doesn’t veil his grin. It’s bright, pretty, reminiscent of the light shed on you underneath the lampposts. And his pupils; whenever you see them clearly enough, you recognise the sky in them. Borrowed stars inside.

You shake your head a second later, winding down from your fit of laughter, and tell him, “You’re not my arch-enemy. Arch-enemies don’t exist, and you know you aren’t one. You just…” You stall, your voice quieter now. “You just regard me as one.”

He throws you an indecipherable look. Hints of joking, shreds of seriousness, you think. His gaze drifts back to the path again, regarding a passing group of three friends briefly. His hands slide into the pockets of his jacket, and he sniffles once before he utters—

“No, I don't.”

Ah. Ah.

Why do your eyebrows relax the way they do? And your shoulders; already in ease, yet they seem to fall in relief. You peer at him wordlessly; he doesn’t demand an answer, fully aware you’re looking at him.

And you don’t ask what you’ve been to him ever since he saw you at the first party probably a year ago; what irked him, what delighted him. If he thought about you at all.

Instead, you look at the neon words in the next street, asking, “Are you hungry?”

2:19AM, Him

You’re irritating to the core.

You always have been. But he’d be lying if he didn’t admit you amused him a little. No matter how much you’ve been wasting his time, you allowed a smile in this ill-lit night. Nobody else at the party did — so in some sense, you’ve already won, and somehow, he’s even grateful.

Grateful that you’re optimistic about the world at least. Glad that you suggested fetching food. Endeared by the way you thanked him for his care. Surprised that you ride a motorcycle! Relieved that you have good humour.

Even though his own humour and smile dissipate after you enter one of the few open stores still providing late night snacks. The girl behind the counter looks tired, but straightens a little when the two of you flash a polite smile.

She greets with a sweet, “Hi!” but Jungkook sees the lethargy in her drooping eyes immediately. Poor girl.

But you’re as enthusiastic as ever; maybe a little more now, maybe observing the same as him. You put your hands on the counter like a child — the image is somewhat cute. But what comes out of your mouth is not.

“Uhm… Could I have a portion of cheese tteokbokki, please? And then… A half and half corndog for my husband.”

Your… what now?

Excuse me?

Jungkook throws an immediate and scorching look your way, utterly surprised. When you meet his eyes, his thick eyebrows are closer than anybody’s ever seen. He huffs your suggestion away, and then corrects, “I’m not her husband. And I’ll take the chicken wrap.”

You chuckle, leaning into him, shielding your mouth with a hand as you warn, “They’re not usually very good at this store. Trust me.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

Right. He does. After the disaster of finding the damn bus and the deception caused by your shoes, he won’t trust you very easily anymore. His opinion clearly differs from yours, so he’ll bank on his gut feeling.

Satisfied when you shrug, as if to indicate, “If you say so,” he walks over to the window seats with you in tow, looking out to the peaceful streets. Once seated, he turns towards you, peering until you notice and ask far too purely, “What?”

“Not even your boyfriend, no… Jumped straight to making me your husband, huh?”

The lift of your shoulders brushes his concerns aside; your eyes are incredibly innocent and even somehow playful when you say, “I thought it’d be fun.”

“Was it really?”

“Well, your reaction was funny, at least.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes in disbelief. You’re courageous, he must admit. Social anxiety must fear you — is that how you live life? Unabashed, spirited, not a sheer care for anything that won’t actually hurt you.

He doesn’t know if you’re insane or if he’s jealous.

But he still reiterates, “You’re crazy. And it was embarrassing.”

“I mean,” you say, moving on your chair, folding your fingers on top of the counter but still looking at him, “it was embarrassing because you made it. It’s honestly whatever.” You blow a raspberry, and then take a swing again, “Why is it awkward anyway? We’ll never be here together again.”

He whispers a hushed, “Thankfully,” and you tap the counter with a click of your tongue. He gets it; you live differently. That’s fine. As long as you don’t pull him into your mischief, it’s fine.

Right?

He’s right, isn’t he? He knows that in his personal opinion he is; yet, he can’t help but feel that sting, suddenly deeming himself as boring. You’re never bored, are you?

Anyway…

“Even if you do something like this again,” he tells you, “at least tell me.”

“I mean, that would kinda prevent your genuine reactions from happening, but… if it makes you happy.” You grin at him, and he scoffs; wants to say something before the girl calls for you. “Food is ready.”

A couple seconds later, the two of you have settled back into place; at the sight of the snack, Jungkook salivates. He didn’t realise how hungry he actually was. The buzz and fuzz of a party makes one forget such an essential thing fast.

Or maybe, he was just immersed in his work.

The chicken smells good, at least. Or are these your tteokbokki? He can’t quite discern the scent right now; his mind is fogged by his appetite. Silently, he unwraps his food, swallowing before he digs into the wrap.

So far, so good… seems edible. He keeps chewing; swallows some more. But as the taste starts to sink in and he realises the sogginess of the wrap, the lack of proper sauces and the dryness as well as the blandness of the chicken…

He pauses. Where… are the flavours?

Slowing down, he glances at his meal. Inspects it as if he’s holding an entirely new recipe in his hands. A look of realisation creeps upon his face, unaware of your gaze, and he soon hears an amused snicker from the side.

You don’t say much when your eyes align. Only, “And?”

He knows he’s already lost when his expression changes, cringing; when he can’t answer right away, only gaping at you in confusion. Still thinking about where this recipe went wrong.

He answers, “It’s fine…”

But you catch his obvious lie; he sees it in the way you smile so devilishly. Cocking an eyebrow, enjoying another bite of your snack without ever averting your eyes. Then, you put the tiny wooden fork back into the dish, propping your cheek on your fist.

You wait; he doesn’t know what for. For him to eat again? Maybe; because you soon ask, “Do you want something else?”

“Nah.” His answer is instant this time. “I can do this. I’m an omnivore.”

“Ah, yeah. An omnivore friend right here.” You laugh, curious when he takes another bite. And then, “Jungkook, it’s okay to admit…”

But he won’t listen. Only makes a disapproving sound, stuffing his mouth with another horrendous bite. Shit; he can’t confess that you were right. That you were actually right this time.

Suddenly, he’s craving a cup of ramyeon.

But he should keep eating. Wash it down with his drink, empty the soda. And he’s almost halfway through when he notices a movement from your direction, like you’re playing with your food.

Only, he realises that you are not; rather separating the tteokbokki in two halves before shoving the porcelain dish towards him. He shakes his head, but you persist, “Take it, man.”

It does look good…

But… are you going to use the satisfaction his defeat may give you? Probably. But fuck… Fuck it.

Reluctantly, he lets the wrap fall onto the small plate, gulping down the remainder of what he just bit off, and then, accepts your generosity with a nod. And… whether it’s because of the disappointment the wrap brought or the late hunger…

Jungkook thinks he’s levitating above clouds, floating towards the sun.

It’s good. Very damn good.

And when you ask again this time, “Should we get another?” his nod comes promptly, chest risen in satisfaction as he states, “That’d be great.”

“Alright. Be right back.”

“Nah,” he says, lifting an arm as if to protect you. Mid-action, you halt, sliding back up onto your seat. “Stay here. I’ll get it… All good.”

So he does; enjoys the look of surprise when his other hand even carries dessert, four pieces of matcha mochi ice cream. He says, “This is for you.”

You gasp. He can’t deny that it’s sweet — the elation, the big eyes, the palms coming together in delight. How you look between the food and him, suddenly wiggling your feet.

“You seem to like it,” he notes, and you nod feverishly, telling him that, “Yes! Been craving it since we came in. Thank you!”

“Oh. You should’ve told me earlier! We could’ve gotten it. No worries.”

“It’s okay. I wanted to see if my dessert stomach still allowed anything. Didn’t disappoint me today.”

Jungkook gets to his own tteokbokki, halving it in the middle the way you did, pushing it towards you. It’s weird to think about it like this, but — considering how long the two of you have known each other, you might almost look like… friends.

And you don’t feel quite like an enemy either. You’re even… kind of nice. Friendly; harmless.

“I’m glad,” Jungkook responds, only looking towards the entrance when another group of three friends, two girls, a guy, enter. Then back to you, “Sorry. You were right. This,” he points to the poor, sad wrap, “was shit.”

“See? My first instinct almost never lies. And I know this store from other places… the wraps are never good.”

“Sure, but… your first instinct isn’t always right, though, is it? You did get us lost, so it was wrong at least once.”

“Hm… was it, though?”

Jungkook regards you in confusion as you put another piece on your tongue, working on the chewy thing as he asks, “What do you mean? We had no clue where we w—”

“Yeah, I mean. I agree. But… I don’t think it was that wrong. Because—”

You lick your lips clean off the tteokbokki sauce, smacking them. You look child-like, but pretty when you indulge in your element, uncaring about everything, just living. Maybe it’s not that bad that you’re bold.

And maybe, just maybe, he can power through this night easily after all; especially if you keep saying things that soothe his chest, things like—

“Because my first instinct brought me to you.”

2:49AM, Him

The temperatures are falling as the night proceeds, and the second portion of the mochi ice cream adds to the pleasant chill.

Jungkook wonders how you’re doing; your dress is skimpier than his jeans, and your arms bare. But your stance and your speech are still inconspicuous, skin free of goosebumps, your walk elegant, leisurely.

Judging from your occasional hums and your ceaseless optimism, you’re enjoying this journey. It almost makes him feel bad; guilty about how adamantly he refused all this just an hour ago.

It hasn’t been too bad. Sure, you’re bold and intrepid, and yeah, in some ways he is, too — but his courage stems from other motivations. From adrenaline-loaded activities or joyful, temporary pains. Like his tattoos; his motorcycle; the summer he bungee-jumped for the first time.

You’re a different kind of daring; you challenge your limits in crowds and consider life a respectful joke. You don’t ever hurt anyone, he doesn’t think — you just go and see how far you can push yourself.

Perhaps in some sense, the two of you complement each other while simultaneously seeming to be cut from the same wood. Perhaps you’re different, but then again, not so much.

You’re quiet; you weren’t until you left the snack bar. As for now, however, you seem distracted, swallowing heaps of your dessert as you scan the surroundings you’ve led the two into. You’re somewhat unfazed by it, yet peering as though you’ve been here before.

Which, in retrospect, makes sense. You’ve been wanting to show him places you enjoy after all.

When the silence extends, Jungkook, along with the chirping of the nightlife, breaks it with a, “You know what?”

Your head swerves to his side, the wooden fork in your mouth. The pure gaze you give him throws him off guard for a moment — it’s somewhat sweet. But as he regains himself, he says, “I didn’t think we’d get to a housing scheme here. The main street is super close, but the vibe is so different.”

“I know. It’s a little scary at night when you’re alone. Gives very Desperate Housewives, doesn’t it? Secrets veiled behind shut curtains.” You draw closer, imitating a spooky gesture. “But I liked coming here when I was younger.”

Bingo. He thought so.

“Ah… why?”

“My friend lived here,” you explain with a tilt towards a random direction; he doubts the friend lived in just the house you gestured to, “she’s long moved out of course, but we’d play on these streets back then. Most of the neighbours knew me, too!”

Jungkook tsks, hauling his own bite out of the cup, and you add, “No, seriously! We could just knock at anybody’s door here, and they’d let me in.”

“Not if they moved out, too. A lot of time has passed.”

You bob your head. “Time has passed indeed. It does so pretty fast.”

“Doesn’t it?”

You seem to get into overdrive, gearing up; he didn’t think this topic would rev you up like this, but it appears you have a somewhat firm and fond opinion about the passing of time. Jungkook recognises the sentiment before you speak — the light of the lampposts reflects in your eyes like glitter.

Only, he doesn’t foresee what you say next, your tone teasing through the joy you display—

“Yeah! Like. Do you remember when I told you to not get the wrap and you still di—”

“Shut up.”

The roll of his eyes isn’t anything new; but the faint feeling that accompanies it, something akin to amusement, certainly is.

“Okay, but. Seriously,” you start again, sly smirk falling, voice neutralising the mock, “it felt different here. Because like, you know, where I live, it gets crowded. I’m not too far from the city centre, so… this place always felt really peaceful to me. Jieun and I played together a lot.”

Jungkook frowns.

“Jieun?”

“Hm? Oh. The friend I spoke about? She’s pretty cool.”

“Ah… Right, right.”

“Mhmm,” you hum, the end of your small fork tapping the bottom of the nearly finished cup, “you know another way to know that time passes really fast?” You pause for effect, then add, “It’s been ages since we saw each other for the first time.”

“Right. At a party, too, right? When was that anyway?”

“Hmm… Like.” You ponder, blinking, looking up to the sky. “Like two years ago?”

Jungkook’s eyes widen; if you’d asked him, he would’ve estimated a year tops. If he digs in his memory thoroughly enough, he could probably even remember what you wore that day; what you looked like.

It doesn’t feel like two years. You’re right — time truly does pass like the wind.

“Wow,” he exclaims, “it’s been this long since you started pestering me?”

“Shut up,” it’s your turn to blurt, your body swaying towards him until you push him to the side of the vacant road. “I didn’t even come near you most of the time.”

“I know, I know. You were fun to look at, though. Seemed to enjoy yourself every single time.”

Shit, why did he say that? Shouldn’t he hold onto the image he fostered; the one that’s permanently irked by you, throwing snarky remarks throughout the night?

And…

Didn’t this just break the banter, the frenemyship — frenmity? — the two of you have going on? Was it too nice? It’ll probably surprise you. Then again, is he a damn child? Why would he worry about such things? Question his own kindness?

Why would he hold onto his ego and deny you his humane side when you’ve been nothing but lovely to him all night?

The young adult rivalry is over, Jeon Jungkook. Look at her and fucking admit that you’re the arrogant one.

But funnily enough, you don’t seem to notice anyway.

“Hmmm, I do love my job,” you answer, “I have a lot of fun organising stuff. Doing something good for other people, right? See them enjoy it. I mean, of course there are days when things don’t go as planned, but.”

You lift a shoulder, indulging in the final remnants of your chewy mochi and the melted matcha ice cream inside.

“I know. It happens to me, too.”

“Really? How?”

Jungkook waves towards the sky, lists, “Heavy rain, lots of traffic, too spontaneous, issues with the camera… etcetera. Anything can happen.”

“Yeah — I get it. But yeah, I do love doing this. I meet a lot of nice people, too. And I guess that makes me feel very… blessed? It puts things into perspective.”

“How so?”

“Like, it makes you see that most people aren’t bad.”

Huh. Odd. Not that he’d ever deem the entire globe vile, putting a standardised label that he can impossibly prove. But as far as he has seen… too many people aren’t good either.

“Really?” he asks. “That’s a lucky thing to experience.”

You look genuinely surprised, turning towards him when you ask, “You don’t?”

“Uhm — rarely. I do enjoy photography. Always have.” His mind zooms into a glinting memory from the past, and his shoulders and voice rise when he recalls, “Y’know… My dad got me one of those yellow disposable Kodak cameras when I was a kid. I loved it so much.”

You nod; if he didn’t know better, he’d almost say you look… delighted. Actually interested.

“And events and weddings,” he continues, “they’re beautiful to capture. It’s probably the lights and the pretty people. And just… the memories?”

This time, he looks away, straight to the road; if he hadn’t, he’d know that your gaze is definitely fond now. No doubt about it. You listen in closely.

It’s the first time he’s talking to you like this, or to anyone — or for this long, for that matter. Most of your conversations were fleeting, fiery, a petulant back and forth that — he now realises — could’ve been something else, something better, too.

“But then it just sucks when so many of them can’t appreciate it properly,” he explains, raising his hands to emphasise, tone galled. “I mean, I look at my camera and I see a tool to create art. It’s… nothing I take for granted. Just think about it.”

The ball of fire in his chest grows; he feels it warm up, gassed-up. “A thing that can hold onto moments in absolute high definition, so that you can still remember them years later? The 18th century couldn’t have imagined. They needed to commit everything to memory just like that.”

“Wow, Jungkook… You really do love this, too.”

His arms fall to the side. He inhales the fresh flurry of air. Rethinks his passion for his job and says, “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do.”

“…But?”

He knows what’s missing.

“I love the art, but I hate the clients. The event hosts. Not you, but the one even above you.”

Jungkook reckons this was a confession that long sat on his tongue unmentioned. Of course he thought about it; is always reminded when he attends these functions, standing at the back, at the front, left and right, unnoticed and taken for granted.

But now that it’s out and that he’s finally verbalised it to somebody… it definitely liberates something in his head.

You see his issue with these gatherings; he knows you do because he’s figured out this much. You’re filled with enough empathy, sympathy, every grand word ending on the same syllable to acknowledge his disappointment.

But you’re filled with humour and absurdity, too, evident in the answer you provide to diffuse the tension.

“So, that’s why you’re always in a foul mood.”

“Shu—”

“Shut up, yeah, yeah.” You giggle, but then halt for a moment, toying with the rim of your paper cup, “But you know, I think art is worth something even if just one person appreciates it. If it helps in any way… I’m always impressed. And I always appreciate it when I call you and you come despite finding me so annoying.”

One corner of your lips lifts, the smile humble and light; sends a pang of guilt through him. Have you always been so nice?

“Also, I do see the pictures almost every single time,” you add, “and you’re so good at this. At the job itself and the editing afterwards. Honestly.” 

“…You think?”

Damn.

Jungkook would probably not bask in this hobby, continue his job if he wasn’t proficient in what he does. He’s known about his prowess ever since he was young.

But praises do offer a sense of magical warmth, don’t they? He doesn’t think any creative mind ever sickens of such unexpected support. And the way you say it… makes him want to never lay down his camera.

“Of course, yes,” you confirm, “not to shoot up your ego, but… you once sent a set of pictures where I found one of me. Don’t know if you even noticed? I was wearing that lilac dress and curls, I still remember — and—”

Stuck on the mention of your clothing, he immediately attaches a detail to the memory, “Sleeveless dress. Long silver earrings, right?”

“Oh… right…”

Right.

He won’t mention that he looked at that picture for just a second longer than at the others that night. Noticed for the first time how pretty you were. Not too deep of a thought, a twelve second stare, but… you wore this vibrant smile on that picture, and in some way, he did hope you’d see it, too.

It seems you did. He feels satisfied, proud even.

“Right,” you repeat, your defences somehow down, “uhm. I printed the picture. Still have it somewhere.”

Jungkook has already often wondered what people do with the pictures; put them in albums? Frame them and pin them over their couch? Right now, he also wonders — do you look at it a lot?

And this again begs the question — when you do, does your decision to book a vendor like him fill you with pride? Like your choice was right?

“That’s so nice,” he says.

“All that to say,” you inhale, “that I think you’re really fucking skilled.”

Woah. You weren’t quite certain if your consolation would bring him any solace, but you’ve done far more than that. You’ve shown him that you see what he does — and isn’t this what every artist craves? To be seen?

The tension buzzes between him and you like electricity; he doesn’t know if it’s just him lighting up or if you’re feeling a kindred link, too. But it’s somewhat intense in this moment of walking under the stars, surrounded by quietude and absolute pose.

So much so that he’s soon submerged by an odd urge to make the intensity wane, “Hey, does this feel to you like… a cliché chick flick kinda dialogue?”

You know…

The moment when two find an empty street in the middle of the night, realising that a conversation with each other isn’t the end of the world after all?

That type of thing?

But he doesn’t say any of it.

“Yeah? Maybe. But it’s also true,” you argue, “I’m an honest person and I don’t think I’d say anything I didn’t mean.”

“Ah, yeah?” Jungkook voices, taking the emptied out ice cream cup and throwing it into the bin on the side of the road, along with his own.

“Mhm, one hundred percent,” he hears you say, followed by a light, quiet smacking noise.

He doesn’t see what you’re doing until he arrives back where you stand; watches you lick the sticky rest off the pad of your thumb, smiling when you stare up at him again. It’s a mundane gesture; he’s done it ever since he was a kid.

But somehow, he can’t stop looking.

Might be the way your lips curve when you do it, or how your eyes smile when your mouth does. The authenticity you portray is rare; perhaps he just confused it with madness until now.

Seconds pass, and with that, your smile does, too. As it fades and drops, replaced by a curious expression and big eyes, you soon mutter, “What?”

There’s no response to that, really. He doesn’t know either.

He doesn’t understand how you turned out to be so right. How it’s such an ultimate truth that a serene night brings out a dreamy alter ego, hitherto undetected. Jungkook has never felt like much of a romantic, but right now, he thinks he’s on a different plane of reality.

This doesn’t feel like Earth; and the town doesn’t feel like the one he struts through during the day.

So maybe it’s not that wayward or groundless for him to lean in. To bend a bit more. Further and further until you laugh nervously; he knows you’re preparing to crack another joke, but you remain silent as he approaches.

Gauges your reaction. Will you run? You aren’t.

Instead, you gulp; let your pupils fall to his piercings, just when his own gaze moves to your lips. His right hand, tattooed, led by its own will, reaches for your cheek until he’s cupping it; and suddenly, his mouth parts — what’s happening? — and then—

And then, a vehicle roars from afar.

Both of you hear the motorcycle before you even see the blinding white light; he grips your arm, probably too harshly, dodging the street with you and jumping onto the pedestrian walk.

One must be crazy to still drive through the city at this hour. Right?

You pant, mixed with insane chuckles of relief, “Shit. We almost died.”

“We didn’t,” he refutes, “we had plenty of time.”

“Oh no,” you stretch the last word, eyes squinting. An accusing forefinger points at him before you deduce, “We almost died because you like me. Of all things!”

“I do not. You just looked kinda cute.”

Jungkook might’ve attempted an indifferent answer, but instead, he steered into an excuse that you do not accept at all. Your smirk is telling and satisfied, and if he wasn’t trying to prove a point, your Cheshire Cat grin would’ve made him laugh, too.

“But you did almost kiss me,” you persist.

Ugh, you’re bold. Laughing like it means nothing; no embarrassment, no shy restraint in you. Which is probably not too bad; somehow even charming. Explains the rosy dust on his cheeks at least. He feels it in the heat, can’t believe he almost kissed you just now.

Why does he feel like a hormonal adolescent? It’s not like he’s never kissed anybody.

You’re still enclosed by pure delight, nudging his arm repeatedly, annoyingly. And when he doesn’t answer, choosing reticence instead, you nearly shriek, as if he confirmed all you just said.

His instinctive hand slaps up to your mouth, covering it, shushing you. You’re still smiling, working on removing his palm, but before your nonsense can proceed, a sudden light flickers in the corner of Jungkook’s eye.

Immediately, he seeks out the source, soon finding a room in the house left to him lighting up. You woke somebody, it seems. A silhouette becomes clearer, its edges more refined with every second, and just before the owner of the place can shove the curtains aside, you grip Jungkook’s hand.

Within a moment, he finds himself tugged away by you, running, nearly stumbling over his own feet. You blurt, “Better get away before they kill us.”

As you leave the tranquil settlement behind, Jungkook still hears a voice from an open window, cursing the younger generation as they do; and then, out of the damn blue, a fucking dog barks.

When you turn over your shoulder, mouth dropping open, Jungkook knows you’re thinking the same as him — this happens outside of cinematic universes, too?

It takes a minute until you’ve reached another road again; one of the kind he’s more familiar with. The city type. The two of you come to a halt near some pole, and you let his hand go, leaning against it.

For a moment, you work on catching your breath, Jungkook’s hands settling on his thighs. And then, when your eyes meet, you burst into a fit of laughter, followed by a playful wiggle of his eyebrows to which you respond, “Don’t act innocent. This is your fault.”

“What? You were lau—”

“Because of you! Oh, I know you want me so bad.”

You’re jesting, of course. Swaying your head, poking his chest, a brat straight out of some TV show. But what you can do, he’s been perfecting for years.

So he answers in kind, “And if I did?”

Only for you to utter something that not even his brain can compute.

“If you did? Then… I think I’d let you.”

“Ah… Yeah? Why?”

“Because— I think you’re just half as bad.”

His snicker is half amused, half flattered. He purses his lips, nodding, and then declares, “You’re just a quarter as bad. But guess I’ve gotten so tired that I’ve started doing weird shit.”

You click your tongue, puffing out a breath, instantly reacting when he only flicks your chin and then walks away. Your startled expression prevails, a distance between him and you established, but just as he puts his hands in his jeans, he hears you finally follow.

“Hey,” you voice from behind, tapping his arm, “are you really tired?”

“I was kidding, but. Honestly? A little.”

“…Hmm. You know, my friend lives in an apartment nearby. Jieun? Didn’t move too far from her old home. We could stop there.”

Jungkook’s left eyebrow leaps up, surprised by the suggestion; the idea doesn’t sound too bad. But…

“Wasn’t the deal to go around for a whole night, though?”

“Ohhh. Are you starting to like it?”

You’re observant, he’ll give you that.

“I’m just saying,” he adds, “and also, would she just let a stranger in?”

“Oh, she’s very civilised and hospitable. She wouldn’t mind, and she’s known me for ages. She trusts me.” Maybe you detect the hesitation in his eyes and the twitch of the corner of his lips, because you immediately carry on, “We can just stay for an hour and then go.”

“Would she be awake, even?”

“She’s a night owl. I know that.”

“Uhm…” 

He ponders. In some way, he’s kind of liking the breeze, the quiet side of this town. But… would Jieun find that weird? Then again, can he say no? You’re ogling at him with these hopeful eyes; maybe you need the rest, after all.

“Okay,” he says; he even thinks you jump a bit in joy, nodding.

“Okay! You’ll like her. We can leave with newfound energy afterwards. Okay, cool.”

That’s all you need to lead the way. You look around a little, making sure you’re approaching the right direction, and when you find your confidence again, you march ahead.

Your walk is energetic, not too idle anymore, your beam as dashing and fervid as ever. Jungkook knows his way around editing programs; he’s added wings to pictures before or removed unwelcome passersby on an otherwise great photo.

He even understands how to surround a body or silhouette with a glow; but he’s never seen it around an actual person outside of all these graphics editors before.

Your body is so clearly encircled by it.

Bedazzling.

Screw the 18th century. Even in these modern times of advancement, Jungkook doesn’t think he needs a camera to commit you to memory.

3:25AM, Her

You avert your eyes from the phone and turn towards Jungkook, reaching him where he’s planted firmly in front of the apartment complex. He’s been waiting, back settled against the wall, and as you near, his eyebrows rise in question.

Your friend didn’t respond until now — but just as you foretold, she’s still awake at this ungodly hour.

“Okay. She’s home, but,” you explain, already ringing the bell to her apartment, “she said she’d be leaving soon. Sounds like she’s in a rush. Typos and all.”

Jungkook waits until the buzzing sound of the opening door ceases and you’ve stepped inside, leading him up the stairs, and then wonders again with big eyes, “And she’ll just let us stay? Alone at her apartment?”

You wave his concerns off with a hand’s gesture, “She trusts me, dude. I’ve done this a couple times.”

“What for?”

Hm… you dive back into the old days. Some new, some old. What were they again? They’re mostly blurred, but some of them are carved in your core memory.

“Oh, just…” you reminisce. “If I wanted to meet guys and wouldn’t want to bring them home back when I was still with my parents? Or when I’d need a night to sober up. They would’ve killed me if I’d come home drunk. And Jieun moved out early.”

“How old is… Jieun anyway?”

Old. Not really, but you like to vex her to the point of a pout. She’s patient, but she’s also an incredibly close friend — you allow yourself to be a brat with her and she allows herself to roll her eyes.

“Early 90s kid?” you guess. “A little older than us.”

‘93, as far as you remember.

“Ah. Damn,” he voices; you don’t know why.

“Okay.” You climb the last steps to the second floor, halting in front of a white door with a copper number six on top of it. Knock thrice. “Here goes.”

She might’ve been getting ready close to the door, working on her shoes or questing for her keys. Because she opens mere three seconds later, with a radiant smile on her face able to melt hearts, and a comfortable attire that’s, however, not comfortable enough to wear at home.

A thin sweatshirt and a bun, loose strands framing her pretty face, and shorts that are definitely meant to be worn outside. She won’t be here for long. And you’re focused on this very fact and her hurry so much that you nearly don’t register how shy Jungkook gets.

His voice is somewhat smaller than before when he looks at her; your eyes shift to him, and he’s blinking before he finally breaks and mutters, “Oh. Hi.”

“Hey!” she retorts; she looks so sweet saying it. You understand his perplexity. “Date?”

“Nah. Just a friend,” you answer, which, yet again — very confusing — makes him hum in question. If he started regarding himself as your date all of a sudden, you swear…

You smile.

“Just a friend,” you repeat.

“Fabulous. So you’re not walking around alone, at least,” Jieun concludes, letting you in. In the living room, a hand on her kitchen island, she points through an open door, “Okay, so, the guest room bed is made. Use blankets on it, if you want to rest.”

Her finger shifts to signal to the entrance you came through, imitates a pulling motion, “Don’t worry about locking the door whenever you leave. Also got some leftover food in the fridge, but there’s also cup ramyeon and some frozen pizza in the freezer. Sorry… I need to go shop—”

But you interrupt, shaking your head, “Oh, no worries, really. We just ate, so we’ll just stay here for a little, work off the food coma and leave. Won’t damage anything.”

“I know you won’t, baby.”

She moves to fetch her purse from the couch, and Jungkook uses the moment to whisper in your ear, “Where is she going anyway?”

You don’t know; you shrug your shoulders, pursing your lower lip, but echo his question a moment later, louder than him, “Where are you going anyway?”

Previously cramming in her purse, checking it for content, she looks at you again, telling you, “Ah… Jongsuk is having a bad night and wants me to come over.” Regarding Jungkook, she adds, “My boyfriend. He’s an insomniac and got stoned tonight, too, and just—”

Jieun blows a raspberry, raising a hand for a whatever gesture, and Jungkook mumbles, “Oof. Sounds…”

“Yeah… I know. In any case. Make yourself comfortable, okay?”

“Yes. Thank you so much.”

“Thanks, Jieun,” you repeat.

She nods once more, waving her tiny hand and flashes one last smile before she’s out the door and has left you in full silence. You shuffle your feet for just a second before you look at him again; he still looks somewhat in a daze.

So you ask, “What’s wrong?”

“Hm? Nothing.”

Nothing, right… that’s what they all say after seeing Lee Jieun for the first time. You try not to think too hard about the teeny tiny sting in your enormous, delicate heart. Only let him know, “Don’t worry too much. What could happen? She does trust me.”

You take a couple steps towards the bedroom she offered you, and you hear him follow. Look at the neatly made bed, a thought occurring; but you don’t entertain it yet. Only add, “Besides, she owes me.”

He chuckles. “That’s how you live your life, huh?”

“It’s alright. We’ll just be here for an hour. She’s known me all her life, so nothing to doubt here. And also, think about it,” the tip of your forefinger taps against your temple, “even if something did happen or went missing, she’d know where to find me and whom to report.”

He waits, ogles at you. Then presses his lips together, nods as if you made all the sense in the world, and lifts a shoulder — agreeing, “If you say so. Then uhm — let’s lay down for a bit?”

“Sure! I’ll just sleep in her room, so you can have your privacy here.”

“Mhm. Okay.”

You stand at the door frame for a moment, feet unmoving.

He’s already turned away. And you regret not walking away when you watch him unabashedly take off the blazer and provide a glimpse to his snatched waist as inked fingers scratch his back briefly, shirt moving up. But then it’s covering his skin again.

Flawless back; pretty golden. A little further up, and you’re sure you would’ve seen strong shoulder blades, too. He’s worn fancy dress shirts at luxurious events before — you know many would kill for his built, because you’ve seen his bicep flex before.

You forget where you are for a second, but when he opts to turn, eyes on you for just a heartbeat, you stir. Blurt out an awkward apology, and then leave. Wish him a good night, barely waiting for one back before you close the door.

You laugh quietly at yourself.

Her room is just next door; you already mentally prepare for a nap. Meanwhile, Jungkook plumps onto the bed, groaning when the comfort hits, and works on getting used to the ceiling, if only briskly.

He only notices how much his head is spinning when he closes his eyes, ready to doze off. Should he set an alarm? He doesn’t want to still be here by the time Jieun returns. Maybe he should tell you, too.

But his body won’t move.

Yet, in the time he’s failed to make up his mind, he suddenly hears a knock at the door again. Must be you — must be telepathy.

He tells you to enter, and you do with a shy demeanour; only thirty seconds must have passed, right? A minute, tops. He looks at you in wonder, and you explain, “She uh— locked her room. No clue where the keys are. Guess that’s why she specifically pointed out the guest room.”

You nibble your lip, getting no answer back. He looks just as much out of ideas as you, and you still refuse to bring back the thought from before; yet, you ask, “What do we do now?”

“Well…” He looks around, though there is not much to take in. “I can sleep on the couch?”

“…The couch is too small.”

“Okay. Then I’ll just sleep on the floor.” He’s already working on getting up, no hesitation, scratching through his now messy hair, feet moving on the fluffy carpet. “I’ll take one of those pillows, though. Carpet should be good eno— what are you doing?”

You’ve charged towards the bed, climbed past him until you’re sitting behind him, facing his back and his craning neck. You say, “I’m not giving you that pillow.”

“Why?”

“You can’t sleep on the floor.”

“…Why not?”

You throw an unbelieving look, as if it’s obvious. Your flat hand gestures towards the carpet vaguely, and you argue, “It’s uncomfortable.”

“Listen, I should. This or the couch, nothing else left.” It’s crazy to you how he doesn’t even consider the bed instead of giving it up for you. “It’s just an hour. Don’t worry about it.” He stretches a hand towards you, curling his fingers in a grabby motion. “Come on. Gimme that.”

You’re astonished — beyond pleased about the fact that he cares like this. That he’s so… mindful and humble. You give up; he won’t falter and you know.

“Okay… then take this blanket, too.”

He grabs the second one that Jieun provided, head bowing a little as he says, “Thank you.”

The proceeding minutes you spend preparing for bed, slightly discomforted by your dress, pass in half-awkward, half-comfortable silence. He lays down on his unusual spot, and you cuddle into the blanket on your light, soft side.

As the rustling of blankets and sheets subsides, it gives way to the sound of the ticking clock; you focus on it, count the clicks like sheep.

But sleep doesn’t quite fall upon you yet, and you guess Jungkook feels similar when he calls your name and asks, “What does she owe you?”

Your head moves towards his voice, even though he can’t see you. “Huh?”

“Jieun. What does she owe you? And your coworker.”

“Oh. Uh. Honestly, just kindness.”

You can already see it — doe eyes rolling at another one of your cryptic answers. You know people don’t fathom your thoughts very well, and some feel annoyed by your dreamy outlook of the world. You don’t mind, but you wonder what he’s thinking.

But all he responds with is, “What?”

“Well, just. They’ve known me for ages. I’ve been there for Jieun for so long, and Jongin has always been so incredibly nice to me. Picked me up when I was dead drunk once and brought me home. Got me medicine and everything. And I’ve lent him some comfort over the years, too.”

It hasn’t been too long, so you remember. You’ve been good friends with him ever since you started your job; a steady part of your team. He and you have got each other’s back.

“These two are friends,” you say, “and I think kindness is the most we can give our loved ones.”

Jungkook hesitates. Have you bored him to sleep? Or is he pondering your words, thinking of you as weird? Maybe not—

Because he actually converses, asking, “You think? Doesn’t that mean we’re just kind to them then, so they can be kind to you in return?”

“I mean… yes and no. Owing might be the wrong word. I’m not nice to others to get something back. I’m like this because I want to be and because the world can be shitty and it’s important to be nice, and in return, I want people to be nice to me, too. It’s not an eye to eye kind of thing, it’s just about. Spreading affection in relationships. It’s what they’re here for.”

“…Hm. Is this why you’re never rude to me? Even when I deserve it,” he asks, registering a hum. “You know… you think really… uniquely.”

This is a nice way to phrase it at least. People like you; you’re good with them. But sometimes, they can be mean, too. Not that you mind. It’s natural — people occur in all types and shapes.

“But is it unique, though? Isn’t it a given?” you question.

“Yeah, probably, I just— never thought of it this deeply.”

“Mmmh. So is me thinking uniquely a compliment? I can’t say.” 

He laughs, and you join immediately, exclaiming an, “I’m serious!” in the middle of it all. Jungkook’s snicker is authentic, so you enjoy hearing it; but you like his answer even better.

“Maybe. I just… I feel like a lot of people try to be different these days. Or play a role to be perceived a certain way? But I think you’re genuine — you actually mean the things you say without any hidden intention to make people forcefully like you, right?”

An intention? Oddly phrased. You think, though… that what he said was nice.

Still, you confirm, “I don’t try to be anyone for people to like me.”

“I didn’t say otherwise! This is actually just what I meant. Besides, people like you anyway because you’re you.” As if he’s reading your mind. “That’s what I was saying.”

You hum, blinking at the ceiling and the little modern light hanging there, the beam off. The darkness pleasant. You conjure another question and ask, “So you think me being me is a good thing?”

You always considered it was. You like being you. But Jungkook didn’t like whatever makes up your personality — has this changed? Apparently.

“Of course,” he surprisingly answers, “it’s always a good thing. And just because I disagree with some of your characteristics, it doesn’t mean everybody will.” Oh. Well. But wait— “Or maybe, I’m just a moaner.”

Well.

“That you are,” you verify.

“Damn.”

“But, but— you’re kind, too, you know? Not everyone says the things you just said.”

“Maybe.”

“So…” you stall, rethinking his prior words. “Do you still disagree with all those characteristics of mine?”

Another joyous sound tumbles out of him, much in the form of a breather than a laugh; hushed, but you still hear it clearly. Perhaps you’re being a little awkward; but in all honesty, you hope he’s just finding it amusing, somewhat cute.

“I mean — you’re too blunt. But brave, like, I could never. The thing you did at the shop? Never. But this isn’t bad. And you aren’t bad.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His voice is a whisper. Reminds you of a feeling akin to temptation; your mind automatically imagines the susurrating sound near your ear, exhaling the very syllable he just did. Frankly, you’re absolutely tortured by the knowledge of him being this close.

That you could probably touch his face if you rolled over to the edge of the bed, letting your arm dangle, seeking his skin. That he’s in the same room, talking to you this gently, saying things that a girl doesn’t hear too often these days anymore.

There it is. The intrusive thought from before… prevailing.

And you’re tortured by it. But mostly, by the image of him standing in front of you between the houses just a little time ago, staring at you, pupils flitting back and forth between your eyes and your lips. How he neared you. How he almost kissed you.

You might’ve joked about it then, but deep down, and especially now, you’re intrigued by the idea. Of the fantasy of a what if — what if he’d actually kissed you?

Taking a deep breath, you look to the side, staring at the door and call, “Hey, Jungkook.”

“Hm?”

“Is it uncomfortable down there?”

“Uh… a little.”

You shuffle at your spot, turning to the side. “Just thinking. What good does it do if we don’t rest well? What are we here for?”

“…What are you talking about?”

Pause. Quietude. You close your eyes, then open them again.

You’re never shy; so you don’t deem it an advantage for yourself to turn timid now either. You tell him, “Come up. I know you want to. I know I want you to.”

He doesn’t say anything; you bite your tongue. Maybe it was a mistake. But then his voice chimes again, wondering, “Are you sure?”

Your answer is immediate.

“Of course. Yes, I’m sure.”

“Okay… okay.”

As he starts to move, you gulp. You make place on the bed, moving to your previous side, pushing the blanket aside in case he wants to slip under it, too. The motions of his silhouette seem uncertain as he makes his way up to you, as if he’s uncomfortable with it.

“I… Was I wrong…? Do you not want to?” you make sure.

“What?” you hear him say; see his head shake. “Ah, that’s not it. Just want to make sure you’re really okay with it. I’m not the type of guy to…”

“I know. It’s fine. I don’t think you are.”

“Okay.” The mattress bulges where he lays down before it evens out again. He emits a couple groaning sounds, probably glad to give his back something proper. You turn to him just when he says, “Honestly… that’s a little better, yeah.”

“Thought so. Are you tired?”

“Definitely.”

“But you’re not sleeping.”

“Because you’re talking.”

Wrong. There was enough silence for him to nod off before. He was the one who started the conversation at all; you were ready to turn and toss and rest eventually.

When you don’t respond, his head turns on his pillow, too; in the darkness that you got used to, you see his eyes twinkle. Both of you know that you’re looking at each other. And he’s kind of close — closer than you thought. 

And… if you’re not wrong, he just inched nearer only a nanomoment ago. He repeats in a whisper, once more accusing, “You’re talking, that’s why.”

“That’s really why, huh?”

“Mhm.”

“The only reason there really is?”

“What else could there be?”

You smile, brazen, letting out the courage you’ve gathered, “Well, I know what else it is for me.”

“Yeah?”

Daring a step further, you graze his shirt featherlightly; you don’t know whether he notices. Not until he moves his hand, fingers ghosting near yours.

Waiting until you reveal with sheer, sudden heart palpitations, “I… I want you to kiss me. You do, too, don’t you?”

He inhales, but doesn’t exhale. What does it mean? You don’t know.

You don’t know what it is until you hear the smile in his words, gentle yet tantalising when he says, “…I do.”

“Good. Good. Then kiss me.”

And the rest proceeds without hesitation and without another plea.

His body moves as if on its own accord; he seems possessed, or controlled by a puppeteer. Warm lips lock with yours before you can draw another breath.

They feel soft, full, like tiny pillows, a contrast to the metal of his piercings. And they move gently, so carefully, like he’s still scared of crossing a line despite your permission. But when you lean into him, hoping for more proximity, he blossoms a little. Initiates more.

Oh, he, too, has been waiting for this, hasn't he?

A hand, nearly as warm as his kiss, slithers up to your face, holding you closer to him. The bangs that so often cover his forehead are tickling yours now, his head tilting to give his cute nose more space.

And with that, he deepens the kiss, too. Dares a step further, separating your lips with his, trying things out. He gauges your reaction as the tip of his tongue sneaks its way into the mix, and the moment you do the same, he dives in properly.

Kisses you just a little harder, tasting you, sighing into the movements as if all the weight of the world has dropped off his shoulders. As if he’s relieved, calmed down, resting for the first time tonight.

Yet, at the same time, he’s firing himself up — moving over your body slowly, holding onto your mouth to his best abilities, as if you’d disperse if he let go for too long. As if you’d change your mind.

He cages you in to keep you underneath, not touching your face anymore but shoving his fingers into your already tousled hair. If you were still in your right mind, you’d recognise how insane this situation is. Your younger self would’ve never predicted such a moment to ever become part of your life.

But it is… it is so clearly being played into your hard drive; somehow, you already know it’ll remain stuck in your memory: the way he’s kissing you, so thirsty, so insatiable. How he’s sighing, relaxed, yet sporting an audible heartbeat against your chest.

He uses moments of switching sides to breathe but continues right away; the keenness drives you crazy. You touch his shoulders and then wrap your arms around him firmly, making him hasten closer until he’s nearly falling onto you.

What in the heavenly make out sessions is this…

It’s nasty, yet sweet. Followed by quick breaths; it takes merely a minute until you feel his lower body grinding into you, his jeans tight around his crotch all of a sudden. And the second you realise he’s hardening beneath them, your body reacts.

Reacts so effectively.

Your lower tummy tickles, dampness pooling below as he pushes into you again, harder this time. You moan, enticed by your goosebumps and the heavy bulge. Solid enough for you to crave him within a moment’s notice.

And it only worsens threefold when he whispers, “Fuck… Somebody really knows how to kiss, huh?”

“You’re talking. What was this—” He so rudely interrupts with another peck, and you laugh into it. “Yeah, this…”

Your last word dissipates like candle smoke; you don’t even know why you bother to speak. Your voice is barely perceptible when his teeth remove the short sleeve of your dress, kissing your shoulder and then down to your cleavage.

It’s easy to remove your dress; it’s light, summer-y — but he doesn’t bare you just yet. Plays around at the mounds of your tits until he pushes the neck of the dress down a bit, asking, “May I take it off?”

Oh, if you could count the times you’ve imagined his veiny hands removing this damn dress just in the last fifteen minutes…

“Of course,” you permit, “do I look like I’d reject you?”

“Mmmh.” The hum is proud, satisfied, vocalised amidst another kiss to your clavicles. “Just making sure.”

Soft, warm hands trail up your leg, leaving a path of another set of goosebumps. You want him to stay right there on your thigh, knead the flesh, press into it, showcase the lust he feels in the beguiling pain.

But instead, he pushes up your dress, fingers ghosting over your ass — and when he doesn’t find your panties but only bare skin, he stops kissing you. Looks at you. Makes out the string of your thong a second later — in the dark, you discern the way his lips round in captivation.

He’s loving this.

He tugs at the string and lets it snap back into place; you gasp even though it doesn’t hurt, but it drives you mad when he states, “Wow. Very intriguing.”

Leaving it at this for just now, he kisses you again, tongues mingling once more before he releases a sharp, nearly aggressive hiss and mumbles, “Holy fuck. I can’t stop.”

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” you guarantee.

“Good. Good, good, good.”

The dress surrounds your waist now, stopping below your breasts, and Jungkook journeys down to drag his lips around the spots he hasn’t touched yet. As if he’s trying to familiarise himself with all of you, working towards the goal of memorising you entirely.

His teeth scrape at your pelvis just lightly, seemingly contemplating whether he wants to destroy these panties or not — but then decides against it. You wouldn’t mind; you’re not showing anybody anything of you tonight but him.

And you’re already such a mess; breathing so irregularly, letting out his name and quiet sighs. He should know he could do basically anything. That you’re ready for him.

But instead, he only curses again, sucking at your skin harshly, nails digging into your hips. And then, from below, you hear him say, “Want you to suck my dick so bad.” He moves up, fingertips on your cheek, rubbing himself against your underwear, and questions, “Will you suck my dick, baby?”

Oh, he didn’t just…

Oh, the way the pet name screws with your head is irreversible. You feel sick at the mention, breathing out hard, about to get up at the speed of light to swallow him fully; to the hilt.

But you won’t give him the satisfaction yet; you’ve gotten used to the darkness, and seeing the hazy insanity in his eyes spurs you on to play with him a bit more. So you lift your body, giving him hope, but then say, “I have a better idea.”

“Ah? Where are you going?”

“Wait.”

He quietens. Falls to the side and onto his back as he watches whatever you’re trying to do unfold. You look back at him for just a blink of an eye, but you immediately perceive the hand cupping his clothed dick, moving a bit, up and down.

“Okay. Should work on this first,” you say, straddling him backwards.

You hike up your dress more, baring your back to him, and you instantly hear the breath he releases. Feel the palm touching your spine, grazing it; you imagine huge eyes ogling at you like he’s reached nirvana. You so hope he’s looking at you like this.

“My God…” he only mutters, however, proving your point when he opts to get up. But you turn as much as you can, a flat hand pushing him down again, to which he complains, “What?”

“I told you to wait, silly. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You sure? You’re being pretty mean right now.”

“I’m not being mean. You’re just not patient,” you laugh. “Give me a second and I’ll wreck your world, ‘kay?”

“Ah?”

“Mhm.”

“That I wanna se— oh. Oh.”

Exactly.

Once you’re done pulling off the dress, you shift back, enough for your pussy to align with his gorgeous face. Jungkook instinctively grabs your ass to pull you lower, and you chuckle at the restless gesture.

But you need to focus; and as best and tidily as you can, you unbutton his jeans, zipping them open until you detect his shorts. He raises his hips to help you, and you bite your lower lip, crazed by the sight that awaits you once the jeans are halfway down.

The bulge is big indeed. The imprint is insane; the light from outside allows glimpses, and you salivate, bowing your head to kiss him above his underwear, feeling him stir. And he imitates, blowing against your wetness, his finger — middle one? — curling around the string digging between your ass cheeks.

When he frees your pussy, you feel it. It hits the air in the room coldly, a contrast to his hot breath. A second more and you might drip into his tantalising mouth, just how you’re drooling over the cock you finally set free.

It springs out, veiny under your touch. Hard. Thick and long. Everything good, a fucking ideal package. You scold him, “You’ve been hiding this from me?”

“Huh? I wasn’t hiding.”

“Now I realise just how mean you are, man,” you say, shaking your head, spitting onto the slit before wiping it off again with the tip of your tongue. He swears again. “Could’ve had this make me hoarse so long ago.”

“Fuck,” he replicates, “stop talking, or I’ll fuck this mouth of yours. You want to be hoarse so bad, then try me.”

“Is this a threat? You really think I won’t let you? Stay right there, little—” You look again. “Big man. You can do whatever you want, but wait a second, alright?”

“Nah. You’re not the only one teasing. You brat,” Jungkook whispers sharply, delivering a smack to your ass; you gasp. “I just…”

You don’t know what he just — you only know that he’s attaching his mouth to your cunt right away, thong pushed aside, diving in with a tongue so eager. You squint your eyes shut, lips parting, calling his name as he holds you there roughly.

He soon wraps his arms around your hips, like a belt, lips intense as he kisses you even wetter. The sounds he eludes are dirty, sinful; and the feeling of his piercings doesn’t add to your sanity. 

You decide to not let this distract you; he’s competitive, you realised, but you are, too. So you lean in, lips wrapping around the tip. Your right hand enfolds his cock, pumping him, tracing every firm vein that protrudes. He’s so pretty all around.

“Shit,” you whisper, hoping he doesn’t hear; only continue to work your tongue around the head, setting the nerves alight as he’s doing for you.

You kiss down the shaft, licking and humming to create a sort of vibration. And then, you take him in as much as you can. Despite being large, barely fitting, soon hitting your throat, you try. Hollow your cheeks, bop your head, gifting him your attention.

But it’s hard. So hard because—

God, he’s lapping you up so good.

So hungry. Out to kill you as he releases the prior belt, bringing two fingers to your pussy and thrusting them into you slowly. Mouth and digits; both at once. Thumb against the clenching hole between your ass.

He’s distracted every now and then, much like you, but he still maintains a steady pace. Cruel… so cruel. Those damn fingers propelling into you, harder sometimes before they slow down again. Curling to hit you just right, massaging the rough, walnutty spot.

Oh, Jungkook knows… knows exactly what to do.

They don’t make men like him anymore.

Your ass clenches when his skills exceed your expectations and he rubs your insides particularly well, mouth just right above your clit as the tongue circles around it. It’s nearly overwhelming; you could cry with this mouthful of dick impaling your throat.

He feels so good on you. So good in you. You want all of you filled, not just your mouth. So you soon let go with a plop, a string of saliva so lewdly connecting your mouth and his member, and you wipe your mouth.

Tell him, “This should be enough.”

And he agrees immediately, smacking his lips, as if licking up the remnants of his food, “Fuck yes. Enough.”

You want to get into the next position, put in some work, but what you don’t expect is that Jungkook is already planning a step ahead. Tapping your ass with his big manly palm, pushing you off of him until you’re crawling on all fours.

Submitted to him. And you don’t mind a bit — just for now, just for him, you’ll give into this because you’ve been craving it. It’s okay; you vow to yourself that in a while, you’ll wreck his shit just as much.

On your elbows and knees, you hear him shifting, the mattress dipping, his knees nearing you and closing your legs in. The palm covering the right side of your ass causes it to jiggle, and when you push your butt towards his pelvis, he praises, “The way you know what to do without me needing to tell you. How convenient.”

“Well,” you breathe out, “it’s not my first rodeo. But do make it the best… okay?”

“No pressure at all, huh? I’ll try my best.”

You want to react, bring a laugh straight out of your throat, but Jungkook is faster. The reaction comes alright, but not as you wanted it to. But rather in a high-pitched moan, arms quivering when he fists his cock, guiding it to your leaking cunt, and rubs the tip between your pussy folds.

You reckon he’s testing out how eager you already are; you contemplate on telling him. On pleading, on saying something that might drive him to action. You don’t mention a single word, though; only let your ass speak once more, steering towards him until he gets the message.

He must have.

Because he clicks his tongue as if to admonish you for your shortage of patience, though only briefly before he surrenders to the itch you cause. Scratching without hesitation now, he finally helps you lose your damn panties and then dips himself into you slowly.

Of course; with a length like his, there’s no way you’d be able to survive a quick push. Jungkook knows to be cautious, penetrating you sweetly; an oxymoron in a moment like this. Your fingers digging into the sheets reveal as much; there’s not much going on yet, but you’re already holding onto the soundness of your mind so desperately.

“Shit, what the fuck,” you murmur, your turn to let out profanities; you’re sure this isn’t your last. “You scared of something, Jeon? I’m… I have an IUD.”

“Scared? No. You’re not an idiot, right?” he whispers. “You would’ve told me if you couldn’t do it like this. Much rather…” He breathes heavily between his words. “I’m taking you in, y’know? Enjoying — fuck — how wet and warm you are… Gonna wreck you raw, though, no p-problem.”

No, your foul words were certainly not the last for tonight; his dick is just halfway through when he stops and another tumbles out of you. He drags the thickness back, then inside again.

Your walls are occupied to their last inch, and you know you could take all of him if you just gave yourself some time — but somehow, his care turns you on even more.

Goddamn, he’s good. All of him — his dick, his voice, his mouth, his touch. He’s so— nnghh…

You have never witnessed his fingers do much more than take the pictures you love. Whenever he operates the button with his forefinger, flexing the inked crown above his knuckle, you already know the man has a talent unmatched.

But right now… right now you have an entirely different perception of these same digits.

Like, when he leans in a bit, still deep inside you, undoing your bra in a smooth motion. Or when he caresses your back, along your spine, contradicting the touch with a harsher, harder jab now.

And shit, when he pulls your ass cheeks apart, digging in further, fucking through your seeping hole until he’s covered in slick, too. It must look so good to him; incredibly memorable.

Your whimpers are quiet and gentle, matching the way he fucks you, only rising in volume when he decides to push another inch in. You behave; you whine softly; that is until all of a sudden, he pulls back most of his cock and shoots back in, colliding with your ass with a slapping sound.

Yelping, you hold the sheets until your fingers hurt, and he bolts forwards, a hand slamming your mouth shut and muffling your mewls. Way too close to your ear, he says, “Sh sh sh… my God. Jieun has neighbours, babe — don’t spoil her reputation.”

He proceeds to kiss the skin under your ear, taking your arms captive until they’re pinned to your back. Fingers intertwine messily, holding your limbs in place, and as he frees your mouth again, you laugh — it’s all you can do to not feel too weirded out by the mention of Jieun’s name right now.

You tell him, “Use my panties then.”

“Your panties, huh? Do you want me to?” You nod, but he’s not obliging enough to give into your wishes. Teasing you to no end. “Nah. I’ll just…”

Jungkook doesn’t finish the sentence; what he does is much more alluring, nearly forcing tears of lust to your waterline. He grabs the back of your neck, urging you to look at him, and just as you register his face close to yours, he kisses you again.

Your body immediately blossoms. You breathe as much as the kiss allows, yielding to his tongue. Let him push you down and into the mattress, imprisoning you under him. And he kisses you… kisses you… kisses you more…

Basks in your dimmed moans as he hits from behind again, hard. Sheathes himself inside you thoroughly and with impact; he’s enjoying the fact that you want to yell, but need to restrain yourself at this time of the night.

Because he’s right. You don’t want Lee Jieun to earn looks in the morning because of you.

As if provoking you, he blatantly asks, “You good?”

“Yes— yes!”

“Mhm…”

He’s out of breath; can barely emit another word. But he doesn’t waste any moment at all; kisses your neck, bites your earlobe. Pushes his hands under your body to get ahold of your tits. Fucks you into space, lifting one of your hands to your face, entangling his fingers with yours.

You shift up and down the mattress, just a little; the position, with him on you, doesn’t allow too many extreme movements, and you’re more than fine with it. There’s something about him going unhinged on you like this.

But… it does awaken the need to retaliate, too.

So you use the opportunity when he decides to pause, running out of energy, gasping for breath. He leaves you empty and yearning, pulling back and sitting up, and judging from the touch on your tummy, you assume he wants to flip you on your spot.

Instead, however, you turn on your own accord, both palms that he held captive minutes ago shoving at him. He produces a strange sound as he falls backwards, landing on the mattress and onto the pillow with big eyes that almost don’t fit his Greek God-esque physique.

Goodness, the damp dark hair. The abs. The pecs. The nipples…

You might dribble onto his sweaty, shiny skin. And you don’t veil your innermost thoughts this time, straddling him as you say, “My turn. Need to ride you so bad.”

He visibly relaxes; leads his fingers to your hips, thumb drawing patterns on them. His tongue darts out to play with the lip rings, and he eyes you up and down. He’s taking you in for the first time properly, just as you are him.

Just as your eyes drifted over his muscular body, he now makes stops along the journey — your pussy on the length of his cock. The tits and the perked nipples. The ruined hair, sticking to your collarbones.

You wonder how he likes what he sees.

Probably enough if he can respond with something like, “I won’t stop you.”

Good to know.

So you take a comfortable seat on top of him, still keeping him down, lining up your sex with his. When you welcome him in again this time, you do so fully. No slow torture, no waiting. You claim your throne until your ass hits his hardened balls.

He says, not quite expecting an answer, so you don’t give one, “You’ll kill me today, right?”

And then you start. Put in all the effort you can gather. He feels heavenly inside you, the perfectly curved length moving just the way it needs to. His groans and calls of your names sound promising, telling; you suppose you’re doing a good enough job if his eyes roll back like this.

The hands on your hips push into your flesh more, and when you remove one and bring it to your mouth, sucking his forefinger with your eyes set on him, he loses his shit. Starts pumping up from below, meeting your up-and-down ministrations.

“Shi— what— do you think,” he attempts, stagnant breathing, “you’re doing…”

But he’s grunting in ardour, so you don’t stop; don’t let him take over fully just yet. No — you roll your hips, bend your back, catch a patch of his hair and then angle your body to crash your lips onto his. 

The kiss weakens his defences. For a moment, you do feel his nails bruising your skin, but another second later, his touch is as soft as a feather. He’s so ultimately at your mercy that he lets you trace his abs and kiss his pecs.

Lets you get into a crouch, your palms settling below his chest for support. And then… then you navigate north and south, repeatedly, fucking him into you with vigour. He throws his head back, but then looks at you again, blinking fast before his eyes squint shut once more.

“The fuck are you—” he tries, but you start circling his cock again, moving in eight-curves, seeking support in his biceps.

“What?” you voice. “Not good?”

“You fucking— kidding me?” His lower lip trembles when he parts his mouth. You see it even with the lights dimmed. “This is such… a good fucking pussy. I was an idiot to push you aside.”

You’re too dazed to really pout, but you do hear the undertone; ask to clarify, “You’re just saying that f-for… getting my pussy, huh?”

“What— no. Fuck no. Look at me.” His hand reaches out, fingers poking into your cheeks, and he pulls you down to him, makes you meet his eyes. You slow down. “I wouldn’t just do this for any pussy— I… not with you. I don’t just. I don’t just go home with anybody. ‘Kay?”

His words bloom in your chest like a bouquet of flowers. In such a vulgar moment, you shouldn’t be feeling like this, but you can’t help but acknowledge the warmth spreading throughout your body. Burning up your already aflame muscles.

You want to know more; so you query sneakily, “What does this mean?”

“What it means?” he echoes, words blurry, as if drunk. “That you’re beautiful. And… honestly, kind of cool. So annoying but so fucking funny and— hot—”

“I am? Look at this,” you say, still moving but tired; touching his face, his cheeks, his sweet nose, “look at you…”

“No.” He grits his teeth. You don’t know what comes over him, but he’s inhaling way too deeply, lightly aggressive again as he retorts, “Look at fucking you.”

And with that, he gets what he desired earlier; flips you over, climbing over you. With your shield lowered, you didn’t expect this, and now you’re right where you began. And for some reason, the sharp jaw, the furrowed eyebrows, the starved look hits you even harder than before.

The many inches he sports fell out as he took over, but as he plunges into you again with embarrassing ease, something feels different. How he looks at you. How he touches you, pushing your hair back, kissing your lips with such softness.

And how he holds you when you finally see the stars you waited for, his face in your neck, his thumb on your cheek, his palm on your jaw. Kissing your shoulder, delighted as you seek an anchor in his back, tightening around him impossibly as he fucks you through your high and your broken moans.

“Jungkook—” you repeat over and over, and in return, he mutters constant, “I know, I know.”

Again and again and again until his sounds become more uncurbed. Only syllables, rumbling, his chest vibrating against yours until he lifts himself up and retracts his cock.

His pupils shake as he jerks himself off, and you know what he’s seeking, quickly getting to your knees, helping out. You replace his hand with yours, sticking out your tongue before you engulf his dick rapidly.

In surprise, he lets out, “Oh, fff—”

Shit, how he sounds. And how wicked he feels in your mouth, tasting like you, tasting like him. Wet and slippery, his balls hard when you cup them. And then— a mere moment later, he’s shooting ropes of white down your throat.

You’ll never get used to the feeling. You didn’t with your exes, didn’t with any other guy you’ve been with. It’s sudden, your gag reflex kicking, but you don’t want to stop until he has.

Sticky and hot, you let him; look up to him. His jaw glimmers due to the sheen of sweat, and he holds your hand to keep himself upright. Nearly growls when he’s done, and then calms down bit by bit. Pulls out of you. Plumps back onto his ass.

Catches his breath; and once the two of you have relieved your burning lungs, you with your legs under your butt, you look at each other again. A sudden laugh. He lets his head drop onto his shoulder, and then shakes it before getting back on his knees, nearing your joyous form.

The last kiss of the night is endlessly more chaste. No tongue, no making out. Just a couple pecks, a hand around the nape of your neck, noses grazing. Once, twice. And then, he’s smiling again.

You tell him, “Can’t believe this actually happened.”

“Crazy… right?”

“Crazy, yeah. We…” You gulp. “We can leave it right here, though. Guess we were both riled up.”

He nods, humming, looking to the side. “We could. But we don’t have to. It felt too good to forget, you know?”

You gleam and glow; if you could, you’d curl your fingers into fists, screeching like an excited high schooler in her room, acknowledged by a crush. But you only press your lips together, corners twitching up, cheeks hot.

Then, you say, “You know what… I might just agree.”

“Good.” Another one of his stares to the side, through the door of the room. “You think we should very quickly and very harmlessly use Jieun’s shower? She probably wouldn’t mind.”

“I don’t think she would. But she’d certainly know what happened.”

“Least of our concerns,” he argues, getting up stark naked. He pats your thigh and then tugs at your arm, adding, “We’ll be tidy. And then we can rest a bit and leave. Am too fired up anyway.”

You know things might change again once you’ve slipped into your clothes and walked out into the night air. Perhaps the passion was reserved for this very room, actually a result of unbridled lust and tension.

But you think it’s okay. It’s okay as you giggle in the shower, flirting and bantering.

Because even if you part from Jeon Jungkook and all this as just a saccharine memory, you’re ready to seize just a little more of this stolen moment before reality sets back in.

5:12AM, Him

Whether it’s the numbers glowing on his digital watch or the fact that the two of you didn’t rest as much as you’d anticipated after all, he doesn’t know.

The residual heat of the past hour has warmed his body and relaxed his muscles; your touches still haunt him, crawling over his skin and sitting on his knees, tempting them to buckle. And your voice, your sounds… like a ghost in his mind.

And you urging him to climb the nearby hill with you, surprisingly steep, doesn’t help. He doesn’t know why you’d choose such a place at such an hour. The occasional forest around you is dark, chirping, and the road is empty.

Perhaps you feel secure in the presence of another; in this sense, it’s even flattering that you trust him this much.

But he’ll admit that his still wobbly condition and this stop of the night are slowly bringing him to his limits. The blazer, at least, is already hanging over his arm, giving him more space to breathe.

You’re piloting the way, careful, navigating with the help of the light beaming from the occasional street lamps. Jungkook sighs in a half-complaint when the road doesn’t end, nobody around far and wide.

You’re similarly out of breath when you turn to look over your shoulder, barely for a moment before you continue to escort him further up. Then, you encourage, “Come on! We just rested. How are you already tired?”

“Woman. We’ve been walking for a pretty long time.”

“Uhmmm,” you exclaim, swaying when you pull your hair over your left shoulder, “tell me something. What’s your sleep schedule usually like?”

Well, shit.

Jungkook can already tell what you’re referring to, but the counterargument already sits ready in his brain, just in case. Yet, he hesitates. Studies his surroundings to make sure he knows the way back, stalling on purpose, and when you ask, “And?”

He answers, “Uh. Late. I slept at 7AM just last week.”

“What?!” Your voice is high-pitched, in disbelief, and whatever point you wanted to make is stuck in your throat upon the revelation he divulged. “Holy shit, Jungkook.”

“Yeah, but like,” he immediately works on justifying, making use of the comeback he’d already thought out, “I don’t walk around town, you know? I spend these nights eating or singing or—”

“Woah. You sing?”

“Yes, but. I will not sing to you now.”

He catches up with you in one long step, regarding your countenance. Even in the dim light and the pitch dark, he recognises the roll of your eyes, as if to say, “I wasn’t even going to ask.”

But instead of vocalising that very overt thought, your answer comes as smoothly as silk, “It’s fine. You sang to me plenty tonight.”

Jungkook nearly chokes on his spit, disguising his surprise as in the hike reasoned exhaustion. His mind needs a moment to fix itself, but when the balance is restored again, he wisecracks, “You’re one to talk. May I remind you of what you sounded like earlier?”

“You can. But I do remember myself, thank you.”

Damn it. You’re a step ahead all the time. He can’t even outsmart you the way he wants to.

“Way to diss me. You’re hardcore,” he complains, “and here I thought you were kind and sweet and all of that.”

Jungkook nearly retracts his statement, because you throw such a perplexed and disbelieving stare back that he shrinks, reprimanded, “Can’t I be both? A woman can certainly be both, man.”

“Of course,” he agrees, hands up as if he’s being arrested, “of course. You’re both, for sure.”

He anticipates more scolding and scowls, but it seems you’re satisfied with the response he gives. You grant him a pleased, lopsided smirk that resembles his own, and then sigh into the night air, long and deep before your breath morphs into—

A mixture of a gasp and a shriek.

“Wh—” Jungkook blurts, barely registering the movement scurrying from the left side of the forest into the trees right of him. “The fuck.”

And just as fast as your gasp appeared, it diminishes, too, turning into a throaty laugh. Jungkook listens in to the echo of the rustles, still seeing the bushes move; whether because of the animal that just flit past or the breeze, he can’t say.

His eyebrows shoot up when he looks at you, coming down from the quiet chuckle, and he only realises that your elated joy stems from the way he’s standing right now.

He must’ve instinctively dashed forward, an arm in front of your body, shielding it with his. It was just a squirrel, and in all honesty, it is the two of you who are trespassing, disturbing the forest life with your presence at such a time.

Yet, his reaction must’ve been immediate enough to protect you from whatever loomed in the dark, and you seem to like it for some reason. Because as he clears his throat and lets his arm sink, all you comment is a fascinated, content, “Wow.”

“Uh… all good.”

“Yes. All good indeed.”

Your voice is tinged with a combination of gratification and tease, as if you’re one utterance away from adding a little, “My knight in shining armour.”

Instead, you bite your tongue and look around; Jungkook sees what you perceive a mere moment later. The surroundings clear, the forest less dense; on the left side, a vast opening appears, a wide path ending in a… cliff?

And behind that, the town.

If there was a soundtrack to his life, he’d probably hear violins playing right now. Reminiscent of the wind, perhaps accompanied by piano keys that sound like the softly glimmering stars above.

The picture is breathtaking. Not that he hasn’t been at such a spot before — he grew up in a big, mountainous city.

But since he didn’t expect for the hill’s peak to allow such art, he’s a little more overwhelmed than he expected to be.

From behind, he hears you say, “In any case. Let’s rest here?”

“Uh-huh.”

It’s hard to avert his eyes. All night long, he’s only felt like this once; this marks the second time.

Gratefully, he walks up to where you’re making yourself comfortable, flattening your dress and settling your bag on your lap. You pull a thin, short cardigan out of it, slipping into it. It’s certainly cooler up here.

And then, you pat the spot next to you, and he lets himself fall with a sigh; it’s been a long night, and despite the restful-not-restful hour you spent at Jieun’s, it feels as though he’s truly easing up just now.

Jungkook puffs out a breath and takes another look. Properly this time, blinking as if this could help his eyes focus better. Gorgeous. He can see the river from here, flowing through the town in curves, like a snake.

He can’t see the entire city, but most of it; it goes up and down. Skyscrapers and then cosy houses like the ones before again. Mountains far away and the lights of the amusement park somewhere in the east. They’re the brightest of them all.

“Wait,” he says; you oblige, waiting, watching as he heaves the camera out of his bag.

He only registers you from his side vision, but he thinks you’re wearing a smile; confirmed when you breathe to speak again, and his eyes drift to you, immediately decoding the pride in your sparkling pupils.

Why do you look proud? Then again, he guesses he would, too, if he showed you something that he loved and you enjoyed it, too.

Thinking about it, he kind of wants to do it someday.

He pulls at his lower lip, releasing it soon, blinking again as if to release the thought. Instead, he listens as you ask, “You’ve never been here before?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Hidden spot then.”

“It’s beautiful. Look there,” he points to a spot that you carefully follow, even squinting an eye shut; it makes him smile. “That’s the ferris wheel in the amusement park. Can you see? Wait.”

The camera comes to use when he points the lens at the direction he signalled towards, nimble hands working on zooming in. The picture unfocuses before the lights of the amusement park flicker again.

It’s late, he thinks; then again, the summer is coming to an end, the last nights used to keep such attractions open late. September will bring forth grey clouds again, leaving behind the prior season’s heat. Raining down on him, forcing the leather jacket out of his closet.

He likes it that way.

No offence to the summer whatsoever; but he likes the fresh gust dishevelling his soft hair. Likes it when the rain patters against the window glass so softly. He sleeps better that way, too.

Barely sitting for a moment, Jungkook already gets to his feet, nearing the edge until he’s kneeling on the ground. The distance has only faded by a couple feet, not much of a difference. But the feeling of the city nearing still persists somehow, tickling his mind just right.

He doesn’t know how long he squats there against the backdrop of the luminescent sea, but when he comes back to you, you’re still sporting that excited smile, eyebrows high. Your eyes fall to the camera, humming when he says, “Look. There.”

He magnifies the picture, every spot of it good enough to pin against the living room wall. Carefully, he hands you the camera; surprising, because he regards this pricey piece of plastic as sacred. You probably don’t know how big of a deal it is that he lets you handle it.

If you did, you’d never let him live it down.

You scoot closer, your temple now nearly touching his. You stare with an interest he hasn’t witnessed too often before. People do not care much about pictures of scenery; in the age of media, how could they anyway? When every stock picture is already memorised and used to the point of insignificance?

But you — your mouth parts as you switch around, taking in details.

“Good?” he asks.

“Beautiful,” you sincerely mutter, returning the camera to him. You hold it like a kitten; perhaps you do know what the gesture meant. “This is exactly why I wanted us to come here.”

The moment is so serene, like balm, and he nods along with your words, calmly conversing. So it takes a heartbeat to truly untangle your words in his mind and tie them with the meaning your intention conveys.

He assumed you were just showing him random spots of the town, to allow him a glimpse into your mind and to crack your true nature. All this time, he thought you wanted to lead him to bright spaces to lighten up his perception of you.

But what you’re doing instead is turn the spotlight towards him and what he loves.

“You… did it for me?” he asks.

You, casually, as if the thoughtful act doesn’t flood him with serotonin, reply, “Yeah. To capture a couple pretty pictures. You really do love it, so.”

“I do… wow, thanks.” He pauses. Looks down to the buttons on his camera, to his hands; then back to you. “You thought of it all, right? The nice places and the short rest at Jieun’s. Now this.”

“Hmm, tried as much as possible so spontaneously.”

“Thank you. Really.”

You return his gratitude with a polite nod, leaning away until you touch the backrest of the bench. Jungkook indulges in some more that nature offers, toying with the settings, zooming in just to observe sights from a closer point.

He doesn’t notice when you sigh or when you zone off; or when your thoughts shift back to the minutes and hours of the night. He doesn’t notice; and in return, you don’t know that he’s still thinking about the intention that brought him here; that you were attentive enough to truly show that some people appreciate art.

There aren’t only fleeting nights and then forgotten memories. Because this… this right here is a core memory.

Because of you.

Are you thinking the same? Are you proud that his enmity has faded, replaced by a tender smile? Satisfied that your efforts were worth it after all — a goal reached that you set for yourself earlier tonight.

Let me show you pretty places until the sun comes up, and if you still hate me by then, I will never talk to you again.

But…

He’d love to talk to you again.

However, your mind hasn’t quite drifted in this direction; in truth, he honestly can’t analyse or interpret you at all, because the question you pose next is far from what he’d been thinking about.

“Talking about pretty… uhm. Did you think Jieun was pretty?”

Jungkook blinks. One eyebrow cocks up; the camera drops back onto his lap. He flashes you a squinted look, a confused laugh erupting before he asks back, “What?”

“Ah, don’t lie. She’s very pretty.”

“Sure? She is.”

He’s nearly forgotten what she looked like. But beauty is still perceived and remembered — he guesses he found her good-looking.

“And she’s everyone’s type,” you prod, “what do you think, though? If she didn’t have a boyfriend, could you imagine liking her?”

Jungkook thinks about it. Not because he wants to, but because you seem to have found an odd interest in whatever attracts him; maybe your questions are leading up to something. So he’ll play along.

“Hmm… Maybe,” he answers.

“So she is your type.”

Or maybe, you’re trying to get something out of him that you want to hear specifically. You seem so shy about it all of a sudden; not necessarily an adjective he’d assign to you.

And coming from you of all people, he somehow does not find the topic interesting. It’s weird; he doesn’t want to talk about it; he doesn’t care about Jieun, either.

So he shrugs his shoulders indifferently, lifting his camera up again. He points it at you, eternalising your surprised expression just when you open your mouth to leave out a shocked, “Hey!”

“That’s what you get for asking such strange stuff.”

“It’s not strange! I’m just small-talking.”

“You do not small-talk.”

“It could be a deeper conversation if you just admitted it.”

He chuckles, turning his body towards you, half his leg on the bench, “Admit what?”

“The type thing!”

“Sure. I don’t just have one type, though, you know?”

The dispute brought your bodies a little closer, your face far enough for him to still identify his surroundings, but near enough for him to see your eyes twinkling. The light is dancing in them. And it’s much easier to focus on it when you silence like this.

Just for a second.

Because you breathe in again ten seconds later, lightly slapping the thigh resting on the bench. The touch is cursory, tiny, nothing to overthink about — but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want it to linger.

In some way, it still does.

You ask, “Okay? What are your types then?”

“Different girls.” This time, only one shoulder shoots up. His eyes match his pensive hum. “Whoever suits me. Pretty girls but also nice girls. Especially nice girls.”

“Alright, be honest,” you begin, mimicking his position until your leg lifts onto the bench, knee nearly touching his. You’re warming up now. Finally spitting the true question soon, “Do you think I’m pretty?”

Cute.

But he’s not giving in this easily.

He smirks; he feels the dimple on one side of his lopsided smile the moment you look at it. You’re distracted enough — so he uses the mental absence to attack you with yet another picture.

For a couple blinks, you’re startled — but as he reacts to his own nonsense with a content chortle, proud of his prank, you sigh. His shoulders rise with his sneering joy, head low as he inspects the picture just taken on his camera.

He zooms into your face, mouth open and eyes wide. You do look so pretty, he thinks — better even since you washed most of your make up off. Yet, he can’t contain himself when he shows you the screen, telling you, “You look alright.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes and your gaze to the view; your giggles start quietly, and then mix with his. Before—

They soon become part of a bad harmony as more voices join your very own night. Somebody is nearing. Jungkook hears the laughter already, but the road is curved and dark; so he can’t see them yet.

You might not have expected this, because you push closer to Jungkook on reflex; just at the same time as him. He didn’t know he had it in him to always stay so alert around you. Ready to throw himself at intruders.

Crazy.

But once the voices grow in volume, the two of you are soon met with a couple walking past. They’re in love, because amidst their titter, there’s another lewd sound. Or maybe, not too bad; playful kisses?

Yes.

The guy — he’s smooching his girl’s cheek, releasing with a, “Mwah” each time. Your initial surprise soon fades and turns into delight; Jungkook sees it in the way your smile returns. And in the furrowed yet amused eyebrows…

When the couple spots the two of you, they gasp; the girl’s hand immediately bolts to her chest, as if she just encountered a wild boar. But she catches herself soon, apologising, “Oh. Sorry. We’re sorry.”

You respond with an, “It’s okay!” Jungkook shakes his head politely to shrink their worries. They’ve walked away as soon as they came, but he still hears the woman’s scolding, effect lessened by the still occurring belly laugh, “I told you to calm yourself—”

As the world quietens again, Jungkook huffs, tilting his head as he deduces, “So late and yet… Not much of a hidden spot after all.”

“It feels like an ancient hill to me. I don’t often meet others here.” You breathe in the wind, then tongue your cheek. “They probably didn’t even notice where they were going. People in love never do.”

“I guess so.”

He guesses so.

It’s been a while since he fell in love.

Your head bobs once more before you lose yourself in the skyline, sucking in more of the crisp air that’ll grace you in the upcoming months. Fall is upon the town. He inbreathes the peace, too.

His hands operate on their own; one last time, he lifts it towards you, peeks through the lens again, adjusting the focus until the object clicks again. You’re not looking at him; he caught your side profile, this time not out of mock or tease.

He means it. And you seem to know.

Because when you look at him this time, you’re not mad or irritated.

Only look at him softly, a smile that truly matches the heights you took him on.

READ BELOW!!

the fic isn't over yet – as always, tumblr has a 1k block limit that makes our lives harder than necessary lmao. read the last scene and the remaining 3k words of meraki here 🥰

[kinascum]

I'LL RACE YA! - C. STURNIOLO

SUMMARY: At a backyard pool party, Christopher's playful challenge leads to a moment of intimacy with Y/N, transforming their five-year friendship into a newfound romantic connection.

CONTENTS: best friends to lovers trope, smut, unprotected piv (think twice!), pool sex, semi-public sex, idk what else

WORDS: 1.2k

"You're going to chicken out again, aren't you?" Christopher teased, tossing a beach ball into the air. Y/N rolled her eyes. "Maybe." She adjusted her sunglasses, leaning back on the pool chair.

The sun blazed overhead, casting a warm glow over the backyard pool party. Y/N and Christopher had been playing this game of 'will they, won't they' for what felt like forever. Five years of friendship, five years of unspoken feelings, and five years of never making a move. It was as predictable as the sunset that painted the sky with streaks of pink and orange.

The party was in full swing, with laughter and splashes echoing through the night. The twinkle lights strung around the pool flickered like distant stars, and the smell of BBQ wafted from the grill. Y/N's heart skipped a beat as she watched Christopher's muscles ripple under his t-shirt as he playfully threw the ball to his brothers.

As the last guest said their goodbyes, Christopher's triplet brothers finally took the hint and disappeared inside, leaving the two of them alone by the water. The silence was deafening, the kind that makes you aware of every breath you take. Y/N felt the heat of the day slowly give way to the cool evening breeze, sending shivers down her spine.

Christopher turned to her, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. "Race you to the deep end?"

Y/N nodded, her stomach doing somersaults. This was it. The moment she had been both dreading and hoping for. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was about to happen.

They both dove into the water, the cool liquid enveloping them as they raced through the shimmering pool. The sound of their strokes echoed in the quiet night, the only competition the occasional frog croaking in the nearby bushes. Y/N felt her heart pound in her chest, not just from the exertion, but from the electricity that seemed to be building between them.

As they reached the deep end, Christopher's hand brushed against hers. Instead of pulling away, he latched onto it, their eyes meeting under the water's surface. Time seemed to stand still as they stared at each other, the air thick with unspoken words and desires. The tension grew, a silent dance of curiosity and attraction that neither could ignore.

Suddenly, Christopher pulled her closer, their bodies colliding under the water. The touch was unexpected, sending a jolt through Y/N's body. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his waist, and they surfaced together, gasping for air. The world around them faded away as their eyes searched each other's for answers to questions they had been too afraid to ask.

Their faces were just inches apart, the warmth of their breaths mingling in the cool night air. The air was charged with anticipation, and without another word, Christopher leaned in and kissed her. It was soft and tentative at first, as if he was afraid she would pull away, but when she didn't, he deepened the kiss, his arms tightening around her.

Y/N felt like she was floating, the sensation of his lips against hers making her head spin. She had dreamed of this moment for so long, but the reality was so much more intense than she could have ever imagined. The water around them seemed to bubble with excitement, their bodies moving together in a silent ballet of passion.

Christopher broke the kiss, his eyes searching hers. "I've wanted to do that for so long," he murmured, his voice husky with emotion.

Y/N's heart raced. "Yeah," she whispered back, her voice barely audible.

They shared a knowing smile, the kind that says more than any words could. The air between them crackled with a newfound intimacy, and as they sank back into the water, their bodies entwined, they knew that this night would change everything.

Christopher's hands slid down Y/N's back, caressing the curve of her waist before settling on her hips. He gently pulled her closer, their bodies fitting together like two puzzle pieces finally finding their match. The water lapped at their skin as they kissed again, deeper and more urgent than before. The world around them melted away, leaving only the two of them in their own little universe.

With a silent understanding, they moved to the edge of the pool, the cool concrete a stark contrast to the warmth of their entangled limbs. Y/N's legs wrapped around Christopher's waist as he lifted her onto the side, the water glistening on their skin like diamonds in the moonlight. He kissed her neck, his breath hot against her ear as his hands explored the softness of her breasts.

Her eyes closed, she moaned softly, the sensation of his touch sending waves of pleasure through her body. She felt his hands move to the back of her bikini top, deftly untying the knots. It slipped away, revealing her to him for the first time. He took a moment to drink her in, his eyes dark with desire before he claimed her mouth again.

Their kisses grew more heated, their breaths coming in gasps as they fumbled with the strings of their swimsuits. The fabric fell away, leaving them bare and vulnerable to each other's gazes. The water was a warm embrace around them as they slowly, tenderly, made love. The sounds of their passion melded with the nocturnal symphony of the backyard, a secret melody that only they could hear.

Christopher's strong hands held her steady as they moved together, the water caressing their bodies in a rhythm that was as old as time. Y/N's fingers dug into his shoulders, her nails leaving half-moons in his skin as she arched her back, her eyes never leaving his.

The tension grew, each stroke bringing them closer to the precipice of something unspoken. The stars above seemed to pulse with the same rhythm as their hearts, and for a brief moment, they were the only two people in the world.

And when the dam finally broke, it was with a sigh of relief and a cry of pleasure that echoed through the night. They clung to each other, their bodies trembling with the aftershocks of their union. The water around them stilled, as if even it knew that something profound had just occurred between them.

They didn't speak, didn't need to. The silence was a testament to the intensity of their connection. They simply held each other, the warmth of their bodies mingling with the coolness of the night air. As they floated in the pool, the world outside forgotten, they knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

Their friendship had evolved into something more, something that neither of them had dared to dream of. And as they kissed beneath the moonlit sky, the future stretched out before them, filled with possibility and the promise of a love that had been five years in the making.

an: ignore the shit quality of the thingy and how bad this is </3

taglist! @sturnstvs @gxldenlush @immattsslut @slut4chriss @stasiesturn @jetaimevous @solarsturniolo @watercolorsky @thedarkqueenofavalon @meowira @secretagentspydetectiveninja @shadowthesim

[marnikula]

i loved the reader who cant say no trope :') i used to be that way

CAN WE GET READER WHO IS SUPER ASSERTIVE AND HAS A THING FOR SPENCER WHO IS JUST LIKE IN BAMBOOZLES OF READER BEING SO COMFORTABLE SAYING NO AND BEING STRAIGHTFORWARD 🙏🙏

SIMP

I could not think of any way to write this well for a few days, so sorry for the late reply. Also, if you are reading this and you made a request, I promise I am getting to it, I've just been a bit swamped with work and writing this post.

Now then, no real warnings except some cringe in the way that reader relentlessly simps after Reid.

✨Enjoy!✨

Your first meeting with Spencer Reid was something he would never be able to forget, even with his eidetic memory. You waltzed up to him after one of his guest lectures with such confidence that he stood to the side, thinking that you would pass by him. But you didn't. You stopped in front of him, speaking words that he would have never had the courage to utter to someone: "Do you have a name, or can I call you mine?"

He remembers seeing the way your friends cringed behind you, the pick up line that left your lips clearly having made them uncomfortable. When he thought that you would move on after seeing the blush spreading all the way from his toes to his ears, thinking that maybe you coming to flirt with him was a dare, but you didn't. Instead, you uttered another sentence that he could feel himself cringe to as well, but you didn't seem to mind, your eyes too filled with determination to be put off by his facial expression at your request. "I lost my phone number, can I have yours?" He genuinely thought you were joking, but then you held out your phone to him.

In a stupor of confusion, Spencer entered his contact details, waiting for the punchline to come, proving that this truly was some sort of joke. Throughout the whole interaction he was wondering how someone as attractive as you would decide to come up to him of all people and used lines that not even Morgan had the guts to use to try and flirt with him.

It took a few weeks of you consistently sending him pick up lines along with good morning messages and invites to a date before he decided to ask Morgan for advice. It wasn't helpful. His friend had simply laughed in disbelief when told the story and was rendered speechless when he read the messages exchanged between you, most of them from your side. Spencer decided to go for it, after all, what was the worst that could happen, you hit him with another pick up line?

_____________________________________________________________

It was worse, so much worse. When he arrived at the designated spot to find you before going to the movies he was met with a bouquet of red roses with branches of baby's breath spread in between. It was a beautiful arrangement he greatly appreciated, but the fact that you gave it to him the moment he stepped out of his car and into your view, as well as the fact that it was a very public display of affection sent Spencer reeling into a stuttering and blushing mess.

The movie you picked out was a romantic comedy, and although Spencer laughed quite a lot, he could not really enjoy the movie itself, too focused on the fact that you held his hand the moment the two of you sat down. It truly baffled Spencer how you could be so nonchalant about how you approached him, you did things he would not have even imagined in his wildest dreams to have the confidence to do.

At dinner, you decided to take him to your favorite restaurant. It was a quaint Italian place a few blocks down from the movie theater. The whole walk there you were full of energy, talking to him and listening to him spew random facts about things that happened in the movie. Your eyes held such pure adoration he wondered if he might have hung the stars in the sky without even realizing it.

______________________________________________________________

Spencer enjoyed his evening with you more than he ever had with anyone else he had gone out with before. As he lay in bed, thinking about the kiss you planted solidly on his cheek after he dropped you off at your apartment he wondered again how it was possible for someone so bright and confident to be as interested in him as you were.

As he drifted off to sleep, Reid wondered where this unfolding relationship with you would take him, and he could truly say that he was excited to see what would happen.

[stormxpadme]

There's a bit of fanfiction negativity in the tags :(. Looking for something to cheer me up, what's your personal scogan fanfic favorites?

Yeah, I saw that, both in the scogan and scogean tag, with posts even including the character name tags. Like. Not cool, people. Way to make authors feel shitty who have been guarding the ship lighthouse for the last 20 years. Claiming in the most popular tags, there's only like 1 good fic among more than 1500? Wow, okay. So I was very happy to receive your ask. Let's counter that negativity with some awesome scogan reads!

Damaged by scottxlogan

Can't do any scogan rec list without including the leading authority on the subject. @scottxlogan is the author who pulled me into this ship years ago, not to mention they're a great friend, unbelievably talented writer and artist, and they deserve all the love. Damaged is surely one of their most ambitious projects and deserves every single view, kudos and review out there. Set in the DOFP finale verse that is no doubt the author's specialty, the story comes with an alluring, intricated plot that leaves you on the edge of your seat along with all the feels.

Submission by scottxlogan

I'm also including a newer work by the same author in case you just want to get a feel for how wonderfully she writes these guys, not to mention the shameless steamy goodness that are the author's smut scenes. scottxlogan is an expert at reversing common fandom tropes believably, and this will leave you longing for more of these power exchanges easily.

he carries the reminders by Wolfsheart

@mischief-and-tea-by-the-sea is another great friend and author I would trust even with my biggest squicks (not that she writes those anyway :D). She's not only technically brillant and very well-versed in the lore which makes every pairing she writes a great read (check out her Tony/Emma, too!), but she'll also never fail to make you laugh or put those hearts in your eyes. And don't miss all those pop culture references that even put Peter Parker to shame! She also gives us scogan fans exactly what we need with stories like this one, combining our fav hurt/comfort tropes with a healthy dose of canon fix it.

I loved you since I knew you by strangenewwords

@strangenewwords is a fairly new and dearly beloved addition to our group at @scoganbingo events, but she's already made a huge impact with her delicious smut and angst stories that hit you right in the feels. Technically also brillant, the linked story is definitely one you don't want to get spoilered for beforehand because the ending will leave you in absolute awe and tears. The author doesn't shy away from including the darkest sides of Scott's past but handles every subject with the necessary care and respect, and as I said ... You don't want to miss out on all that delicious smut!

The Day Before the Soldiers Came by Cerylid

Cery is offering a much-needed fixit for the team dynamics between the X-Men and Logan before X2 with this story. It comes with a lot of humor but also far more feels than you expect. The texting is hilarious but it's the quiet tones that get to you.

*****

Speaking of fix-its, since that negativity in the tags kinda got to me, too, I might just throw in one of my own works here too since I also got lots of Scogan stuff out there.

My spirit's sleeping somewhere cold

is basically my go-to X3 fix-it. You look for something to make that movie right, you got it all right there. Along with a bit of horror (we are talking about resurrection, after all) comes a dramatic rescue mission in a mental limbo, and you get an Avenger and Emma Frost guest-starring. There's a couple of follow up chapters that explore both scogan and Tony/Emma a bit further, and we even get a Laura version in old movieverse along the line, and of course all the nasty nasty smut you guys are here for.

########

So, that's it from the top of my hat. All these accounts have even more great stories to check out, and there's lots of other scogan authors out there with great stories to enjoy. So don't let anyone tell you, there's no quality scogan stuff on AO3.

[the-midnight-blooms]

ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴛᴇᴀʀ ᴜꜱ ᴀᴘᴀʀᴛ

pairing: jung wooyoung x reader

AU: 1920s au (inspired by Chloe Gong’s These Violent Delights)

word count: 5.1k

ATEEZ as angst tropes series:

Hongjoong | Seonghwa | Yunho | Yeosang | San | Mingi | Wooyoung | Jongho

masterlist

Trope: Lovers to Enemies

The white roses you gifted me, once laid at my feet. You begged I walk on them for every step I took on earth was a punishment against my holy beauty. They are now drowned within the red sea called hatred. I loved you once, your name plastered to me like skin on bone; your every touch thriving through my blood. Every fibre of my being pulsed to you, bowed to you, moved to the beating of your heart. They laughed at me, mocked me even, for being so infatuated with you- and I screamed and swore that you descended from above. That you were deserving of every part of me and now I am as much to you as meagre copper pennies to a rich man. A fool I was for falling for you, a fool I am for being in love with you.

The stars pulled over the surface of the night, blanketing over the scape of the city- the defined curvature of hanok roofs ascending towards the sky as if its goal was to pierce the clouds. The hood of her dark robe billowed in the wind, as she stealthily, she tiptoed across the skyline of houses and buildings of Seoul-rolling aimlessly through the night, haunting the city as she walked by. The night's breath hitched as she perched upon a rooftop, legs dangling over the precipice, staring into the soul of her target. Her fingers drummed against the sheath strapped to her waist, a bejewelled dagger obscured in plain sight. The mansion was large, golden-bricked walls stretching out at least a mile encasing an equally gigantic garden-the scent of freshly mawn grass lingering in the air. The lights in the home had penetrated from the small glass windows, the house itself silent. A few servants sauntered across the large hallways blowing out a few candles, a majority of the masters of the home absent. But the main man of the night, she needed was sprawled across his burgundy leather chair in his bedroom- a book resting on his laps but paying little attention to the literature.

“Do you still want to prove your loyalty to the clan?” Her father's words drifted out to her from the other end of the room. It was as if a steadfast cherry tree blew harshly into her face, at once attacked by the rushing of its petals hitting hardly against her, her soul magnetised by its beauty despite the coarseness of its intentions. As if she could reach her hands out to grab it anyway, so desperate to hold this delicate plant as it would break the thousand curses the universe bestowed upon her.

She would do just about anything to prove her loyalty again, it had already taken her father so long to forgive her for her sedition the first time around. Drawing out her dagger, her the tip of her finger danced along the rim of the knife- it had been so long since she had played the role of the Grim Reaper. Playing with one's life in her hands provoked a sense of glory within that had been dormant for so long. Her target's eyes drew out of the window, she was confident that she was well blended within the night, she challenged his suspecting stare; a smirk pulling at her lips when he shook as his head and turned away- as if to convince himself he was going mad.

But how madly in love had she once been for him? A man who she glorified. Held up on a pedestal. A man whom she loved like breathing. So innate and easy.

Jung Wooyoung. If only she could feel her heart beat to his name again. If only she did not want to kill him for every memory of him that infiltrated her head. The memory of his name falling from her lips coming back to her like the moon did every time the sun dipped beneath the horizon.

On a night where their stars aligned so perfectly, esteemed patrons meandered into the large Keun home. The ballroom was bustling with activity, filled with guests in every nook and cranny. Waiters flooded into the room with tall glasses of champagne and appetisers, the fancy dresses, a cacophony of sounds emptied into the heavy atmosphere.

The distant melody of sombre ballroom tunes echoed within her household as her father entertained corrupt politicians and business men. She had managed to excuse herself from the dinner party that the Keun family held once a year to flaunt their wealth that manifested from the massacre of innocent civilians and moral decay. Though she disagreed with her father’s despotism over the city, at the end of the day she was powerless and succumbed to being his personal mercenary and political tool. Retreating to her balcony, a breath of relief fulfilled her as the cool wind of the night waltzed upon on the surface of her skin. With eyes glazing across the scape of the village, she noticed a figure sat upon the rooftops gazing in her direction.

Wooyoung had been truanting the hanok roofs on that one night, fuelled by nothing but sheer boredom when he stumbled across the territory that he was prohibited against ever entering. Despite this, there was something about the air in Keun territory that tugged at him, perhaps it was the adrenaline junkie within him instilling a sense of euphoria when his life was in danger. It will kill you one day, his mother always nagged but he couldn’t care less. There was nothing or no one to live for. That was until her met her. An angel, as so to speak. Looking out into the city- face etched with a pondering look crossed with exhaustion. Her hair pulled back by a glimmering silver clip, loose strands of hair falling over her shoulders. There was something about her that sparked an interest, an interest transcending further than her beauty. Her stature was familiar to him, as if he had seen that same figure blending into the stars-slipping in and out of the same nightclubs and brothels where astute men who led the country revelled in. Where his father had told him to raise his blade against the men threatening the Jung aristocracy, this enigmatic shadow had gotten there first. He had tried his hardest to follow this mercenary and uncover their identity- but whoever they were, they were clearly sharper leaving no trail of footsteps behind for him to follow. One night, he saw a slight shape to their physique and it was smaller than a man's at that. He found himself staring at a potential suspect, but a resident of the Keun home-an assassin? In fact, she could very well be Mr Keun's daughter. Wooyoung had heard that both families had birthed the heirs to their thrones at the same time and she looked as old as him.

Their eyes met across the night. He waved and she waved back- waving to nothing more than a shadow in a void carved from the depths of her insanity. Or so she thought. For this madman was so allured by her, he needed to see in all her glory. As if he was too a beacon of a dying star, his body drifted towards her- scaling from rooftop to rooftop, then over the garden wall. Her hand drew towards her mouth, she wasn’t hallucinating at all. Who was this man?

Climbing up the walls, his hands finally gripped onto her balcony railing, stumbling backwards. A contented smile settled on his face, so mesmerised by her beauty. Words struggled to leave her lips, he chased as her a child did to a butterfly. She sunk in his appearance, following the curved structure of his nose, fox-like eyes that bored into her own. He was beautiful, there was no denying that.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?"

“I thought maybe I had died and reached heaven.” Dipping her head, she scoffed. He made his way half way across the village, just to flirt? What was he doing on the rooftops to begin with? Scouting for other assassins targeting her family? Or was he one of them? Cautiously, her hands slowly drew towards the knife strapped to her thigh. “Didn’t know Mr Keun gave birth to a beautiful daughter.”

“Goodness, are you one of my father’s men? Shouldn’t you be patrolling the streets not the rooftops?” She interrogated. There was nothing dangerous about the sky itself, everybody knew the roofs were too unstable and slippery to be walking on. However, this man seemed to defy gravity-the same way she did- when he moved along them. His unfamiliarity struck her hard, she knew her father’s men inside out, wearing the guise of an obedient daughter by day and assailant by night. He grimaced, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned against the balcony.

“Far from it my dear, I’m your biggest enemy.” With furrowed eyebrows she stared back at him. Biggest enemy? “I’m Jung Wooyoung.” He clarified. The name itself was a taboo in her own home.

"What are doing here?" the softness in her tone had been substituted with a coldness that gave him a slight discomfort. Still, his eyes wandered over to her silver clip that glinted in the night.

"I was looking for the Grim Reaper. I seemed to have found him, or her-rather."

"That's rather a rude thing to say a lady, no?" Perking her head up, Wooyoung smirked-the distance between them gradually closing.

"Depends on perspective."

"So, what's your perspective Jung?" She challenged. Her father's instructions hauled her. 'You are not, and I mean not, allowed to use your knife under any circumstances unless you are covered by a mask. No man should know you are my greatest weapon.'

"That there's a knife strapped to your right thigh." Sneakily his hand hovered above her sheath. His warm breath tickling her face. When did this he get close to her? Did she not hide it well? Her heart pounded as he moved closer to her ear. "Did you not think I'd notice, my precious?" Feeling the weight of his hand dawn upon her thigh, presumably to grab the knife; she grabbed for it before he could blink-pushing his body against the metal balcony. Knife fixed tightly against his throat.

"Why are you here, Jung?" Her words careful and instructive. She had disobeyed her father's orders but it was better than Jung having the upper hand.

"You can't kill me," he snickered. Her knife waltzed over his Adam's apple in a threatening manner. "Ok maybe you can. I really only ever wanted to know who was stealing my jobs. Didn't think it was a gorgeous woman." Of course it had to be that the first beautiful man she met had to be a Jung. The antagonists of her father's story. The Jung's and the Keun's had been old aged rivals for as long as time existed. Rivers of blood drowned the streets in the midst of their rage and envy. From birth both families brought up willing to bequeath god's greatest curse on each other. She had not even as so much seen a face of a Jung, but she recalled her grandma's folk memory of Jung men inhabiting such intoxicating beauty that made one want to abandon all their morals and venerate them under the emblem of desire. She understood it all now, and for years to come to she'd understand it a lot better than that moment they stood beneath the stars gazing into each other before she took back her rationality from the hands of ardour- and shooed him with the flick of her wrist.

“Leave before you get killed. If as so much as a word about me leaves your mouth, I won't hesitate to kill you." To tell the truth, Wooyoung was right to some extent. She couldn't kill him- if she did her family would be the first of people the Jung's would point to and chaos would ensue. The only problem that lied now was he knew who she really was.

"Until next time, my angel."

"There will be no next time." Rolling her eyes, her arms crossed over chest and huffed. As he climbed over her balcony iron grip on the railing as a descended down. Leaning over, she watched him as he climbed back up, cheekily placing a peck on her cheek.

"I prefer you with your hair down." His hand reached around her hair, pulling at the expensive silver clip. Hastily, he climbed down the building again, covertly jumping down; disappearing into the night.

Damn you, Jung.

Later that week, she sauntered down the cobbled roads- woven basket in hand filled with the seasonal fruits that her mother had sent her to collect from Monday’s market. The vendors being close family friends always provided the freshest fruit and a suitable price at that, despite the Keun’s family renown wealthy background. Nevertheless the farmer’s had the protection of the Keun clan, a vow that had never gone unbroken in the two decades since it had been established. A soft hum filled the air as a recognition of a melody she had acquainted her ears to drilled in her head. A figure walked synchronously with her- neck craning only for a scowl to be complacent on her face.

“What are you doing here, Wooyoung? If anyone catches you with me, you’ll be as good as dead.”

“So then I’ll see you tonight, same time, same place as before my precious.” Her steps had faltered, sending her family’s enemy a menacing glare.

“Listen, stay on your turf and we’ll stay on ours. Like it always has been. What do you want, Jung?" Wooyoung’s hand slipped into the inside of his jacket pocket. In his hands held her expensive silver hair clip she had spent the whole week mourning the loss of-a devilish smirk playing on his lips.

“Give it back!” She hissed, reaching out for it, but Wooyoung drew his arm back extending it further away from her.

“Now now, my angel. You can have it back tonight.” He softly whispered in her ear, placing a yet another devious sweet kiss below her ear lobe. The connecting of his lips against her skin was so soft, she could just melt into his touch, goodness it felt like a sin to be so allured by his charms. That night, Wooyoung came in again- perched on her balcony patiently awaiting for her to open the doors. He handed back her silver clip as promised. His hands drifted to her hair, tugging at the white ribbon that held it together, falling over her shoulders in loose waves. Sliding his fingers over her soft locks he tucked a strand behind her ear. The nerve of that man, where did he summon the courage from?

“I told you I liked your hair down.”

“I’m supposed to listen to your every wish now? Leave Wooyoung, and don't come back." She snapped, Wooyoung chuckled, as if unfazed by her indifference to his intimate actions.

“I will once I get my thank you kiss.” Rolling her eyes, she gently pushed the man. Walking past him to place her jewellery box in her wardrobe.

“Can I have my ribbon back?” she questioned, shutting the door to her wardrobe, but remaining in front of it as to keep some distance between them.

“I think I’ll keep it. Then that way I can come back to you every night.”

“So you’ll steal something every time you’re here?”

“Yes, as long as I can to see your pretty face over and over again.”

“Wooyoung.” Her tone firm, meeting with him was already too risky. Falling in love was practically begging for a death sentence.

“Please. Just a chance. One.” He begged, almost getting on his knees. Her mind wrought with conflict, the opposing forces gnawing at her brain. One side was utmost obedience to the Keun name and her father. The other was the desire to love and be loved. To know what it felt like to hold someone, for a life as an assailant deprived her of that. She just wanted to know what real love felt like, was that so sinful of her?

And she had felt it all in the following years her and Wooyoung spent under the cover of the night. Soon, past midnight when she was so sure that her family was asleep- she snuck out of her own home and ventured into the streets of their city into his restricted abode - exploring the large hallways of the desolate Jung estate. One night, a slow classical tune meandered into his room, his arm so carefully ensnared around her waist. Head on his chest, they swayed side to side the stars gleaming down at them blinking in their wake. It was then when he proposed the idea of marriage; her blood ran cold, dreading the day he would ask her.

“We can propose it as a form of alliance to our parents, a truce.” He suggested, prying. Insisting like he was asking for opium. For their love was like a drug he could not get enough of.

“So many years our family have been wrought in this conflict, centuries even. Do you even think they’ll agree?”

“Aren’t you tired of this age old rivalry? I am, I am so sick of it. I don’t want to be running this city, I just want to grow old with you.” Their heads leant together, she breathed in his scent, not knowing it was going to be the last time she was ever going to ever feel this emotion again.

Unbeknownst to them both, and despite their esteemed positions within their clans, the tension between the Keun’s and Jung’s seemed to have strained significantly within the past few months. Their targets stopped being fraudulent associates to important members of the opposing gang, to which both lovers felt limbs staggering when they picked up their weapons. A member of the Keun clan was murdered, thus a life was taken from the Jung clan. An eye for an eye, hand for hand, soul for soul. Bloodthirsty corporals of the Keun’s had once again inundated the streets, their insatiable appetite for violence sewing fear into the citizens of Seoul. Conditions were worsening and once the couple had realised, their meetings had significantly minimised- both heirs had become bound to their empty manors.

“Curse you, and your whole family.” A screech erupted through the walls of the Keun home, her attention snapping away from her cousin-Ki- who was sat in the parlour discussing the details of her engagement. The older woman had finally settled down, after years of defying against marriage, claiming to have her heart set on one man. In the end he never proposed to her. Pressure from Ki's family subdued to accept a proposal from a young, wealthy business owner.

Out of curiosity, she neared the window onlooking the vast garden to find a familiar figure on his knees. Blood dripping viciously from his face, his agonising grunts were muted by the thick walls. Her father’s soldiers continued to attack him-fist connecting with his face with such a brutal force. A breath hitched in her throat as soon as the soldier moved out of the way, the man’s face clear as day through the glass. She launched out of the room, sprinting out to her garden towards the scene. In a flash, before the man could raise his hands again- she flung her body at Wooyoung, encasing him in her arms.

“Miss Keun-,” the guard's voice was interrupted by her father’s voice screaming her name over the lawn, the abrasive dissonance jarring in her ears as she felt his presence eventually looming over her.

“Get away from him.” He instructed through gritted teeth. Stubbornly, she shook her head no as tears streamed down her cheeks, wiping her sleeve across her lover’s face blood staining her silk dress.

“What are you doing here, Wooyoung?” She choked out. A guttural cough escaped his throat, blood spluttering out like a broken engine, lungs screaming for air feeling the burn of a thousand hot knives piercing his skin. Resting his head against her collarbone, he wheezed out of exhaustion her palm gently rubbing up and down his back.

Her father jerked her away from him, the warmth of Wooyoung's body dissipating from her as her skin fulfilled with goosebumps. Stumbling towards her house, she looked back searching for Wooyoung who had collapsed to the ground in the absence of her hold.

“Bring him to my office.” Mr Keun roared. Two soldiers obliged, immediately lifting Wooyoung up to drag him into his enemy’s estate. The door to the office, flung open the heat, which would have once soothed her skin, burned her alive. Her cousin, hot on her heels, entered the study with them encasing her from her father's wrath. Nothing could stop the hatred Mr Keun held for his daughter, the same girl who he raised betrayed their age old conflict. This was not supposed to happen. None of it. Not their relationship being exposed like this. Not Wooyoung being beaten bloody at the hands of her father and certainly not what was going to happen next.

The wooden door blew open again, her lover being thrown into the room. A gasp escaped her lips, she treaded forward as if to reach out to his loving embrace again but the simultaneous tug from her cousin and Wooyoung’s hard stare repelled her away.

“First of all, I’d like to apologise Wooyoung. I know you didn’t kill Mr Seo." Good Lord Mr Seo is dead? Her father's right-hand man? Perhaps in light of her relationship with Wooyoung she had become completely blind to the politics. "My men will pay, and I will compensate for any damages.” Her father’s perception of the word 'compensate' was particularly vague and held varied meaning. Compensate by paying the hospital bill? Compensate by taking a life? Compensate by having Wooyoung choose a member of a Keun clan to beat to death?

“I’ll take no compensation now, Keun, but I will one day. You’re in my debt.” Wooyoung declared, holding his head high. Her father nodded in agreement, drawing away from his desk-stalking towards his daughter. Raising his hands, he struck a blow against her flesh; the sting vibrated under the bubbling of her blood. A yelp escaped from her, eyes meeting Wooyoung’s who had barely flinched at the sight. Mr Keun bunched up her hair, wrenching at it violently.

“Secondly, what affiliation do you have with my daughter?” A silence held within the room. The pain of her father’s abuse engraved on her skin, acuminating at her but she could not help but to think what Wooyoung was going to say. Her eyes held desperation. Free from this torment, please. Give me the life you know I've always wanted.

“Your daughter threw herself at me like every other whore in this city. And who am I to disagree a beautiful face, after all I did not know who she was.” She could not help the tears that slid down her cheeks. A whore. After all those years of loving him, laying her heart at his feet, venerating him- she was just a whore. It was her fault. She should have known that at the end of the day, he was a Jung and she was a Keun. It would never work, their relationship was doomed to fail from the start.

“I would say a little more than a whore don’t you think? It seems you were quite close.”

“What use would I be to her, if my body was too damaged to keep her warm at night?” Profusely, she shook her head as her father stared down at her in disbelief.

"Wooyoung," she sobbed, "Tell them the truth." Oh how disappointed was her father in her now? Had she not been taught to obscure her emotions? Yet here she was, sobbing her heart out-begging for her lover to take back all that he had said. To renunciate their titles together, and live their peaceful life together in a cottage far by the sea and a big family like they had always wanted.

"Remember that you owe me now." Wooyoung turned, reaching for the door handle, exiting the room. Escaping from her father's hold, she rushed after him.

“Fuck you, Jung Wooyoung!" Tears rushed to the forefront of Wooyoung’s eyes, she grabbed his shirt collar-his body oscillating back and forth as she threw all the swears she knew pounding her fists against his unwavering stature. Sinking to the floor, her body wracked with sobs. He brushed her aside, ambling down the hallway with a blurred vision. "Come back, tell them how much you love me." She whispered in her palms.

“Take her to her room.” Mr Keun ordered to her Ki, who bowed to his command urging her cousin to get up from the floor. Few of the servants who had stopped to watch the scene unfold, hastily scurried back to their duties over their master's threatening gaze.

Confined to the four walls of her bedroom, her body sunk between the cotton pillows clouded by the softness welcoming her skin. A weariness tugged at her, Ki stroking her hair.

"How could he do that to me? He said, he loved me." Ki cooed at her cousin, slipping into the covers-holding the younger girl's body as close as she could.

"Tell me everything." Ki encouraged, listening closely and drinking in every word her cousin proclaimed from how they met, their nightly adventures sneaking out of their homes, to Wooyoung asking for her hand in marriage. "He did it to save his own skin, my love. Think about it-he established the debt your father has to him. Had he said he wanted to marry you, Uncle would have murdered him in cold blood right there and then. That would have been all the more reason for a war to break out between our families. He had the upper hand, he played the game and won." Then all she had been to Jung Wooyoung was a pawn to leverage an upper hand against her father. To elevate his position, to make himself more powerful. To ultimately be victorious in this age-old conflict.

Over the years it had taken her time to estrange herself from him, but it proved too difficult since the day he alienated himself from their love, taking the remnants of her soul with him. Regardless, she looked out for the rumours about him, clasping onto every little detail as if she was a beggar seeking morsel. Trespassing the skylines, watching him, yearning for him until all of the adoration transgressed into the same hatred that was embedded within both families.

“What I am about to ask of you, you may place all the heavens and hells curses on me.” Mr Keun declared one evening, as he called his daughter back to his office. He stopped, taking the time to survey his daughter’s features. To see if there was any reminiscence of rebellion or betrayal that still laid within her. “I want you to kill Jung Wooyoung.” The nights breath hitched in its from, the stars still as the words suspended in the thick, tense air. It was almost as if, Keun had penetrated his hand through her body, wrapped his hand around her heart, squeezing the thing as tight as he could for she felt a foreign sense of pain looming within her.

“Won’t that start a war? That could endanger us, we’d be the first people they would point at. Did you pay off your debt?” She rambled, Keun held out his hand-as if it would silence her internal conflict.

“You don’t worry about that. Put your blade through his heart, don’t make it quick. Let him suffer, it’ll make it all the more enjoyable.” He spoke sadistically, the wicked grin on his face terrifying her.

So here she sat, opposite his bedroom, swinging closer to his balcony. Slipping through the doors, her figure remained by the curtains eyeing as Wooyoung blew out at his candles-abandoning his book by the chair. Crawling into his bed, as soon as his head hit the pillow she carefully made her appearance into the room.

"You've never been able to sneak up on me, Miss Keun. What makes you think you can do it now?" He sat up in his bed, a slight look of annoyance resting across his features.

"Maybe it’s the fact that you're completely unarmed and practically asking for it. You could have at least gone to bed with a knife, would’ve made it a little fun.”

“I think it’s fun enough that the woman that I love has come to kill me.” Before Wooyoung knew it, the knife was at his throat against again. The same way it had been when he first met her, though the look in her eyes a million times more crazed than it had been to begin with.

“You don’t get to say that you love me, Jung. After all I was only just your whore.” She spat through gritted teeth. “How would you like to die? Heart or throat?” They said death was predetermined, mapped out for you the second you were born. Here she was, defying the rules of mortality by giving him a choice. As if he had given her a choice when he killed her in her own home, many months ago.

“To die by your hands would be a blessing.” She scoffed, removing her knife from his throat, straddling him so he could not move. Not that he would be able to escape her even if he ran- she was always faster than him.

She remembered the time where she had stolen his beloved dagger, dashing through these very hallways, Wooyoung panting up the steps she raced on hypnotised by her graceful movements. She ran so fast it was almost as if her feet barely touched the floor. An angel floating in the clouds of heaven. How and when did she become anything less to him?

“You didn’t love me, Wooyoung. I was nothing but a pawn to you.” She breathed out, tears rushing to the brim of her eyes. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. He hurt me. “None of it was real, and so if your intention was to hurt me- you won.” The tear rolling down Wooyoung’s cheek charged a sense of resentment. How dare he cry when she was the one in pain?

“I did what I had to do. I may have been your lover, but before that I am the heir to the Jung clan.” For the last time, his hand drew towards her cheek- pressing his lips on her forehead. He smiled, those dimpled cheeks prodding at her morality.

He was denied his next breath when she mercilessly thrusted her dagger into his abdomen. Valves ripping as the blood bursted from its banks, gushing out of his wound like a waterfall. Her gloved hand slapped over his mouth, his muffled screams striking a chord.

“And before being your lover, I am the heir to the Keun clan.” Wooyoung eyes began to droop, her body trembling as his face paled. Kissing away his tears, their heads leaned together in the finality of his receding breaths. “I love you Wooyoung, but not so much that I won’t make you suffer for the pain you gave me.”

Slumping down onto the bed next to him, she cradled Wooyoung’s convulsing body in her arms, his cries echoing into her chest- tears soaking her cloak. His final breath hitched, into the night his last look was her face. Then his last thought was that when his soul awakened, he wanted nothing more than to see her face again- whether it be to plunge a knife through her own heart or live their life by the sea feeling the rushing of the waves lapping against the sand. Their children rushing around chasing each other as they watched. Hand in hand, arm in arm. After all, it was his love that teared them apart.

•••

All Right Reserved © the-midnight-blooms

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, REPURPOSE, OR PLAGISRISE ANY OF THE WORK HERE

‘keun’ meaning root

A/N: FIRST POST-FINALS UPDATE!!!! I can finally finish the angst series now 😍 I was supposed to release Mingi’s first but never let them know your next move I guess? I don’t know how to feel about this one, might be a bit crap and may update in the future. Anyways, hope you guys have been well <33

let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for any future fics I post!

[freesia-writes]

hello friend, for the valentines rec - would you be interested in doing a fake dating/relationship situation b/w Crosshair and f!reader? go wild with why they have to fake date 😂

thankssss ❤️HB

THE CROSSHAIR EFFECT got me on this one! 😂 Sometimes when I write him, I just get absolutely sucked in. So this one had me in a mood and I quite enjoyed it. It's a little stereotypical or trope-y or something, but it's delightfully indulgent in my doofus opinion. So I hope you enjoy! 😊 Dividers by @stars-n-spice on this post here.

Crosshair x F!Reader Word Count: 2000ish, hehe Content Warnings: just kissin and in-universe cussin

OH, and since this takes place at a fancy gala, I have to link this gorgeous fanart by @perfectlywingedcrusade because it's just fitting and should be appreciated by everyone. They're lovely images of Crosshair and her OC, so check em out!

A kiss on the hand and a cup of the face

Holding each other close in fancy attire

Out for a stroll while lookin good

The grand gala was in full swing, the opulent castle venue aglow with soft, golden light and the murmur of animated conversations. You and Crosshair, disguised as a wealthy couple, moved gracefully through the crowd, your steps synchronized as you navigated the sea of elegantly dressed guests. The stoic sniper's presence beside you was palpable, his every movement calculated and precise. His sharp gaze swept over the room, taking in every detail with a keen eye for potential threats. Despite the formal attire he wore, there was an unmistakable air of danger about him, a reminder of the skilled soldier lurking beneath the facade of a sophisticated gentleman. And it kinda gave you the tingles.

As you exchanged pleasantries with other guests, your mind raced with the mission at hand. The two of you had been tasked with infiltrating the gala to gather intel on a new weapon being developed by the Separatists. It was a high-stakes operation, and the success of the mission relied on your ability to blend in seamlessly with the crowd while discreetly gathering information.

You stole a glance at him, marveling at the effortless way he maintained his cover. His demeanor was cool and collected, his expression unreadable as he engaged in polite conversation with the other guests. You marveled at his ability to remain composed under pressure, and if you were being honest, you’d admired him for a long time, and had given in to an increasing amount of time spent thinking about being with him in various scenarios. So when this mission had come up in such a way that required you to pretend you were in a relationship, you’d had to fight hard to keep your face neutral and even harder to ignore the pronounced eyeroll and scoff of disgust he’d made.

You were still trying to push the thought from your mind as you leaned against the bar, having split up to different parts of the room. You could swear there had been some significant moments between the two of you, conversations that showed some vulnerability, slight softening in his piercing glares… But sometimes you wondered if the entire dynamic was just wishful thinking on your part. 

“Haven’t seen you around here before,” a fellow attendee said, sidling up beside you at the bar. You gave a small smile and a nod, just enough to acknowledge him without being memorable in any way, hoping he would take the hint. 

He didn’t.

“Where are you from?” he pressed, stepping slightly closer and holding up two fingers to the bartender, who had waved to him for his order. “I feel like I’d remember a beautiful thing like you.” You had your selection of default answers, offering some uninteresting and vague information, but he was a bona fide hemorrhoid, weaseling ever closer both verbally and physically. 

“I feel like you’re not being entirely honest with me,” he purred, tilting his head and reaching to trace fingers along your arm. 

“I’m not sure I want to tell all my secrets to someone I just met,” you replied, matching his suggestive energy to avoid triggering any toxic masculinity. You gave him a small smile, but it was met with a furrowed brow that made you start to feel a little anxious at how to get out of this particular situation. 

Right on cue, however, Crosshair stepped in, his arm sliding around your waist as he pulled you close. Your heart skipped a beat as you glanced up at him, face relaxing into content familiarity. 

"Darling, there you are," he said smoothly, flashing the intruder a charming smile. The honey-sweet words in his sibilant, smoky tone were absolutely intoxicating, and you silently cursed the flush that bloomed across your cheeks without your permission. "I've been looking all over for you." 

The guest faltered, taken aback by Crosshair's sudden appearance, and when the sniper turned to face him fully, positively exuding confidence, he excused himself with a polite nod.

"Thanks," you murmured, grateful for the diversion.

"Don't mention it," he replied, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. "We have to be convincing, don’t we…”

“Sorry you got stuck doing this with me.” You felt a wave of frustration wash over you, beginning to feel tired of the way he seemed to jerk you back and forth between softness and harshness, fondness and disdain. You wished he would just come clean one way or the other.

“A mission’s a mission.”

“Mhm,” you agreed, feeling your mood souring by the second.

“Problem?” he asked quietly, forcing the fakest smile you’d ever seen as a couple passed by and fluttered their fans in your direction. It made you want to punch him. 

“Nope. Just… On a mission.” You pulled your fur more tightly around you, scanning the room for the targets who were supposed to have the inside info. You’d had yet to locate them, despite schmoozing for the last hour or two. You didn’t notice the way his eyes followed the flow of your hair into a regal bun at the nape of your neck, nor the way they continued back up across your face, unreadable emotion flickering just beneath the surface. 

“Oh, Chris, you’re hilarious,” you proclaimed, in the snooty voice you’d adopted around others. You could tell it grated on Crosshair’s nerves, and you couldn’t help the smug sense of satisfaction you felt when his steely gaze met yours for a moment in the privacy of a quick sideways look. You knew there’d be hell to pay later for randomly giving him a name like that, but you didn’t care. Your feet were aching and you’d been done with all the fake socializing about an hour and a half ago. But the two of you had finally worked your way into the “inner circle of sleemos”, as your partner had deemed them, and now were the critical moments upon which the entire mission hinged. 

“Not nearly as delightful as you, my little poodoo,” he answered, earning a round of gasps and chuckles from the uppity crowd. 

“I say!” declared a man with a huge space-walrus mustache. “That is quite the nickname, my good boy!” He chuffed heartily, casting a side glance at his tall, spiky wife who clearly didn’t approve. Quickly changing his demeanor, he was shaking his head in somber disapproval by the time he looked back at you. 

“Oh, we’re just so… so close…” Crosshair continued, almost choking on his words as he looped an arm around your waist again and pulled you against him so abruptly that a little bit of your drink sloshed out of the glowing martini glass. You quickly turned your splutter of indignation into a playful giggle, not so subtly digging an elbow between his ribs as best you could. “I could just call her every name in the book,” he gushed, poking the tip of your nose with a single finger. 

“Oh goodness,” you laughed, downing the rest of your drink in one huge gulp. “Would you excuse us? And can I get anyone else another drink?” You turned away so quickly, grabbing your partner by the arm and dragging him along, that you didn’t see Mr. Walrus Stache lifting a finger to take you up on that drink offer. Instead, you did your best to hide the absolute rage you felt beneath the surface as you found a side door out onto a small balcony. There was a single member of the waitstaff there, a Rhodian who was taking a drag off a long cigarette, and his luminous eyes narrowed at the two of you as you appeared, flicking the ash off the end of his smoke and dropping it to the ground before stalking back to work. 

“What’s gotten into you?” Crosshair began, turning on you as soon as the last tails of the server’s apron were out of sight. You looked up at him, too frustrated to enjoy how close he was as he loomed above you furiously. “We finally get--”

“ME?!” you spluttered, grasping the shiny lapels of his suit jacket, “You think we’re gonna get anywhere with you calling me poodoo?!” In any other context, the sheer ridiculousness of the situation would have been hilarious, but the simmering undercurrent had risen to a rollicking boil, and his eyes narrowed dangerously. 

“Well if you weren’t acting like such a little shi--”

“You’re ridiculous!” you yelled, fists clenched at your sides. But before you could finish the rest of your retort, his hand was clapped over your mouth, cutting off any further attempts to lash out at him. It did not, however, help to quell the fury within. You grabbed his arm with both hands, pulling at it in futility, then froze completely as he stepped in close, wedging a thigh between your legs and flattening you against the stone wall of the castle with his entire body. “What the f--”

“Just shut up for one second,” he hissed, and the sheer intensity of his presence combined with the exhilaration of him pressed against you took every last thought and word right out of your brain. You let out a breath, heart pounding against his chest where he’d bent himself around you, eyes large as they locked on his. He slowly removed his hand, wiping it on his pants with a slight wrinkle of the nose, then tucked it into his pocket, leaving the other arm braced on the wall above you. “Listen,” he said, quietly now, with an urgency yet softness that melted you to your core. “Whatever… this… is…” He took a deep breath, then continued, “We need to get that intel. Then you can… take care of yourself…” He finished with a tiny, confident nod, stepping back in surprise when you burst into laughter.

“Take care of myself?” You slapped your hands flat on his chest, pushing him away with playful force as you felt yourself puffing up again to put him in his place. “Crosshair, you don’t have a damn clue, do you…” You ran out of steam as you registered the myriad of emotions on his face, slowly falling silent as he closed the distance between the two of you again, emanating a different kind of energy this time. 

“Care to enlighten me, then?” he asked, tilting his head at you with equal parts condescension and provocation. There was a smolder in his pale brown eyes that made your heart skip a beat, and you were so overrun with feelings of your own that you couldn’t even begin to sort out one from another. You reached for his lapels again, now using them to pull him back against you as you brought your mouth to his with a forceful, determined kiss. His tiny huff of an exhale had a million possible meanings, but you didn’t care, because one of his hands found your waist and the other cupped the back of your head, pressing his face into yours with a hunger that set your… heart… on fire. 

You lost track of everything else as your senses were flooded with every magnificent aspect of him… His scent, touched up with a ritzy fragrance he’d added for the evening… His slightly raspy breathing… The warmth and passion that radiated from his strong, focused frame. The feeling of his mouth on yours was everything you’d imagined it to be, and he pulled back for a short breath of air before turning his head the other direction and capturing your lips again, slightly more open this time as you melted against him.

It felt like a split second and an hour later when you separated, with deep, ragged breaths and a blissfully dumbfounded look on your face, staring at him in awe and unabashed delight. He kept his face stoic, though there was a slight glow to his cheeks and a spark in his eyes that made your knees weak. 

“Now can you keep your head on straight?” he poked, stepping back and straightening his suit. 

“Absolutely not.”

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[bambi-slxt]

🤍𝐒𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐘𝐨𝐮 ~ 𝐩𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨🤍

𝕔𝕙𝕣𝕚𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕡𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕤𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕠𝕝𝕠 𝕩 𝕗𝕖𝕞

word count: 3.2k

genre/tropes: established friendship, one-sided love (or is it?)

warnings: slight angst

pt one: here

notes from bambi: the POV switches throughout this part - switches will be indicated by an extra blank line. also i wasn't originally planning to add another part to this but ohhhh i'm so glad i did. thank you to @sturniololover-09 , @ivonchetooo1239 , and @aliceloveschris , who asked for part two - hope you like it!

Another night, another stressed-out Christopher. While I already felt out-of-my-depth when he came to me with his existential romance crisis, his current issue proved to be even more herculean in nature. 

“Chris. For the umpteenth time. I don’t know how to make the glow stars stick to your ceiling.”

“But I need them to! And they’re supposed to stick, it said so on the box-”

“It also said to clean the area thoroughly before application,” I said dryly, crossing my ankles and settling deeper into the blankets on his bed, “And when exactly did you wipe down your ceiling?”

Chris harrumphed. “The universe is working against me.”

“I’m sure it is, honey. Can we please start this now?” I gestured to his monitor, some dumb lawyer show on Netflix - Coats or Jackets or something. Chris told me earlier how much I’d love it, to which I had replied, “We’ll see.” The last show he tried to get me to watch with him was deplorable, and it took a long time for me to see Cole Sprouse, Lili Reinhart, and KJ Appa as anything other than the god-awful actors Riverdale painted them to be. 

“I wanna try one more time,” he said, stepping ungraciously over my legs and stretching towards the ceiling.

“Is it made of plaster?” I asked, tilting my head upwards, trying very hard to avoid looking straight up his loose basketball shorts.

“What, this?” He pointed upward. “I think. Why?”

I hummed in reply and began tapping away on my phone. Chris shrugged and went back to his Sisyphysian task. The stars would stick initially, but kept falling after a while and stabbing us in the rudest of places - an hour ago I got a crescent moon to the boob.

Soft music drifted down the stairs outside his bedroom door - Matt must be playing something in the kitchen. The four of us ate dinner earlier and as Chris made it, I was a guest, and Nick didn’t feel good, he’d been on clean-up. 

“Hey.” I pulled on the hem of Chris’s shorts. “This says if we use rubbing alcohol to clean the area first instead of just like, a damp cloth or something, that should work. It also says a hot glue gun will help it stick better.”

Chris put his hand on my head, thumbing my soft baby hairs that would never stay put - his way of saying ‘thank you’. “Do we even have a hot glue gun?”

“No idea,” I murmured as I leaned against his leg.

“Time to find out!” He scrambled over me, stepping on my arm and almost tea-bagging me. 

“You fuck,” I said, smacking him on the arm as he ran out of the room giggling. 

“Hey do we have rubbing alcohol and a hot glue gun?”

Matt startled and shook his head, leaning over the sink. “Jesus, you scared the fuck outta me,” he huffed. “Alcohol, yes, in your bathroom, glue gun, no.”

“Well shit. ‘Preciate it,” Chris said, patting him on the back and turning for the stairs.

“Hey.”

“What?”

“She okay?”

Chris’s brows knitted together. “Whaddaya mean?” “She just seems kinda stressed, ‘s all,” Matt said. “Somethin’ else on the mind.”

“She’s good as far as I know.”

“K. Come up behind me like that again, I’ll kick you in the nuts.”

“Whatever,” Chris responded, grinning his way back downstairs.

“There’s rubbing alcohol in my bathroom.”

I scrunched my face. “Since when?”

“No idea. Can you get one of my t-shirts, we’ll use that for the cleaning thingy.”

“Yeah,” I said, unwrapping myself from his blankets and stepping lazily toward his closet. Chris was already down one shirt due to the fact that I’d ripped my going out top just as we got home earlier. The “kickback” at Tara’s felt more like a rager and I considered it a miracle no one ended up naked. While digging around for something for me to wear, Chris had found the unopened bag of glow-in-the-dark stars, and the rest was history. 

I tugged on the faded tee now, bunching the front end up in my hands as I rifled around to the back of his closet. It all smelled like him, piney with a hint of spice that makes your nose feel cold and tingly. I felt goosebumps rise on my arms. “You don’t care about this one do you?” I said quickly, trying to move on.

He turned and shook his head, dark, soft curls falling around his eyes. “Toss it.” In my defense, I did my best. It’s not my fault the damn thing got flung halfway back to the door when he smacked it out of the air instead of catching it, and I told him so with a huff. “Sure, sure, blame me,” Chris said, grinning. 

“I will,” I replied, bending over to pick it up.

Chris felt his chest cave in. There she was, baby hairs falling awry, his massively oversized crewneck slipping halfway off her shoulders, body lit up by the soft light from his screensaver. His knees buckled, and he stepped out to steady himself on the plush bed. She noticed - of course she did - and tilted her head. “You good there, hotrod?” Her smile was slightly uneven, like it always had been before, and Chris wanted to kiss it very badly for the rest of his life and probably after that as well.

“I’m fantastic,” he said, blinking the thoughts away from his mind.

“Okay,” I laughed, throwing the offending shirt back at him. “I’ll go get the rubbing alcohol and then can we please watch your damn show?”

“So rowdy. Yeah, hurry up.”

I shook my head and walked out of his room, turning the small corner into his bathroom and flicking on the light. My toothbrush rested on his counter. He only hung up his towels because he knew I would try to do it my way, and he hated my way. I looked at myself in the mirror. 

A moment passed, filled of my own wonderings about what Chris saw when he looked at me. Was it me - the way I looked, my individual features, did they jump out at him? Some were impossible to miss…they sure did jump out at me. Or did his brain focus on other things? Did he even care how I looked, when my physical characteristics stacked up to the years of friendship we’d already put behind us, the late nights, early mornings, the adventures, the bad times…I pulled the rubbing alcohol out from under his sink before I forgot and opened up my phone. Swiping out of the “how to stick glow stars to plaster” search tab, I went to our messages.

iMessage chat with Orange Juice:

taras got a thing tonight u wanna go

You:

duh what’s the vibes?

Orange Juice:

i think just whatever im not putting on anything fancy

You:

you’re so boring.

Orange Juice:

shut up

im glad youre coming

You:

please use apostrophes, just once i’m actually begging.

Orange Juice:

thou can suck my confetti covered cock about it actually

You:

oh! taking a screenshot and sending it to mary lou

Orange Juice:

okay wait 

You:

no :D get fucked, mister magic penis

Orange Juice: im glad youre coming

↪ me too. missed u tons

Orange Juice:

same

you wanna talk about canes

You:

we can, are you still feeling weird about things?

Orange Juice:

no i just wanna talk like that more with you 

you’r advice was really good

You:

that’s not how you use an apostrophe christopher 

Then they all arrived to pick me up for Tara’s, Chris hugged me, and we said nothing more about it. Chris. I should get this back to him. Reaching for the light, I looked for the rubbing alcohol, felt the switch with my other hand, grabbed the bottle, and flipped the lights off without looking. So it came as a terrifying surprise when I ran smack into Chris’s chest. “FUCKSHITPISSIMGONNAKILLYOU,” I nearly shouted at him, letting my hands rest on his chuckling chest, panting with the overwhelming surge of adrenaline.

“‘Fuck’, ‘shit’, and ‘piss’?” he snickered, covering my hands with his own. “That’s insane.”

I stalked past him into his room, tossing the bottle behind my shoulder - he would catch it or he wouldn’t and then I would know karma was on my side. “I don’t wanna discuss it.”

“Okay then,” Chris said, still laughing as he poured the awful-smelling stuff onto his ancient shirt, balled it up, and began to scrub his ceiling. “What took you so long in there?”

I did not want to answer him. “You’re doing it wrong,” I huffed. I climbed up onto the bed with him, reaching up to take his makeshift rag.

Chris’s mouth slid into a sly smile, and he raised it farther above my head than I could reach. “Am I?”

I stepped closer to him, pressed against his chest like I’d been before. Showing him my best doe-eyes, I whined, “Give it, Chris, please.”

His tongue swiped over his lips, both of which now hung open. Chris looked down at me and I looked up at him. The height difference was slight, but now the mere inches felt incredibly important in the moment’s silence. “What?” I whispered, barely more than a breath.

Jesus Christ, girlie, Chris groaned inwardly. She just looked so cute, and she had always been so sweet to him, and she took him to Cane’s and listened to his mostly-incoherent stream of consciousness, and she loved his brothers and she helped him hang up glow stars and she might actually be the most perfect person he’d ever met.

“Chris?” her voice, though soft, held him in a painful vice grip. “What’s wrong?”

He loosed a breath, lowering his hand and letting his arms settle around her, gathering at the small of her back. Chris pressed his lips against her forehead, resting his against it when her wrists crossed behind his neck. 

“Nothin’s wrong,” he murmured, a humored smile making its way across his face. He heard his voice change with the mounting anxiety in his chest. “Jus’ like bein’ with ya, ‘s all.”

My stomach fluttered at his words. “I like being with you too, bubs.” An idea sparked in my brain, and before any of my self-preservation instincts could kick in, I dropped my hands from his neck and dug them under his arms, tickling mercilessly. Chris’s eyes lit up in a flash, cowing his back to get away from me while simultaneously making a beeline for my ribs to lay waste to them in a similar fashion. 

“You little fucker!” he cackled, dancing around on the bed to avoid my hands.

“AKSPBTH, GET AWAY GET AWAY GET AWAY!” I was shrieking with glee as we tumbled in a writhing heap on his pillows, gasping for breath while he continued his unhindered attack on my body. “ChrisChrisChrisChris-” I panted, making ultimately futile attempts to wriggle out from  under him, “Please, truce, truce, I’m begging-”

Laughing still, he sat back on his knees, arms still on either side of me. Chris’s hair fell so messy above me, his chain dangling just above my nose. I gave him a downturned smile. 

“Pinned ya,” he huffed triumphantly.

I lightly smacked his chest with a daring snort of derision. “Like you’d do anything about it.”

“Shut up.” Chris, still smiling that heart-wrenchingly adorable smile of his, lowered his head until our noses touched. “Hi.” He blinked his big blue eyes comically at me.

“Hey,” I replied softly, another laugh lilting quietly from my throat. I found myself enjoying this moment very much.

Chris tilted his head, hair swinging with him. “Whatcha thinkin’ ‘bout?”

I giggled. “Nothin’.”

He huffed, scrunching his nose and rubbing it against mine, his chain slipping over my chin, and I couldn’t help but laugh again. He tended to bring that out of me. My arms reached up to wrap around his back. “Come here,” I whispered, and as he lowered his chest to mine, I felt his arms slip up around my head. I nuzzled into his neck and held him. 

We lay like that for a while, the pressure on my body soothing me, his scent engulfing me. I could get used to this.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“I wanna talk about our conversation.”

“From the other night?”

“Mhm.”

“We can. Do you wanna sit up?”

“No,” he grumbled, doing it anyway. 

“Poor baby,” I teased, “Your life is so very hard.” My heart felt full. Something was changing. I could sense it somehow.

Chris blushed at my words, shaking his head and hiding his gaze. He settled back against his headboard to the right side of me while I tugged a blanket up to my shoulders. “You cold?” he asked, but I shook my head. 

“‘S just soft, that’s all. What do you wanna talk about?” I asked, tucking my arm under his.

Chris squeezed it and took a deep breath. “I said I wasn’t sure how I loved you. And we talked about how we don’t have much romantic love experience.”

“Mhm.” I waited for him to continue.

“And I just…” Chris laid his head on mine. “I…feel something…for you. But I don’t think it’s fair to even tell you that because I really don’t know if it’s anything more than that friend-type of love.” The sigh he let out was shaky. I stayed stock-still, unsure of what he was getting at and hoping to god my heart wasn’t about to be crushed. “And then I started thinkin’ about what you said about love…how it was like, a bunch of choices you make.” His right hand reached over, tentative and uncertain, touching the arm I’d tucked next to him ever so lightly. “And then you said a buncha’ stuff about my family but you didn’t say anythin’ about yourself.” He turned his head and looked down at me, his face dark in the soft light. 

Her eyes flicked up to meet his and Chris’s heart went into cardiac arrest. There was so much trust in her gaze, she might as well have opened her soul wide open for him to look at, and he wanted to drown himself in it. His lips parted in a disbelieving sigh - this girl, this woman, she’d been with him for so long, always patient, always willing to listen, she never pushed him but god did she challenge him, she made him laugh, she made him want to act better…he wanted to be a person she would be proud to know. Maybe even…maybe even someone she would want to call her boyfriend. “I care about you,” he said, his heart thumping with fear. “I don’t know if that's romantic love or not but...” he paused. God, he was so scared. “If you’ll let me…I wanna find out with you.” 

And there it was - the confession. Chris had metaphorically ripped his heart from its cage and handed it to her, and he was terrified over what she’d do with it. 

“Love…is waking up every day and choosing that person regardless of what the day is gonna throw at you.”

Her voice echoed in his head. Chris chose her. Even if she didn’t choose him back.

I exhaled slowly. My chest almost caved in from the weight of his words. “Chris…” I whispered, tears welling in my eyes. “You have…no idea…how long I’ve wanted to hear that.” I wanted to hug him, desperately, but I was afraid of breaking him. He looked so scared, scared of love, scared of messing up, scared of being less than expected or not enough…he looked so scared.

“Yeah?” he asked softly, unable to look away.

“Yeah,” I nodded, my hand moving up slowly, so slowly, to touch his cheek. Gingerly, I traced my knuckle down his stubble, and his sweet blue eyes closed at my touch. My own did their best to blink away tears, but ultimately failed.

Suddenly, the most unrelated thought occurred to me. “Chris,” I whispered, “Look at the stars.” He tilted his head up in awe at the glow stars that had stuck to the ceiling after all this time. Not a single planet loose, not a moon out of place. They covered the plaster with a hazy blue hue, casting gentle shadows down his neck. 

“Holy shit,” he said with a soft laugh. “They really did stay up there.”

It all felt like one big giant metaphor to me, but maybe that interpretation was a bit on-the-nose. I elected to keep it to myself. I smiled at him, hoping I didn’t look disastrous with those damn tear tracks down my cheeks.

“Heyyy, hey…” Chris murmured, holding my face with both hands and thumbing the product of my overwhelming emotions away, “I got you. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

“Neither am I,” I promised. I kissed his palm on impulse, eyes darting up to his. Is this okay?

Of course it is.

I continued my ministrations, taking his wrist in hand and kissing up to the tips of his fingers, curling them down to move up his knuckles until I reached the back of his hand. He let me, a curious expression on his face. With my final kiss, I made direct eye-contact with him. He breathed out and let his hand fall, his thumb catching softly on my bottom lip, the rest of his fingers fitting neatly under my chin.

“Please let me kiss you,” he whispered, his brows furrowed, his eyelids heavy, his gaze addicted to my lip, the bottom of which sprung plushly back into place when his thumb let go of it. He looked like a man starved.

I slid my fingers into the soft, loose curls at the back of his neck and tilted my head, letting his lips press so sweetly against mine. My stomach tingled, butterflies fluttering to life in my chest. Chris’s hands slipped up my back, hugging me into him, his nose pressing against my cheek as he kissed me again and again, slowly, patiently. His breath filled my mouth, and mine his. I probably exhaled a bit of my soul too. The thought made me smile and he murmured against my skin. “What is it, pretty girl?” He kissed the edges of my smile, nosing my blushed face, relishing the closeness now allowed to him. 

“I just like you,” I said shyly. 

He grinned, making a fist and yanking his elbow back to his side. “Yesssss.”

I erupted into giggles and he just watched me contentedly.

Pulling away for the briefest of moments to adjust my knees, I looked up to see Chris, looking like he’d been shot. “Come back…I wasn’t done,” he grumbled.

“You’re so whiny,” I teased, holding his cheeks in my hands. 

He smiled impishly. “I jus’ like ya.”

“You like sitting here with me?” I asked, stroking the shell of his ear, drowning in his eyes like he was in mine.

“I like sitting here with you,” Chris confirmed, his voice gentle and low. “I want ya’ to be my girl.”

“Well, I want you to be my boy,” I huffed, grinning. “What about that?”

“I think I’ll live,” he replied, tilting his head to kiss me again.

The end.

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[runningfrom2am]

cold nights // part five

summary: all the stars aligned, and it was you.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 2.7k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, r is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n: this one got me y'all i won't lie-

series masterlist // playlist

"Is everything okay? You look upset." You ask Coryo, mere moments after he joined your side of waiting tributes and mentors to tour the arena. How had you seen it so quickly? He curses himself mentally for making his distress so obvious.

For you, it was how pale he looked. All the colour had been drained from his face, and you doubted that was from him running up to you to catch up. He looked too fit to be sick just from running. The crease in his brow and bloodshot eyes certainly didn't help, either.

"Nothing." He replies quickly as the line starts to move. "How are you doing today?"

"Well." You nod, allowing the shift in topic. You wouldn't want to press him, you just didn't want whatever he is upset about to be because of you. "I have been reading. It helps."

"Oh, good. I'm glad." He hums, looking down at you for the first time.

"Thank you, again. I hope it wasn't too much of a hassle to get."

"Not at all." He shakes his head, returning your ever-present smile as best as he can within an hour of witnessing the possible death of another one of his classmates. Truth is, it was hard to get Romeo and Juliet for you. It wasn't commonplace in the Capitol, clearly, and he only knew one person, more broadly, one family who had ever so much as set foot in the Districts.

"Coriolanus! What a pleasure! Please, come in." Sejanus's mother greets him at the door, stepping out of the way and gesturing for him to enter.

"Mrs. Plinth, how are you?" He asks politely, stepping in and wiping his shoes on the doormat.

"I'm good! Yourself?"

"Good." He nods.

"Come eat, I just finished up some baking." She walks back into the home, and he follows suit. He's shocked when he's led into the kitchen, and she pats a stool at the kitchen island for him to sit. "Would you like some tea?" She offers, already cutting a slice of pie for him. It was still steaming. Still warm. His stomach growled just at the sight as he sat down. Typically one wouldn't host guests in your kitchen, but she was District. Old habits die hard, he supposed.

"Please." Coryo smiles at her gratefully.

"How is your mentorship going?" She asks, and he can tell by her refusal to make eye contact that it's purely to make conversation. She likely shared some perspectives with her son, but she was too mature to state such unpopular opinions in a way her son was not. "Sejanus told me you got paired with the girl from District Twelve. He really likes her. Said she's very smart. Very kind."

"She is. She's lovely." Coryo nods as she slides a plate in front of him, handing him a fork moments later. "I think it's going well."

"It's such a shame..." She mutters, clicking her tongue and shaking her head as she puts the tea on the kettle on the burner in between them. "Anyway," She catches herself, moving on quickly. "What can we do for you? Shall I call for my son?"

"Y/N is the reason I'm here, actually." He replies, ignoring her comment. Admittedly, when it came to you, he agreed with Mrs. Plinth and her son. It is such a shame.

"Oh?"

"Yes. I would like to get her a copy of her favourite book. I was hoping you might have it, I've never heard of it before."

"We have a library." She nods. "I can certainly take a look, what is it called?"

"It's very, very old, so no worries if you don't have it, but it's called 'Romeo and Juliet'." He tells her, eyes gleaming with hope. If they didn't have it, he wasn't sure what he would do.

"Oh! That is familiar to me." She smiles. "I haven't read it since I was your age, but I'm sure we still have it kicking around here somewhere. Do you mind keeping an eye on the tea while I take a look?"

"Of course." Coryo nods, wanting nothing less than to make his own tea as a guest in someone's home, but he has to do what he must to get you that book.

As soon as she wipes her hands on her apron and walks out of the kitchen, he hears her voice again. "Sejanus! Your friend is here!"

Internally, he rolls his eyes. He didn't want to see his classmate, but he was in his home. Maybe Sejanus would handle his tea, at least. He took this opportunity to start eating the warm pie in front of him, he hated people seeing him eat, but he was making all kinds of sacrifices today. Maybe he should ask if he could take a piece for you.

"Oh. Coryo." Sejanus says, walking into the kitchen. "What brings you?"

"Y/N." He replies. "I'd like to get a book for her. Your mother says she has it."

"Ah." Sejanus hums, slotting himself into the seat next to Coryo. So much for the tea. "What book?"

"Romeo and Juliet. It's her favourite." Coryo explains. "She's going to do a monologue from it in her interview."

"At least she'll talk to you." Sejanus sighs. "Marcus won't even look at me."

"Well, Y/N is nicer than most." Coryo says, much more eager to talk about you than Sejanus and his problems.

"She's something, huh?" Sejanus smiles, taking the bait.

"Yes. Very intelligent."

"I think it will be easy for her to get donations. Even if people don't know what she's talking about." Sejanus elaborates. "She's pleasant to look at, and the people here are so shallow that that might be the only thing that matters."

Pleasant, to Coriolanus, was an understatement. Surely, you were the most beautiful thing the Districts had to offer. That didn't mean that Sejanus or anyone should be valuing you based on that, though. Your mind was just a bonus. It would work wonders in humanizing you to the people of the Capitol. It had certainly worked on him.

"I hope it's more than that." He replies, and truth be told, it's a lie. He doesn't want anyone to look at you the way he does, but if it meant people sending money so he could save your life, so be it.

"I do too, but it's doubtful. Regardless, she'll do well. You'll have lots of donations to work with." Sejanus says, attempting to comfort his friend's worries. "My ma will convince my father to send some for her. I heard them talking about it, she wants to help you."

"Is that not a conflict of interest?"

"Maybe." Sejanus shrugs. "They can't donate to Marcus, obviously, but Ma really likes her. Asks about her every day. She's rooting for both of them. The problem is they can't both win."

Coryo would take it. One hundred percent he would take it, but it makes his heart crack even more.

"Here! Here it is!" His mother calls out as she returns to the kitchen, excitedly placing the book on the counter next to Coryo, patting the top of it.

"Thank you, Mrs. Plinth." He sighs in relief, picking up the old book in his hands.

"Please, call me Ma. We're so far past formalities." She grins, leaning against the counter across from them as the tea starts to whistle. Coryo would sooner die than call her 'Ma', but once again, he would do just about anything for you at this point. "I hope she enjoys it."

"I'll get it back to you before the games." Coryo promises.

Her smile fades to a sad one as she pours out the tea into a mug for him. "Yes, well, feel free to hold onto it as long as you need to, dear. I have more books than I could read in a lifetime."

"I did promise her I would read it." He matches her sentiment. "So I'll get into it after the games. I doubt I'll have any free time until then."

"Keep it. It's yours." She smiles.

"Thank you." He says again, flipping briefly through some of the pages. It was old, practically falling apart in his hands, but he knew you would take good care of it. And after you, he would do the same.

"I hid it with the blanket." You tell him. "I sure hope it doesn't rain..." You mumble, looking behind you to check how clear the sky currently is. So far, the book would be safe.

You're careful, hesitant even as you approach the turnstiles ahead of you. You wish that it wouldn't speak when you walk through it, but you know it will as you watch every other tribute ahead of you push through the metal gate.

"Enjoy the show!" You wince at the words, then you're on the other side. That wasn't so bad, but the statement echoes endlessly in your mind, bouncing off every other thought you've had today as you carry on into the open arena, allowing the other tributes and mentors to enter behind the two of you as a camera is shoved in your face and you smile, giving it a small wave.

"Well, hello there." You grin, looking past the camera to the man holding it. "How are you today?"

You don't get an answer as one of the mentors is yanking him away to point the camera at someone else. As you look around, instinctively, you step closer to Coryo's side as you gaze around the arena. "Gosh, It sure is... small." You mutter, swallowing the lump in your throat as reality comes crashing down on you in the dark space.

He grabs your hand.

Coriolanus has always thought the arena was huge. From his memories at the top of the stands, it did look big, but down here, on the floor, it did feel a lot smaller. Especially when he forced himself to imagine that it would be him who would be killed in this very room, not even a week from today.

There was nowhere to hide, he knew that, but now, the idea scared him. What would you do? He doesn't even have any good advice to give you.

You jump as the door slams shut behind you, turning quickly to look. Even Coryo looks scared, and you pull yourself closer to him. Had they lied to you? Were the games starting today? You didn't want to say goodbye yet. To the world, your family, to Coriolanus. You weren't ready- but would you ever be?

That's when the windows start to slide open above you, letting the light back in.

"Welcome to the arena for the Tenth Annual Hunger Games. Tributes, mentors, you have fifteen minutes to survey the space and discuss strategy." The voice over the loudspeakers is reassuring to you, but you know that's only temporary.

Coryo stays silent as he looks around. Clearly, you were ahead of him, though, already pulling on his hand in the direction of some of the other tributes. He only slightly resisted, confused as to what was happening, but he would let you have this ounce of freedom to do what you pleased.

"Hi!" You smile hopefully at Marcus as he's standing with Sejanus. "I think we're supposed to be forming alliances. I trust you, Marcus."

Your candidness almost shocks Coryo, but he quickly realizes what you're doing. You have almost no shot without somewhere to hide, so your best bet is to find allies. He didn't want you to do this, but now he sees few other options. He makes brief eye contact with Sejanus as Marcus ignores you, just walking away. Coryo starts scanning the rest of the tributes, suddenly focussed on who would be your best strategic option.

"Hey." Coryo whispers, leaning in to whisper in your ear. "If you want allies, talk to them." He points over to Reaper and Dill. He could see that Reaper was strong, and Dill was clearly a liability. You could slot right into the middle as far as skillsets go; he could defend you and she was no threat.

"Okay. Come on." You nod, dropping his hand to head toward them. Coryo looked around on the way, trying to see what other mentors were doing. What he was supposed to be doing, but most of them were just talking to each other, others only to their tribute. There was no right action, but what the two of you were doing was different. That was good.

"Dill, Reaper!" You smile as you get closer, giving a slight wave. Immediately, Reaper is looking past you and glaring at your mentor, tucking Dill behind his back and shaking his head. "Oh." You stop, looking between the two of them and the glare that Coryo is matching. "Never mind, then. I'll leave you to it."

Coryo is already trying to find another option for you, it wasn't looking good. You turn back to him, sighing before plastering a smile on your face, trying not to look too discouraged. "Okay, well..." You look around. "Oh! Lamina. She's lovely." You grab his hand again, but he stays in place as he watches the interaction she's having with Coral and the team she's already forming as they're actively casting Lamina out in favour of the boy from her District.

"Coryo?"

"Not her. Them." He explains, pointing them out to you.

"Oh, I don't know..." You're hesitant, and he understands why, but that's not an option. Without Reaper, numbers would be your biggest safety.

"Safety in numbers." He mumbles, overriding your reluctance and starting to walk their way, pulling you with him.

"Oh, okay. Yeah." You agree, subconsciously cowering behind him. "Actually, Coryo, I'm really not comf-" You speak up, trying to stop his crusade before you're jumping from the sound of an explosion above you.

You both freeze, looking up as the ceiling begins to collapse down on you, more blasts making your ears ring.

Quickly, Coryo is changing directions, running in the opposite direction and pushing you ahead of him as you follow your feet, sprinting toward the light at the door over the shaking ground. You don't last long, stumbling over some already fallen debris and falling. "We gotta go, we gotta go- Y/N, get up!" Coryo is ahead of you now, and you can hardly hear his yelling even though he's right in your face, pulling you back to your feet.

Just as you regain your footing side-by-side, Coryo is the next to fall. As he takes you down with him with the grip on your wrist, you quickly realize it's because a beam fell on his back as the two of you stumbled forward. The flames spreading to the back of his red uniform were the first thing to clue you in.

In your panic and heavy breathing, you can still see his lips moving. You're already trying to pull the bars off of him when he first even gets the chance to scream for help. You groan, inaudible even to you over the commotion as you put all your weight into pulling it back, hoping he's not already severely burned, but you're sure he is as the flames burn the metal rod in your hand.

Your grip slips and you fall back into another piece of the fallen ceiling that surrounded you, apparently sharp as a protruding piece of metal pierces your upper arm. You yelp, looking down as the blood begins to pour from the wound, but you ignore it to keep trying to free your mentor. Then, you're being pulled back by your dress. "The gate is open! The gate is open, come on!" It's Marcus, and by the time you even turn to look at him he's running toward the open door, motioning for you to follow. He gives up quickly as two of the other tributes follow. You don't even hear the gunshots that knock them down. He's trying to escape. You could escape.

You hesitate, looking back down at the boy in front of you who you can see is choking to try and breathe. Someone else slides in at your side as you continue to pull, but they're pushing you back. "Y/N! Run!" Sejanus shouts in your face, quickly removing his hands from you to grab the beam where you were just holding it. "I've got him- Go!"

"My honest, best advice?" Your conversation from the other day immediately comes to mind. "Figure out a way to escape."

You frantically look between the door and the boys in front of you, trying to decide. You have to decide right now. Right now, right now, right-

It's an easy decision. You grab the hot bars again and start pulling with every bit of strength you can muster.

taglist: @soulessjourney, @keziahcore, @that-veela-girl, @motorsport, @dreamyysouls, @rockstarbfs, @Lanadelrey3, @rawrmameh, @3zae-zae3, @babyspice6, @pastel0rchid, @maysileeewrites, @articxari, @Urfavpouge, @Multivitaminfy, @baybieruth, @kitscutie, @annaelise, @serrendiipty, @fratboyharrysgf0201, @totallynotkaibiased, @stelleduarte, @klplynn, @secretsicanthideanymore, @bejeweledreverie, @fals3-g0d, @drewsandsebastianswife, @niicole-87, @queenofshinigamis, @innercreationflower, @nallasstuff, @spring-goddess1, @baybieruth, @lovelyxtom, @throughgoeshxmilton, @enwonie, @scorpiolystoned, @iovemoonyy, @kodzuvk, @soupasoup, @eedwardss, @thatmarvelchick19, @wearemadeofstardust0, @regulusblackcore, @kbakery , @qardasngan, @omgsuperstarg, @kuroosbby001, @puredreamagination, @fantasticchaosthing, @coolcatyarb, @yokolesbianism,

if your user has a strikethrough i wasn't able to tag you! i'm so sorry!

[bro-atz]

star-crossed lovers [trope — jongho]

inspired by: k.will - please don't — music video + kabhi alvida naa kehna — bollywood movie

word count: 3.4k

content: angst, smut, infidelity, neglect(?), unfaithful marriage, bedroom sex, jongho is the other guy, unplanned pregnancy, completely consensual (sex)!

author's note: ...i can already feel the pt. 2 requests coming in. also, just remember that condoms don't always work in preventing pregnancies, but keep practicing safe sex!

trope masterlist | part one | part two

You were having second thoughts. You loved the man you were to wed, but you still weren’t sure if it was the right move for you. Logically, it made sense to marry him. He loved you, you loved him, your families got along… There were other things on the list, but your brain kept stopping there.

Okay, when he got down on one knee and proposed to you, that’s when things changed. You thought your proposal would be more heart fluttering— and he did his best to make it as romantic as possible, but your heart was not in it. You agreed to marry him because it was the best thing to say in that situation, and other than you being not mentally prepared to marry him, there was no other reason to say no.

So, you married him. You pushed through those second thoughts of yours and just did it. You were happy. Yes, you were happy with the man by your side because you knew that he would always make sure you were happy.

The second thoughts returned as the two of you sat side by side on a couch in front of the photographer. You were taking pictures with your wedding guests, and you had the same smile plastered to your face in every picture because you were spacing out to the point where you were having an out of body experience.

“Y/N?”

You were still in your head when the person called your name, and it took a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder for you to return to reality. You looked to the source of the squeeze and saw a man you had never met before, yet you felt like you knew him from somewhere. He shot you a small smile and asked softly, “Are you okay?”

“Y-Yeah!” you responded, the fake smile plastered to your face once more. “I’m sorry… Who are you? Have we met before?”

“Oh, I’m Jongho,” the man responded. “I work with your husband. And, no, we’ve never met before.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Jongho. I hope you continue to work well with my husband in the future.”

“I know I’ll work well, the question is will your husband?” he chuckled.

“I want to say I have full faith that he will, but considering how often he dashed out of work to meet me for dates, I doubt it,” you couldn’t help but laugh as well.

“Honestly, who wouldn’t want to rush out of work? Especially when it’s to be with someone beautiful?”

Your heart fluttered. You were sure he was saying that in the way that people called the bride beautiful, but hearing that word out of his mouth had much more of an effect on you. You wanted to thank him, but the words were stuck in your throat. So, you bowed your head and hoped that he wouldn’t see the blush rise to your cheeks.

With another shoulder squeeze, Jongho stood right behind you and alongside a couple other people your husband worked with, and for that specific photograph, you had a genuine smile on your face.

That should’ve been the end of that. You never thought you’d meet him again, but fate has a funny way of working.

Your life was great. One year into your marriage, and everything was great. You had an amazing husband, an amazing house, an amazing career— everything was great; even the sex was great (even if he demolished your body every time you fucked). Yet, something was off. You couldn’t figure out what it was, but there was a little nagging feeling in the back of your head that never seemed to leave.

“Don’t forget, we’re hosting the dinner tonight,” your husband reminded you.

“How could I forget?” you mumbled, your anxiety already beginning to sky rocket. “This is the first party…”

“And it’ll go great,” he immediately reassured you. “I’ll come home early to help out, okay?”

“Alright.”

With a kiss on your cheek, your husband took off for work, and moments later, you did as well.

You could barely focus at work. You were nervous as hell for this dinner. Apparently during a work party one day, your husband and some of his work friends decided it would be nice to get together on a Friday night, and it was decided that you and your husband would host the very first one of these get-togethers.

By the time you got home, you were exhausted. Your husband said he would come home early to help, but he texted you saying that he was going to be late, that “Wooyoung fucked something up again” which meant he was stuck at the office until he fixed it.

You started preparing for the dinner when the doorbell rang, and when you answered the door you saw Jongho holding flowers and a bottle of champagne.

“Oh! Hi, Jongho,” you greeted, immediately recollecting his name from the time you met him at your wedding.

“Hi, Y/N. May I come in?”

“Of course!”

“San told me he was going to bring Wooyoung, Wooyoung’s fiancée, and Mingi after they fixed up the thing Wooyoung messed up,” Jongho explained.

“Was it really that bad?” you asked.

“Let’s just say if this doesn’t get fixed tonight, Wooyoung’s pretty much done.”

“Yikes… Okay, well, you’re still pretty early, so have a seat and get comfy—”

“No, Y/N, I came to help you. San said that he was going to help you, but he’s stuck at the office, I offered to come help.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Perhaps it was the way Jongho phrased it, but the way he was talking was as if he wanted to help rather than San asking him to help.

“Well, I don’t see why not,” you said with a smile and a shrug. “Wanna help me prep the vegetables?”

Just like that, time flew by. You didn’t realize that you and Jongho were in the kitchen for three hours— you were waiting for your husband and his coworkers for three hours— because you were so busy talking the whole time. He kept telling you stories about his past, and you were sucked into them because he was just so good at storytelling.

During dinner as well, you found yourself wanting to talk to Jongho more than your own husband. There was just something about him, something about his laugh, his smile, his energy— he was so different from your husband to the point where you almost found it refreshing, as if after one year of marriage somehow made your relationship go stale.

“You seemed to enjoy the dinner a lot tonight,” San commented as you got ready for bed.

“R-really? I hadn’t noticed,” you said, your nerves starting to prick at you for absolutely no reason.

“And you were so nervous about it too,” he laughed. “See, I told you it’ll go great, and it did. Thank God Jongho was there to help you otherwise I know you would’ve set the kitchen on fire.”

“Yes… Thank God,” you murmured. “We should thank him.”

You got into bed and got comfortable under the covers, and immediately, San’s arms reached out for you, and he brought you into a hug. He buried his nose in your hair and sighed deeply, happily. You thought you were going to be able to sleep that night peacefully, but San has other plans. You felt his waist roll into yours, a little grunt escaping the depths of his throat.

He wanted to have sex. You? Not so much, but when it came to sex, San was an unstoppable force. It wasn’t like he was forcing you, but rather you were trying to reciprocate and serve your purpose in this marriage.

This time, however, you were able to because all you could think about while your husband made love to you was Jongho.

You were grateful for these parties that your husband and his work friends came up with. They were a great way to unwind after a stressful week at work, and you got to see Jongho.

Every time you saw Jongho, your heart skipped a beat, fluttered, raced— it reacted to him and only him. Even when you were in bed with your husband, you couldn’t get into the mood with him unless you were thinking about Jongho and what it would be like if he made love to you.

It got to a point where you even considered divorcing San just to be with Jongho, but you instantly felt horrible even thinking along those lines. If you left San for his coworker, that would ruin everything. So, you had to settle for fleeting moments and stolen glances while hoping that the feelings would fade sooner or later.

San started working late every single day at some point. He hated that he was leaving you alone for so long and would complain to his coworkers about it, and Jongho used those days where San would be buried in work to visit you and keep you company so that you weren’t all alone in your big house.

The more time you spent with Jongho, the stronger your feelings got, and you knew that you were definitely falling in love with him. You had feelings for him that you never felt for your husband, which finally made you understand what you were missing in your life— and as cheesy as it sounds, it was true love.

One night, you and Jongho were having dinner together when you got a call from San. You excused yourself and went to your bedroom to take the call, not wanting Jongho to hear the conversation between you and your husband.

“Hi, Sannie,” you forced his nickname out of you as you sat down on your bed.

“Hi, my love,” San sounded exhausted on the phone. “I have no idea when this will get resolved… I think I’m going to crash at Wooyoung’s tonight.”

“Alright, don’t work yourself too hard,” you told him.

“Thank you. I love you.”

You choked on the words. Your eyes flitted to Jongho, who was standing under the door frame, an unreadable look on his face as crossed his arms over his chest he leaned against the door. You bit your lower lip before uttering out the words you had to say but didn’t mean.

“I love you, too.”

San hung up first, your hand slowly lowering to your lap as you heard the beeping of the call ending. You sighed softly and raised your eyes to make eye contact with Jongho once more.

“Y/N,” he uttered. “It hurts me to see you lie like this…”

“I have no choice.” You lowered your gaze and looked at the wedding band on your finger. “He’s my husband.”

Jongho approached you and sat on the bed next to you, his hand reaching for yours. You should’ve stopped it, but your body craved his touch even in the most minimal way.

“You need to stop lying to yourself,” Jongho whispered. “You need to say those words and actually mean it, not just to keep up an act.”

“It’s not so simple, Jongho—”

“You need to relearn the meaning of those words. You need to know what it’s like when someone you actually love says those words to you.”

“Please don’t—”

“I love you.”

You didn’t want him to say it because you knew the second he did, your heart would be his, and the second he did, your heart yearned for him. Your heart begged to tell him the words back, but your mind wouldn’t let you.

“Jongho…” your voice wavered.

“I seriously am in love with you, and I can’t deny my feelings for you any longer. I don’t think you can either.”

He held your hand and laced his fingers with yours as he leaned towards you and tucked your hair behind your ear, his fingers tracing a line along your jaw and tilting your chin up.

“Let’s stop lying to ourselves…”

“I can’t…”

“Y/N…”

“Jongho…”

The look in Jongho’s eye and the way he was holding you was enough. You overruled the logic in your brain and leaned into him, his lips meeting yours feverishly. His hand moved to caress your cheek while the other one moved up your back slowly, his fingers gliding over the satin fabric of your dress shirt.

You sighed softly as his lips left yours and traveled down your neck, his fingers nimbly unbuttoning the buttons of your blouse, revealing your skin little by little. He slipped the shirt off you completely then swiftly removed your bra, his lips trailing kisses down until he reached your tit. He latched on and sucked hard, your arms quickly wrapping around him as you moaned lightly.

“J-jongho,” you whispered, your hand cupping his cheek.

He looked up at you with the softest eyes that nearly made you cry. Seeing the tears beginning to prick at your eyes, Jongho immediately pressed his lips against yours. He cupped your face and kissed you softly over and over again as he pushed you back slowly until your back was pressing against the mattress and your head was on top of the pillows.

Jongho straddled you and sat back onto his heels before slowly removing his shirt, his toned muscles glistening under the moonlight as he moved forward. He placed his thumb lightly on your lips and tugged your lower lip down as his other hand got you out of your bottoms and panties. His thumb continued to play your lips while his other hand stroked your folds, your back arching as electricity ran through your body just with his simple touch. You held onto his shoulders as you whimpered softly, your toes starting to curl into the sheets the longer he teased you.

“Jongho, I need you inside me,” you whispered as you looked at him through hazy eyes.

He responded by kissing your temple and giving you a tiny nod. “Protection?” he asked.

Leaning over, you pulled open the nightstand drawer and grabbed a condom. Jongho ran his fingers along your arm sensually to take it from you. Without a moment to lose, he rid himself of his pants and underwear before he tore the packet open and rolled the condom on, his cock twitching as it anticipated entering you. He lowered himself so that he was pinning you down, his hand positioning his cock at your entrance.

Jongho cock was thick— so thick, in fact, that you thought he was going to tear your pussy. You pushed your head into the cushions and moaned loudly, your hands grabbing onto his arms for support. You heard him groan as he shoved his thick cock all the way inside you, your walls clenching as you tried to adjust to his girth. He dropped his head into the nook of your neck and let out another groan, his cock staying in place.

In the time you had known and spent time with him, you never noticed the little freckle on his neck. Now, seeing his neck up close, you got a beautiful view of it, and you were entranced. You traced your nail lightly along his neck, making the man look at you with the most gentle eyes you had ever seen.

“Beautiful,” you murmured.

Jongho blushed slightly upon the compliment, his cock bulging in you as it also responded to the compliment. When he moved his hips away, the pleasure only increased, making you want him more desperately. You reached for his neck and brought his face to yours, your lips briefly brushing against his before you pressed your forehead to his, light gasps leaving the two of you as Jongho started to properly move.

You honestly had no idea the amount of power Jongho had until he started to fuck you for real. He went from tenderly rolling his body into yours to fully ramming his cock deep inside you, the force of his waist against your ass pushing you backwards. Before your head to could hit the headboard, Jongho placed his hand on the top of your head and left it there as he continued to thrust powerfully.

When he dropped from his hand to his elbow, his cock changed angles, and he was rubbing along your G-spot over and over again to the point where you felt euphoria coming at you like a truck. You wrapped your legs around his waist and bit your lower lip to keep your moans to a minimum, but you failed when your vision went white and your cunt convulsed.

“Fuck,” Jongho grunted as he felt your walls squeeze him so hard he felt like his dick was about to break off. “I’m cumming.”

Running your fingers through his hair, your brought his face to yours once more and kissed him sweetly before he released his load in you, his cock throbbing and getting bigger some how as his cum spurt into the condom.

Jongho remained inside you as he dropped his head into the nook of your neck, his nose rubbing gently against your skin and his hot breath tickling your collarbone. He hugged you tightly, your arms wrapping around him in response, the two of you laying side by side as your pants returning to normal breaths. He then pushed your hair away from your face and left a fleeting kiss on your lips.

“Oh God, Y/N… I love you. I love you so much…”

You shouldn’t have said it, but he was right— you had to stop lying to yourself.

“…I love you, too, Jongho.”

The two lines on the test sent a chill down your spine. You were pregnant, and it just had to be San’s child because you and Jongho used protection. There was no way it was his kid. Hands trembling, you dialed Jongho’s number to give him the news first. 

“Jongho… We made a huge mistake,” you started crying the second he picked up.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?”

“I’m pregnant… San and I are expecting…”

Jongho immediately knew what that meant. He stayed quiet on the line as you quietly sobbed. He sighed and said sadly, “Well, it’s a good thing I took this promotion, then.”

“What do you mean?”

“I got promoted. I’m transferring to another branch. I… I’ll be in another country.”

You covered your mouth with your hand and choked back more tears. There were too many emotions swirling around in your head, and you couldn’t bare the thought of vocalizing any of them.

“Congratulations,” Jongho whispered. “I wish you and San all the happiness in the world.”

“Jongho, wait—”

But it was too late. Jongho hung up. He made his decision, and subsequently decided your own future as well. It was done, and the only thing you could do now was focus on your marriage.

You broke the news to San a couple days later. You went to the clinic just to really make sure you were pregnant before deciding to tell San, and seeing the results on paper just made the whole situation much more real.

“San,” you said quietly as you sat across from him at the dining room table, the papers from the clinic tight in your grasp. “I have news.”

“Yes?”

You unfolded the papers and timidly slid them across the table. You and San had talked about kids in the past, but you had no idea how he was going to react about you being pregnant at this stage in your lives.

Out of all the reactions he could’ve had, though, the one he actually had was not one you were expecting at all. You watched as all of the light from his eyes faded and his face grew grim and dark. He looked up at you, glaring at you as his lips pulled into a tight frown.

“Is this real?” he asked, his voice lower than you’ve ever heard it before.

“Yes.”

“Who’d you fuck? Jongho?”

Your eyes shot wide open. Your jaw dropped, and you tried to pull yourself together before stammering, “W-what do you mean, San? I haven’t—”

“Yes, you did. So tell me. Who the fuck did you sleep with?”

“Do you really thing I would—”

“I know you cheated, Y/N,” San cut you off, his anger growing.

“And how are you so sure?”

“I only fire blanks.”

trope masterlist

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[inspectorspacetimerevisited]

It would be an absolute coup if the programme

could entice Sir David Attenborough to appear.

[inkedobsidian]

~ Fate ~

summary: Lee Yeon takes punishment for killing a human to save Y/N but she puts her life on the line to save him. pairing: Lee Yeon x Reader warnings: blood, pain, knives word count: 2,716 a/n: So this is basically the ‘it was her all along’ trope exactly like the show but a different version so it literally doesn’t follow the show at all, I made it up - hope you enjoy! Requests are open! Prompt list is there if you guys want extra ideas Master-List - Prompts

Even though Lee Yeon had been waiting for centuries to find her again, the moment he did he almost thought she was a mirage. He had been coming to this ice cream shop for years and not once had he seen her before. So when the bell on the door rang catching his attention it was almost like time stood still, or flashed back even.

Somehow she had the same face? It felt like it was too good to be true. So much so that Lee Yeon had to convince himself that she wasn’t real, that it was just a coincidence. It was just his luck that you managed to be the new start at that exact ice cream shop. It felt like a cruel trick from the world, toying with his heart.

He just couldn’t help himself. After a while, Y/N began to notice lights, like fireflies always around her. She always smiled when she saw them like the stars were keeping her safe. Although it wasn’t the stars. Shin-Joo kept trying to warn him not to get too involved, it might not even be her, but of course, he didn’t listen.

Lee Yeon knew that the minute he took another human's life to save hers he’d have a heavy punishment but he knew he’d endure any pain in the world to keep her safe. The whole situation felt like a dream to Y/N. She led such an ordinary life, but if she knew the world that surrounded her she’d have a very different idea.

She never expected her life to completely transform in what felt like the blink of an eye. Normally she was so safe walking home, she had taken this route countless times before. Maybe that was her problem. The minute she felt a pull on her arm she let out a scream. The force of something hitting her in the abdomen was enough to knock her to the ground. As she began to cough the figure stood up straight in front of her. With only light streetlights behind them all Y/N could see was a silhouette. That’s when she sees them, the fireflies.

From the darkness came a blinding light, like something on fire. It illuminated the silhouette red and she thought she imagined it at first, but she could swear she could see glowing eyes in the distance. She watched the figure spin on the spot towards the light, but just as quick as he spun he dropped to his knees. Lee Yeon knew he wasn’t supposed to interfere, that he wasn’t supposed to take a human life, but he broke the rules for her once before and he’d do it a million times over.

Y/N hadn’t noticed that the blunt force she felt was actually a knife so she had no time to react before passing out in the alleyway. Luckily Lee Yeon rushed past to pick her up he dashed to his car trying his hardest to get her to Shin-Joo. Lee Yeon was too focused on driving to even notice that Y/N was dipping in and out of consciousness. Although for some reason, regardless of what just happened to her, she felt safe. She could see the fireflies.

When Y/N finally woke up she was in a stranger's bed, she didn’t enjoy the sudden empty feeling in her stomach. She was fully dressed, still wearing the clothes she had that night except now there was a bandage wrapped around her abdomen. As she made her way around the strange apartment she noticed a smell from the kitchen. She made her way there slowly trying to make as little sound as possible.

Shin-Joo was doing his best to prepare breakfast for the guest as quietly as he could. So much so that when Y/N made a sound entering the room he jumped in surprise letting out a little squeal. Y/N immediately flung her hands up in surprise not really knowing how to react.

“Erm, where am I?” On the list of questions she could ask it felt like the most obvious one. She clearly wasn’t chained up but that didn’t mean something sinister wasn’t happening. Shin-Joo put down the veg he was cleaning and wiped his hands on his apron.

“I’m Shin-Joo, you got attacked yesterday. Do you remember?” He said while motioning towards the chairs at the kitchen island, it was probably best she sat down after a situation like that. As her body sunk into the chair she then felt the pang of pain from her side and suddenly the pieces fell into place.

“The alley… the fire… they were there again.” Shin-Joo nodded as she spoke until the last part, he cocked his head to the side in confusion waiting for her to elaborate but she never did. It was like she was stuck in the memory again.

“What was there again?” Shin-Joo pressed on for information. He couldn’t deny he was interested in figuring out who she was and how she had the same face.

“The fireflies,” She smiled as she spoke as if these tiny creatures were her sworn protector, “Where’s the man gone?” Her sudden mention of Lee Yeon made Shin-Joo jump. Lee Yeon said she was unconscious when he brought her to the vet. She began to look around but she wasn’t going to find him, he’d already gone to accept his punishment.

“He had to take care of some business, you probably won’t see him” Shin-Joo did his best to skate around the truth. Even though she seen the fox right in front of her she would probably never believe in his existence. She immediately started slowly shaking her head from side to side.

“No, you know him so you also know where he is, you have to take me to him” She protested. At first, she didn’t know why she was reacting this way, there was some fire inside of her and she knew that she had to find him again. Shin-Joo was interested in this reaction, he could almost feel her determination. Like something reaching out from the past that was so close, within an arms reach.

He tried to protest but if he had thought Lee Yeon was stubborn he had met a new champion. Y/N would not budge for any excuse or reason in the book and Shin-Joo was almost too excited at the situation to fight back properly. Eventually, he caved and drove her there, it wasn’t like she was going to be able to get in let alone speak to him so if it would satisfy her need then he was willing to entertain her plea to see Lee Yeon.

What Shin-Joo wasn’t expecting was the Y/N just opened the door and walked straight in. She shouldn’t be able to do that. She really shouldn’t be able to do that. With more determination than she’d ever felt Y/N walked through the massive building, almost overwhelmed by emotion or maybe it was just fear. She rounded the corner and came face to face with an old woman who spoke calmly but sternly.

“You should not be here, leave.” There was no emotion on her face. Y/N got the chills just looking at her in the eyes, there were too many stories behind those eyes.

“Please I’m here to see someone, I was told he’d be here.” Y/N didn’t know what to do at this point. She had no idea what she’d walked into and she was completely out of her depth. Despite everything against her she held strong and endured the piercing gaze. The old lady cocked her eyebrow as if she had an idea, let's see how far she would go for a man she’d never met.

“Fine…follow me.” The old woman turned on her heel towards the back of the main room. She snaped her fingers and a part of the wall flung open like doors revealing a grey hellish landscape. She motioned for Y/N to go in. Y/N at this point just assumed she was still asleep. This was an elaborate dream she was having while unconscious. At this thought she let out a laugh, what’s the point of being so serious if it’s just a dream?

“This is a dream right, ahh that’s a re-” Before Y/N could finish her sentence the old lady hit her across the arm with a nearby ruler stinging Y/N instantly. She recoiled in pain and shock. Okay, not a dream then. Everything suddenly got very real, “Okay, not a dream. Got it.”

Y/N had no idea what she was doing and frankly, she was too far to turn back now. She walked through the door and was suddenly in a completely new environment. She was on a dusty and grey cliffside. As if all the color had been drained from the world, it felt like hell. All she could see was the doorframe behind her leading to her normal world and on the other side a long rope bridge. She couldn’t see past more than 10 steps of the bridge it was shrouded in a thick fog. Who knows how long it is? Suddenly she was joined by the old lady who spoke calmly again, like she’d done this a thousand times.

“You have entered into a world you know very little about. He broke an oath when he took a human life to save you and he is now paying that debt on the other side of the bridge. He will remain here until the end of his punishment,” She paused and walked closer to the bridge the wind picking up and making it sway side by side, “However if you are willing to cross this bridge to the other side I will let him go.”

It seemed too easy, Y/N knew that. She walked closer to the bridge trying to guess what the trick was however the closer she got the further she wanted to run away. What was she really doing here, for a man she hadn’t spoken to? Yet he saved her life knowing he would be punished. Maybe she owed it to him. Maybe all of this was still a dream, that was the one she was holding onto.

“It’s too simple.” Was all she could muster. The old lady nodded slowly agreeing with her, she still held the same blank expression and the lack of emotion was really starting to freak her out.

“It is the bridge to Knife Mountain,” The old woman paused almost as if she were waiting to be questioned. However, Y/N loved mythology growing up so she followed along, “You may cross it and free him, but be warned once you start you cannot turn back. This could very well kill you. Is it worth it?”

Y/N took a long time looking in between the door and the bridge, she was talking towards certain death there was no way of beating around the bush about that. Crossing a bridge she can’t see the end of knowing knives are going to be flying towards her. She could feel something in her heart like her soul was glowing like this moment right here is where her entire life changed. So she turned her back to the world she knew and took her first step across the bridge.

Y/N was not going to waste time to find out just how bad this was going to be. Holding both sides of the bridge and trying to keep her head as low as she could she started to walk plank to plank across the rickety bridge. She really hoped this was just a test of bravery and there weren’t any actual knives, she prayed the legends were wrong. It didn’t take long for the first knife to whip past her arm making a slit in her arm, recoiling from the pain she then got hit by a knife flying to her right. Luckily she stood her ground quickly and tried to focus on her steps more than the pain. Luckily they had only grazed past her, almost like the bridge was toying with her.

The next one went a good few layers deep in her thigh and suddenly it was all starting to pick up. Y/N could feel the wind rushing past her and in retaliation, she tried to pick up the pace. Maybe if she could get through it fast enough she could make it out alive. The wind got heavier and suddenly she felt more objects fly past her body. Then she felt it, cut by cut as they just caught minor parts of her skin. It wouldn’t be so bad if it was 1 or 2 but the more she ran the higher the number got. She could feel her skin starting to swell and bleed and suddenly each step felt heavier and heavier. She was losing too much blood to keep running.

Then that fire returned the same fire that made her take the first step. The feeling like her soul was glowing, only it was. She looked down to see what looked like a light coming from inside of her. It roared orange like it was coming alive and suddenly she couldn’t feel the pain anymore. Her body did not feel light but it was almost like it was trying to keep her alive. Then she caught a glimpse of it, a mountainside far off in the distance. That was all she needed a sign she was almost there. As the fire inside her grew the light got brighter. All she could feel was her feet taking her away as if something else was in control of her body.

Lee Yeon who had been shrouded in mist and fog didn’t really know how to react when he saw a flicker of light in the distance. At first, he thought he was imagining it but the larger and closer it got the harder it was to ignore. His eyes couldn't make anything out as the light hadn’t pierced through the fog yet and even as it began to it was too bright to find its source. The chains made it hard for him to look up barely being able to strain his neck but he also couldn’t manage to pull his eyes off the light.

As his vision started to focus and the light started to concentrate he saw Y/N bathed in bright red fire, he could see the flames forming 9 tails behind her with one prominent light emanating from her chest. She had it, the fox orb. The closer she got to Lee Yeon the more she felt like it was dragging her more than leading her, dragging her towards him. With the powers of the fox orb, it didn’t take long for Y/N to end up in front of Lee Yeon.

It was almost like the orb knew she was safe because suddenly the fire faded and she dropped to her knees in front of him. As she strained her neck to look up Lee Yeon could already see the different cuts along her face and neck. Suddenly they were face to face and Lee Yeon watched her eyes fade from the fox glow back to her natural colour.

“I think this means the old lady is gonna let us go now.” She laughed out, although it was strained and breathy due to the pain coursing through her body. Just as she spoke, with almost magic timing, the chains holding Lee Yeon in place disappeared and his arms dropped to his sides, the blood from his body finally flowing again. He heard the door behind him fling open and he could feel the old woman's presence behind him but he really didn’t care. The first thing he did when he was free and could feel again was hold her face.

He looked at her so intently and she didn’t even flinch. She matched his stare and his expression softened instantly and without knowing tears began to well in his eyes. It was real, he had waited all this time after everything he sacrificed. There was so much he had to say, had to do but all that could wait. He just smiled and ran a thumb along her cheek.

“I finally found you.”

[corneliushickey]

@ilynpilled

ppl being more interested in Fandom than the actual source text is so real like they do have their own nonexistent text thats just a recycled concoction of the same bland fandom incorrect quotes tropes over and over again which deviates so much from the canon and they prefer to the actual thing lol

my favorite example of sourcecreep is the fact that if you go on reddit, pinterest, or facebook, or google image search 7 years ago, or flickr and photobucket if you're properly fandom old, you will find image edits of disney's jack sparrow with the quote overlay "the problem is not the problem. the problem is your attitude about the problem."

if you've seen enough of these edits (there are many thousands of them), you might even read those two sentences in his trademark cadence.

the problem here, though, is not anyone's attitude about the problem. it's that this quote has never appeared in any of the five films in which jack sparrow appears. nor in any of the video games he stars or guest-stars on. nor in any of the tie-in young jack sparrow novels or the film novelizations. it is not from a deleted scene or an early draft of any script. it's not from any of the disney park parades or firework shows in which jack is included as a face character with recorded speaking lines. it's not from the original ride or the re-dress of the ride post-dead man's chest.

this is a quote from the YA series the sisterhood of the traveling pants. one of the characters' coaches says it to them in one of the books because they are children in high school. there is no reason for it to be attributed to this character or this franchise besides one patient zero at some point or another 20 years ago making an image with a text overlay on picnik photo editor and uploading it to their livejournal or whatever.

anyway this is how asoiaf fans on twitter absorb information about their favs from the series and then post about it. i believe there are many such cases across fandom at large.

[inkofthebrain]

Imperial

[Paul Atreides x Reader] 1179 words

Paul Atreides, Duke of Arakkis, takes the hand of the Emperor’s eldest daughter for the throne, yet neither are pleased. They know they must learn to be civil, but what will it cost them…

Tags: post-Dune 2, strays from book canon, no use of y/n, dune typical everything, Corinno!Reader, slow burn, enemies to lovers kind of? ARRAIGNED MARRIAGE TROPE EXCEPT BOTH PARTIES ARE PISSY ABOUT IT, not proofread LOL.

Warnings: Dune typical themes, motifs, and actions

A/n: ITS HERE! Sadly, there will be longer times between updates. But to mitigate that I have decided that shorter chapters and for frequent chapters will do better for my writing stamina

Previous chapter Next chapter (coming soon…)

Dune Masterlist

Eight———

The great hall is exceptionally expansive, its high ceilings supported by massive wooden beams. The room is filled with guests, all dressed in their finest attire, the women in flowing gowns and the men in tailored suits. The windows are bedecked with heavy velvet drapes, though right now they're left open to let in the soft golden light of the afternoon sun.

At the far end of the hall, you see the altar where the officiant stands, poised and expectant. Before him stands Paul, his figure tall and commanding, a vision in his ceremonial attire.

The atmosphere in the room is electric, charged with excitement and anticipation, yet you can’t help but feel anything other than fear. The guests are silent, their eyes fixed on you as you make way down the aisle. The music swells softly, its notes a perfect accompaniment to the scene unfolding before you.

Countless factions and political powerhouses are in attendance, all sat in organized sections waiting to bear witness. The Bene Gesserit stand in the shadows, Irulan eyes sticking out behind her veil. You give her a curt nod. Each step is carefully calculated and filled with poise. You carry a small smile on your face as you elegantly approach the altar. A facade of power.

As you make your way to stand in front of Paul, your heart is pounding in your chest. The officiant speaks, commanding the attention of the room. "we are gathered here today to witness the joining of two illustrious houses," he begins, his voice resonant and clear. "House Corino is an ancient line renowned for their wisdom and strength, their rule over the great empire marked by benevolence and prosperity. and joining them is the house of atreides, heirs to a long-standing legacy of honor and courage, their reputation built upon fearless leadership and unwavering loyalty."

as the officiant continues his speech, his voice takes on a more somber tone. "however, even in the grand tapestry of empires, a darker shadow looms. the emperor's rule has been marked by greed and corruption, injustice and tyranny. the empire has become a prisoner of its own vices, its people suffering under the weight of its excesses."

"but now," he declares, his voice rising with newfound hope. "with the union of these two great houses, a beacon of change has appeared." he turns to you and Paul, his eyes gleaming with optimism. "the atreides-corino union represents a hope for a new era, a time of prosperity and justice that will transform the empire for generations to come!"

As his voice rings through the room as you and Paul stand side by side observing the short applause. Dignitaries from all areas of the spacing guild and known universe have come to witness the eminent shift of power. The lesser houses hoped for more riches and power while the great houses feared for their standing within the new empire.

Breathe. That’s what you remind yourself. Just breathe. You have the weight of an empire on your shoulders yet you hold your head high. You refuse to falter, there is no room for weakness within this court; this you know very well.

the officiant looks towards you and Paul once more, a soft smile playing on his lips. "and so, as the stars witness this union, may the wisdom and strength of the golden lion, the honor and courage of the atreides, and the hope for a brighter future coalesce in this moment, and forever change the course of the empire's history. let the union be sealed, and the new epoch begin!"

He guides the two of you to a lavish table where union documents are played out. Paul approaches first as the room is filled with an eerie silence. He takes a deep breath before glancing down at his fathers ducal signet, pouring out a small puddle of wax and pressing his fist into it, leaving an impression of the Atredies crest. He steps back and motions for you to go next.

As you walk up you notice the existing signatures recognizing this marriage. High court officials, Lady Jessica, and your father. His lavish signature mocks you from the paper. His last decree is the overturning of his power. You take a deep breath and grab the pen layed on the table and sign your name. It is done.

Your feet trail backwards and your back is met with the arm of Paul, who then swiftly turns you to face the audience.

“House Corino and House Atreides have been conjoined! Through sickness and health, times of peace and times of war; this union will stand triumphant.” The officiant speaks into the air before turning to you and stating your name and title, “Do you recognize this union?”

Without thinking you begin to speak, “I do.” Your voice doesn’t falter.

“Duke Atreides , do you recognize this union?”

You feel Paul slightly stiffen before speaking, “I do”

From the pedestal adjacent to where you and Paul are standing lay the wedding bands. Within moments they are presented to the two of you, you with Paul’s and him with yours. No explanation is needed for the next steps.

Paul’s hand reaches for your left and you raise it to him. His hands are rough and slightly scarred, from training and perhaps Arrakis, as they slip your ring on.

It’s anything but delicate, the titanium wraps around your finger coming to a plateau at the top where a compacted sphere of spice encased in some preservative lay. It's similar to Paul’s, which you hold in your right hand. A silver band with spice marbling that demands your attention.

Your eyes flicker up to meet him as he releases your hand and outstretches his left. You slip the ring on before averting your gaze to the officiant. The silence in the room is broken.

“Duke Atreides, you may kiss your bride.” He states.

You turn your eyes to meet Paul’s before taking a deep breath. A kiss to seal your fate. The entire sentiment is ironic to you, such a soft and delicate act to mark the beginning of such struggle and pain. You have yet to see it but something within you shudders with the weight of the future.

Your eyes lock with Paul’s blue eyes as he leans in, his face cupping your cheek before his lips meet yours. His lips are soft and warm, a slight twinge that reminds you of cinnamon. Spice. Power over spice is power over all. A power which you are soon to hold.

As you pull away you wonder if Paul will falter under the weight of the crown. There is a want within him which you have yet to place, a want that proceeds past that of wealth and power. In the short time you have gotten to know your now husband, you have learnt a few things about him. He is strong and loyal like his father was yet cunning and intelligent like his mother. He has seen things you cannot even imagine, the significance of the power he holds terrifies you, yet you fear more for what power this union will birth.

———

Next chapter

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