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btsmosphere · 3 years

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Big Enough for Both of Us | JJK

~summary: his jumpers are going missing. And ending up on you. An annoying amount of books, some very cold weather and an admin mix-up later, will things change between you and Jungkook? Jungkook x reader (she/her pronouns) ~word count: 4.7k ~college au, fluff, getting together Rating: pg13 Warnings: one (1) swear, suggestive conversation and misunderstandings ~a/n: another bingo square, this time for ‘oversized hoodies/sweaters’ as an early Christmas present for you all!

You were shivering as you turned the keys to your locker, barely balancing the stack of books in your arms as you did so. Not wearing a jacket today was something you were sorely regretting, muscles groaning in protest from the cold and the weight you had lugged here.

The squeak of the old locker was the most welcome things you had heard all day, already preparing to shift the cursed pile of books off your struggling arms.

But as the door clanged softly open, all you could do was stare.

Something was already there.

Despite the pressing problem of the books weighing you down, you paused to look up and down the corridor. No one. Frowning, you peeked around to see the front of the locker door. This was definitely your locker, right?

Number 267. That was right.

Only, you had never used this locker before in your life. It had taken you until now, in December, to open it for the first time, even though you had started at college months back.

So the piece of black fabric sitting there, neatly folded, innocuous enough in any other situation, was a real curveball for you.

As you pondered, the top book on your tower decided to make a break for it, arms reminding you just how tired they were when you moved to catch it. Sighing, you leaned forwards and let them fall from your arms, right on top of the sweater.

You were pretty sure it was a sweater.

Whoever had this locker last year probably left it there by accident. It probably stunk by now, too.

Whether that was the case or not, you never got to investigate. A buzzing from your phone alerted you that your first lecture was about to start, your friend Namjoon asking where you were. So, without a second glance at the jumper, you slammed the door and rushed away.

It wasn’t until two classes later that it resurfaced in your thoughts.

The heating must have been broken in that class, or else your professor just liked to see you suffer. Throughout the lecture, you had been slowly freezing, resorting to rubbing your hands over your arms to ease your goosebumps.

And now that you piled out of the hall into the already dimming light, you found it was colder still.

The library was halfway across campus, and you were due to meet Namjoon there to make a start on your essays. Right about now, that mystery sweater did sound very tempting. And you did have to go back to your locker anyway to get the books, right?

Placing the stack by your feet, you stared at the material. It had been a bit flattened by the weight that had sat on it all day, but it looked clean at least.

Reaching in, you picked it up at the shoulder between one finger and thumb and leant in to smell it.

The first sniff returned a pleasant surprise. Nothing. Holding it in both your hands now, you brought it right up to your face, almost touching, and tried again.

It actually smelled good.

Come to think of it, it felt very soft between your fingers too.

Cold clutched so tightly onto your bones at this point that you couldn’t wait to get another layer on, so you stuck your arms inside. Sighing, you noted it must be quite new given how soft it still was.

You had got lucky.

Shaking the sleeves down, they fell way over your hands. The hem also came very low, nearly to your knees, but honestly, that felt like a bonus.

And so, lifting up the pile of books, you felt a little lighter (and much warmer) as you stepped out to meet Namjoon with your new big, soft jumper.

“I would say sorry I’m late, but I blame you,” you quipped as you slid into the chair beside Namjoon, depositing the books onto the desk with a loud thud, “were this many really necessary?”

Looking up at you from his own book, Namjoon had the decency to look a little apologetic as he laid eyes on the huge stack.

“Ah – yes – sorry,” he stuttered, “they did all look helpful. I suppose we’d better get through them all today so we can return them?”

Even his dimpled smile couldn’t stop you from groaning and flopping down onto your folded arms. Laughing, he pulled the first book off the pile, undeterred.

“I need coffee for this,” you mumbled.

But as you made to get up, Namjoon tugged you back down by your sleeve.

“You should make a start,” he fixed you with a look, “let’s go to the cafeteria later.”

Closing your mouth, you eyed up the intimidating pile of books. Of course, Namjoon knew you all too well, and was right. If you didn’t start working now, you could procrastinate for ages.

But you did want that coffee…

“If we wait til later, Jungkook will be there!”

Namjoon’s words had left his mouth the moment he saw you preparing to speak, and had snatched the argument right from your lips.

“Wh-what?” you spluttered, “What does that have to do with it?”

A knowing smile rested on Namjoon’s face as he placed a book in front of you.

You flipped it open and got to work.

Namjoon’s wish to get through all the books by closing time was a distant daydream. Half the books still sat untouched, and your essay still had a way to go.

Nonetheless, you weren’t going to stay slaving away all night. You made sure Namjoon remembered his earlier promise of coffee… although you didn’t mention the part about Jungkook.

Naturally, he was there anyway. Namjoon smirked as he left your side with his coffee order, waiting for you to stop staring at his friend and notice he was gone.

It took longer than you would care to admit.

Jungkook was a music student, and since Namjoon fancied himself a producer, he spent enough time in the department that he essentially was too, meaning he had a group of friends there as well as from his own course. And of course the boy you had been silently crushing on in the cafeteria since day one was one of them.

Unfortunately for you, Namjoon hadn’t prepared you for this when he decided to introduce you one day, and you had practically forgotten your own name as you found yourself suddenly in front the gorgeous Jungkook.

And just to add insult to injury, he had been really sweet to you.

Really, he was just asking you to fall for him.

You had promptly decided to stay away from him as much as you could help it. Until you were ready, you told yourself.

Which wouldn’t be anytime soon, given the way your cheeks combusted as he smiled over at your table. While Namjoon waved back, you studied your coffee cup very intensely.

“He’s gone,” Namjoon let you know, swinging back in his chair to take a swig of coffee.

Which was too hot.

And was now all over the table.

After your initial jump from your seat, all you could do was laugh as your friend started frantically mopping up the liquid, using already sodden napkins.

“Do you need some help?”

At the voice behind you, your jaw snapped shut.

Jungkook walked past you, grin splitting his face as he laughed at his hyung too.

“Thanks, Jungkook,” Namjoon chuckled.

You ran off to get more napkins.

On your return, you quickly helped clear the rest of the mess, rescuing your own drink from the pool on the tabletop. Seeing Namjoon had his things together, you also scooped up your bag. But no books.

Looking around for the godforsaken pile, you found them sitting in Jungkook’s arms.

“Oh, thanks,” you muttered, “I can take those, if you want-“

“It’s okay,” he beamed (would he ever stop smiling, he might make you drop down dead-).

“We’re getting the same bus, so I might as well bring them tomorrow,” Joon clapped his shoulder, “saves you breaking your arms again, right Y/N?”

“My arms weren’t breaking!” you scoffed, folding them against your chest.

“So you want to take them?” Jungkook raised a brow at you.

You blinked at him.

Then huffed and rolled your eyes.

“No…”

Laughing loudly, Namjoon led the two of you out of the cafeteria.

It was a good thing Jungkook carried the books. If this morning was anything to go by, you wouldn’t have enjoyed another walk with them.

Hugging your borrowed sweater around you a little more, you picked up the pace.

How Jungkook could have been outside in just that t shirt blew your mind. It was freezing.

“Can I borrow your locker key?” Namjoon whispered from the seat beside you.

“Why?” you hissed back, keeping your eyes forwards.

“Mine’s full,” he replied, “and we still have all these books.”

“We really had to get them all out at once, didn’t we?” you sighed, already digging in your bag for your keys.

“Someone else might have done otherwise!” Joon protested.

Underneath the desk, you passed him the keys.

“Number 267, okay?”

“Thanks.”

Once again, you had made very poor clothing choices. To be fair to you, the weather was supposed to have gotten warmer, so you had only put on a thin jumper. The outfit certainly looked good, but other than that, it was a bad idea. Tomorrow, you would put on a coat. Or maybe that jumper you had found yesterday…

Dashing between buildings to fetch the books again, you were convinced you might get hypothermia. The wind was biting across the already chilled air, sky an unforgiving grey above.

Inside, you fumbled with your key, fingers stiff with cold.

You hadn’t seen Joon since your first lecture, except when he ran past your study spot to throw your keys at you – literally – on his way to the music studios. You were lucky to still have both your eyes.

But maybe he had thought of you, because there beside the books, was a sweater.

Perhaps it was a mirage – could you get them from cold instead of heat? Reaching out to touch it, you concluded it was definitely real, but must be some kind of miracle. Dropping your bag to the ground straight away, you shoved the jumper on and huddled into it, bunching the sleeves around your frozen hands.

It was dark green, and you were sure you had seen Joon wearing a jumper like this before.

Thanking every deity out there that your friend had predicted your habit to dress poorly for the weather, you hauled the books out of the locker and set off for your study session.

Today you arrived first. Pulling out your phone, you sat back and waited for Joon to turn up.

When he did, you looked up from your phone to find he had stopped in front of your desk, staring back at you.

“You are a lifesaver,” you said, setting your phone aside and sitting forwards.

Blinking, he shook his head. “What?”

Frowning, you repeated yourself.

“I said you’re a lifesaver… for the jumper,” you clarified, “I was so cold, I could barely open my locker-“

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

“What do you mean? Did you not leave this for me…” you frowned.

“No.”

You both stared at each other.

“Okay. Well, whose is it then?” you asked, pulling your chin to your chest to look down at the jumper you had on.

“Where did you find it?” Namjoon ignored your question, sitting down at last.

“It was in my locker, with the books,” you explained.

“But it’s not yours?”

“No!”

“It was there when I put them in this morning, though, I thought it must have been.”

“What the hell?” you struggled to find any other words.

“I guess someone else left it for you,” Joon shrugged.

Incredulous, you watched as he pulled out his laptop and opened it, unbothered by the strange apparition of your jumper.

“You think someone broke into my locker to leave me a jumper?”

“I don’t know,” he sighed, “but can you pass me the one by Hastings-“

Sighing, you dropped the matter and pulled his requested book from the middle of the stack, choosing the top one to start on yourself.

Though you let it go long enough to get through a bit more of your essay, you were absolutely going to put the jumper back after you were done. Knowing you were wearing someone’s sweater, you felt the gazes of everyone walking past as if they somehow knew, and were about to denounce you for being a sweatshirt thief in the middle of the library.

But, as it happened, the cold weather was hellbent on dissolving your goodwill.

There was no. way. you were going outside in any less layers than you currently had on. The trip to your locker brought you to that conclusion soon enough, and so you chucked the books in and hugged the sweater tighter.

That night, the shapes of the two jumpers you had ‘borrowed’ so far seemed to stick out in the dark. It may not be anything dramatic, but since they weren’t yours, you couldn’t keep them.

Thankfully, the morning brought actual sun with it.

And your phone told you it would get warmer still.

Your phone lied.

That morning, you had worn the green jumper, intending to take it off and return it to the locker when you reached campus and the day had warmed up.

In the event, nothing of the sort happened. You had bumped into Namjoon and one of his friends from music, Yoongi. The three of you had talked outside until it was time for class, so you headed straight for your lecture with Joon.

Your next step outside was when you knew you had messed up.

All trace of sun had disappeared, sky darkened with cloud again. Any heat this morning held had gone away too.

But you were determined. You huffed as you pulled the sweater over your head later on, placing it back into the locker despite the way you were already shivering from the walk over.

In the library, the pile of books dwindled steadily down, but you got no warmer. Seriously, this place needed to invest in some better heating.

Screw morals, you were getting that jumper back.

“I’ll be back,” you muttered, sliding away before Joon could reply.

Apart from that, you made the walk to your locker in record time, probably since no books weighed you down.

As you approached the building you were aiming for, the door swung open. On seeing you, the emerging figure slowed down and held the door behind them. Speeding up, you reached the door at a slight jog before you even noticed who it was.

Jungkook.

“Hi Y/N!” he said brightly.

“H-hi!” you smiled back, “how are you?”

“Good thanks,” he smiled too, leaning against the door, “just heading to the cafeteria.”

“Oh, Joon and I should be along soon,” you nodded.

“Cool, I’ll see you,” he flashed his grin again.

Finally greeted with the warmth of inside, you looked over your shoulder at Jungkook’s retreating back. Why on earth was he in a t shirt? Shaking your head, you made your way to your locker with a smile.

Look at you go! A normal, nice conversation with Jungkook! And hopefully you could put an end to the relentless study session if you told Namjoon you were expected to go and get coffee with Jungkook.

Clinking, your key turned in the lock and you pulled the locker open with a sigh of relief-

A new sweater.

Interesting.

Tilting your head to the side, you stared at it as if it might get up and explain itself any moment.

Rather than the green one you had abandoned earlier, a burgundy bundle lay there instead. Sighing sharply, you decided you had come all this way for warmth, after all, and if someone was going to insist on putting jumpers in your locker, then you were going to wear them.

Which is how you found yourself enveloped contentedly in the latest of the apparently continuous line of warm, cosy sweaters, sipping coffee from between you sweater paws at a table with Namjoon, Jungkook, Jin and Taehyung.

Perhaps you weren’t entirely used to being in someone else’s jumper yet, because you kept feeling uneasy, as if the others at your table were looking at you with sideways glances.

Shaking it off, you smiled along with the conversation. You were definitely imagining it. Even if you didn’t talk to them that much, Namjoon’s friends were always lovely to you.

Eventually, the cups lay empty and the boys were discussing meeting the others in the studio. Noticing the branches outside the window swaying wildly, you decided you could put off the walk home no longer, or the weather would only keep getting worse, knowing your luck.

“See you later,” you excused yourself to a round of small waves and smiles from the others.

All the others, except, strangely, Jungkook. He had always been very easy-going with you, so you tried not to read into it when he only gave a tiny smile before ducking his head again.

On your way out, you noticed Yoongi coming in and exchanged a nod.

But with you on your merry way, you had no idea of the situation you had left behind.

Jungkook’s cheeks were burning as he tried to ignore the pointed stares of his friends. Lips pulled in between his teeth, he tentatively looked up, through the hair hanging into his eyes.

“Kook…” Namjoon was the first to speak, eyebrows raised as he watched the younger boy.

“What?” he squeaked, chewing at his lip right after. Who was he kidding? They all knew ‘what’.

Looking over to Tae and Jin brought no solace, both looking equally confused and expectant. Silence stretched out between them as Jungkook tried to string together a coherent thought with all eyes on him.

“So when were you going to tell us you’re hooking up with Y/N?”

Jungkook choked on thin air. Looking up, he saw Yoongi sauntering across to their table, thankfully grabbing the attention away from Jungkook.

“What do you- I’m- we’re- we’re not-“

“It’s alright Kook, you can tell us,” Jin offered, eyes wide in an attempt at being consoling. It wasn’t helping.

��There’s nothing to tell!” he insisted.

“Doesn’t explain why she was wearing your jumper,” Tae interjected.

“Has been for days,” Yoongi helpfully chimed in next.

Jungkook hid his head in his hands.

“I thought she just left for a study break,” Namjoon piped up next, “I can’t believe you two! On campus, really?”

“We are not sleeping together!” Jungkook hissed, succeeding in shutting him up, “I don’t know why she’s wearing that!”

“Sure,” Yoongi scoffed.

“You’ve had a crush on her for so long, I swear we’re happy for you,” Tae leant forwards, “I’m just offended you didn’t tell us.”

“What?” Jungkook was getting more frustrated.

“It’s no secret you like her,” Jin agreed.

“You knew?! Why didn’t you say anything?” Jungkook stared at his friends in disbelief.

“To let you deal with it yourself,” Jin mumbled eventually, “are you- are you telling us you seriously still haven’t done anything about it?”

“I haven’t,” Jungkook admitted.

“You have a crush on Y/N?” Namjoon asked incredulously.

“What’s the deal with the jumpers then? I’m lost,” Yoongi said.

“Hello!?” Namjoon interrupted, “Kook has a crush on Y/N?”

Groaning, Jungkook dragged his hands down his face.

“Yes, Joon. I like her,” he muttered, “and I don’t know, Yoongi. I don’t know how she keeps getting my jumpers.”

“Well, ask for them back then,” Jin shrugged, sitting back.

Jungkook just sighed.

“Oh my god, he likes it!” Tae gasped in glee, an infuriating grin splitting his face.

Jungkook was sure he wouldn’t get cold walking home if his cheeks maintained this temperature.

“Hold on…” Namjoon suddenly leaned forwards, “the other day, she asked me if I had put a jumper in her locker. We thought someone had left it for her.”

“It was in her locker?”

“Yep.”

“Well, that’s weird. I didn’t put them there.”

“This is ridiculous,” Yoongi groaned loudly, “I thought Kook had finally sorted this stupid crush. I couldn’t care less about the damn sweaters. Let’s go to the studio, Jimin and Hobi are waiting.”

“What are you doing?”

You almost jumped out of your skin. Having just picked your books up from your locker (how the pile was still this big, you had no idea), you turned around to find none other than Jungkook stood staring at you.

Clutching the stack tightly to avoid a landslide after that jumpscare, you looked up at him. A light crease made itself known between his eyebrows.

“Just… getting these books,” you gulped. Now it had started beating again, your heart wouldn’t seem to shut up at such close proximity to him.

He continued frowning at you, expecting more, but all you could think about was how cute he was, even when he was annoyed. How is that even possible?

“That’s my locker.”

That startled you from your stupor. It was your turn to frown now, taken aback by his statement.

“…no, it’s not,” you said slowly, “that’s my locker.”

“Look,” he said then, before pulling a key from his pocket. Holding it up, you clearly saw the familiar number 267 glinting back at you.

Frown growing deeper, you struggled to balance the books in one arm while the other fumbled for your own key. As you flattened your palm, he leant in to see it.

“267,” he muttered, staring between yours and his. “what the…”

“That’s odd,” you frowned, “I guess we should talk to reception, but I, uh, I have class-“

“Y/N,” he slid into your way as you took a step, “um…”

As you waited for him to talk, he hesitated, tongue slipping out momentarily to wet his lips as he rubbed a hand at the back of his neck. At last, he took a breath, barely looking at you, and spoke.

“People have been asking me, ab-about us-“

Your eyes grew five times bigger in a millisecond. Did Jeon Jungkook just use the word us, talking to you?!?

“-they’re asking why you’re wearing my jumpers, and-and I guess I know why now, but-“

Oh.

Oh no.

No no no no no no no.

The jumpers you had been taking the liberty of stealing belonged to Jungkook?

Oh hell no.

“Shit, I’m sorry- uhh, I’ll get them all back to you, I swear,” you hurriedly spoke, backing away from him, “but I really need to go class, so, um, I’ll see you!”

And with that, you were walking as fast as your legs could carry you, far away from the most embarrassing situation since the time your pants had ripped when you were twelve. People had been asking Jungkook about you? They thought you were together?

You felt awful. All through your lecture, you could barely hear your professor over your internal screaming. What must Jungkook think about this? About you?

Ditching the pile of godawful, cursed books with Joon, you hurried to your locker, hoping that no one would be in sight so you could shove the jumper away. You were wearing the first one you had found. You could return the rest later.

Yes, you would be freezing, but you would have to deal with it.

Roughly pulling it over your head as you reached your locker, the corridor mercifully empty, you threw open the door.

But something was already there.

You wouldn’t have paid it any attention, except there was a note sat on top. And it had your name on it. Underneath the note sat something dark blue and suspiciously hoodie-shaped.

Eyeing it warily, you read the note.

Y/N, I’m sorry, I should have explained better. You don’t have to put the jumpers back, or even stop wearing them. In fact, if you keep wearing them I would be very happy. I brought this for you – it’s the biggest hoodie I own and I hope you like it. I need to tell you something, and I’m clearly better at writing it down than saying it to you, but I want to say it. I really like you, Y/N. You don’t have to feel the same, but you can at least keep the sweaters and stay warm. JK xx

This couldn’t be real. Eyes darting to and fro re-reading the message, you reached out to take the paper between your fingers. Apparently, it was real.

Letting it drop back onto the blue hoodie, you looked around you to find the hallway still empty.

Now this wasn’t fair. Jungkook couldn’t make your all your dreams come true and then hide somewhere. You had to find him.

Stuffing the first jumper you stole away, you pulled out the new gift and tugged it on. Not only was it huge, but it was so soft. When you found him, you were going to find out what detergent he used.

Either way, you spared little time to enjoy the warm hug in jumper form, instead racing off to track down Jungkook. Zipping through the cafeteria proved fruitless, and you even stopped in the library. Joon was in there, but you didn’t stop, just chucking Jungkook’s note in the face of his complaints and moving on.

You had never actually been in the music studio before, but you found it easily enough.

Practically running inside, you stopped, breathing heavily, in the entrance. Only three people were in there, and of course none of them were Jungkook.

Jimin, Hoseok and Yoongi looked around at you in surprise.

“Where’s Jungkook?” you panted.

Yoongi had barely lifted his hand before you had already taken off in the direction he pointed. Pushing the door wide open, you finally laid eyes on the person you had been looking for.

When Jungkook looked around from where he stood in front of a microphone, a piece of paper clutched in his hand, all the words you were going to say to him suddenly left your mind.

“What detergent do you use?”

The question fell uselessly from your lips, only making him more confused.

“What?”

“Oh, nevermind-“

Letting the door fall shut behind you, your feet didn’t stop moving as you crossed the room until your lips crashed into his.

Arms instinctively coming up to hold you, his eyes widened at first but quickly slid shut as he realised what was happening. You were so desperate to find him, and now you couldn’t wait to feel him, lips ravenous as your hands tangled in his long hair.

He tasted so good, making you groan into his mouth as his lips fit so perfectly against yours, incidentally granting him access to slip his tongue inside. There was barely a hair’s breadth between you as he tugged you in, hands fisted in the fabric of his own sweater that swallowed you up.

Finally recovering from the shock and elation of kissing you, he cupped the back of your head, tilting his own to deepen the kiss as he held you steady. And it was a good thing he did, or he would have swept you clean off your feet.

Even as you broke away from each other, staring in shock at your own boldness, your heart continued its raging party in your chest. You could only stare into his brown eyes, totally lost and awed at what just happened.

“Nice hoodie,” Jungkook whispered, the first to break the silence.

“Y-yeah,” you nodded, “thank you.”

“I’m glad you like it.” He looked at you then, big eyes hopeful and oh god you just wanted to kiss him again and see him smile forever-

“Can I take this as your reply to my note?”

“Yes, Jungkook,” you smiled, and the grin that burst onto his face was the most glorious you had ever seen, “I like you too. I really, really like you.”

“I really, really like you too, Y/N,” he grinned, lips connecting with your forehead in a brief, sweet peck, “and I’d like to see you in my sweaters more often.”

Thank you to everyone who reblogs my work!!

I now have a follow-up drabble for this oneshot here!

Taglist: @aianloveseven @preciouschimine (message to be added)

Find my other work on my masterlist

#thebtswritersclub #purplearmynet #bangtanuniversity #jeon jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook college au #jungkook college au #jungkook scenarios #jungkook imagine #jungkook fluff #jungkook humour #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook scenario #boyfriend jungkook #jungkook sweater #jungkook hoodie #college au jungkook #college au bts #btsholidaybingo

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smoochkooks · 4 years

Text

—lost stars, part 2 (m.)

⟶ pairing: jeon jungkook/reader

⟶ genre: smut, angst, bits of fluff, (troubled) idol au, childhood friends to lovers

⟶ word count: 20k

⟶ summary: in dead hours of the night he stumbles upon the bars, reaching, searching, trying to feel something, for once forget about consequences and taste the bittersweet freedom. between sips of addiction and faint touches of nameless lovers he finds you again: his own long-lost star on a blackboard sky.

⟶ warnings: explicit sexual content, soft dom!jk but also bit possessive!jk, sub!reader, oral (f receiving), praise kink, jk calling oc his pretty girl, unprotected sex (stay safe kiddos!), creampie, implicit car sex, mentions of infidelity, smoking, both oc and jk are emotional mess sometimes.

✔ read part one here!

a/n: i’m sorry i keep you waiting for so long but it’s finally here. as i promised, by the end of october. this story has a really special place in my heart, i’ve had it in my drafts for over a year now. i hope you’ll enjoy it!

Twenty-two. No, twenty-three. Or maybe it was actually twenty-two? Jungkook starts counting again.

Various, different certificates are aligned on the wall in front of him, every single one dedicated to the same man, sitting across the table with crossed arms and stern expression. It’s rather obvious his ego reaches far beyond the printed sheets of paper with his name written in swirly fonts. They are here just to make an impression, to fool people into believing that the pastel blue shirt he’s wearing and expensive watch on his wrist are the outcome of his hard work.

He opens his mouth to say something, but it doesn’t reach Jungkook’s ears. He starts counting again; this time the number of letters on the first certificate.

“What do you suggest we should do then?”

The man whose achievements in marketing and public relations Jungkook currently attentively analyzes, is Lee Ilsug, or at least that’s what those diplomas indicate. To be honest, Jungkook couldn’t care less about his name or the list of accomplishments that made him be employed here.

He’s new in the company, that’s certain. Jungkook didn’t have to deal with him before but Yoongi had the unpleasantness though, when he needed to deny the rumours going all around the Twitter about his slightly too close friendship with a female singer he had collaborated with.

Quoting Yoongi, Ilsung was pain in the ass.

“The photo is blurry. It’s debatable whether it’s Jungkook-ssi or not.” Another voice, this time female, cuts in. Jungkook remembers her face fleetingly from some PR meeting he had attended before. It looks like she’s now Ilsung’s assistant. “I checked SNS. Fans are on Jungkook’s side, they don’t believe what that girl had written, which is a good situation for us to interfere and release a statement.”

“What do you think, Jungkook?”

It’s Sejin. He was the one who contacted Jungkook about the ruckus in the company that has been going on since morning. The case is simple: on the day he did his walk of shame out of your apartment, he stopped to light up a cigarette that happened to be another one of his cardinal mistakes he’s made in span of 24 hours. What started with getting the temptation and alcohol got better of him and sleeping with you, ended with someone taking a picture of him while smoking.

It’s truly a miracle the photo’s quality is moderately vague. His mom always tells him he was born under the lucky star but for Jungkook it’s more like fate was playing hide and seek with him. This time, he managed to blend into the shadows in time.

Ilsung clicks his tongue. It’s not a secret he hates his job yet cherishes the money he earns. He pushes his thick-rimmed glasses up his nose and leans over the table. He’s close enough for Jungkook to notice the fresh cut from shaving on his cheek and a small, golden cross hanging on his neck.

He raises his brow, eyes trained on Jungkook. Cold, emotionless. Clearly, his ambitions don’t end on dealing with some idol’s reckless shenanigans. “Well? What’s on your mind, Jungkook-ssi? We are ready to release the statement denying rumours about the incident in an hour.”

Jungkook bites the inside of his cheek. “But that will be a lie then. I did smoke, it’s me on that picture.”

Next to him, he hears Sejin clearing his throat uncomfortably. “Jungkook, I know it’s unfair but we can’t let it affect yours or boys’ reputations right now. We are a month before the comeback.” he says and no matter how much he tries to make it sound neutral, pulling the ‘what about the rest of the members?’ card is usually the last straw to bend Jungkook.

Jungkook releases a long sigh at that. He feels unworthy. He let down his brothers again, made them worry about him countless times before and that’s what he offeres in return: disappointment. He cannot risk his bandmates’ good name because of his incautious behavior. They sacrificed too much to be where they are now to lose it over a silly scandal.

“Do what’s best for the team.” he decides after a while.

Once he’s out of the office, his thoughts drift instinctively to you. Do you already know about the mess he created? Do you even search through social media, looking for the updates about him? No, you wouldn’t go there, he tells himself. He’s almost sure. He hopes those revelations won’t ever reach you.

Sejin breaks his chain of thoughts, stepping into the elevator after him. “What were you even doing in that part of the city so early?” he asks, staring at Jungkook’s reflection in the mirror.

“Does it really matter?”

Sejin’s features soften a little. He’s been with them practically since the beginning. Seen their best and worst, always by their side even when the whole world seemed to be against them. Piggybacking Jungkook out of the practice room because he complained about his feet being sore, joking behind the stage about trivial things when no cameras where around. They trusted him. And he’s never stopped believing in them.

“I told you that million times before. You are allowed to lead your life the way you want, Jungkook. I know how you feel, but as a public figure you have to be extremely careful, first and foremost. People don’t forget, nothing ever disappears from the Internet,” he says, or rather repeats the same mantra he’s been telling them since they broke into the mainstream and started being overly recognizable. “I am here to protect you but I won’t be able to do that if you don’t take care of yourself first.”

He places a strong hold on Jungkook’s shoulder and squeezes reassuringly. Jungkook releases a sigh and the door slides open behind them. “Thank you, hyung.”

“Always, Jungkook-ah. I’m feeling like a father of rebel teenager now.” Sejin laughs lightly to clear the heavy atmosphere, making Jungkook snort.

“Hey, I’m twenty-two!”

Sejin ruffles Jungkook’s hair, ignoring younger’s grumbling protests. The walk into the spacious parking lot of the company and Jungkook suddenly stops in his tracks.

“Does Bang already know about this?“ he asks matter-of-factly, although he’s sure what the answer will be. The confirmation he needs comes with a nod from Sejin. “Is he pissed?” he adds then.

Sejin raises his brows, looking down at him. “His golden boy let him down, what do you think? He might not be mad but he’s sure as hell disappointed.” He gestures to his car and Jungkook follows him without a word, imagining his boss’ sour expression next time he sees him. In Bang’s self-made ranking he’s sitting at last place right now probably.

“Want to grab a proper breakfast with me? I’ve been called into the company while I was in bed. I didn’t even have time to finish my coffee.” Sejin offers, pulling Jungkook out of his thoughts.

“Okay.” Jungkook says, hopping in Sejin’s car. “You’re buying?” he asks, mustering a snickering smile even though he’s definitely not in the mood for joking.

Sejin rolls his eyes, fastening his seatbelt. “Don’t you think you own it to me for saving your ass once again?”

“But I’m your rebel teenager kid, remember?” Jungkook pouts. When he sees Sejin hesitating, he opts for another strategy. The one that never fails. “Rock-paper-scissors?”

“Deal.”

Tonight, Jungkook pulls up in front of the club you’re working in with his car. It’s Friday night and he recalls you saying you work here every two weeks. He counted the days three times. There’s no way he made a mistake. He’s sober. And he has no intentions of getting drunk.

You’re surprised when you see him. You haven’t spoken a word for a whole week since he walked out of your apartment. He seems happier when he approaches you, flashing a bunny-toothed smile like nothing ever happened. Maybe he’s good at pretending. That’s exactly what you told him to do - act like the night he stripped you bare and fucked you silly was merely a mirage.

In a way, you’re relieved he makes everything seem ordinary, even though it’s anything but normal.

He waits for you to finish your shift. Tells you he drove here with his car and your eyes involuntarily widen. When you’re standing in front of his black Mercedes Benz, you can’t help but gawk.

“I don’t even want to know how much money this cost.” You take in the all-polished, black glory of his car, muttering “Holy shit” under your breath.

Jungkook chuckles to himself, gesturing for you to get in. You do it without a word, making yourself comfortable on the leather seat. If he manages not to make things awkward, you can do it to, acting as though he isn’t a well-known persona in your country with an addiction for unhealthy lifestyle.

He starts the engine and drives in the direction of your neighborhood, humming to himself the tune playing in radio. It’s awfully domestic, the way he navigates through the streets like he knows them like the back of his hand although you’re aware he’s glancing at his phone once in a while to check the directions. You catch yourself watching him from the corner of your eye with curiosity, biting your lip to suppress the urge to ask him million questions at a minute. Instead, you let him do whatever he has in mind. You can’t ruin this, you remind yourself.

Later that night, you’re sitting in his car in the darkness, parked on the rundown parking lot where no one’s standing expect for you. The only source of light is coming from the single street lamp nearby, illuminating delicately Jungkook’s features in dim, yellowish lighting.

He doesn’t say much. He fumbles with the hem of his jacket almost absentmindedly and you know him well enough to sense there’s something plugging his thoughts. You call his name and he turns his head to the side. It’s too dark for you to spot the tiredness on his beautiful face, too dark to read from his eyes and find all the needed answers in them.

“Is everything alright?” you ask and it sounds awfully loud in a small space of his car. Despite the silent promise you made to yourself about keeping things between you civil, you can’t help but interfere.

Jungkook then whirls on his seat so he can face you fully, flashing you a smile meant to throw all your former worries away. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just wanted to sit with you for a while like that, if you don’t mind.”

If anything, it doesn’t cure your concerns but you shove it to the back of your head for now. Nodding at his words, you fall into the distressing silence. The street lamp nearby goes out and if it wasn’t for the digital dashboard in Jungkook’s car, you would have been surrounded by darkness completely.

Jungkook chuckles under his breath and you follow suit. The sudden change in the atmosphere should be taken as a sign to abandon this damned parking lot and go somewhere else, but he looks like he has other plans in mind. Hearing the soft whisper of your name, you start feeling like it all was meant to happen. Him appearing in front of the club, the lights going out and enabling you to read the true emotions from your faces – it’s all like fate is again playing tricks with you.

You don’t know who moves first, crossing the invisible oceans between you and reaching homeland, but the next thing you feel is his lips on yours.

He tastes like the non-alcoholic beverage he drunk earlier, mixed with faint bitterness of his beloved cigarettes and something akin to mint, yet you’re drowning in it, in him, in the warmth of his breath on your wet lips.

You feel the world spiraling in front of your eyes, despite your soberity. You’re moving automatically; leaning into his touch and accepting the kiss with raw passion, welcoming his tongue in your mouth willingly. It should be alarming how good it feels to have him like this, in your arms, teeth scrapping your neck until you’re writhing in your seat. Breathless, he takes the hint, maneuvering your body until you’re straddling his lap.

It feels dangerously familiar. You know what’s going to happen next, when he unzips your jacket and places his hands underneath your sweater, relishing in the way you shiver at the coldness of his touch. When he sinks his teeth in your neck and withdraws seconds before leaving a blossoming mark. Yet you make no vow to stop him.

From this exact moment, it’s just a blur of hushed whispers, broken moans and quick caresses that leave you yearning for more. Jungkook acts like he knows your body inside and out, thrusting his fingers knuckle-deep into your heat until you’re keening and begging him for more. And he gives it to you with earnest, coaxing you into an orgasm with one last, final flick of his thumb on your sensitive bud.

Jungkook groans when you palm his bulge through the material of his pants, but he’s too desperate to feel your wetness around him to let you tease him any longer. When you sink down onto him, all of your rational thoughts fly away with the breathy moan you let out in unison with his choked gasp.

It’s fast and ragged, chasing the high that it’s both forbidden yet so craved. And it hurts, when tears well in your eyes, when you’re at the brick of pleasure and you know there’s no way in the world you’re going to experience a desire so raw and overwhelming with anyone, ever again. It hurts when Jungkook picks up the pace and fucks into you with ferocity and anger, because the world is unfair and he’s a slave in the system in which freedom means fucking you dirty in his car when it’s dark out.

And he hates it, hates it so much when you unveil in front of him, whimpering his name hoarsely and tightening around his cock deliciously. He swallows every sound you make with his mouth, clenching his teeth because the pleasure is right there, but he needs an extra push to throw himself over the edge. It’s his name on your lips and the whimper of “Inside, please” that finally makes him snap.

Then, there’s only guilt and laboured breaths. In his self-made list of mistakes, you’re aiming for the top.

Grocery shopping has never been your favourite thing to do.

You would never quite enjoy doing it, not due to the constant anxiety of forgetting about buying something even if you make a list of products beforehand, not when you don’t have enough money to buy a little extra than needed (thanks to the dear capitalistic world we live in).

Right now, you’re standing in the middle of an aisle with cereal, trying to look as much casual as possible so people passing by wouldn’t suspect you to be a wanna-be thief. The cause of your distress sits at the very top shelf and there’s no way in hell you’ll manage to snatch that Reese’s Puffs without knocking everything over.

Defeated, you raise your hand to take your second option (good, old Corn Flakes), but a familiar voice coming from the right stops you in tracks.

“Need some help?”

Twirling on your feet, you’re now standing face to face with Kihyun – Minho’s friend from work. Smiling sheepishly, you nod. “I do, actually. Can you pass me these ones, please?”

You feel stupid asking that but fortunately, Kihyun doesn’t seem to mind your awkwardness. You talked to him briefly a few times before thanks to Minho, who took his friendship with him as far as to go on a double date together.

“So, how are you?” Kihyun asks, placing the cereal box in your cart.

“I’m good, thanks. I assume you’ve been also doing well,” He raises his eyebrows at that and you clarify, “Minho told me you got promoted lately. Congrats, chief Yoo.”

“Ah, yeah, thank you,” There’s a tiny bit of pink covering the apples of his cheeks when he waves his hand dismissively at your comment. “But it’s not that big of a deal.”

“I’m sure working in a homicide department is a big deal,” you say. “And I heard it requires some extra shooting training as well.” you add, alluding to what Minho has told you the day you read the message on his phone from someone named Soyeon.

To your surprise, Kihyun furrows his brows in a manner that could only mean he’s confused. “I don’t know what you mean by that.”

Hiding your astonishment with a light laugh, you explain, “Don’t you go to the shooting range with Minho after work? He told me so a while ago.”

Something akin to realization crosses Kihyun’s face. He shakes his head. “Yeah, we went there together once or twice but recently he’s training there our new recruit, Soyeon.”

His words punch you right in the guts. Minho lied to you. He wouldn’t come up with that shitty excuse if he didn’t have something dirtier to hide, right? Maybe you’re exaggerating, but he certainly hasn’t been truly honest with you for a while now. It must be a reason behind his strange behavior.

“Are you okay?”

For a moment you’ve forgotten you’re in the middle of the grocery store with your boyfriend’s friend. Shaking yourself off your unpleasant thoughts, you send Kihyun an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry. I just remembered I need to go to the pharmacist’s and they’re closing soon so I gotta hurry now.” you lie. He doesn’t look like he entirely bought your story but nevertheless, he bids you goodbye.

You leave the store with half-empty shopping bag, raging headache and a torn heart.

They say silence can speak more than any exchanged words.

It hovers in the air, heavy and overwhelming, a tension primed to snap at any moment yet it has never happened before. There’s always quiet, no hushed sentences, half-lies or stuttered confessions leaving quivering lips.

Sometimes you wonder when will you have enough. When will you be able to resist, to say you’re hurting so bad it aches right in your heart, like there are tons of bricks lying on your chest, suppressing your breathing. And maybe this is the night.

A few unread messages on your phone, next one popping up and the screen lights up.

[1:23pm] jungkook:

i need you

It pains, a dull ache and suddenly there isn’t enough air in the room. [1:24pm] jungkook:

please

He never begs. It doesn’t suit him. There is too much pride and power inside him to crawl in front of you, to fall to his knees and plead. Yet, you falter, shaking fingertips typing a quick response. When brain screams fuck you, you don’t deserve me, a sight of him makes all the rational thoughts go to hell.

He stands in your door, slender body leaning against the frame. You haven’t seen him for a while, a week or maybe two. His skin is pale, sheer and delicate you worry it might break if you trail your fingers over it. There are bangs under his bloodshot eyes and you know he had trouble sleeping again. It hurts seeing him like this, beautiful and broken but you’ve always loved picking up the damaged pieces.

He smiles, a lopsided smirk you know oh so well, a dark amusement because here you are, pliant under his gaze, vulnerable under his every command.

“Hello, doll.”

It’s the ‘doll’ that makes you grimace. Nickname he uses only when you’re stripped bare for his liking, bend to his will. It means he’s been drinking. Probably the expensive whiskey you hate the taste of so much when it lingers bitterly on your tongue after each swipe of his mouth against yours. “Will you let me in?” he then asks although he already knows the answer.

It’s cruel of him how he uses your weakness. You hate seeing him like this, hate when he’s thrown apart and you’re the only one who knows how to fix him. That’s why you move away from the door in a silent invitation, biting your lip when you see his slouching posture and unsteady walk.

It hurts when you help him sit on your bed and he smiles at you lazily, in all his beautiful yet broken glory. You almost don’t recognize him. It’s not your Jungkook. Your Jungkook would never drown his misery in alcohol, he would never sit in your room barely conscious, smelling of cheap bars and cigarettes.

But you accept your fate the way it is.

“I need to sober you up a little. I’ll go get you a glass of water, okay?” He hums in response, although you’re worried it might have not reach his ears at all.

Jungkook looks up when your back, accepting the water and drinking it with eagerness. “You’re too good to me, you know that right?” he slurs a little once he’s done. “I don’t deserve you.” he adds after a moment, cupping your cheek with his unoccupied palm.

You squeeze your eyes shut because you fear you might break down in front of him if you look him in the eyes. He strokes your skin, murming “I’m so sorry” all over again.

You stay like that for a few beats of silence, breathing in each other’s presences until you hear Jungkook’s phone buzzing in the pocket of his jacket. Taking it out, you see ‘Jimin-hyung’ written on the screen. “Your friends are worried about you.” you murmur, nudging his side.

“Tell them to go to hell.” You hear him muttering under his breath. Sighing, you decide to exit the room and answer the call.

“Jungkook? Where the fuck are you?!” Jimin’s angered, thick with Busan dialect voice rings in your ears, making you flinch. “You should’ve at least answer my text once so I would know you’re okay!”

Mustering the courage, you take a deep breath and say, “Hi, it’s Y/N speaking. Jungkook’s friend.”

There’s a pause on the other side, until your hear Jimin clearing his throat. “Oh, hi. Is Jungkook maybe with you?” he asks and you smile to yourself involuntarily noticing how his voice has changed once he realised he’s not speaking to his friend.

“He is. Drunk, but in one piece.” you reply, sparing a glance at aforementioned Jungkook who’s now slumped down on your bed, probably fast asleep.

Jimin sighs with relief. “That’s good then. You know, we got into a little fight today and he suddenly disappeared without a trace, and we are right before the comeback so–”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to explain anything to me,” you interrupt his rushed rambling. “I’ll take care of him.”

“Thank you, Y/N-ssi. It means a lot.”

‘’I’ve been taking care of his ass practically since we were kids, so it’s not a big deal for me,” you chuckle lightly, even though you’re definetely not in the mood for jokes. “Well, maybe not in that way but still.”

“I know. He told me about you.”

Your eyes widen. “He did?” you ask, failing to hide the surprised tone of your voice.

“Yeah, he did. When he first told us he met his childhood friend accidentally in the club he got drunk in, we didn’t believe him at first. But then he slowly started opening up more about you and even showed me some picture of you and him when you were kids.” Jimin says. “You know, Jungkook hasn’t been himself for quite a while. He kept pushing us away but ever since he met you, he’s started smiling again. Please, promise me you’ll never hurt him.”

You release a shaky breath. “I promise.”

It’s easy to promise such thing. Because you’re for sure going to end up being hurt first.

It’s your alarm that wakes you up the next morning.

The sight of Jungkook is long gone, the only proof he’s been here in your bed last night is an empty glass on your bedside table and a small note written on the napkin.

Thank you for everything. I really don’t deserve you.

Jungkook.

Sheets have gone already cold underneath your fingertips where he laid beside you just hours ago. You didn’t get much sleep the night, watching his beautiful, pale features illuminated by the moonlight slipping through your window. He looked so peaceful with his chapped lips slightly parted and in that moment, you couldn’t think of any reason to hate him and what he’s doing to you.

Later, when you’re finally out of uni, you come home and take a quick shower. It’s Wednesday and Wednesdays are reserved for your small dates with Minho. The guilt you’re feeling while getting dressed and fixing your makeup is eating you from the inside. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you almost don’t recognize the shallow of a girl you’re seeing.

You are not a bad person, you keep reminding yourself, then why did you sleep with him that night? Let him crawl into your bed again and again after?

Minho waits for you outside in his car. He’s taking you to a new Thai restaurant and you manage to hide the frown on your face, because your dear boyfriend forgot you don’t like this type of food.

“You look pretty tonight, babe,” he says once you’re inside, waiting for your orders. You smile at him briefly. “It’s really been a while since we went out together, hasn’t it?”

At that, you nod curtly. It’s true, you haven’t seen each other last week at all. Minho ditched your usual Wednesday date in favor of staying at work for something important. It happened second or third time this month. You feel like you don’t have right to be mad at him. If anything, that’s what you deserve for lying to him behind his back.

The rest of the evening goes smoothly. Your food arrives, you act like you don’t feel nauseous chewing on your pad thai and trying to break out the taste with red wine. Minho babbles about the new Netflix series he’s started watching and you’re pretending to be intrested. Wednesday date at its finest.

Then, when you’re about to pour yourself another glass of wine, Minho stops you with his hand on yours. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something,” You fight an urge to roll your eyes. He wants to discuss serious matters? What a change. “We’ve been together for eight months. My parents keep asking about you.”

“Oh,” you blurt out. To hide your anxiety, you force out a breathy laugh. “So, what about them?” you ask, however you already know what the answer is going to be.

“I thought we could visit them soon in Daegu over some weekend when you don’t have work,” he proposes, squeezing your hand as if to calm your nerves. It’s not doing much to put you at ease. “My mom has already started making plans what food she should make. They’re really excited to meet you.”

You feign a smile. It should be a natural progression for couples to take things at a time, step by step but you can’t help but feel uneasy. Minho wants his parents to meet you, the girl who lets a certain raven-haired boy play with her heart and mess with her head. In a sick game where both parties are out of reach, you’re terribly losing.

“I’d love to meet your parents.” you say finally, almost breathless.

“You don’t look very excited.” Minho comments with a smirk and you know he’s joking but the lump in your throat only grows.

You smile meekly. “I’m just nervous, that’s all. What if they won’t like me?”

“I’m sure they’re gonna love you. You don’t have anything to worry about.” he dismisses your concerns, reaching for the wine bottle to pour himself a glass. “I’ve got one more thing to tell you. I know it’s a lot for one evening but I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it for weeks now so since we have this opportunity now, I’m gonna use it.”

Color drains from your face. What else is there to converse about all of a sudden? Biting the inside of your cheek, you give him a sign to continue.

“I’ll go straight to the point. I want you to move in with me,” The bomb explodes and you nearly drop your wine glass to the floor. “I know it might be a lot for your but I really, really want to see you every day in my bed. My apartment is big enough for both of us but once I get the promotion my boss talked to me about last week, we can look for something fancier.”

You stare at him blankly. First his parents, now this? Minho from the beginning of your relationship was the one who liked to take things slowly. He didn’t kiss you until your third date, he waited unnecessary amount of time to have sex even though you told him over and over again you were more than ready to do it with him.

The sudden rush feels weird. As if sensing your discomfort, Minho clears his throat and asks, “Don’t you want to move in with me?”

You notice the subtle change in his voice, the way he’s not as enthusiastic as he was a minute ago but you shove it to the back of your head. “I’m surprised,” you respond neutraly. “And of course I don’t mind living with you. I just thought you wanted to take things slow.”

Minho clicks his tongue. “This has nothing to do with that. I’m not asking you to marry me, Y/N,” he chuckles but you don’t mirror the sentiment. “I think it would be more comfortable for you to live with me than your current cubby-hole.”

He’s already irritated by your reaction and you know it’s better not to poke the bear but those three glasses of wine down your throat give you enough courage to disagree. “Your place is further from my university and work. Not to mention I have a five minutes long walk to the underground now and it would take longer for me to get there in your area.” you point out.

“You can get a driving license then finally.”

You frown. “What do you mean ‘finally’? You know damn well I can’t afford it now with the job I have and student loan. We talked about it before.”

Minho is aware that with your current financial situation you’re barely making ends meet and you can’t let yourself have another, bigger expenses. But you’re fine on your own, you don’t mind living where you do because that’s the result of your independence. You showed your parents you are able to study and work without their extra help. You’re proud of yourself for that.

“Now you’re literally making excuses. Just say you don’t want to move in.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” you try to reason. “I’m not ready for such a big step yet. I need more time to think about it.”

Minho snorts, rolling his eyes. “What else is there to think about? Either you say yes or no!” His raised tone catches attention from the family sitting nearby and they send curious glances in your direction.

“Stop being so loud, please. We are in a restaurant for God’s sake.” you whisper-shout.

“Do I look like I give a fuck?” he snorts, obnoxious and annoyingly snarky.

You stay quiet for a moment, debating whether you should give up entirely and hang a white flag or wait for the atmosphere to clear on its own. But you’re so, so tired. Tired of being lied to. Tired of always having to choose your words carefully and bending to his will.

“You know, I met Kihyun the other day at grocery store,” Minho doesn’t seem much interested in your inquiry, still deeply frustrated with your tantrum. He simply hums, unfazed. “I congratulated him on his promotion. He for sure needs to visist shooting range more now, doesn’t he?”

Minho arches his brow. “Yeah, I told you he goes there with me and that new recruit.”

It’s ironic, how easily he can lie to you straight in the eye. But you’re strong enough now to fight back. “That’s interesting actually, because Kihyun said something totally different.” you say languidly, watching your boyfriend narrowing his eyes.

“And what is that?”

“He said you’re going there only with your new recruit, Soyeon. The one sending you messages on your private phone.”

Minho gapes at you for a few short seconds and then, bursts into laughter. “What are you trying to insinuate here, honey?” he asks.

The petname sounds mocking this time. Ignoring his lighthearted approach to the situation, you dodge a bullet. “I’m not insinuating anything yet. I just pointed out that you lied to me.”

“Lied? That’s bullishit. I would never lie to you.”

“But you did, Minho. The day I asked you who Soyeon was after reading the message on your phone. You said you’re visiting shooting range with her and Kihyun after work sometimes. Turns out it’s just you and her after all. Isn’t that a lie?” you press.

Minho doesn’t like being backed into the corner. When you confronted him first, he thought he had everything under control. Now, he’s losing it and he isn’t used to being that helpless.

“So what? Maybe I told you that so you wouldn’t freak out and think I’m cheating on you. Because that’s all it is about, right? You think I’m fucking someone behind your back.” he snaps, making you wince.

“I didn’t say that.” you counter but there’s no use for that. You stepped into the lion’s den.

He aprubtly stands up from his chair and the cutlery on your table clutters. “You know what? I’m done. I’m not in the mood for your bullshit anymore.” He withdraws his wallet from the pocket of his jacket and throws a few bills onto the table.

A bitter chuckle escapes your lips. “Your’e leaving? Just like that?”

“Yeah. Are you going with me or not?”

You shrug your shoulders. “I guess someone has to finish this bottle. It would be a shame to waste such expensive wine.” you say, mustering a sarcastic smile.

Minho doesn’t utter anything more to you. He nods and exits the restaurant, leaving you sitting by the table alone. Despite the stares, hushed whispers and an urge to run away and hide from the audience, you stay a little longer and drink up that damned bottle of wine until there’s no droplets left inside.

Once you’re outside, you inhale greedily the fresh air. Your head spins a little and you’re debating whether to take an Uber home or just walk thirty minutes on your own to sober up a little. You choose the latter.

You don’t know what makes you dial his number. You’ve never done that before. He was the one calling you in the middle of the name and begging without words to tend his wounds. Tables have turned, and here you are.

You call once, twice. After the fifth attempt you give up, showing your phone into the pocket of your coat. As the first tear rolls down your cheek, you realise he would never be there to pick up your pieces.

Three missed calls from: Jungkook

[11:11pm] jungkook:

I’m so sorry y/n. I couldn’t pick up the phone cause we had late practice

Please call me back. I’m worried

Two missed calls from: Jungkook

[11:36pm] jungkook:

At least text me if you’re okay

Please

[11:39pm] me:

I’m fine

[11:39pm] jungkook:

Thank God

You sure you don’t wanna talk?

[11:41pm] me:

Maybe next time

[11:41pm] jungkook:

Okay

Night, miss grumpy

You’re sitting in your favourite cafeteria, typing furiously on your laptop the last paragraph in your assignment. Your philosophy proffesor has been a bitch lately, telling you to write essays about the most uninteresting stuff she could possibly think of. And here you are, writing about Hegel’s triads, reminding yourself the semester soon will be over and so will be your mandatory philosophy classes.

Taking a moment to sip on a caramel macchiato you ordered, you notice a message popping up on your lockscreen.

[10:45am] jungkook:

Do you have time now?

I need to tell you sth

It’s been two days since your date with Minho. You’re still mentally flogging yourself for calling Jungkook that night repulsively because of your tipsiness. In that exact moment, he was the only person on your mind you could talk to. Once the fresh air cooled down your emotions, you realised how stupid your idea was.

With slight resistance (and raced heartbeat), you type a response.

[10:46am] me:

I guess

[10:46am] jungkook:

Great. I’m gonna call you now

Eyes widening, you stare at your phone. What is so important that he cannot just text you instead? Not even a minute later, you hear buzzing. Exhaling shakily, you answer it.

“Hi, Miss Grumpy,” Jungkook says and you could tell by the tone of his voice he’s in a good mood. He sounds like the old Jungkook you know well. It’s a pleasant surprise. “What’s up?”

“You called me to ask how am I doing?”

Jungkook chuckles and something inside you flutters hearing that. “And what if I did?”

Rolling your eyes, you respond, “Let’s just say it’s unusual of you. Shouldn’t you be at some dance practice right now?” you ask.

“We just ended a company meeting. And this is exactly the reason why I’m calling you.”

“Should I be scared?”

”Not at all. I’m gonna move straight to the point,” he says and your pulse involuntarily quickens. “Are you free next weekend?”

You bite your lip. There’s a part of you that wants so bad to counter with “What? Do you need a booty call?” but you don’t let your facade break that easily. Instead, you tell the truth. “Yeah, I am.”

“Would you like to go with me to Busan then?”

You nearly spill the coffee onto your laptop. “Oh.” You can’t quite hide the surprise in your voice. You would never expect him to propose you such thing, yet here you are.

It’s been a while since you were home. Not like you don’t want to see your parents, it’s actually the opposite. The reason you haven’t been in Busan for months is simple: you don’t have extra cash on the side to afford a two-way train ticket.

Sensing your bewilderment, Jungkook takes your silence as a sign to explain further his sudden proposition. “Our company gave us few days off to relax before final comeback preparations so I decided I could go home,” It’s what he says and unsure of what to answer with, you only hum in response. “You told me some time ago you haven’t seen your parents since Christmas so I thought you might accompany me.”

Something squeezes in your chest hearing that. You fail to hide the smile creeping on your features and despite the many obstacles that should be a warning sign for you to say no, you find yourself reminiscing in the idea of spending a weekend at home with Jungkook. Just like old times.

“Okay. I agree.”

Upon hearing your response, Jungkook breathes out a sigh of relief to the phone. “I thought you would ditch me.”

“Excuse me? Who do you think I am? I wouldn’t miss an opportunity to eat my mum’s bulgogi.”

You can’t ignore how you’re feeling, cheeks flushed and a silly smile stretching on your lips. But there’s still that bugging thought present at the back of your head, reminding you of your illicit affair and every mistake you’ve made so far. Maybe agreeing to a small trip down childhood memory lane is one of them.

Right now, sitting in a cafeteria and talking on the phone with Jungkook about the details and your mum’s cooking skills, you pretend like you’ve turned back the time and everything else is a mere drawback to deal with later.

“I can’t believe I agreed to do that.”

That, is a blatant lie. You know damn well why you’re standing on the pavement in front of the building you live in as Jungkook pulls up with his high-priced, straight-from-the-salon black Mercedes. Something ignites in your lower stomach at the mere memory of what you’ve done there inside last time.

When he exits the car, you disregard as best as you can the aloof feeling in your chest, seeing him adjusting his bucket hat further down. This is the life he’s living, you remind yourself. If he wants to minimize the risk of people with preying eyes recognizing him.

Dressed in all black, he comes up to you and lifts his head up. That’s when you see him fully for the first time since he stumbled through your drunk and barely conscious. He smiles widely approaching you, not an ounce of uncertainty in his movements when he wraps his arms around you in a bear hug.

“What’s that for?” you mumble.

“Just missed you.”

He smells like the flowery fabric softener you know he likes. It almost lulls you into paying no mind to the thumping of your heart against your ribcage and redness blossoming on your cheeks.

It almost makes you forget he’s not yours, and you will never be his.

You’re the first one to withdraw, stepping away. “You’re such a sap.” It’s the first thing that comes to your mind to say after such intimate moment – twist it into something without depth and meaning you’re so afraid of facing.

He shrugs, still smiling. “I’m just happy we’re going to spend some time together with our families.”

You know he is. Jungkook has always been a family person. Moving out at a ripe age of fourteen paradoxically strengthened the bond he has with his parents and brother.

He picks up your bag from the ground and throws it into the trunk next to his. Getting into the car, you mutter, “You know, I tweet ‘eat the rich’ every two days but you are safe from my hatred for high class as long as you drive my ass with this expensive car to Busan.”

Jungkook chuckles, starting the engine. “Thanks for your kindness, love. Good to know I’m pardoned.”

“Jokes aside, I mean it though. I might want Jeff Bezos to rot in hell but at the same time I think you deserve that money because I know you worked hard to achieve it.” you say, buckling your seatbelt.

He spares you a quick glance and arches his eyebrow. “I didn’t know you are actually a fellow comrade Y/N, Miss Grumpy.”

“Oh, boy. Follow me on my private account. You’ll see then how radical I can get.”

You earn another laugh from him and you find yourself getting more and more comfortable in the situation, sitting in his car and venturing onto a weekend trip to your hometown. The perspective of spending a couple of hours with Jungkook in the same car doesn’t seem to bother you as much as it did the whole week before.

Tapping the unknown rhythm on your thighs, you reach to press what you think might be the radio button. Your aren’t good with modern technology, so you smile triumphantly to yourself, hearing the first tunes blasting from the speakers.

The slow pop-ballad ends and radio host announces next song as ‘fan favorite’. You look out of the window for a short while just to be brought back to the reality by the sound playing in the background. You know this song more than well.

“No. We are not listening to this.” Jungkook reaches to change the radio station with a speed of light, but you swat his hand away.

“Jesus christ, stop being so dramatic. I love Blood Sweat and Tears! It’s a masterpiece.” you protest.

“I thought you don’t listen to our songs.”

You gasp, placing a hand on your chest. “Excuse me? I’ve been to your concert twice, dumbass. And I’m saving up money for another.”

That, is true. You like listening to BTS not because of Jungkook (though he might one of the reasons you fancy them) but it’s their music and message in general. Now, since they’re over their badboy phases and objectifying women in every ‘love song’, you’re fond of them even more.

You start humming Namjoon’s part when Jungkook cuts in. “Okay, then. Who’s your bias?” he asks.

You don’t miss the way he seems to grip the steering wheel tighter. Of course he would be that petty to ask you this. To entertain yourself a little, you quip, “Take a wild guess.”

“It has to be Jimin-hyung.” he says right away.

You shake your head. “Boo. Try again.”

“Namjoon-hyung. You bit your lip when he started rapping his part.”

“That’s bullshit. Namjoon’s hot but not my type. And you should keep your eyes on the road, buddy.” Placing your fingers on his chin, you turn his head away.

Jungkook sighs. “Who is it then?”

“Taehyung.”

Hearing your response, he snorts. “I should’ve known that.”

“And why is that?” you ask, trying to hide your amusement.

“Because he’s the most good looking from us all. He dresses stylishly,” You could tell by the tongue in his cheek you’re irking him right now. Adding to the irony, Taehyung’s part in the song comes blasting from the speakers. “He has a nice, deep voice.” Jungkook adds and before he can name another positive trait of his friend, you chime in.

“Is somebody jealous?”

Though you’re clearly making fun of him, he decides to chuckle like he doesn’t give a fuck anyway. “Jealous? Of Tae? Please. I have no reason to be.”

Smirking to yourself, you find his demeanor too entertaining. “That’s good then. Because I think you’re handsome too. And I love your voice when you sing.” you say, turning your head to the side to observe his reaction.

No matter how much he tries to hide it, clenching his jaw and giving you an eye roll, there’s no use for that. The blush covering his cheeks gives him anyway. His agony ends with one last beat of the song.

Hiding a yawn behind your palm, you lean back onto your seat. Last night you didn’t get as much as you’d like to and your four hours long drive to Busan seems like a great opportunity for a compensatory nap.

Drifting off to sleep, the last thing you remember is Jungkook’s hands on the steering wheel and his soft voice humming the song playing in the radio.

“Hey, sleeping beauty, wake up. We’re almost there.”

Slowly opening your eyes, you’re met with familiar-looking streets of your hometown, Busan. You jerk abruptly, straightening your posture. “Why didn’t you wake me sooner?” you ask, looking to your left at Jungkook.

He shrugs in response. “You looked like you didn’t want to be waken. And trust me, I know what it feels like to be brought back to reality from a good nap too early.”

You don’t dwell on that more. Instead, you look out of the window, greedily drinking in the city. You’re now driving through downtown, passing by shining skyscrapers. Both yours and Jungkook’s houses are situated in a more peaceful area of Busan, closer to the sea. That’s why you spent most of your childhood and teenage days there as long as the weather was merciful.

Spring has always been your favourite time of the year but spring in Busan hits different. You don’t have an occasion to sit by the sea and watch the sky burning in orange and red in Seoul. Here, where you used to grow up, spring is the cherry tree blossoming, your mum planting vegetable seeds in her small garden behind your house, you and Jungkook smoking cigarettes underneath the pier while the sun hides behind the horizon.

“Did you tell your parents you’re coming?” Jungkook’s voice pulls you from your thoughts.

“No, I didn’t. I want it to be a surprise for them.”

“Oh, that’s cute.” he comments curtly and turns right. You’re approximately thirty minutes until you reach your destination. “I need to talk with you about one more thing before we get there.”

You focus your sight on him, however he seems to avoid your eyes. You give him a sign to continue. “Go on.”

Jungkook rubs his forehead with his hand and then sighs. It’s a nervous habit of his, you recognize. “I just want to apologize for causing you so much trouble. Not only last time but in general,” He stops at the red light and cocks his head to the side to look at you. “I acted like a complete dick and you don’t deserve to be treated like that. I’m sorry for everything. I thought this small trip here would be some sort of redemption for me, I don’t know.” The lights turns to orange, then to green and he focuses his eyes on the road again.

Reaching over the gearshift, you place a hand on his thigh to get his attention. When he peeks at you with the same, round, sparkly eyes you’ve grown to adore, all you can do is smile softly. “I’m okay, Kook. If that’s what you need, I don’t mind helping you. If only it means you’ll be okay too.”

Perhaps he notices the sadness in your eyes when you say it. Perhaps he can tell your smile is not the happiest he’s ever seen. If he does, he chooses to stay silent. Instead, he nods. Taking his action as a sight to withdraw, you straighten on your seat.

“There’s one more anything, actually,” Jungkook adds after a while.

“What is it?”

“You’re invited to a party.”

“What party?” you ask, brows furrowed.

‘’We are celebrating Junghyun’s engagement.” he says casually.

Eyes widening, you let out a shocked gasp. “What?! Your brother got engaged?”

Jungkook sends you a look. “Jealous, buttercup?”

You roll your eyes. “I told you I had a crush on your brother when I was ten. It’s been twelve years since then. Twelve!” you exclaim, but he only smirks in response.

The reason you liked Junghyun as a kid was simple: he was your best friend’s older brother. He was just there yet unreachable at the same time.

(And he didn’t have as many pimples as Jungkook.)

But Junghyun getting married? That is a news to you. You clearly remember him telling you one day he would never form a serious relationship before he reaches thirty. Looks like he made up his mind.

“I’m just pleasantly surprised he decided to settle down. Junghyun has always been more of a free soul when it comes to dating. I even remember your mum throwing him a tantrum during barbecue because of this.” you say.

“Honestly, I’m not that shocked. You should’ve seen him looking at Hyerin during our Christmas dinner. This boy is whipped.” Jungkook chuckles.

“Your parents must be happy.” you comment absentmindedly.

He nods, the corners of his mouth stretching in a small smile. “Yeah, they are. They really like Hyerin. And considering they won’t be getting grandchildren anytime soon thanks to my line of work–” he trails off, “–they are even happier that hyung is settling down.”

The air seems heavy now inside Jungkook’s car. He said an obvious thing you were aware of but something aches in your chest at the thought.

You will never understand why there’s so much stigmatization surrounding idols dating other people. Wanting to be loved by someone is a natural, human need. Prohibition won’t magically stop them from catching feelings.

But there’s also another side of the story – the one Jungkook referred to. In his line of work even if there are no obstacles, it’s hard to maintain a long-lasting relationship. And he knows that.

You still remember vividly his first girlfriend. Her name was Eunbi and she was one of their manager’s daughter. Her dad used to take her to the MV sets, introduced her to the boys because she was a fan of them. And that’s how she met Jungkook.

Jungkook, age seventeen, was too shy to hold a proper conversation and keep eye contact with a girl at the same time but somehow, him and Eunbi got along pretty quickly. They shared a sympathy for the same video games and for Jungkook back then it was enough to fall head over heels for her. She was his first kiss as he told you (”First real one, because I don’t count that peck Jisoo gave me in fifth grade as a kiss.”)

After that moment you decided you’d never like Eunbi. Not because you were furiously in love with him, no.

You just didn’t want to see him form such a close bond with anyone else but you.

Their fairytale love story ended when Eunbi’s father found out about their secret randez-vous. Jungkook sulked for a week and then eventually got over Eunbi.

(And he was again texting you about that video game you had no interest in but you pretended to be a good substitute for Eunbi and her nerdiness you lacked.)

“What are you thinking about?”

You’re standing on the red light again. Glancing at Jungkook, you find him staring right back at you. “I’m wondering whether I’m invited to the wedding.” you lie.

“Of course you are. I’m sure hyung is going to do it officially tomorrow,” he answers with a grin. “I think Taehyung is coming too. He loves weddings.”

Narrowing your eyes, you reply with a saccharine sweet voice, “It’s about time you introduce me to your bandmates. Especially Taehyung-oppa.”

“Oppa?”

You bite your lip. There’s no doubt you did that on purpose. You find it rather amusing to see Jungkook so worked up over such a silly thing. You wonder how far you can go before he finally snaps.

Smirking to yourself, shrug your shoulders. “The light’s green. Watch the road, Kookie.”

Jungkook huffs, shaking his head. It’s approximately fifteen minutes until you reach your destination. “I’m sure you will be delighted to meet him.” he says with enough amount of sarcasm for you to know he’s irritated.

“Oh, I will be over the moon.”

“Good.”

“Amazing, even.”

You hope he doesn’t notice you failing to maintain a serious expression.

You moved with your parents to your new house in Busan at the age of eight, two ponytails, overalls and sparkly sneakers every kid wanted to have adoring your small frame, a look of pure concern worrying your childish, chubby features.

It was a quiet neighborhood, on the suburbs of the town, a row of similarly looking terraced buildings and small gardens in front of them, every single one akin to the other. There was nothing distinctive about the area, it screamed dullness and tedium but for years you have grown to call this place home.

You know every corner here inside out. A local grocery store owned by a lovable, elder woman known as Miss Kim, who always has spare candies underneath the counter for children who come to buy something for their parents. Next to the store, there is a florist’s. Your first, high school part-time job. The intense smell of roses makes you nauseous to these days.

There is also your primary school, huge backyard behind it with a run-down playground. You never minded it though, spending there probably too much time for your parents liking. Many memories were made there. First, innocent childish peck placed on your cheek from a 6th grader named Jinyoung. Twisted ankle, tears, pain and regret because you decided to jump off the highest step of the climbing frame one Friday afternoon after classes. A punch to the face of school’s bully Dongin, who called your new pair of Converse trainers ugly.

It was exactly fourteen days before the end of August when you met Jungkook.

You had been living in the new house for almost a month but still felt too insecure to explore the neighborhood. Most of your time you were spending inside, missing your old friends and reading books to distract your attention from the approaching start of the second semester in school.

It was probably one of the last scorching-hot days of the year and you were sitting in your garden alone, family’s cat named Leo purring on your lap, when all of a sudden a ball bounced on the grass right in front of you, landing perfectly at your feet and almost scarring Leo to death.

And then, you looked up and saw him.

A pair of big, black doe-like eyes hidden behind a fringe of onyx hair staring at you through the fence curiously. The boy was not much older than you, probably around your age. He was wearing a striped football t-shirt with some popular team name.

You fidgeted slightly on the pavement where you were sitting, glancing at the boy shyly like you didn’t know why he was looking at you so intensely. You noticed a small scar on his left cheek, his knees were bruised, splashed with dirt just like his sneakers.

“Can you give me my ball?” he asked suddenly, startling you.

Your eyes widened. Of course he would talk to you, you scolded yourself, he wants his ball back.

When you didn’t answer immediately, he continued, “I kicked my ball here by an accident. Can you give it to me?” He pointed at the object lying at your feet.

You nodded and picked up the ball from the ground. You threw it over the fence, so it landed directly on the other side.

“Thanks.” the black-haired boy said. “I’m Jungkook, by the way. What’s your name?”

“___.” you responded and the boy, Jungkook, grinned at you friendly, showing his bunny-like smile. He looked cute.

“Bye, ___! See you tomorrow!” he beamed and headed back to his house.

Tomorrow. He wanted to meet up with you and what? Play football? You were petrified, as the eight-years-old girl should be after hearing such thing from a boy.

And just like he promised, Jungkook visited you the next day. He took you to that playground behind your new primary school. You came home with bruised legs and splotches of dirt on your skirt, to your mother’s dismay.

You also came home with a content grin plastered on your face and a new friend.

Unexpectedly, Jungkook appeared to be a pleasant company and you found yourself enjoying his boyish bickering while fulfilling the rest of the summer break doing things your old friends would consider inappropriate for a girl.

You never thought you could be friends with someone like Jungkook. He was a boy, for God’s sake, and your eight-years-old-barbie-phase-self absolutely despised boys. But months passed quickly and you both found yourselves stuck to each other sides. Something in your relationship simply clicked.

The neighborhood you grew up in isn’t a suburban area but it definitely seems more peaceful than busy streets of downtown. You pass by local church, miss Kim’s store and the big, luxurious house owned my Gwon family you dreamt of living in when you were a kid.

And then, approximately two hundred meters further, there is your house.

“Here we are.” Jungkook says, pulling up at his parent’s driveway. They left the gate open, anticipating their son’s arrival.

Jungkook hands you your belongings, offering you sheepish smile. “I thought that once you unpack and eat dinner, we could go to the beach together,” he says, scratching the back of his head. “Of course, only if you want to.”

You don’t give his proposition a second thought. “I’d love to.”

He grins in response and you take it as a sign to leave and finally meet your parents. From the distance you see your mother in the garden, dressed in her usual clothing – black and red checked shirt and cropped denim pants she wears while gardening.

She doesn’t notice you yet, too busy pulling weeds from her precious tulips. You know her better not to creep behind her like that, so you take a deep breath and shout, “Eomma! It’s me!”

She stands up and twirls around to face you. Her eyes visibly widen, like she actually thought her mind is playing tricks on her and she might have misheard you.

“Good Lord, Y/N, sweetie, is that really you?” She throws away her gloves and jogs up to you, enveloping you immadietly in a bear hug. “I missed you so much. Why didn’t you say anything you’re coming?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” you mumble. “Jungkook took me with him.”

At that, your mother pulls away. She arches her brows. “Jungkookie is home as well?” she asks, earning a nod from you in response. “You’re talking with him again?” Her voice is laced with apparent bewilderment but that’s exactly what you expected her reaction to be like.

Your mother is aware you and Jungkook haven’t been keeping in touch for three long years. She was basically your only source of information about him (besides Twitter) thanks to her close friendship with his parents.

“That’s quite a long story. I will tell you everything later.” you say. Well, maybe not entirely everything. You’re for sure going to miss out the parts you’re not proud of.

Your mother doesn’t press you more about it. Instead, she puts her arm around your shoulders and pulls you to her side. “It’s your lucky day sweetie, because we have your favorite bulgogi for dinner. Honey, come here quick!” she shouts and you chuckle, hearing your father responding with: “What is it again?”.

The door to your house creak open, revealing your flustered dad. His expression morphs into a genuine smile when he spots you. “Is it really my daughter or are my eyes deceiving me?” he asks.

‘’Your eyesight is fine, appa. It’s really me.” You come up and give him a small hug. He was never the affectionate type of parent but once you moved out, he let his facade break a little.

From where you’re standing now, you have a clear view of Jeons’ house. Here, fourteen years ago, sitting on your porch, you met Jungkook for the first time. You see his window upstairs, alligned perfectly with yours. You wonder if he’s already there, inside, unpacking in his blue-painted childhood room.

(What if it isn’t painted blue anymore?)

“Come on, let’s go. You’re probably starving.” your mother says, pulling your mind back to the present.

Walking into your house, all you can think about are his tears-filled eyes when you were bidding him goodbye almost ten years ago in his blue bedroom.

It takes you more or less thirty minutes to reach the bay.

When you were younger, you used to ride there by bikes practically every single day during summer. You loved sitting on the beach and observing people enjoying their time; swimming in the sea, kids building sand castles and their mums trying to relax among childlike chatter and the smell coming from nearby fishmonger’s store.

It was Jungkook who discovered the spot underneath pier. His curiosity only a twelve-year-old can posses led him there one day after school. At first, you were rather reluctant to go and didn’t mirror his excitement but once he actually showed you it, you changed your mind completely.

It was a perfect place to hide from the world. You called it a ‘temple’ because it really felt like no one beside you knew about its existence, and that’s what made it sacred to you. When Jungkook moved away you were left to go there by yourself. Without him, it always felt like it was something missing.

Right now, sitting here feels like you’ve you’ve turned back the time.

It’s like you’re eighteen again, running away from the whole world, starting your own rebellion with a cigarette caught between your lips and sun disappearing behind the horizon. Listening to the songs Jungkooks had saved on his old iPod and catching up with everything that happened during the last few months when he was absent in your life.

When you were eighteen you didn’t even know how to smoke properly, blowing out the fume too quickly and stiffing a cough so Jungkook wouldn’t laugh at you. Now it’s a different story.

Looking at him from the corner of your eye, you notice how much he’s changed physically over these five years that have passed. Gone is the baby fat on his cheeks, replaced with sculpted jawline and prominent nose. His hair is longer, falling on his forehead. There’s more piercings on his ears, an expensive watch wrapped around his wrist.

He looks breathtaking. It never occurred to you before just how beautiful Jungkook really is up close, when there’s no flashing cameras around and make-up covering every imperfection on his face with concealer.

This is your Jungkook. The same one whose competitive nature never let you win any of his computer games, who called you after their debut showcase with quivering voice, who always treated you as his equal even when other boys were making fun of him for being friends with a girl. Your Jungkook, who’s too good for this world to be treated so unfairly.

“I think Minho is cheating on me.” you blurt out.

It’s been sitting on your tongue for weeks and now you finally let the words slip. You don’t see his reaction but from the sharp intake of breath you assume it’s not something he’s expected to hear from you.

“Few weeks ago I read a message on his phone from some girl asking when he will be free next time,” you continue before you could stop yourself. “He’s been meeting with her alone behind my back this whole time and I didn’t notice anything until now.” A pair of arms wrap around your frame. Jungkook presses a fleeting kiss to the crown of your head. “I don’t even know if that’s true or I’m overreacting but I just can’t understand how he can lie to me one day and the next propose to move in with him.”

You don’t realise you’re crying until you feel Jungkook hugging you closer to him. You burry you face into his chest as sob after sob shakes your body. “Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he whispers, stroking your hair. “I’m here.”

Few minutes pass until you calm down, wiping your tear-stained cheeks with your hand. Jungkook offers you a tissue and you thank him with a small smile. You can only imagine how ridiculous you look right now, with smudges of mascara underneath your eyes and red nose. Not a sight for sore eyes.

“I’m sorry. I just needed to get it off my chest.” you say after a moment.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, Y/N. If you need to talk about it, I’m here for you. I’m still your friend, right?” Jungkook asks, meeting your eyes.

You nod, although he’s anything but friend for you. “Right.”

Because friends don’t console each other with burning touches on bare skin. They don’t give into carnality and submit to pleasure, putting it before everything else.

From the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook’s jaw clenching. “I’m gonna kick his ass when I meet him.”

Before you could stop yourself, you mumble, “He should probably kick yours, too.”

Jungkook visibly stiffens, hearing your words. He avoids your eyes, staring down at his lap instead. You wonder what he’s thinking about now. Does he regret his actions? Do you regret letting it happen? No matter how much you know you did wrong, there’s a part of you longing for more. Because with Jungkook, you felt alive. Minho could never compare.

Reuniting with Jungkook after three years made you realize just how much you needed him back in your life. You actually stopped being mad at him the moment he stood in your room for the first time that night, disheveled and sleepy.

You could love him. Perhaps you’ve always did. But he cannot give you more. Nothing besides bitter-sweet pleasure between the sheets.

It’s Jungkook who speaks first.

“I might not be the best man in the world but I would never, ever hurt you like Minho does,” he says and you know he means it. He stares at you intensely. “You do believe me, right?”

“I do.” you whisper truthfully.

He then leans closer and when you think he might actually kiss you, he places a small peck on your forehead. ‘’Good,” he murmurs, still inches from your lips. “Come on, let’s go. It’s getting late and I can practically hear my mum already complaining she doesn’t have enough time to spend with her son.”

You nod aabsentmindedly at his words.

There’s a tough conversation for you to have once you’ll be back in Seoul again. Finding out about Minho’s lies was a point of no return for you. It made you realise you’ve been on this path with your relationship for a while now, missing signs or not paying enough attention to the details.

But what is even more disturbing to you, is that you didn’t let Jungkook warm your bed out of simple frustration or heartache. You did it because you wanted him. And that thought scares you the most.

The first thing Jungkook hears in the morning when he wakes up is the high-pitched chatter and the clutter of pots coming from the kitchen.

He sighs to himself, staring at his blue ceiling. The clock on his bedside table reads 10am and at this rate, it looks like he won’t be getting any more sleep, not when his mum and soon-to-be sister-in-law are making a fuss downstairs preparing for the party.

The strong smell of homemade food invades his senses as soon as he enters the kitchen. He spots his mum putting something in the oven, her usual red and white polka-dot apron adoring her form. Hyerin is right next to her, busy cutting some vegetables and listening tentatively to her mother-in-law’s babbling.

“Good morning.” Jungkook says in a groggy voice followed by a yawn.

“Morning.” Hyerin quips, flashing him a smile.

Jungkook’s mother barely acknowledges his presence, too busy moving around the kitchen and making sure nothing is burning or overcooking. Feeling the first rumble of his stomach, Jungkook opens the fridge and stares blankly at its contents.

Miss Jeon runs her house by the rule the more, the better when it comes to preparing food for special family occasions. Hence why there’s so many different type of products lined up in front of him, just begging to become a remedy for his empty stomach.

“Nu-uh, don’t even think about it!” she chimes in, closing the fridge in front of Jungkook’s face and crushing his dreams about having egg toasts for breakfast. He stares at her with confused expression. “Order yourself something for breakfast, please. We need kitchen to ourselves right now.”

Knowing better not to argue with his mother, Jungkook sighs in defeat and opens the food delivery app on his phone. He chooses the first option that comes to his mind that won’t take too long to make and slumps down onto the couch.

“Eomma, where’s dad and hyung?” he asks, debating whether to turn on the TV or not. He decides on leaving it silent.

“I sent them to the grocery store. They should be back in two hours,” she responds. “Hyerin-ssi, please make sure to keep an eye on the soup. I’ll be right back!” The door to bathroom slams behind her and Jungkook chuckles under his breath.

“Is she giving you hard time?” he asks Hyerin once he knows his mother cannot hear them.

Hyerin looks up to peek a glance in his direction. “Your mum is a lovely person, really, but she can be… a lot sometimes. Especially when she’s stressed.” she says, smiling coyly.

“Tell me about it.”

She lets out a laugh that quickly dies down when aforementioned woman emerges from the bathroom. Instead of heading straight to the kitchen, she makes her way to Jungkook. “What are you planning to do after breakfast, Jungkookie?”

Jungkook shrugs because honestly, he hasn’t given a thought it yet. “I don’t know. Maybe I can help you with something here.” he proposes, although cutting onions and cabbage is the last thing he would like to do.

Fortunately, the grimace on his mother’s face tells her she’s not quite fond of his proposition. “Oh, no, no, no. We’re perfectly fine on our own with Hyerin-ssi. We don’t need extra pair of hands. Why do you think I told Junghyun to go with dad?” she asks rhetorically with raised eyebrows.

Of course Jungkook knows why. Kitchen is his mother’s kingdom. No one steps a foot there while she prepares food unless she permits it herself. Today she’s even more uncompromising about it because it’s the first time Hyerin parents are meeting Junghyun’s. It’s the matter of making a good impression as the host.

“Maybe you could call Y/N and ask her what her plans are? I’m sure she won’t be very busy.” Jungkook’s mother prompts and he feels like he’s ten again, bored on Saturday and wondering what to do with himself. Then, an idea pops in his mind.

“Yeah. You’re right,” he agrees. “I’ll call her.”

Maybe a literal trip down memory lane is everything he needs to feel like himself again.

As predicted, at first you welcomed his idea with a little bit of qualm, yet you said yes nonetheless.

And now here you are, hanging out together at the playground behind your old primary school. Getting there wasn’t an easy task, it required some parkour abilities and jumping over the fence because the place is apparently being locked on weekends now. Ten years ago it used to be your life estate on Saturdays.

You’re currently sat on a swing, watching Jungkook doing pull ups. You have a nagging suspicion that he chose to go on with his daily workout routine right now on purpose but you’re not better yourself, doing rather poor job at ignoring the way his hoodie rides upwards with every move he makes, revealing his toned abdomen.

“Okay, I’m done.” he grunts, letting go of the bar. He plops down on the other swing next you with a heavy exhale. “How many was it?” he then asks, referring to the number of pull ups you were supposed to keep a track off.

For a moment you forget you’re supposed to answer, eyes focused on Jungkook’s throat as he chugs down the whole water bottle.

“Hmm?” he repeats and you quickly snap out of your trance.

“I lost count.” Truthfully, you didn’t even make an attempt to do so. You were too distracted by the act itself to pay attention to anything else, let alone do basic math. Now you do understand all these girls going crazy when they get a glimpse of his sculpted body.

Jungkook rolls his eyes in response and starts swinging himself back and forth. It you recall correctly, he lost one of his front baby teeth here, jumping off the swing.

“I thought a lot of would change here after so many years. But it looks exactly like I remembered it.” he says, slowing down to a halt.

You nod at his words. Apart from a little painting and renovations done here and there, it’s like it all got stuck in time. You’re about to add that your mother told you the infamous principal Choi is still consistently running the school, but Jungkook doesn’t let you vocalize it.

“Wait,” He stands up suddenly and walks to the seesaw swing. You furrow your brows as he crouches on the ground and attentively observes the object, presumably searching for something. “A-ha! Here it is! I knew it still would be there.” he exclaims excitedly after a few seconds.

Confused, you come up to him. “What are you doing?”

“Look,” he says, pointing at the wooden base of the seesaw. At first glance you don’t notice anything but as you get closer, you see what he meant.

Jinyoung + Y/N = ♡ engraved on the swing.

“Oh my god.” you groan, covering your face in embarrassment.

Jungkook ignores your whining and actually snaps a picture of his finding. “You know what’s actually funny? It was me who did this because you didn’t have enough strength.” He giggles, making your cheeks heat up in bright shade of red. “I stole my dad’s pocket knife for it. Such a shame your love story lasted only a week.”

“I’m not listening to you!” you announce and quickly come back to your previous spot on the swing.

Jungkook doesn’t give up easily though, enjoying tormenting you with your pre-teen love life. He follows you, asking, “Wasn’t he your first kiss as well?” You keep your mouth shut, avoiding his eyes. He then clasps his hands. “Yeah, I remember now. Sixth grade. He kissed you here, am I right?”

You wish you could wipe off that smirk from his face.

“I never liked Jinyoung,” he continues, sitting down next to you on the second swing. “But I always wanted to have that black range rover his dad drove.”

Your face heats up even more at the mere mention of Jinyoung and his dad’s car in one sentence. Jungkook can make fun of your silly crush as much he wants, but he doesn’t know one thing.

That your little infatuation had a sequel.

Taking a deep breath, you lean closer to him and ask, “Wanna know a secret?” He sends you a curious look and nods. You brace yourself for what is about to come. “I lost my virginity at the back of that range rover.”

Jungkook chokes on air. His eyes widen in pure shock and you have to fight an urge to laugh at how ridiculous he looks right now, gaping at you with mouth wide open. “What the fuck, Y/N?! Tell me you’re joking, please.”

You sigh, shaking your head. “I wish but unfortunately, that’s true. We went to the same high school and somehow… our paths crossed together again.” you explain.

“And you decided to fuck him in his dad’s car?”

“No, dumbass. We were dating. For whole six months.”

Jungkook sends you a look. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“It’s not like we were talking back then,” you reply sheepishly, toying with the edge of your sweater. Suddenly it’s hard for you to meet his scrutinizing stare. “You stopped responding to my messages a little before I started dating him.”

The atmosphere between you tenses. Jungkook’s expression morphs from astonishment into guilt and you curse yourself for ruining the mood.

Jinyoung is just a mere memory, one of many mistakes you made during your teen years. He wasn’t anyone special to you anymore, he never had been. Not even when he deflowered you on the backseat of his dad’s car one night after some party. You were too drunk to care and too inexperienced to do more than just lie there and take it. With your skirt hiked up and blouse mid-open, wondering if Jinyoung was just as clueless as you when it came to sex or he simply didn’t know how to pleasure women.

What Jungkook doesn’t have to know, is that you jumped into the relationship with Jinyoung to fill the void your best friend created three years ago with unanswered messages and never returned calls. You were lonely in high school, you couldn’t manage to form a close bond with anyone after Jungkook. You hoped Jinyoung was good enough for a replacement.

“What about you then?” you ask to clear the atmosphere. “I told you my secret, now you reveal me yours.”

To loosen up the tension a bit, you decide to play the quid pro quo card. Partially out of curiosity, but mostly because you feel like you’ve exposed yourself too much in a short period of time. It will only be fair if he gives you the same in return.

Jungkook smiles bashfully. For the person who had done many dirty things to you before, he sure looks shy now. “I was nineteen as well. She was a friend of a friend, four years older than me. We met a party, flirted a little and one thing led to another,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. “I’ve never seen here after that. She tried to contact me but I just… I didn’t want to commit to something more.”

Is he ready for more now? you wonder silently. The question stays at the tip of your tongue though. You can’t wish for more when everything he’s able to provide is a few, quick moments of blissful relief between the sheets when sun goes down.

But what if you want more? What if you’ve always, subconsciously, felt like you belonged together but universe decided to split you apart? What if you’ve always been in love with your best friend?

The realization hits you like a tsunami. All these years, you spent denying your feelings for him. And when there’s a chance for you act on them, you back away.

Because even if he’s now inches from you, he seems out of your reach.

By the time you gulp down your third glass of champagne, Jungkook’s brother’s engagement party is in full swing.

Junghyun and Hyerin didn’t invite many people to celebrate. It’s a small, family gathering. Your parents were invited thanks to the almost twenty-years-long friendship with Jeons, which started when you moved into the new house next to theirs.

Jungkook looks painfully handsome dressed in black suit pants and emerald green button-up shirt. His raven hair is styled the way you like the most, parted in the middle and revealing his forhead. You, on the other hand, are wearing a simple, long-sleeved navy blue dress you’ve had on multiple occasions before but it’s still your top go-to garment when you have nothing else to put on.

“Have I told you look great tonight, buttercup?”

Turning around, you’re met with Junghyun’s smiling face. Of course he would approach you with his childhood nickname for you that used to make your heart flutter.

Besides his hair color, there’s little resemblance between him and Jungkook when it comes to appearance. While Jungkook took a lot after their father, Junghyun is almost a cardboard copy of their mum. Even their characters are two polar opposites. Junghyun is the more outgoing, boisterous type but Jungkook still tends to act introverted towards strangers.

And paradoxically, it’s the younger brother who’s making a career in entertainment industry.

“Shouldn’t you be complementing your fiancée instead?” you ask, accepting another glass of Martini Junghyun hands you.

“As you can see, she’s busy being interrogated by my mother.”

From the corner of your eye, you see Hyerin nodding along to whatever miss Jeon is telling her right now, expressively gesturing. It’s her brand to do so. Your father says that she talks with her mouth and hands simultaneously.

“I’m sure Hyerin-ssi went through it already when they were preparing food together earlier today.” you joke.

Junghyun chuckles, having a seat next to you. He sends quick, supportive thumbs-up to to his girlfriend when she glances at him from the spot she occupies on the couch. You can’t help but coo at the sight.

“So,” you quip, “when’s the wedding?”

“Next year in August,” Junghyun answers. “You’re obviously invited as well.”

You smirk around the champagne glass. “I wouldn’t miss seeing my childhood crush getting married.”

Junghyun laughs at that, throwing his head back. After a moment he adds, “It’s funny though, how you were gushing over me when the boy who had heart eyes for you was right under your nose.”

You arch a brow. “You mean Jungkook? He had a crush on me?”

“If course he did. You were the only girl who talked to him and moreover, you always helped him with his homework and you know how bad he was at algebra,” Junghyun says, sending you a knowing look. That much is true. Jungkook did suck at Math and could not, for crying out loud, interact with girls. “If he could, he would’ve taken you with him to Seoul all those years ago.”

Your eyes involuntarily drift to aforementioned boy, standing with his father in the kitchen. They are looking at something your dad is showing them on his phone, probably pictures of the car he recently renovated.

(A classic Chevrolet Camaro 1969. For all you know it looked like Damon’s car in Vampire Diaries.)

You can see Jungkook’s eyes growing big as he stares down at the screen. Obviously, he’s genuinely amazed with what he sees. You can only hope your dad won’t try persuading him to sell his luxurious Mercedes and buy something vintage instead.

“Why didn’t ever tell me that?” you ask, your voice quivery. You take another gulp of your drink to soothe the emotions bubbling in your chest and you barely succeed.

Junghyun shrugs his shoulders in response. “Would it change anything? You were thirteen-year-old kids back then and he was moving out to another city to make his big dream come true.”

Pursing your lips, you nod. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

You don’t know exactly what Jungkook feels for you right now. Back when you were teenagers, it was just a fleeting attraction. Perhaps he thought about you this way because you were a girl who liked spending time with him.

“I know him giving up your friendship was a dick move but you have to believe me that this boy has been really lost these past three years. Now he’s trying to find himself again, to become a better version of himself,” Junghyun remarks. “He needs his best friend to help him do so.”

Turning once again to look at Jungkook, you catch him staring right back at you. He flashes a cheeky grin and completely fails winking at you. You’re lips automatically stretch into a smile seeing his goofiness. You like that side of him. It suits him.

“I think I need to go save my fiancee from my mother.” Junghyun whispers, catching you off guard. He follows your line of sight and smirks to himself. “Go talk to him. I’m sure your dad wouldn’t mind snatching Jungkook for a bit.” Unlike his younger brother, he lands a perfect wink.

Like beckoned, Jungkook approaches you when Junghyun leaves the table. “Aren’t you a little sad he’s getting married, buttercup?” It’s the first thing that night he says to you.

Fighting an urge to snort, you ask, “Aren’t you tired of being jealous I chose Junghyun-oppa as the object of my affection and not you when we were kids?”

Jungkook bites the inside of his cheek, manifesting his irritation. You relish in it even more now, having the knowledge he used to pin after you. He ignores your witty retort though completely.

“Want to get out of here for a while?”

Your heart skips a beat. “Where?” you blurt out, looking around the room for any place comfortable for you to stay in for a while.

“Isn’t it obvious?” When you raise your brows in question he adds, “To your house, of course.”

“But–”

He shooshes you with a finger on his lips. “No buts, Miss Grumpy. It’s been ages since I’ve been in your room. Do you still have that Edward Cullen’s poster above your bed?” he asks and this time, you actually land a punch to his arm.

Downing the rest of your champagne, you get up from the chair. “Shall we?”

“Ladies first.”

“I still can’t understand why did you really hang a poster of some pale dude above your bed.”

You’re climbing up the stairs to your room, and Jungkook is in the middle of his rant about Why Twilight Has Ever Been A Thing. You’re ten seconds from pointing out his teenage female crushes one by one, starting with IU just to rile him up.

“It’s just weird for me,” he huffs upon taking one last step to the top.

You whip your head to send him a glare. “Do you really want me to say the same thing about your fans worshipping your posters?” you ask, eyes narrowed. “You’re out of their reach just like Edward Cullen was out of mine when I was fourteen.”

He points his finger at you. “But he’s a fictional vampire and I’m real.”

“Exactly!”

You leave him with that, eyebrows scrunched in confusion, and open the door to your room.

“So you did get rid of him after all.”

Nothing really much changed in your childhood room since you moved out four years ago. Your walls are still painted in lavender but the posters are long gone, much to Jungkook’s dismay. There is a bookshelf with all your favorite positions (Twilight included) standing directly next to the desk which is now pearl white, just like the rest of your furniture.

Before you can say anything, Jungkook plops down onto your bed. “You still got them though,” he murmurs and you glance in his direction, waiting for him to elaborate on what he means. He raises his finger to the ceiling. “Those yellow stars that shine when it’s dark. You have the same in your apartment in Seoul.”

“Oh, yeah,” you awkwardly reply, looking up. “I put them there so I can have something reminding me of home.”

Truth to be told, you are a sentimental person. The very best evidence of your heart’s weakness is the corkboard with old photos in your apartment. As cheesy as it might sound, it gives you a sense of comfort.

Jungkook hums at that and pats the spot next to him with his hand. “Come lay with me.” he proposes.

“Why?” you ask, although you sit down on the bed anyway.

“Because I want you to,” he grumbles and places his palm on your stomach, pushing you to lay flat. “There you go.”

It reminds you of old days, how you used to lay down with him like that on your bed and just do nothing, simply staring at the constellations on your ceiling in silence or speaking about trivial things.

Life was much easier back then, when there was no cameras flashing around and capturing every move your best friend makes. When you were just two kids with head full of dreams and dragging on forever doing your Chemistry homework. When you were each other’s beginning and end, yin and yang, sun and moon and the starry sky above you.

It slips off your tongue eventually, what have you been meaning to ask him since the beginning of your illicit affair. And now it seems like you’ve finally reached the point of no return. “What are we, Jungkook?”

You turn your head to the side, staring at his right profile. His chiseled jawline, black lashes ghosting the skin of your cheeks. He opens his eyes slowly, focusing his sight on you but you quickly look away.

“You know damn well that we aren’t just friends anymore. Maybe we’ve never been,” You sit up straight from your position, finally gaining enough courage to face the matter. “You can’t play with my emotions like that and expect me not to catch any feelings for you. You’re confusing me so much, Jungkook. I don’t think I can go on like that any more.”

You feel his palm on the small of your back, comforting and bringing you a brief wave of solace. He follows suit, getting up from his position as well. “Look at me,” he murmurs and you jerk your head to the side. You don’t want him to see you like this again - vulnerable and exposed. “Please, ___.”

It’s his pleading voice that makes you succumb to his request. Hesitantly, you accept his touch on your cheek and meet his doe eyes, two black charcoals shining in the dim lighting of your childhood room. He has the same look in them as you saw the first time he kissed you. If the teeth worrying his bottom lip are anything to go by, you could mistake it for nervousness.

“I shouldn’t feel that way about you,” Jungkook finally says. “I shouldn’t wake up with an urge to text you because if I didn’t, my day would be incomplete. I shouldn’t picture us doing mundane things like cooking ramen in your apartment or picking you up from work,” he recites, voice laced with an emotion you can’t quite put the name on. Or maybe you do.

It’s longing.

“I shouldn’t imagine us being together because I can’t give you all of these things, ___.” Lone tear slides down your cheek and he catches it with his thumb. “I’m so, so sorry.”

You’re shaking your head, because no, he shouldn’t apologize for the world’s unfairness, for wanting to have more of you, of freedom. “Jungkook–” you start but he’s quick to interrupt you.

“I told you this before and I’m repeating it now: you deserve so much better than what I can give you, ___.”

He tries to distance himself, to back away and leave because that’s what he’s a master of but you beat him to it, extending your index finger and poking him right in the middle of his chest. “Now you listen to me, Jeon Jungkook,” you urge, not caring about your tear-strained cheeks and shaky voice. “I’m a very stubborn person, and you know that. If I wanted to leave you, I would’ve kicked you out of my apartment the day your drunk ass stormed back into my life.”

He smiles sheepishly, putting a strand of hair behind your ear. “And why didn’t you do that?” he asks, his palm not leaving your cheek.

“Because more than anything, I’ve never stopped caring about you,” It’s almost a whisper. “No matter how hurt I was, I couldn’t let you slip away from my reach again.”

And then he’s leaning even closer, lips almost touching yours yet it feels like it’s not enough. It’ll never be. “___,” he murmurs your name softly, breath smelling of champagne hot on your skin. You feel dizzy, drunk on him. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

You both know it’s a white lie, that as soon as you’re back in Seoul the reality will brutally kick you in but you let yourself for a moment indulge in this fantasy – that you’re his and he’s yours. You’re on the opposite sides of the spectrum, yet you cannot be separated.

And you need to hear him say it.

“Promise?”

Jungkook seals it with a kiss, the one that leaves you breathless and pliant in his arms, blindly reaching for him and pulling him closer with your hands on his neck. “Promise.” he whispers, eyes trained on yours.

For now, it has to be enough.

Then, as if he can’t hold himself back any longer, he dives in for more, hands finding purchase on your hips. He’s tugging you closer until you’re perched on top of his thighs, feeling the hard flesh flexing underneath your weight. It feels familiar; that funny, pulsing sensation building up in your core when he swipes his tongue over your bottom lip to meet yours. It makes you tangle your fingers in his black locks and pull, just to hear him groan into your mouth.

But there’s another pressing matter on your mind and before you can go any further, you’re pulling away from his lips with a light smack. Jungkook doesn’t take the hint though, anchoring your hips over his crotch.

“Wait,” you mumble in between kisses, biting down the moan that almost tears from your throat when he uses the grip on your body to grind down on him. “What about the party? What if parents will come home and–”

“Shhh,” He silents you with a peck on your quivery lips. “They won’t. The party has barely started. And even if they do come home, you’ll just have to be quiet, right?” Something about his tone makes you nibble on your bottom lip to suppress a whimper. He sees it, and leans down to kiss your throat. “Can you do that for me, baby?”

“Mhm,” you mewl, angling your neck to give him more access. He sucks a mark right above your sternum and it almost distracts you from asking him one more thing. “Jungkook,”

He licks a stripe up the column of your throat and looks at you, lips shining with saliva. “What is this?”

Despite the urge to kiss him stupid right here and there, you cup his cheeks and repeat the same question that led you to this very moment. “What are we?”

Jungkook looks like a living sin with his blown out pupils and disheveled hair yet his gaze is nothing less than affectionate. He brings one of your hands to his lips and places a kiss on your knuckles. “Whatever you want us to be,” he responds, sincere. “You know I never give up without trying.”

You nod, a small smile dancing on your features. “I know.”

He captures your mouth in another kiss, like he’s trying to prove his statement with actions; sucking, biting, kneading your supple flesh just right. Suddenly there’s too many clothes separating you and your fingers grip his silk shirt in faint attempt to satisfy your yearning to feel him fully.

As if reading your mind, Jungkook stops mid-decorating your neck with yet another red mark. “Get up and take off your dress for me, baby.” he says, all soft but still demanding enough to make your knees wobble. As much as you love the dominant side of him, you’re enjoying this new-found softness of his.

You comply to his request in an instant, raising from his lap to a standing position. Your fingers travel to your backside and pull the zipper down. Your dress falls on the floor with light thud, leaving you in your underwear. It’s matching but not your best pick nonetheless; simple black lace bra and cotton panties. Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind though, two antsy hands gently pulling you closer to him until you’re in between his thighs.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, leaning down to press a feathery kiss on your belly. You let out a shaky sigh, trying to avert your gaze away from his burning stare but he destroys your attempt. “Don’t shy away from me now.” A squeeze to your hip is a warning. You give in, looking down just to see him smirking right back at you.

“I won’t if you take off your clothes as well.” you challenge despite your trembling voice.

He gets up, towering over your figure. “Undress me then.” Your shaky fingers reach for the buttons, opening one by one. He watches your movements attentively, lets you run your palms over his broad chest. His silky shirt joins your dress on the floor as you fumble with his belt buckle.

There’s something intimate about this moment. It’s not the first time you’re seeing each other naked yet everything feels new, unchartered. You’re exploring each other again, mapping your bodies with subtle touches and observant eyes.

Jungkook strips off his slacks, steps off his shoes along with socks. He sends you a cheeky grin. “Now we’re even.” He swallows your giggle with his mouth, not wasting any more time and pressing you against his body.

You moan when you feel his erection touching your hip. He uses it as an opportunity to slither his tongue inside, each experienced lick making it hard for you to follow his tempo. You go lax in his hold, letting him snap your bra open. He maneuvers your body until you’re laying on your back and he’s straddling your waist.

“So pretty,” he marvels, palms caressing your breasts. Your nipples harden under his ministrations, breathy moan escaping your lips when he pinches them. “Such a pretty baby.” he repeats, lost in touching every part of you he can reach.

Jungkook peppers kisses on your belly, hands travelling to your thighs. He leans to kiss you on your panty-clad mound. You mewl at the sensation, unconsciously sliding your legs wide open and giving him more access to your center. “Can I eat you out?” he asks, continuing mouthing over your pussy. When you don’t answer him in time, he slaps your thigh in reprimand. ‘’Hmm?”

“Please,” you whimper, mind send into overdrive. Minho rarely went down on you and you almost forgot how good it feels to have someone’s mouth on you.

Jungkook grasps your underwear and pulls it down your legs, revealing your dripping pussy to his hungry eyes. His breath tickles your folds, sheets grasped tightly between your fingers. Jungkook kitten-licks your pulsing clit, eyes trained on your face to see every small reaction he emits from you.

“Jungkook,” you keen, hips rising to chase after his mouth.

He nibbles on your thigh playfully, flashing you a sly smile. “What do you want, doll?”

It’s the ‘doll’ that makes you whine pitifully at him. He relishes in it, sucking your clit into his mouth as an apology for his teasing. You whimper, “Please, I want more. Give me more.”

‘’Demanding, are we?” he snorts but complies anyway. No matter how much he loves hearing you beg, he enjoys eating you out more. He covers you your pussy with his mouth, tongue swiping over your sensitive numb. He licks up clean your soaking slit, not missing a single drop of your pearly arousal.

He groans at the taste and throws your legs over his shoulders. He pulls you even closer to him until his face is burried between thighs. Your fingers wander to his hair on their own accord, threading into his silky strands. After a harsh suck he abuses your clit with, you pull. It spurs him on even more, a groan mouthed against your pussy causing even more slick to drip down your opening.

“Tell me how good it feels.” he mumbles, glancing up at your face. You focus your sight on him, his chin is shining with translucent substance, hair tangled and sweaty against his forehead.

“So good,” you mewl.

“Yeah? That good?” Jungkook asks, tone almost mocking. You’re now only nodding in response, your cunt pulsing with a need to release. “Can you cum for me like this, baby?” he mouths along your folds.

“Please, please,” You’re nearly crying, tears pricking in the corners because the pleasure is too much to bear. Your clit throbs, eyes rolling to the back of your head. “Oh my god–Kook!”

“Good girl,” He rewards you with two slender fingers pushing inside your pussy, searching for that one stop that makes your insides flutter. “My pretty baby, tastes so sweet for me.” he rasps before licking a stripe up your cunt.

His digits slide even deeper into you. It sounds sinfully wet but you don’t care, accepting whatever he gives you. And give does he, plunging his fingers repeatedly inside and flicking his tongue against your bud – a perfect symphony to finally send you over the edge.

“There you go,” he murmurs, feeling your walls tightening around his fingers. More juices leak out of your hole and he drinks them up eagerly. “My pretty girl doing so good for me.”

He prolongs your orgasm until you stop him with a breathy whimper of, “’m sensitive.”

Jungkook gets up to hover over your shaking body. He opens your mouth with a deep, wet kiss. You taste your arousal on his tongue, feeling no longer foreign and eliciting a moan out of you. His length presses against your hip, hard and straining his briefs. With a surge of boldness you reach down, rolling his underwear off his body. His cock slaps against his abdomen, curved tip leaking precum.

Nibbling on your bottom lip you watch as his hand encloses around his member, giving it a few pumps. He groans, head thrown back. Your eyes focus on the sweat dripping down his sculpted body all the way from his neck down his chest. Jungkook is a sight for sore eyes– slim waist, toned thighs. Everything about him is mesmerizing.

He settles between your legs, cock prodding at your folds. “You sure?” he asks, searching for your eyes.

You don’t answer him verbally this time and he doesn’t press about it. Instead you open your legs even wider, a small smile dancing on your features as you nod. You’re welcoming the stretch with a drawn out moan. He pushes himself inside slowly, until he’s flushed against your pelvis, his neatly trimmed pubic hair tickling your skin.

“Fuck,” he curses, hands coming up to grip your sides so tightly you’re sure they’ll leave fingertip bruises. “You’re so perfect, baby. Made for me.” He leans to press a kiss on your mouth, tongue lazily lacing with yours. It’s messy, saliva trickling down your chin but you don’t care, reciprocating with vigor.

Jungkook pulls away and places one last peck on your cheek. “Ready?” he murmurs.

You couldn’t be more than. “Ready.”

He picks up the pace, blindly reaching for your legs to make you encircle his waist. You’ve never fucked in this position before, with him so close to your face you could practically taste the sweat dripping off his body on your lips. He relishes in having you like this, palms caressing every square inch of your flesh.

‘’God, I missed having you like this, doll,” he grunts. He props his hand next to your head and it gives him leverage to hammer himself faster into your cunt. “Do you like how I’m fucking you?” he asks and you keen in response. He doesn’t seem to be satisfy with your reaction. “Too fucked out to speak?” You hear him chuckling evily into your ear.

“Shit, Jungkook,” you whimper, throwing your hands over his neck. His skin his hot and slippery under your touch. He rams himself even harder into you, hips never losing the rhythm. You feel the pressure building up in your abdomen already, reducing you to mewling mess underneath him. “I-I love it. So, so much.” you stammer out.

“Yeah?” he prompts, fingers slipping down your belly to toy with your clit. “Love how my cock is fucking you?”

“Yes, yes–fuck,” you chant. “So good.”

He loses himself in you, in the way how tight you feel around his cock. He tells you this, spits filthy obscenities into your ear and punctuates it with deep strokes inside you. He wants to have you like this forever, keep you to himself and hide from the whole world.

It’s selfish of him to think that way but he can’t help it, not when you’re moaning so pretty when he tightens his grip on your waist and rails you harder into the mattress. Not when you’re there when he needs you, when you’re his lifeboat bringing him back to the land (sanity).

He wants to see you smile for him, because of him. Wants to call you his. And that’s what he asks you to, begs in stranded voice. “Say you’re mine,” You’re shaking your head, tears threatening to spill from your eyes but he needs to hear you say it even if it’ll be just this once. “Please, tell me you’re mine, ___.”

Your whole body shudders from pleasure. You open your quivery lips but nothing comes out of it except for a broken whimper of his name. “J-jungkook–”

“Please,” he pleads once again, entangling your hands from around his neck and pinning them over your head instead. “Say nobody will ever make you feel this way. Fuck you until you cry,” he continues, fingers circling your nub with ferocity. “Fucking say it!”

You sob, pleasure rippling through your body and throwing you off the edge. “I’m yours,” you whisper hoarsly, staring into his dark orbs. “Yours, yours, yours!” you repeat, creaming his cock with your release.

“Fuck,” Jungkook groans and you don’t know it’s because of your confession or your walls constracting around his member. Maybe it’s the mixture of both. “You’re mine just like I’m yours.” he spits as the orgasm approaches him, shuddering through his whole body. He comes with a call of your name, spilling himself inside.

You whimper at the sensation, your arousal mixing with his and dripping from your hole. Jungkook lets go of your wrists, pressing a peck on each of them. His palm cups your cheek and he leans down to kiss you. It’s lazy, your mouths barely moving but it feels good anyway.

He’s in the middle of pulling his softening cock out of your core when you hear your mum’s voice.

“___, honey, are you here?” She’s downstairs, approximately forty-five seconds from reaching your room.

Jungkook sends you a panicked look. “Go lock my door!” you hiss.

He obliges quickly, naked butt jogging across the room to twist the key. You can’t help but giggle as he tiptoes to the bed again. He puts a hand over your mouth and murmurs, “Shhh, be quiet.”

Your mum’s heels clink on the stairs. Few seconds later she’s knocking on your door. “___, are you there?” she asks. You’re praying she won’t twist the handle because in that case you’ll have a lot of awkward explaining to do. Fortunately, she gives up. “I guess they went for a walk.”

By ‘they’ she means you and Jungkook who’s currently stifling a laugh against your shoulder. “Well, maybe not for a walk but something equally energy-draining.” he whispers. You elbow him in the stomach, making him chuckle even harder.

When you hear the door to your house closing, you let out a breath of relief. “I knew fucking in my childhood bedroom wasn’t a good idea.”

Jungkook smirks. “You sure about that?” he teases, squeezing your hip. It makes you roll your eyes but you don’t hide the smile on your face afterwards anyway.

Jungkook reaches for your panties and rolls you onto your back, carefully cleaning you up and then himself. He tucks you beneath the covers, encircling your body with his arm. You relish in the heat radiating of him, pressing your cheek right where his heart beats.

“You’ve never told me what would be my biography’s title.” Jungkook says after a moment.

You smile to yourself, fingertips drawing patterns on his skin absentmindedly. “I’d call it ‘Lost Star’.” you answer.

“Because I’m a troublesome celebrity?” he chuckles and you shake your head.

“Well, of course you can interpret it like that but for me it has more of a metaphorical sense,” you explain. “You’re a star, like those on the sky, which got lost and came to Earth instead. That’s why you’re so special. Because you’re out of this world.”

“I’m no special,” Jungkook grumbles, pouting.

You sit up from your position to look him in the eyes. “You’re wrong, Jeon Jungkook. And I think I’m not the only person who thinks the same,” you urge. He meets your gaze and you realise how young he looks right now. Young and boyish. “You make thousands of people smile because of your music. That’s a special ability to me.”

He flashes you a small smile. “I’ve never thanked you for believing in me from the very beginning.” he says, cupping your cheek in his palm.

“Always.”

You drift off to sleep with his voice humming softly in your ears.

[4 months later]

“Bangtan Sonyeondan are currently at the Incheon International Airport, leaving for their upcoming world tour. Their first show will be held this Saturday in Los Angeles and–”

You walk into the living room and sit on the sofa, staring at the pictures Korean press took of Jungkook and his bandmates while they were departing to US. They are dressed in their casual clothing and you know the fans are going to freak out seeing Jungkook’s hair has gotten long enough to tie it in a man bun. You’re almost sure the news have already spread on Twitter.

The TV is too big for your liking but Jungkook insisted on buying it anyway. You can almost see the pimple on his cheek he woke up with this morning. It makes you smile involuntarily.

Rest of the design in his–now yours as well– apartment was mainly your idea. He bought it without telling you because he knew you would freak out. And you did, obviously, call him crazy. But he didn’t mind. Told you he needed a space for himself for a very long time and now he has someone to share it with.

The house feels empty without him. It’s too spacious for one person and when he’s not around, you feel like intruder. But you’ve put on your big girl shoes this morning after a passionate round of love making and teary-eyed goodbyes. You won’t slip them off until he will come home to you in two months.

He promised he would show you Paris and London. You know he will keep that promise, although you aren’t sure you’ll be able to make it with your new job. After breaking up with Minho, Jungkook encouraged you to try sending your drafts to different publishing companies. And one of them responded positively.

You check your phone–your smiling face meeting you on the lockscreen. Jungkook’s smooching your cheek, but prying eyes wouldn’t be able to tell it’s him from that angle. His last text message is from fifteen minutes ago.

[5:55pm] jungkook:

We’re departing in 20 minutes

I’m missing you already so much:(

You reply, although he’s probably fast asleep like he always does during flying.

[6:01pm] me:

Miss u too!!

And you mean it. You’re missing him when he’s at his dance practice, when he’s in the studio. But it has to be enough for now.

The dates he takes you for have to be in the confines of your apartment. You can’t go for a walk and hold his hand or kiss him in public. He said you needed to wait for the tour to end to discuss publicly announcing your relationship. You’re wondering what’s better: forever hiding or being judged for every step you take.

You’re a strong girl, he once told you. And you’ll continue being one. For the two teenagres on the beach smiling to the camera in the framed photo next to your TV.

However long it takes.

#jungkook smut #btswritingcafe #ksmutclub #bangtanarmynet #smutcentralnet #maknaesmutsociety #bangtanhq #btsbookclub #btswriterscollective #jungkook angst #bts smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook fanfic #my writing #lost stars

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joneryskingdom · 3 years

Text

«Still at work at this hour my love?»

A tired glare is the one of her husband. Daenerys occupies the desk full of parchments and documents. Tasks required by a kingdom angry for freedom, for a change. Seven kingdoms, she corrects herself mentally.

Seven reigns still recovering from the Raven’s claw, famine, war. We put all of this to an end, she thinks, and a new era is beginning. An era of peace and prosperity under the Targaryen banner. Of love and kisses and days with Jon and the children. Just like a dream, spring is coming, for real now.

A nightmare of daggers and regrets is ending.

But the nightmares that tormented our nights... she cannot stop herself from thinking about it, all those deaths and all that blood and...

The candles are flickering, thousands of glimmering eyes in their solar. The Red Keep, or the worksite that cages it, is a labyrinth covered by the cloak of the night, moon-soaked lakes of light are shimmering on the floors.

«You weren’t present at dinner.»

Jon answers with a grunt, brooding on a the paper he has in his hands, sealed with the light-blue wax of House Arryn.

«I have work to do.» he finally says, eyes stick on the words. «Correspondence and projects and...»

He can’t continue: Dany’s fingers are on his mouth.

«You can go on like this.» she abruptly takes his damned paper from his hands. «You have a family. The children were asking for you, Rhaella and Aemon are unmanageable when you are not present. And that little trickster of Jae... only the gods know how many times I prevent him from throwing his porridge in Aelionor’s hair this evening.»

He snorts. «Little devils our pups, aren’t they?»

She adjusts her arms across his neck. His bun is disheveled from the stress, dark circles are marking is eyes. Oh, her sweet dragonwolf... he is buried in his work, he wants her to be free and not to give a damn about the kingdom’s problems, but she is the Queen, it’s her duty.

And she can tell just with a stare that he’s asking to much from himself.

It’s always been like that, as long as she can remember since Bran’s defeat and death, even in those months of forgiveness and promises between her resurrection and their take of the Capital. Works as a way for Jon to distract himself from the demons that were eating him inside, rotting in his soul. Demons of daggers and of ashes and tears. His sleep was poor, both intentionally and because of nightmares, not so much better than her truthfully, he became strict in his kingly shifts, in a certain way obsessed by the amount of parchments on their desk. And his health declined rapidly of course. The first year of reign wasn’t over and Sam declared at her that her king was an insomniac, all those nights of his spent staring at the canopy suddenly had a sense. Sweetsleep in his evening milk, sweetmilk as their miracles called it, was the only way of making him relax, shut his heavy eyes.

Insomnia generated by the remorse or the prisons have played their role in this? Dany asks herself, kissing her exhausted king’s cheek. At every pregnancy - love and intimacy is regular in their bed, a possession of bodies and flames which brings babies, their miracles, with a cadence - he insists about her not tiring too much, for and the babe’s sake and all the work is on him.

Dany cannot adapt anymore to this style of life, his health is more important.

«Yes.» she replied, rotating his face with her hands. He looks so tired, her Dragonwolf, her king capable of everything for her and the children. «And you need to sleep.»

«I’m not tired.»

«These spectacular dark circles under your eyes tell me another story. Sleep and eat sweetheart, you will starving yourself if you don’t come to another supper.»

«But I’m not...» he protests, he’s trying to protest, interrupted by a yawn. He squints his eyes from any tiredness trace. «... tired... not even a bit...»

«Are you sure?» she asks worriedly, kissing his forehead and... it can’t be, she tries again with her and this time, the palm on his marble skin. «What... you’re burning up! You’ve got a fever!»

Again, exacerbated from the stress.

«It’s nothing.» he says, shrugging his shoulders. «Really it’s nothing... Dany please... let me continue... I’ve got a full package of letters to...»

«They are also my letters if you don’t mind, I through this job was for two, not only one of us, but together.» She helped him to rise up, he is trembling, her dear Jon, like a fawn in a wood. «Come on, let’s take you to bed.»

She obliges him to undress, tucking in bed and he fall asleep immediately, so exhausted. Her little and stubborn Dragonwolf...

And then they came, all of sudden.

A roaming surprise.

«Mama? Can we?»

Rhaella, Aemon, the twins Daeron and Alysanne, Jaehaerys, Aelinor and Daenys. Her seven miracles. And seven blessings of age almost nine, eight, both six, five, four and two in white and identical nightgowns coming from the nursery.

«Of course sweetie, but I thought you and the others were in bed.»

Annual children, she loves being pregnant, feeling a baby in her belly and Jon gives her this. It’s not selfishness, it’s love, craving for something that for many years she considered a mirage. She wants as many babes as she her body can bear.

«Is a Papa ill?» her curious Daeron eyes, purple and silver hair mirroring the ones of Alysanne and Daenys. «Can we help him?»

Rhaella, his dark curls and her purple eyes, her firstborn, the baby of the resurrection, the baby of hope, their dream of spring, laughs: «No silly! He’s just tired can’t you see? Papa snores so loud Mama! Septa Ursula says that he can be heard to the nursery but we didn’t hear anything!»

«Just Ghost’s snores» her ladylike Aelionor, hair of intertwined white gold and eyes as pale ss lilac, a rare combination even in Old Valyria, peculiar of the Old King’s heir, admitted.

«Papa needs his sleep as you, come on pups, it’s late, to bed with you.»

«Why now Mama?» Aemon, her perfect little boy, grey of eyes, silver of hair, a reflection of his father even in brooding and calm, protests.

«Because I said so.» she opens the door. «Go sweeties, I’ll be coming soon for a second goodnight kiss ok?»

The first good night kiss is delivered to her snoring and drooling Dragonwolf in a whisper:

«Sweet dreams my love, with our new baby on the way. I’m with child.»

#daenerys targaryen #jon snow #jonerys #my king and queen #asoiaf #fanfic #my fanfic #writing #targlings #jonerys babies

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vanchlo · 3 years

Text

Beside

Main Masterlist / Word Count: 4.6k / Warnings: Is angst considered one? Is sadness? Excess fluff? / Song: Beside You by 5SOS, ofc

Premise: You had been his first fan, before anybody else, arguably. Perhaps, that had been what had made it hurt the worst when he had forgotten you, amongst so many other things. How could you ever tell him that, if you were given the chance?

Pairing: Harry x Reader

“He smiled the most exquisite smile, veiled by memory, tinged by dreams.”

- Unknown

You’d be lying to yourself if you said that it looked any different. Sure, the addition of the few cardboard boxes and elliptical could maybe chalk up to that. But, the lie fell away before it was even really thought when a memory was sparked by every item your eyes fell on. What was different about it was how it felt, and how it felt more than different, if there was even a word for that. You were rather sure that there were never words good enough for your feelings after everything that had happened over the years.

You hadn’t even been sure if you could make it this far. That started with the drive, the worst part being driving past his. You thought that nothing could trump that until you opened the door and the multitudes of memories came flying at you. Long ago, you had taken down the pictures tacked to cork boards and shown in frames, but somehow, they had reappeared. Thanks to your mum, you thought. It felt like knives in the back of your eyes when you saw them, reminded for the hundredth time of how much things had changed. You weren’t sure if the reminders would ever stop, seeing as how they had been coming for the last nine years. Although they had dwindled over time, according to your proximity and whereabouts, they still never ceased. They never stopped hurting, or stirred up ‘what if’s inside of you.

Tears streamed angrily down your cheeks as the cotton fabric of the curtains left your hands. You had checked maybe twice now, three if you were telling yourself the truth. The thing was, you hadn’t been doing a lot of that lately, but you had needed it right in that moment as his curtains remained still. Then, there were yours, yanked to the side in a blush pink crumple. The images stared back at you, making your head hurt more than it already did. You weren’t sure how that was even a possibility.

“You rang?” a voice nearly demands. “Hullo?” you still don’t know what to do or how to say it, until you do.

“I’m sorry.”

“Reckon it took ya long enough. Now, why’re you cryin’ over Maths? Don’t think it deserves that much attention, don’t you agree?” he replies, making the pages in front of you blur all the more when your bed dips from his weight. “God, remind me again why we’re takin’ Geometry t’gether when we could’ve done somethin’ easier?”

“I dunno. I thought it was your idea,” you answer sheepishly, finding his shoulder with your head.

“Beats me. Whatever helps me avoid mo’ Maths down tha road,” he suggests, and you find yourself humming along in agreement. His fingers calloused from trying to learn guitar are felt on your forearm. “What d’ya say we take a break from this t’ bake some cookies?”

“But I want to finish it now,” you protest, meeting his eyes for the first time. They’re green as ever, and softer than you predicted after the argument you had had last night.

“Ya, and yer not gonna get anythin’ done if yer upset. I think doin’ somethin’ fun, like bakin’ fer a bit will be jus’ tha trick. C’mon,” he almost cooed, shutting the textbook and then tugging on your hand. They had ended up burnt, but the both of you ignored it when you later ate them on your bed as he explained tangents, cosines, and the like.

“You’re sure?”

“Positive,” he answered with enough confidence in his voice that you thought maybe you’d ask for some. You thought to yourself, isn’t that what you had been doing all of this time? Regardless of how many times you had asked that question, the same answer never made you feel any better. You nodded, just like every other time, assuring him you believe him, but you didn’t. How could you?

“You really won’t forget me if you make it big on the show, Harry?”

“Truth or lie, bubs?”

“Don’t tell me,” you whisper.

“‘Course not, love. How could I forget me bestest friend in tha whole wide world, huh? ‘ve known you since we were in nappies, ya don’t f’get that kind o’ rubbish,” and then, you were laughing.

Every time you’d think of that memory, you’d chide yourself for how you’d left it at that. The way that you let him leave you, but more importantly, how he let himself leave you.

That was one of the last times things had been so normal, and the last of burning cookies in the oven. There weren’t any more food fights in your kitchen, splashing hot, sudsy water at the other, or snapping tea towels at the other’s bum. A few weeks after the burnt cookies, you’d found the last one at the bottom of the cookie jar, amazed that any were left after his greedy hands. With an emptiness in your chest, you dropped it in the trash bin hurriedly, and escaped to your bedroom. It hadn’t been the first time, and you hoped, somehow and in some way, it would be the last.

Without knowing it, you had started a bad habit of lying to yourself, right then and there. As you stood at the window, pinning the curtains to the side in your secret S.O.S message, you waited. It wasn’t nearly as long as a few days before when your legs had ached for being there so long, but you still waited, too long. He didn’t come or pull his curtains aside. Somewhere deep inside of you, you knew that he never would come to your rescue ever again.

You couldn’t remember the last time that you had came home since moving out that a visit hadn’t been marred by the memory of him. Then again, when you thought hard on it, you were sure that there had never been a time where it wasn’t. Even if it had been nine years since things had changed, your eyes still strayed to his window at every visit. Sometimes, you even thought you saw his outline behind his curtains, or in the near dark, on your bed waiting for you. He never was there waiting, and unbeknownst to him, you could never help it but be waiting. It was what you had done best, and worst, for the last near decade.

It was difficult for you to remember the last time you had been home, stretching your thoughts until you figured it was last Christmas. Another one where he left you waiting, seeming as if that was the thing he was best at himself. Leaving you waiting for a text from him, but regardless of the bittersweetness, they came. On Christmas. Your birthday. Random days. The day you graduated with all of your classmates and without him. Then, when you had graduated uni, unable to stop wishing that he had been there, just like he was supposed to at all of the big moments. Most of all, when your mums told him to text you and the other way around, which you think hurt you the worst.

The house was quiet after a busy day cooking with your mum for a Sunday lunch. It always had confused you how so much fuss and work could be made just for a meal that lasted shy of twenty minutes. Tick tocking, the clock above the tap was the only sound in the house later that night. A mild summer heat still clung in the air outside, but you had chosen to stay in. You tried not to register the traditional disappointment on your mother’s face when she had asked you to join her to go next door for dinner. After several times of obliging, sitting at his family’s table with memories splashed all around, you found it unbearable to do it ever again. Worst of all, it made you doubt yourself when you’d remember the way your eyes gravitated towards the door, wondering if he’d walk in. It happened every time, even if you knew he was on the other side of the world at the moment. You couldn’t do it again, not just that, but so many other things.

At the memory of fingerpainting on the sliding glass door, much to your mum’s horror at your mere ages of three, you retreated to your bedroom recalling how you had insisted it was his idea. You didn’t believe him when he pulled the same thing then, and certainly you didn’t now, when a Peter Pan like scene waited before your eyes.

Your blink was long and purposeful, but no matter how many times you repeated it, it failed to do its job. It was still there when you opened your eyes, leading you to have a hard time believing them. At first, you weren’t sure if you wanted to believe them. If you were going to lie to yourself, you’d tell them that you wished it was a mirage of sorts just like all of the other times. You wishfully thought that it’ll go away with a blink, but it doesn’t.

If you weren’t lying to yourself? You’d tell them that you should be a lot of things, including wanting it to be imagined, but you couldn’t change the fact that it was not. Deep inside of yourself, you knew like black and white that you wouldn’t ever want to change it. If you thought with your brain, that’d be another story. You should be mad, but you weren’t. For once, you hoped that the good feeling would outweigh all of the bad ones for just enough time so that you could have a good visit. You had wanted that, and so much more, for so many years, more than anything at all, that it could be like old times. That dream had yet to come true, and you had buried it long ago.

Swallowing against a dry throat, you decide with your hand that you’ve been ready for years for this to happen, and the light flickers to life at your fingertips.

“Y’know, ya shouldn’t just leave yer window open. A burglar or someone dodgy like that may very well take advantage o’ it. ‘s quite dangerous.”

Were you lying to yourself right now? No, you weren’t, and so you saw how he had changed. His chocolate curls were longer now, but still cropped around his ears. More rings claimed his fingers, and so did the ink all over his observable body. Self consciously, you wondered if the little train in his noggin was running on the same tracks.

“Reckon it’s also dangerous to just help yourselves into a girl’s window,” your reply sounds anything but firm like your words had implied, but you don’t. It’s a tie between whose lips begin to curl first, but secretly you hope it’s his, so that it means you’re closer to seeing those trademark dimples. “Harry,” it falls before you have the chance to reel it back in. In succession, your name drops from his pair. The ones you had always dreamt of, and according to your mums whenever they got the chance, you had kissed once or twice when the two of you were little. You couldn’t blame yourself, if you were telling the truth.

“Ya didn’t use t’ mind it,” he defends. Only now, do you allow your eyes to stray from that face you weren’t sure was real. Your prior wish is nudged at when you realize that he’s sitting in the same spot he always had been when you found him like this. Whether it was after school, when the moon was high in the sky, or after you’d ripped the curtains to the side, it was always the end of your bed where he sat.

You can’t help it, and you say something that you’ve been trying to for too long.

“Hare, that was almost ten years ago.”

It catches him off guard, just like the words had done in your mind, unspoken for so very long. On your one hand, you could count the number of times you had seen him since he walked on to that stage. Each one was less personal and more unfulfilling than the last, and you hoped undyingly with every fiber of your being that this time wouldn’t be. For once, you didn’t want him to disappoint you, but you couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t. If you tried and if you didn’t lie, you could think of one long ago, you could think of so many. You wanted this time to be different, and at the same time, you didn’t want him to be. No, you wanted him to be him. Your Harry.

“What do you want, twerp? Why are you breaking into my childhood bedroom at nine o’clock at night?” your questioning lips deal. No matter the itch you have, you can’t get your feet to move in his direction.

The fact couldn’t be more of a truth when you hear what he says, “Mum told me ‘bout yer engagement.” Without you knowing, your feet wander across the room and away from him. On your vanity, sits the gold band with diamonds of all sizes set into it. It was the very reason you had come home, but if you were being honest with yourself, it wasn’t the only one. No, that one was sitting behind you on your bed. The biggest one of all, for so very long. “‘m sorry.”

“What could you be sorry for?” your voice is still and rather quiet, but the feelings inside of you are the least bit that.

“Loads. That I didn’t congratulate you earlier, that I didn’t know ‘til now. You should’ve told me, ‘m really happy fer you. Congratulations t’ tha both o’ you, ‘d love t’ meet tha lucky man.”

All at once, words and emotions are flying at you, and you’re unable to make sense of them. First, you want to be mad. Then, you want to be sad. Is there a middle ground or a combination?, you wonder. “Well, you don’t need to worry about it, because I’m not getting married,” it had been the third time you had said a version of these words out loud. The bloke in question, of course, your mum, and now, Harry. You hadn’t thought that this was how it would be playing out.

“What?” hasty questions are riddled in his one breath. The images pass before your eyes until you tear them from the ring, but it doesn’t make them go away. Out of sight and out of mind didn’t really work for this one, you had found, or with this one over there, either. He had been in your mind more than he had ever been in your sight, you think. “Love, why not?”

“Well, Harry, marriage doesn’t really seem to be in the cards for me. I dunno why I ever thought it had,” you confess gently, as if you need to soften the blow for him, of all people. You weren’t sure if he deserved it anymore, even.

“What d’ya mean? That’s all you could jabber ‘bout when we were kids, and teenagers too. It was all ‘bout walkin’ down tha aisle and bein’ a mum . . havin’ four bloody kids, and no less. What were tha names, again? Avery, Margot, Henley, and . .”

“Jones,” your lips decide for you. “I’m surprised you could remember all of those.”

“‘s not hard when you’d already decided our kids’ names when we were only five, bubs,” he wheezes, a nostalgic happiness dripping off of his words, likened to honey. “You’d always insisted you’d marry me one day, and not let anybody else have me.”

The tears had come and went over the last few days, and once again, they had made their fateful return. Sometimes, you had wished that he could know how many multitudes you had shed because of him. For him. At others, if you thought with your heart, you knew that he shouldn’t know. He couldn’t.

“I remember it being the other way around. You said I’d be your wife one day, I didn’t have a choice in the matter.”

“A truth or a lie, love?” the saying brings your actions to a halt, making your eyes freeze on the bottle of contact solution just within reach.

“Truth.”

“I was sad t’ hear you’d broken yer promise t’ me when Mum had told me you’d gotten engaged,” this time, you’re not sure if his words are imaginary or actual. The feelings bubbling inside of you, demanding to be felt and then spoken, feel quite like the latter.

It was never ‘my mum’ between the two of you, because growing up it was as if the both of you had had two mums and a dad, or for Harry, two. Since the day he went away, she had never stopped being your mum either, and she reminded you with every card and text checking up on you. Sometimes, you’d wished she would just stop, but you didn’t know how to do that. You feared not knowing how to accept that if she had even agreed, if asked. She had spent countless times stroking your hair when you found your way onto her sofa, another sob on your lips from missing her son.

“‘s it shitty o’ me t’ say ‘m tha least bit relieved?” his next words come, and you can hear the sheepish tone in them.

“No, join the club.”

“Did he cheat on you? ‘Cuz if he did, I swear t’ high heavens that I-,” you stop him when his words become unnecessary, but after the ‘stop’ you utter, your lips falter.

How do you tell him that he’s the reason? The very one that led you to end the engagement with a man that was everything you had wanted and more, and yet, he wasn’t. Because, he wasn’t the man who stands behind you now. The exact one who at one time in your lives would walk around your gardens in nappies with you and nothing else. The boy you took baths with as a child, took naps with fighting over who got the Mickey Mouse blankey and the next day who got the Scooby Doo one. Try as you might, you couldn’t find a way or a time to tell your fiancée any of that, in all of the years you had been together, or even just the other day when he wrapped the ring back in your hand with wet eyes.

If you were even able to tell Harry that, how could you ever bring yourself to tell him what you’ve been holding inside of you for all of these years? You had tried again and again to forgive him for what he had done, but each time it had failed sooner than the last. What was to say that even if he was there in front of you, that one more try would work? How could you tell your lifelong best friend who wasn’t really your best friend anymore, who hadn’t been almost longer than he had, that you had never stopped loving him, but never stopped hating him for leaving you?

“No, he didn’t cheat on me. He was perfect . . but not for me.”

“‘m really sorry ‘bout that, love. Mum had good things t’ say ‘bout him afta meetin’ him and I trusted her.”

“Harry, like you ever approved of my boyfriends when we were in school,” you argue with a smile, not realizing you’re facing him until well, you are. His lips are smiling at you until they’re not, and it’s the furthest thing from your own, too. “You never liked any of them, and always were mean to them.”

“I rememba. Only gave ‘em a hard time ‘cuz there wasn’t one who treated you good enough, like you’d deserved,” if he sees the wetness collecting on your cheeks, he doesn’t mention it. His lips don’t, but his eyes do all of the talking, and more.

“Why are you saying all of this now, Harry?” it had been years in the making and there was no stopping it now. You couldn’t lie to myself anymore. No, not with the tears in your voice could you mask another one fed to his ears.

“Truth . . or lie?”

“I’m done playing games with you, Harry! We’re bloody twenty five years old, we’re supposed to always tell the truth. You promised all those years ago that you wouldn’t lie to me, and you did just that, Harry! How could you?” you feel the words swell inside of you, and you’re past trying to figure out how to get them to stop. He stares back at you with a face devoid of any inkling of understanding, telling you what you had always known, despite the lies you’d told yourself. “You left me, Harry! You forgot about me! Y-You went on that tv show and I didn’t exist anymore. How could you do that to me? We were the bestest of friends, ever since we were babies! I cheered you on, Harry. I was your biggest fan before anybody else, listening to your made up songs on guitar before we even started school. We wrote our own songs and we had our own band, The Brunette Bunch, with you on guitar and me on the keyboard . . I always knew you were a rockstar, because you were my favorite person in the entire world, Hare. But, you were there one day, and then you were gone. My best friend never came back after that . . I couldn’t count the hundreds of times that I’d hate myself for wishing that you’d never went on that show.”

“You were never very good at sharing me from tha start,” his words are sugar, perhaps the spice, and everything nice. So many still wait inside of you, left unsaid.

“I couldn’t do it, Hare. I couldn’t marry him, because of it.”

“Bubs, you left him ‘cuz o’ me?” his astonishment is vivid in your eyes and his, as well.

“You never did do that great in Lit, trying to make out what the books were trying to say,” your attempt is measly at a laugh, but amongst the glassiness in his eyes, you see an echo of it. “Twenty years later and I still can’t help but want nobody else to marry you.”

The dimples are home again and they make the same word resound inside of you, too. His steps are quiet but they speak volumes in your skull, and in your chest.

“Seems it was yest’day ‘d find you scribblin’ ‘Mrs. Harry Styles’ over and over in yer Comp journal, ‘stead o’ practicin’ cursive.”

“Oh, I was practicing my cursive still, just the important stuff,” this time, it’s the closest thing to a real laugh you've shared in days. It’s been years and more since the last time you’d heard one spill from his own, until now.

“Sure,” he titters. The soft padding of his Vans on the carpeted floor stops, but your heart tells you that it never will. There had been a lot of never’s that took up rent in your heart for too long now, but another one seemed to be turning to dust in front of your eyes. “Could never tell you how sorry I am fer leavin’ you behind, love. Never could, but I never fo’got you. Ev’ry time I called home I asked Mum how you were and what you were doin.’ At first, I couldn’t take the truth, and Mum didn’t want me t’ know, but I told her t.’ Y’know how she’d hug you ev’ry time you saw her? That was from me, told her t’ give you a hug from me ev’ry time I called, ‘cuz I hated that I couldn’t give you one . . I know ‘s no excuse and that it wasn’t anythin’ compared t’ yers, but it hurt too much afta awhile t’ see you when I came home. I wanted things t’ be the same again, but I couldn’t, knowin’ I was to leave again. But, y’know what, I never stopped. I asked Mum each and every call ‘bout you and made sure she told me ev’rythin.’ Saw photos o’ you graduate school without me, uni too, yer fiancée, passin’ yer driver’s test, movin’ t’ London, and at last, I got t’ send her one o’ when you came t’ that concert o’ ours a few back and saw me backstage. I never fo’got you, or stopped worryin’ ‘bout you, knowin’ how bad ‘d fucked things up. Just didn’t know tha first thing t’ do or say t’ fix ‘em.”

If you were dreaming all of this, you realized, you hoped that you wouldn’t wake up for a while still. You needed this to be real for just a bit more, maybe longer. Definitely, more.

“Truth or lie, Hare?” is all that your lips can utter at this point. You think that you made the right call when his lips sing with a laugh.

“Truth. Always, bubs.”

“Can I give you that kiss I’ve been sitting on for a good ten years, now?” it had been so long since your lips had curled with happiness because of him. Within moments, it feels like mere minutes since the days with your heads resting on each other’s shoulders with textbooks and Red Vines in your laps. Not much further, walking home with scraped knees reading Dr. Seuss to each other, either.

But, when his lips touch yours, it could feel like a million miles away, too. For the first time amongst your own lies and truths, you’re telling yourself the truth when you think that you’re glad that you’re here. Cradled against his chest and with his arm around your waist, you’re at last happy where you are, because it’s finally with him beside you again.

“Can I have a truth, bubs?”

“Sure, Hare. What is it?” you yawn, your forehead nudging against the sandpaper feel of his face. Quickly, you’d realized there were so many things you had to learn about him. You couldn’t be more excited to annoy his ears with questions.

“How set are you on that ‘never gettin’ married’ thing?”

With warmed cheeks and heart, at last, just the same, your smiling lips deal an answer you’ve held for too long.

“I’m still set on not letting anybody else marry you, if that tells you anything.”

In that moment, it had been the easiest it’d ever been to let yourself tell the truth. He’d changed and so had you, but he still smelled the same and felt the same and he was your same Harry, and your heart did too. It greeted him again as his lips did the same to your own, giggles shared underneath the covers like you’d been doing for years with him beside you.

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axther · 3 years

Text

hero of many, princess of none

in which Bakugou and Kirishima, trying to attempt a quest, meet a strange young woman. for @reddriot

Life in the borderlands was not easy.

It was long and toiling, with the twin suns making the days hot and the years long. The sea of sand that stretched across half of the planet could turn into tundra in a day. There used to be kingdoms built on top of kingdoms on top of kingdoms, but they were all sent to dust and to pain.

And alone survived a girl.

She was a child. She alone survived the ruin of a thousand empires, waiting above the sand and snow. She alone was the last heir of a kingdom that never was. Even when the wind ripped off the skin of lesser men, she did not die.

The little princess walked in a state between heartbreak and duty. Why did it happen this way? Why her? Every question was raised. Every god heard a plea. But none answered.

So, the little princess wandered the borderlands, lonely and divine. And through the years, she grew, with skin like armour and eyes like a stone. She could look out at the great dunes like a hawk and see a single creature. She was armed to the bone, no inch of her left open. She was weary, but stood for those that had no king or knight to protect them. Those that abused what they had were forced to face her dark fury. She became the Mirrored Darkryder, for the fleeting steps in the night that forced the hand of her enemies and the mirages that she seemed to leave in her wake.

She was the hero of many, and princess of none.

Good inns were rare.

Bakugou Katsuki sat at the bar of an inn, with his best friend and dragon shifter Kirishima. They were off on some quest that his mother made him do, after a day of barking at each other, and was told not to come home until it was done. It was something about a bear, blah blah blah, Bakugou really didn’t care. He just wanted to get it over with so he could go back to fighting the enemies of his people and essentially becoming a war hero. But here he was. In an inn, trying to figure out where said bear was.

Kirishima was chatting happily with the bartender and no less than three patrons, waving his hands about and laughing freely. Bakugou felt sour. He wanted to kick everyone in the room and make them shut up. But alas, he needed information, and inns were the only place to get it.

“Hey, dumbass.” Bakugou hissed, nudging Kirishima’s shin with his foot. “Ask them about the bear.” “Oh!” Kirishima looked at Bakugou with a huge grin. “I already did! They said there is no bear like that.” “What?!” Bakugou barked, rising from his seat, fury welling up in him. “What the hell do you mean?!”

“Apparently there’s no bears around here.” Kirishima shrugged. “Only wolves.”

“That doesn’t make any fuckin’ sense!” Bakugou looked at the bartender, gritting his teeth and almost frothing at the mouth. “We’re looking for the White Bear!” “White Bear?” The bartender winced, and Bakugou realised the whole bar started going quiet. The conversations went null, all eyes on them.

“White Bear…” One of the young ladies said in a hushed whisper. “He’s our lord.” “A thief,” An older man hissed, gripping the table under his worn hands. “He steals our crops, our women, our animals. Our way of life.” “You won’t have to worry about him.” The bartender leaned back, beginning to wipe down a glass. “He’s being taken care of.” “What?” Kirishima leaned in, curious. “What do you mean?” “The Mirror Darkryder,” The girl whispered with reverence. Heads bowed down, and the candles in the room seemed to flicker. “She acts for the people. We asked…” “She will save us.” A youth, maybe Bakugou’s age, rose with a justice-ridden look. Kirishima seemed wholly into the mysterious saviour thing the village had going on, but Bakugou scoffed.

“What, you hired an assassin?” “She’s no assassin.” The bartender hummed. “Some say she was born out of the sands of the Borderlands. Others think she’s some sort of...god. I dunno. But she’s the protector of the people. If someone sends a messenger into the Tenebris Woodland with a plea for help, the plea will be answered.”

“We hope that the White Bear will be better, in some way.” The girl sighed, having the last word. “In death, or in life.”

Bakugou felt his blood chill, and he turned to Kirishima. He seemed almost awestruck, with a gaping mouth and wide eyes. There was a moment of pure reverence before a traveller walked through the door, breaking the tension. It was raining like hell outside, and when the figure walked in, they were soaked through. A certain air made them feel almost dangerous, like a plague in human form. They seemed weary, sighing before plopping into a chair next to Bakugou. The inn went back to its loud state and the lights went bright again as if nothing had happened at all. Kirishima looked around in a bit of confusion, raising his eyebrow.

“Huh? That was weird.” “How can I help you, stranger?” The bartender talked over Kirishima, leaning over to the traveller. They lowered their hood with a tired sigh, shaking their head to reveal a young woman. She was beautiful, even in her exhaustion, and the bartender swallowed a bit. “Miss?” “Right, uh...whatever is filling.” “Of course.” The bartender left to go get something, leaving her with Bakugou and Kirishima. He leaned over Bakugou to give the traveller a toothy grin.

“Hi there! Are you visiting?” “Hm?” She looked at him with a surprised glance. “Oh, yes. I’m just passing through.”

“That’s awesome! So are we!” Kirishima skedaddled around Bakugou to squeeze between the two of them. “What’s your name?” “I’m YN.” She smiled softly, tilting her head. “And you?” “This is my bro, Bakugou!” Before Bakugou could protest, he was tucked under Kirishima’s overenthusiastic arm and noogied.

“Shut the fuck up! Don’t you fuckin-!”

“He’s my best friend!” Kirishima grinned, letting go of Bakugou. “And I’m Kirishima. Dragon shifter extraordinaire!”

“Don’t just tell anyone that-!” “Neat!” YN grinned, lacing her hands. “I’ve only met a handful of dragon shifters before.” “Wait! You’ve met any at all?!” “Why, yes!” She nodded fervently, giddy. She seemed like a total sweetheart, as opposed to the initial aura of “don’t interact or else I’ll kill you”. Her eyes seemed to sparkle in the candlelight, and when she leaned into her hand, her cheek was squished. There was a kind glow about her, and Bakugou felt his unease slowly melt away.

“When?” His words were less suspicious, and more inquisitive. “Was it with the nomads?” “Oh, no.” YN shook her head happily. “It was in the mountains, a small family of them. The children were such small things! Their scales hadn’t even shed yet.”

“Oh!” Kirishima had a hand over his heart, seeming almost faint at the idea. “That’s so cute! Bro, bro, remember when we were kids?!”

“Fuck off,” Bakugou rolled his eyes, peeling away from Kirishima’s side in embarrassment. “I don’t fuckin remember.” “C’mon, you still have my scales on your armour!” “Shut up!” YN started laughing, and the sound was whole. It was peace, welcome changes, the twin suns through the green trees. Both Bakugou and Kirishima paused, leaning in and going quiet to listen. It wasn’t like bells in the noise, but in the motion; pealing, tumbling, ringing everywhere. When she laughed, the whole world stopped to listen. And the two stared.

“So.” Bakugou broke the silence as soon as she stopped, not wanting for the conversation to go dead yet. “What are you in town for?” YN tilted her head again, and pursed her lips. She seemed to be in thought for a second, before nodding. “I’ve been taking odd jobs through the Borderlands and the Meseta. The sort of stuff people wouldn’t do...normally.” “Like…?” Kirishima paused, trying to make sense of it. “Like...yanno…” “Oh! No! Not like that!” YN waved her hands, flushed before taking a sip of her drink. “Not like that.”

“Then what is it?” Bakugou frowned. Before he got his answer, there was a yell from outside, and everyone looked towards the door. YN seemed to have a dark sparkle in her eye.“Neither of you are grossed out by blood, right?” “Huh? No. Why?”YN rose from her seat as people began pouring outside, and Bakugou watched her go with a confused scowl. “What the fuck was that about?” Bakugou got up to leave and Kirishima followed, a cautious and curious glance in his eyes. They both stepped out of the inn, and saw everyone crowding the town square. There were double the people in the bar, and when Kirishima saw what everyone was looking at, he recoiled and grabbed Bakugou’s arm. In the middle of the town square was an elaborate sacrificial stand, with several spears placed in a circle. The two longest were in the centre, on a pyre that burned bright into the night. One had a long, dark cloak on it, which miraculously hadn’t caught fire yet and waved in the thick night wind. The other was the head of a grisly young man, with his eyes wide with fear and tongue lolling out. He still had colour in his face, but the blood was trailing down the spear and onto the pyre. It was a morbid sight, but villagers were dancing around it in joy.

“He’s dead! The White Bear is dead!”

“She did it!”

Though the sight was one to behold, Bakugou and Kirishima both slowly relaxed once they realised that their work was done for them. Bakugou glanced over to see YN looking at the pyre with a satisfied look.

“Well, they’re happy.” She crossed her arms, looking at them out of the corner of her eye. Bakugou noticed that when her black cloak moved, it showed a whole set of weapons around her waist and thighs. One had blood on the handle; an embellished dagger with a white bear motif.

“It was you,” Kirishima whispered, clearly reaching the same conclusion as Bakugou.

“Maybe it was.” YN shrugged.

“You took his own weapon?” Bakugou couldn’t help but be impressed.

“I never said that.” Despite her refusing to answer, it seemed more out of obligation to keep her ‘identity’ a secret, as opposed to actually lying to them. “Wow.” Kirishima looked at YN with wide eyes. “So you...what, you go around saving people?” “Me?” YN turned back to the pyre, a smile on her face as she watched it burn. “I would never. That’s made for people who have far too much free time on their hands.” Bakugou scoffed. “Like the Mirrored what’s-her-nuts.” “Exactly.” YN sounded both ready to burst in laughter, and posh at the same time. “Like the Mirrored what’s-her-nuts.”

“Where will you go?” Kirishima’s voice was laced with concern.

“Oh, I don’t know. Wherever the sand and the dirt takes me, I suppose. Wherever the Mirrored Darkryder is needed most.” YN turned with a flourish, her cape flicking behind her as she slowly walked into the woods, fading into the dark with what felt like too sudden of an exit. Bakugou looked at Kirishima.

“Do you think we’ll ever see her again?” Kirishima sighed, eyes wide and looking at where she seemed to become shadow.

“No.” Bakugou shook his head, feeling as though the moment was something monumental.

“I don’t think we will.”

#bakugou x reader #kirishima x reader #bakugou x reader x kirishima #fantasy au #not your mother's bnha fantasy au #tw death #tw decapitation #tw blood #bnha x reader #fantasy

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in3ptbean · 3 years

Text

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒔 𝒐𝒏 𝑭𝒊𝒓𝒆

Lost Boys x Reader

Platonic

Summary: You’ve lived in Santa Carla your entire life, yet you never stepped foot on the boardwalk. After meeting the boys, you now know why your parents have been painting such a violent image of the California beach town.

Warnings: The works (barely though)

Masterlist

(Not My GIF)

Santa Carla.

A summer night Wonderland or Murder Capitol of the World?

You’ve been living in the shanty California town for your entire life, yet you never set foot anywhere near the Boardwalks direction; until now.

Your parents had painted a very dark, vivid image of what resided there; from drunk teens to high punks and even creepers from the next town over. It was safe to say, you weren’t very keen on visiting any time soon. Despite your protests, your friends wanted you to live a little, something about ‘how are you even alive right now?’ and ‘what have you been doing your entire life?’.

“I really think I should go back. You know, my parents will kill me if they found out I was even here-” Your protests were cut off by the short redhead to your left,

“Nonsense!” Cynthia cried out, tightening the hold she had on your hand while Bailey grinned as her cheery and uplifting mood. Despite their smiles and reassurances, the heavy feeling in your chest didn’t go away; not even a smidge.

You opened your mouth to respond, but was cut off once again. Your pupils dilated, taking in all the bright neon lights and the mirages of flashing pinks, blues and greens. The sweet alluring smell of cotton candy and funnel caked overwhelmed the stench of pot, gently soothing your nerves until you sported the same grin resting on your friends faces.

The atmosphere rivaled Disneyland. sike

“You were being serious about never coming here, huh?” Bailey asks after thanking the ticket booth worker.

“Completely,” You uttered, staring in awe at the game booths, shops and plush prizes.

“Come on then! We have a lot to show you!”

Your heels no longer scraped against the rickety floor of the boardwalk; the excitement of finally being able to experience what you had been shielded from your entire life finally taking over your entire being. Cheeks hurting, legs aching, eyes burning; these were all the symptoms of running around the boardwalk all night. Not that you cared. At that moment in time, you had truly found your freedom, and you wanted to live that night to the fullest extent.

all good things, however great, come to an end.

And that came in the form of five surfer Nazi’s surrounding the three of you by the carousel.

You would have been scared shitless if it wasn’t for the tourist and locals sticking around. Hell, you were pretty sure Bailey was close to passing out.

“How about you girls come with us?” One asked, a malicious grin rising to his lips. Your own pressed together on a thin line, hand tightly grasping Cynthia’s own. “We can show you a good time,” The group laughed, nudging back Bailey who had attempted to slip between a bald and muscular surfer.

“Maybe some other time,” Cynthia responded with a shaky smile. She nudged you before continuing, “We have to get home-”

“Oh really? But the party’s just begun!” They all laughed once again before an arm wrapped around your shoulders. You ripped yourself away, glaring at the surfer. Cynthia and Bailey watched you with wide eyes, surprised that you hadn’t been so easily swayed by the punks. “Don’t be like that girly-”

“Then don’t touch me,” You spat out, swatting his hand away from your arm.

By now, a midsized crowd had formed, watching the interaction with prying eyes, and a sense of self-preservation. Unbeknownst to the surfers, the Lost Boys were in the crowd, ready to step in once things got heavy.

David glanced at Paul, who was pushing his way past some of the locals, then at Dwayne, who stood beside him. Marko stood by you, eyes locked on the Surfer’s in case they decided to get handsy.

It wasn’t until Bailey cried out that that party got started. Out of the corner of you eye, you managed to see Bailey push Cynthia away from one of the handsy surfers, kneeing him between his legs before screaming. The muscular surfer moved to grab you, but was met with knuckles hitting his nose before he could even touch you.

You reared back, suddenly forgetting the good time you had prior to now, before yelling at Bailey and at Cynthia to run. You doubted they could hear you. Adrenaline was the only thing keeping you from becoming pulp on the ground.

The heavy feeling in your chest grew when you realized arms had wrapped around your waist and over your arms. A fist rose to meet your face, yet you couldn't bare to see it. If the surfers didn't kill you, your parents surely would for disobeying their ‘orders’ to stay home.

The punch never came, and an eerie silence had enveloped the crowd. You slowly opened your eyes, only to be met with dirty blonde locks and a colorful-patched jacket.

“Didn’t you know they were with us?” A chill, yet spine-tingling voice asked. Your head snapped towards Bailey and Cynthia, whom were nearly on the verge of passing out before noticing that another blonde had come up to your side, pulling you towards him and away from the surfer constricting you.

You found yourself unconsciously leaning against a Twisted Sister look alike, eyes drooping heavily, giving into the sweet lulling of Nyx’s lullaby. Their words were a buzz in your ear, echoing heavily against he thudding of your slowing heart.

You awoke with a start, sitting up as soon as your eyes snapped open. Your forehead smacked against another, a sharp cry leaving your lips in surprise.

“Holy fuck-” The swear was cut off by a smack, soon followed by laughter.

“Shit! I’m sorry- fuck- are you ok?” You failed to notice you were the one with a bandaged hand. The blonde from before grinned before offering his hand.

“You’re asking me?” You nodded, eyes quirking up before smiling at him.

“Yeah, we just smashed forehead, and it hurt like hell,”

A squeal cut you off, and soon, you were tackled to the ground by none other than a smiley Bailey and Cynthia.

“You’re alright!” Bailey laughed as she spoke, poking your ribs with every other word. “You were so bad ass yesterday-”

“What?”

“You broke the guys nose!” Twisted Sister exclaimed, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “Nearly knocked him out too,” He gave you a slight squeeze before helping you off the ground.

You found yourself staring at the cave you had been taken to, eyes widening before taking in every little detail of the old, caved in hotel. Remnants of wall paper and tacky graffiti covered the wall, a once extravagant fountain holding a fallen chandelier resting in the middle of what was once the main lobby. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” The same, cold voice from yesterday night spoke, nearly making you jump.

“Breathtaking,” You replied, smiling at the boy. He sat confidently on the wheelchair, hands wrapped around a bejeweled wine bottle. Twisted Sister’s words quickly came back to you, causing you to turn to the boys. “thank you-”

“For what?” Mullet asked, a smirk etched into his features.

“For yesterday. I wanted to thank you,” You glanced at Bailey and Cynthia, who were laughing and dancing with Twisted Sister and Patches; looking as care free as always. “I know it’ doesn’t seem like a big deal but we would of probably been dead, or worse-”

In an instant, Mullet had stood and offered you the bottle. His icy blue eyes bore into you, watching as you hesitantly touched it, “You are one of us,”

“I really shouldn’t. My parents are probably worried sick-”

“We told them you’re with us!” Bailey said, smiling as she was swung around by Patches “You’ll feel great! I promise!” Cynthia nodded along, eyes widening before she suddenly sat up.

“I totally forgot to introduce you to the guys!” You smiled at her antics, opting to ignore the feeling of a cold arm wrapping around your waist. She swung her arm around Patches, before taking your hand and pulling you to the ‘make-shift’ dance floor. “This is Marko,” Patches grinned at you, thumb soon finding it’s way to his lips. “Twisted Sister look-alike is Paul,”

“I do NOT look like Twisted Sister!” He exclaimed, placing a hand on his chest in faux-mockery.

“Yeah! You can’t disrespect Dee Snider like that!” You chimed in, laughing when Paul playfully shoved you.

“This little prince is Laddie!” The boy smiled shyly at you, before turning his attention to his brother, “ Dwayne,” Said boy smiled gently at you before you were once again facing Mullet. “And this is David!” He held the bottle out towards you, now uncorked, and grinned when you gently took it.

“You’re one of us, (Y/n),”

You smelled it; a sweet copper scent fulling your lungs. Pressured by the cheers of your friends, you placed the opening of the bottle to your lips, and took a long sip.

#the lost boys #the lost boys imagines #the lost boys x reader #the lost boys paul #the lost boys david #the lost boys dwayne #the lost boys marko #the lost boys laddie #santa carla #x reader #slasher imagines #slasher x reader #slasher imagine #the lost boys 1987 #x you #slasher x s/o #slasher x you #platonic

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redstainedsocks · 3 years

Text

Strength or Fragility

Warnings: whump recovery, conditioned responses, traumatized whumpee, vague references to past noncon, brief thoughts of noncon happening again, isolation, fears of rejection, food mention, dehydration

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

There was a room put aside as a bedroom for him and Zach paced the floor of it until he knew the layout well enough that he could do it with his eyes closed. Not that he would—he might as well save that for if, or when, he was left blindfolded and had to fend for himself without his senses.

It was nothing special. It should have been a small office, but it now contained a bed, a set of shelves, one upright chair, and thick paper over the window in the door to give him privacy. Privacy from people he remembered with crystal clarity but who felt like strangers to him now.

Archer less so, but the others were like dream-blurry visions, waving mirages looking at him with hope like he was someone they used to know. He was almost relieved to see a handful of unfamiliar faces amongst the old, new hires who wouldn’t know him as he wouldn’t know them, and others like Tom who he knew less well and might keep out of his way, and Sasha who seemed to be avoiding him and wasn’t that a surprise she was, she was supposed to be--

He cut off the thought with the texture of the paint on the wall, running his fingers over the uneven cover of grey-ish mauve. His booted feet shuffled over the carpet tiles again and he noticed, not for the first time, that it was scratchy, and he knew it would itch and rub cruelly on his knees if he had to kneel on it.

He also knew no-one here was likely to make him kneel, or blindfold him again, and that the privacy they offered was for his own good and not so that bad things could happen in the dark. He knew all of that, logically. He knew it, but it was alien to think that way. There were two conflicting trains of thought in his head; the things he knew about normal life, about the members of his old team, about how people were treated when they weren’t being held hostage; and the things ingrained in him from years of torment and abuse.

He wasn’t sure how to navigate any of it. The thoughts and habits of being a free person had been a part of his life so much longer than his captive mindset it should have been like slipping back into a second skin. Only it was a glove that didn’t fit right anymore. He knew how to wear it, he knew its purpose, he knew the rules and expectations. He just couldn’t quite make it work, or make it natural.

They’d shown him the kitchen and the bathroom, and he knew he didn’t have to be told to go use them. In fact if he asked for permission he knew it would draw strange looks and scrutiny he didn’t want. His throat was parched and his mouth painfully dry, a headache building behind his eyes in a dull roar. But he couldn’t make himself open the door and walk down the corridor and get a drink. He knew he should, he knew how. Why couldn’t he do it?

It made him irrationally angry, like he was somehow being hard done to. That he was being tested and didn’t know how to pass the test. It was the same sort of feelings he’d had to hide in front of his captors, rage and irritation, fury and fear at getting it wrong. He wished for the surety of voices whispering in his ear and clear instructions, or pain to guide his way, but there was nothing. Nothing but thirst, and maybe that was punishment enough. A constant reminder that he had to be better at this, he didn’t have room to fail. No matter which side of the coin his flip landed on, no matter which side he placed his bets, he had to be strong enough to make his own way.

He wasn’t strong anymore though, and every hour away from the man he’d knelt at the feet at for all these last months made him less and less sure that he was doing the right thing. If he could just talk to someone, if he could just… know. If he could just not be alone.

But he was alone. So he paced, and waited, and eventually when no-one came to retrieve him he pulled the blanket off the bed and curled up in the corner and, finally, sleep overtook him.

* * *

He awoke with a start at the opening of the door, and then froze as Archer stepped into the room. The blanket was up to his chin and he let go, let it pool in his lap and opened his mouth to speak, only no sound came out.

Archer looked over him, looked at the bed, and then shook his head like he was dispelling some kind of thought. Zach couldn’t guess what impression he was making, or what kind of result it would end with. If they thought him incapable would they just send him back to some kind of recovery centre? Or toss him out on the street? Did he have a home anymore or had everything been sold off after his supposed demise?

Archer cleared his throat and pushed the door closed behind him. His face was drawn, tired, and Zach felt bad for being the cause of it. He wanted to offer some way to soothe Archer, to make up for all of it, but there was nothing he could offer that Archer would want—and nothing that, deep down, Zach wanted to give. Not to Archer, not like that.

“You know we hauled a bed up here for a reason,” Archer said, nose wrinkling in the strange half-smile he did when he was trying not to laugh at his own joke.

Zach snapped his mouth closed and pushed down his initial response which was to crawl up onto the mattress as though what Archer said was a lewd suggestion. He tried to be flippant, unsure if it would land. “I didn’t want to mess it up, I haven’t showered. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“We thought you could use some rest, you’re still healing. It’s been a few hours, we all thought you’d have taken a nap.”

So that, at least, he had done half right. “Did you… want me for something?”

“If you’re feeling up to it Bryson thought we could start the initial debriefing. Find out all the wheres and whens, ask you how all this happened.”

Suddenly the insignificance of his previous trials was plain to see. This would be the real test. His dry mouth felt even more parched.

“Zach?” Archer was on his feet, crouching nearby and Zach wondered how he missed that.

“Fine. I’m fine. I think… I need, I won’t be good without, I can do it but I just. Fuck.” He scrubbed his hand down his face, the first movement he’d allowed himself since Archer entered the room. “Dying of thirst over here,” his voice croaked at the last word, illustrating his point.

“That’s an easy fix, come on.”

Archer extended his hand and Zach took it, let himself be pulled to his feet and blinked away the spots in front of his eyes as his body adjusted to the change in posture. Touching Archer didn’t make his skin crawl and that felt like a small victory. He tucked it away in his heart, pretending he could save up enough good moments to see him through.

Once in the kitchen Archer filled a tall glass with water and held it out. Zach hesitated, his conditioned response warring with what he knew was social etiquette. He leaned forward to take the glass between his lips, waiting for Archer to tip the water into his mouth and closed his eyes as shame washed over him. Archer made some sort of noise and grabbed Zach’s hand, guided it up to the glass and curled his fingers around it.

It was another faux pas, another stain against his perfect reputation in their minds. In the same way he’d fucked up when Bryson, a man he respected more than almost any other, had appeared in his hospital room. Instead of taking the offered hand and shaking it, he’d pressed it to his trembling forehead in a semblance of a bow. It was all wrong. It showed his weakness, his embarrassment, his crushed spirit. It covered their faces with pitying looks and he knew he deserved pity and to be looked down on, but he didn’t want it.

“Take it,” Archer said, and Zach didn’t miss the wobble in his voice.

He gripped the glass, and nodded, and gulped a mouthful, then another. The glass shook in his hand and he steadied it with his other as he straightened. “Sorry. Um. Sorry? I wasn’t allowed anything that—”

“You don’t have to explain!” Archer interrupted.

“—could be broken or used as a weapon,” he finished lamely. Archer stared at him and Zach couldn’t meet his gaze. He took several smaller sips, wetting his mouth, waiting for the headache to ease and hoping his stomach didn’t protest.

“I guess… you’re not used to asking for things either?” Archer replied.

Zach shook his head.

“Okay well, the Doc said simple food for a few days. I’ll grab you something before we head to the debrief. You, look, you have a seat, and I’ll rustle up something and we’ll eat together. Okay?”

There was no protest Zach could, or wanted, to make to that. He sank into the offered chair and sat tentatively on the edge of it. Hot tears burned the backs of his eyes, threatened to spill, and he swallowed more water to try and stem the tide. He had Archer on side, Archer cared. He hoped fiercely that nothing he said or did would change that, it was the first real hope he’d had in a long time and it felt flimsy and liable to break under the strain of his wishing for it. It felt fragile, it felt like a candle flickering, just waiting for the wind to put it out.

[Tagging @haro-whumps @whumpthisway @hurting-fictional-people @lonesome--hunter happy to add or remove anyone, just let me know]

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duxhess-kryzewan · 3 years

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obi wan gets caught in a lie? can be as heavy/light as you want

A/n: hello!! im so sorry for the sudden disappearanc, but im back and will hopefully be posting regularly again!! (also, i didnt quite know how to write a scenario with him lying to satine, so hopefully this stays as true to the characters as possible)

- White Lies -

Satine had spent a large portion of her youth biting her nails.

She knew it was a nasty habit. Aside from it being unsanitary, it was beyond improper for a lady - especially one of nobility - to do so. It was only during her time on the run with Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan that she managed to stop. Partly because she was so distracted by her concern for her people, and partly because trekking through the wilderness of various planets tended to get her hands dirty.

Yet here she stood, in the middle of her Coruscant apartment, chewing absentmindedly on her nails, not caring in the slightest that years of work to break the habit had all been for nothing.

She had been on the planet for two days now, both of them consumed with Senate proposals and a barrage of questions for the neutral systems, most of which were nothing more than ploys to side with the republic. Even in the face of aggressive senators though, Satine had held her ground. While she may be a pacifist, she was still a Mandalorian, and a Mandalorian never backed down from a fight. She was no exception. There wasn't much that shook her these days.

Except, perhaps, the absence of Obi-Wan.

He had promised her he'd be there before the sun set, but the city had been shrouded in darkness for hours now and he was no where to be found. She only commed him twice - not wanting to come off as overbearing - but it was beyond unusual for him not to follow through with his word.

So she commed Padme, the only person who wouldn't question her, and asked if she had seen or heard from him.

"I haven't," The younger woman said, "Anakin hasn't came home yet for me to ask him. If I hear from either of them I'll be sure to let you know."

"Thank you." Satine said before ending the transmission.

So she paced, chewing on her nails and trying her best not to think of the worst possible scenario. He was a Jedi, she rationalized, even if something did happen he was more than capable of taking care of himself.

It didn't help ease her mind.

So when the familiar beeping of a keypad and sound of her door opening sounded through the apartment she couldn't have been more relieved.

She rushed to meet him, barely giving him enough time to shut the door before she threw her arms around his shoulders.

He cradled her against him in response, his hands winding around her tiny frame. She didn't need to be in tune with the force to feel the exhaustion radiating off of him. Yes, something had certainly happened, and it had drained him.

"Are you alright?" Satine asks, pulling away just enough to scan her eyes over him, searching for any kind of wound or otherwise out of place detail.

"I'm fine," He says, reaching out and tucking a bit of stray hair behind her ear, "It's been a challenging day. The council was relentlessly questioning Anakin and I about the events of our most recent mission and then I got tied up with him at Padme's."

Her blood suddenly runs cold, her body all but frozen in his grasp and it took her a moment to truly process what he had just told her.

She pulls away from his grasp and takes a step back, "You weren't at Padme's."

Obi-Wan pauses, mouth slightly agape, a mouthful of words he was planning on saying frozen on the tip of his tongue. If she looked hard enough she's sure she could see them dancing around, begging to be spoken out into the world.

"I commed over there Obi-Wan," She says, "You weren't at Padme's."

He already knew that, of course. His eyes always betrayed him. Not that he was keeping up the charade; he knew he had been caught. There was no point in pretending now.

"You lied to me," Satine says, not bothering to hide the hurt and confusion in her voice, "Why would you..."

She trails off, unable to bring herself to finish the question. Obi-Wan didn't lie to her. Not ever. Faking his death aside, he had never been anything less than honest with her.

"Satine I..." He too is at a loss for words, eyes wide and full of something unfamiliar. Fear, perhaps? Worry about what the consequences of his falsehood? It makes her feel sick either way.

"Where were you?"

"Please Satine, I promise you, it wasn't anything you need worry about. You know that I would never-" He paused, suddenly unable to finish his statement.

Cheat on her? Yes, she was fairly confident that would never happen. Even in light of his lie she knows without a doubt that was a line that would never be crossed.

"No, you wouldn't." She grants, "But I also thought you would never lie to me. I thought we were honest with one another despite the consequences."

His eyes fill with sadness; a mirage of guilt that she's never seen before and if her heart wasn't already hurting she's sure it would have broken for him all the more.

"I- of course. You're right. I should have never..." He sucks in a shaky breath, "There was an incident. Two really. Bail Organa and Lothals senator were attacked by separatist assassins. They were working on your neutral systems proposal when it happened. It's suspected they wanted to sabotage your place with the Senate. I didn't want to worry you. That's all, I swear it."

Dizziness washes over her. Of course she was always at risk for an attack on her and her beliefs, and of course Obi-Wan tries to shelter her from the horrors of the galaxy despite the fact that she's keenly aware of the atrocities transpiring around her.

"Obi-Wan.."

"That's all it was Satine, I swear. I didn't want to upset you with the news."

"All the same, you lied to me. And you made it look easy Obi-Wan, like it was nothing to you."

He closes his eyes, her words hitting him like a slap in the face and its almost too much for her to bare. As if her words physically stunned him.

"I have to be a good liar, you know that. I lie to the council every time they question the nature of our relationship. I lie to them, but not to you." His voice was steady, more assured than it had been before.

"But you just did."

She wants to stop; wants so badly to calm down and forget about this, but she can't bring herself to do it. Not when it felt like her trust had been violated. There were too many people in her life - valued friends and allies - who had deceived her in the past. Her trust had began wavering amongst the people who crossed her path, but never in Obi-Wan.

He can't look at her and it both breaks her heart and infuriates her more.

"You're right," He says, "And I'm sorry. You've always had that confidence in me and I broke that trust."

"You've never lied to me before," She says, "And it matters that you did it so well, how can I-" She swallows the sudden threat of a sob, "How can I know that this was the only time?"

The words come clawing their way out of her mouth and it stung more than she could have imagined. And maybe she was being unfair; maybe he hadn't thought about how much weight such a simple lie would carry, but it hurt her in places she didn't recognize.

"You know me Satine, you know I would never lie to you about something that really mattered." He counters, voice laced with a twinge of frustration.

Her eyes narrow, "And what matters and what doesn't?"

They hadn't fought in months; never fought like this at all. It wasn't unusual for a snide comment to be thrown out here or there, and they certain had their fair share of disagreements, but this? This was something entirely new and she didn't know what to do with it.

"I don't know what you want me to say other than I'm sorry."

She felt dizzy. Trust was something that she valued more than anything. Obi-Wan was the last person she ever thought would betray that. Regardless of the severity of his lie, it stung more than she could have imagined.

She grabs her cloak without a second thought.

"I'm going," She states, "I need to get out for a bit."

He suddenly looks panicked, and for a moment she actually reconsiders leaving, but she knows ultimately its better for her to go calm herself down before she truly said something she didn't mean.

"Satine, please."

She sighs, "I'm coming back, Obi-Wan. I need to go clear my head."

"Where are you going?"

"Padme's. Back to Mandalore early perhaps."

His eyes grow sadder when she mentions the latter, "Satine…"

She's out the door before he can finish his protest.

---

The streets of Coruscant were becoming more and more familiar to her with every visit, though she would hesitate to really claim she knew her way around anywhere aside from the heart of the city. Regardless of that fact, she wandered the streets without much care.

Instinctively she wrapped her arms around herself, pressing tightly against her rib cage. It felt like her bones were about to crack open, her heart having experienced too many emotions in such a short period of time. From worry to hurt to anger. It was all too much.

She had been deceived and lied too more times than she could count. But Obi-Wan, her shining Jedi Knight, never had. Not until now.

She stops abruptly, her thoughts suddenly hitting her full force once more with his lie. It hurts her. Frightens her, even, the way her anger had crept into her mind and overtook all rational thinking.

Why would he lie to her? Why would he do the one thing he knew would break her heart more than anything else?

Because he protects you from what he thinks you shouldn't have to see.

Satine frowns, trying to shove the thought out of her mind. But it was useless. She knew it was the truth, that he had always done his best to shield her from dangers and horrors alike. In his mind, she had seen enough wicked things in her youth and endured more attempts on her life than she should have had too. Obi-Wan had always been trying, whether she realized it or not, to keep her from baring more weight.

But the question lingers in the back of her mind; had he lied to her before?

You know he hasn't, She thinks, The look in his eyes when you even suggested it was all the proof you needed.

Another ache soars through her chest. She trusted him. And when she really digs deep down in herself, she knows that she still does. Obi-Wan Kenobi is still the person she trusts most.

So why didn't the pain in her chest fade? She wasn't angry anymore, not really. The cool night air and desolate streets provided release from whatever vexations and grief burrowed within her, and yet something dismal still gnawed at her.

Then the realization hit her.

Obi-Wans absence was the source of her heartache.

She had fled, a momentary lapse in judgement in an effort to calm down, and left him standing in the wreckage of their little time together. They would have to part ways in two days time, and she had effectively cut that even shorter.

She turns around without a second thought.

When she steps through the door she finds him in the same spot she left him in, perched on the floor with his eyes closed, legs crossed in the all too familiar pose of meditation. It didn't surprise her. He often did so to sort out his feelings.

The sound of the door didn't cause him to move, nor did the sound of her footsteps coming towards him. He only opened his eyes when she crouched down onto the floor and all but threw herself against him.

He instinctively envelopes her in a hug, cradling her in his arms as they sat on the floor.

"I'm sorry," Satine says, nuzzling her nose against the side of his head, "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," He murmurs, "I should have just told you from the start. I'm sorry to have deceived you."

She feels guilty all over again. Obi-Wan carried often carried the weight of the galaxy on his shoulders. The last thing she wanted was to add to that.

"No, I-" She drops her cheek against the top of his head and tightens her hold on him, "I shouldn't have reacted the way I did. It was unfair of me. I shouldn't have gotten upset and I certainly shouldn't have walked out. It was wrong on my part."

She often wonders what life would be like if they weren't so tied to their duties. If she weren't born a duchess and he not born a Jedi. If they were simply Ben and Satine, a couple tucked away in a quiet corner of the Galaxy. Would they have fights like this? Or would they bicker over mundane things? Certainly their quarrels would never be as a result of governing bodies or separatists attacks. It would be nice, she thinks, to be so carefree when they were together.

"I've never lied to you before." He tells her, gripping her hand in his own.

"I know you haven't."

"I won't do it again."

"I know."

"Do you forgive me?"

She pulls away from him, worming her way out from his arms enough to look him in the eyes.

"There's nothing to forgive my dear."

Her hands come up to cradle his face, thumbs brushing over his auburn stubble.

"I need you to say it," He tells her, covering her hand with one of his own, "For my own peace of mind."

She smiles softly, "I forgive you."

Wouldn’t she always?

#obitine #obi wan kenobi #obi wan x satine #obitine fanfic #obitine fanfiction #obitine prompt #obitine fluff #obi wan is just a nervous wreck #satine is just mad

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lordmartiya · 3 years

Text

lord Martiya’s Lilanette Week 2021, part 2: Sick

@lilanette-week

@lilanette

Second part, after a timeskip where Lila has been friends with Marinette in her own unique way. And we get my comments about how the show handled a certain love story, and my solution to Volpina’s anomaly.

06/21: Sick

The previous day had been quite a trip, what with Luka getting Akumatized with truth-forcing powers and demanding to know Marinette’s secret. That the girls thought was her crush on Adrien. Lila, on the other hand, had some fun by flat-out telling him it wasn’t his business, the experience in lying and the anti-truth serum conditioning she had been given due her mother’s job combining to have her tell something that was truthful yet nothing Truth, Luka, or the Bowtie Terrorist (that pun never failed to get a laugh out of Marinette) wanted to know. The discovery Jagged Stone had a child from her former guitarist, on the other hand, had caught her by surprise – she had thought he’d be more careful. Then again Lila was a diplomat’s daughter, closer in carefulness to that Count of Fersen that had seduced half the noblewomen of Europe and even the Queen of France and managed to die childless, not a rockstar.

Then Marinette entered the class just in time, and after looking at her once Lila knew exactly what she had to do: “Ms. Bustier, Marinette’s overworking finally got her sick, I’m bringing her back home for the day.”

“I’m well!” Marinette protested.

“Oh, look, Rose Bride.”

Marinette turned where Lila had been pointing to, her stress making her forget that Chevalot was still at the hospital and Papillon had not Akumatized her since (though one of Mr Pigeon’s appearances had resulted in his birds discharging on her right as she came out of the tribunal), thus proving the Italian’s point. She didn’t make resistance as the Italian brought her back home and to her room – with most of the Adrien pictures long replaced by ones of her friends, Lila having helped taking them down… And relocating them into Tsurugi Kagami’s room as a prank, her ability to speak Japanese with the pattern traditionally attributed to kitsune and a precise description of the prank helping her getting the collaboration of her mother.

“So, should I call your boyfriend and have him take care of you?” Lila teased Marinette after tucking her in. And getting caught by surprise when Marinette flinched.

“We broke up.” Marinette explained. “I-I told him I couldn’t tell- Nevermind, we broke up.”

Lila pinched her nose. If nothing else, that explained how Marinette had been pushed over the edge. As she thought about that, though, she couldn’t help but utter: “Seriously, just because you couldn’t tell him you’re one of Ladybug’s interns?”

“Wait, what?”

“Mapporca… You disappear at any Akuma attack, lie, lie, about why, and you’re too creative to wear Ladybug’s plain suit, the conclusion was obvious: you’re one of the temporary heroes and dodged Miracle Queen, at every attack you go to whatever place Ladybug told you to wait so if she needs help she’ll lend you a Miraculous. There’s nothing wrong with keeping this a secret, just the fact you told him you had it was an incredible sign of trust…”

“You mean it?”

“You weren’t cheating on him or planning other betrayals, and those would have been the only secret he was entitled to find out without your approval. It’s even in the word, its a secret because it’s called a secret, why would anyone try and find out?”

“For the last time, it’s you who are weird!” Trixx said as he came out of the weird Ladybug-themed box.

“For the last time, Trixx-” Lila started to reply as she turned, then she registered that TRIXX THE KWAMI WAS IN MARINETTE’S ROOM AND HAD COME OUT OF THE WEIRD LADYBUG-SHAPED BOX. And two other Kwamis, a red one and a green one, were trying to drag him back into hiding. And that was enough for Lila to break through the Quantum Masking – and put her right hand on her face.

“I went full Countess of Montecristo on someone for months and it turns out she was just neurotic when she offended me…” she stated. “What’s happening here? And most importantly, why do you have such an unimaginative costume?”

They exchanged explanations. On how Marinette had been bullied into near-depression by Chloè until she was given the Ladybug Miraculous and got the confidence to stand up to her and the other issues – including how the Miracle Queen debacle had resulted in the last Guardian (incompletely trained at that) sacrificing his memories to keep the Miraculous out of Papillon’s hands. In turn Lila admitted she had been telling the truth when claiming to Adrien her grandmother had been the holder of the Fox Miraculous and had trained her to succeed her as a heroine – that being how she could get around the limitations when Akumatized, she knew a spell that mimicked Mirage and was using that in place of the real thing – something she had done for a while her uncle found what kind of entertainment she used her illusions for, took away her Miraculous and sent it to the Guardian, and admitted that, in her quest for vengeance, she had been working with Papillon – though with plans to take him down at the end.

“This little trick will take him out on the spot.” she concluded, showing the Alsetex 410 she always carried for defense among things for less tough opponents.

“Marinette, I’m going with this idiot to make sure she keeps a conscience until she redevelops one.” Trixx said.

“You do that.” Marinette said as she took the aspirin Lila had offered her.

“Can I take Alya then?” the Pig Kwami asked.

Before Lila could ask what Marinette had been thinking when she gave the one Miraculous that, once mastered, allows to see through Quantum Masking to someone who wanted to know and expose her secret identity the Ladyblog announced a new Akuma attack.

“Why did you throw her an engine block?” Marinette asked as Lila was tucking her in after dealing with Lies – AKA Tsurugi Kagami (whose personal name was still ridiculous to Lila, as “Kagami” in Italian and Spanish sounds like “shit me”, thank you very much) upset at her relationship troubles with Adrien.

“Because whole cars are designed with crumple zones to increase the safety of the occupants that make poor projectiles, while engine blocks are solid and dense and make excellent projectiles.” came the reply.

“I mean, why so violent?”

“Because I still hold a grudge for her becoming Onichan over less than what Bourgeois did to the fanclub without getting any of them Akumatized, because today I don’t want to keep you out there more than necessary, and because I spotted Alya and this way I’m establishing a narrative that won’t get her hurt over being replaced, one that features the heroine Volpina retiring after the mess with the Evrees out of PTSD and returning because there’s just no time for Rena Rouge to become as competent as needed.”

“And what did you show her?”

“Bourgeois’ little movie, the one that decimated Adrien’s fan club.” the one where she had her minion film her reading at Adrien those desert puns from Asterix and Cleopatra and getting him on his knees from the laughter. “Tsurugi is still convinced that Adrien’s facade is the real thing, if she find out early she was wrong there’s a chance the inevitable break-up won’t be too bad.”

“But-”

“Inevitable. Now rest, I want you back in shape.”

Unseen and unheard by the two humans, Tikki and Trixx were talking about something the former had noticed about her Chosen – namely a suddenly increased willingness to put up with Lila’s (admittedly now more subdued) antics.

“People tend to believe what they want to hear, Tikki.” Trixx explained. “And Lila just said what Marinette wanted and needed to hear.”

“It can’t be that simple, Marinette is too smart, too mature.”

“Poyais.”

That single word left Tikki looking at Trixx in horror, reminding her how just how gullible people can be in the right situation.

“Hey, don’t worry, Lila always had limits on what she’s willing to do, especially when she doesn’t feel threatened, and I know her buttons. She’s no danger to Marinette. If anything, Marinette could become a danger to Lila’s virtue.”

#lilanette #lilabug #ladypina #volpinette #miraculous #miraculous ladybug #miraculousladybug #miraculous lb #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Lila Rossi

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adam-memeleri · 3 years

Text

Hullos and Goodbyes

so ive never done an appreciation week before, but i saw @distantshoresaw coming up and decided to finally play ds earlier this month. ended up with plenty of inspo, so heres a short charlie-centric spin on canon :) hope im not too late yikes T Rating (fluff with a dash of angst, no warnings) Charlie x f!MC (Peyton Bellamy) ~3.7k words -

“Ah-ha!” Peyton flourishes a small, golden compass, gesturing for the cameras following her every move, “This compass shall be our salvation and -”

Peyton stumbles on a slick deck, eyes wild as she glances about, the scene before her unimaginable. Swords clash, the occasional pistol or cannon fires, and shouts echo across the open sea. It’s a battle, and looks more real than anything she’s ever witnessed on set.

She’s ripped into the fray by a shout, “Get off our ship, pirate!” a man barreling down the deck towards her, a sword raised above his head. He slashes, cutting her across the arm until she’s staggering backwards, barely keeping hold of her bearings.

Her jaw drops, at a loss as blood soaks her sleeve. “That - That freakin’ hurt!” Peyton finally manages, eyes still searching futilely. “Where’s the medic? And why’s everyone still fighting? Cut!” she tries calling, but no one even glances in her direction.

Another man has cut in between her and the first, stealing his attention as Peyton simply gawks, lost in the rage of the battle, more of a storm than the sea beneath the ship. She holds her arm to her chest protectively, a dawning something filling her chest.

“You! Girl!” booms, harsher on Peyton’s ears than any blast from the canons. It echoes in her ears, even as she whirls around, coming face to face with a furious, bright red naval officer, a pistol pointed at her chest. “Get off my ship, pirate!”

Peyton braces herself, tensing as he pulls the trigger. But the bullet doesn’t pierce her skin, doesn’t lodge in her gut. She’s thrown to the side, body hitting the deck as the shot whistles past.

Squinting, Peyton can just make out a familiar figure, one she swore she somehow saw back on set, only this time he appears more real than before, more flesh and bone than the mirage from before. “It’s you! But how…?”

“Are you hurt?” he asks, checking her for damage as he helps her back to her feet.

Peyton nods, still bewildered and panickedly searching the scene around them, from the woman laughing as she disarms a sailor, to the group of naval officers bearing down on her and the man before her. “I’m fine, but you should probably worry about them!”

He whirls around, spotting the raised swords before smiling back at her, “Ah, yes. Just a moment.”

“Edward!” The intimidating officer calls to him, face painted in a furious expression, “This isn’t over, you coward!”

The pirate - Edward - takes the challenge with a smirk, slipping back into the chaos of battle, as more and more shouts reach Peyton. She spins, finding the laughing woman from a moment before toying with a sailor.

“Surrender!” he shouts, slashing downwards.

“Surrender?” she guffaws, dancing around the deck in a taunt, “I’m just getting started.”

She drives him backwards, finally putting some effort into the fight, but smiling widely in amusement. His foot catches on rope, his leg nearly slipping out from under him before he catches himself, just barely holding the pirate off.

Peyton’s eyes follow the rope, see it loop over the main mast and back down again, right beside her. She grabs it, yanking with all her might as a startled scream sounds. The man’s wiped out on the deck when she looks back over, leg tangled in the rope and hands clawing at the tight grip it has on him.

The pirate spins around, a dazzling smile on her lips as she sizes Peyton up, pale green eyes skating along her body, “Hullo, love.” She finds Peyton’s eyes, her grin turning wicked as she winks, “Thanks for the help.” And with that she spins, waltzing back into the fray with her sword outstretched.

Peyton’s eyes follow her as long as they can, until a sailor’s stumbling before her, Edward locked in battle with him. He throws a dagger, the sailor’s sleeve catching on the tip and getting stuck to the mast, blade embedded in wood.

The fight rages on and on, swords and bullets singing alongside shouts and pained yelps, Peyton barely keeping her head about her. At one point another officer’s gaze locks on her, the man giving chase and slashing his sword incessantly at her again and again, grazing her already wounded forearm once.

She grimaces, weaving backwards through the crowded deck and jumping from every slice of the blade. It's hectic and a free for all, like a crowded cinema corridor after someone shouted fire, but somehow infinitely worse. Maybe it's the weapons.

“Retreat!” Edward bellows from across the deck, a body slumped at his feet and a pistol pointed at him. “Everyone, back to the ship!” he darts away, rounding up as many people as he can, and holding back the rest.

The intimidating officer from before, still just as furious, whirls around, blazing eyes landing on Peyton. “You there!” he rounds on her, rushing forward to cross the deck, shoving aside sailors and pirates alike.

“Move it, love!” the pirate with the green eyes from before swoops in before Peyton can react, appearing from seemingly nowhere and taking hold of Peyton’s uninjured arm at the last second. She hauls her back and away from the naval officer, dragging her towards the railing, every moment too quick for Peyton to keep up with.

The brunette's free hand sheathes her sword before fastening around a rope, her gaze finding Peyton’s as it gleams with mischief, “Hold on!” She releases Peyton’s bicep, her arm curling around her waist instead before they’re flying through the air, nothing but the sea beneath them.

“Oh my gosh!” Peyton shrieks, grasping at the pirate’s shoulders as wind whips her hair, a loud laugh sounding from beside her. Her face buries in the woman’s neck, the breeze on her skin at odds with the warmth from the body holding her.

From her first glimpse of the sea to hurtling over it, this day just keeps getting wilder, only a few stray thoughts of the set and her lines in Peyton's mind. Now all she can focus on is the flush on her skin and the tight hold around waist from the beautiful woman that might have just saved her life. Or doomed her to a drowning at sea.

The pirate’s still chuckling when they land on a neighbouring ship’s deck, and Peyton’s still shocked, arms tight around her assumed rescuer.

"Ye can let go now," she teases, carefully extricating Peyton from around her with a cheeky grin. A blush rises to Peyton's cheeks before her jaw drops open, baffled as she looks around the new ship and the bustling crew. “Hullo and welcome… to Poseidon’s Revenge,” the pirate grins, bowing and gesturing playfully.

“Um. Thank you,” Peyton nods stiffly, her hands wringing before her as she avoids piercing eyes.

“Don’t look so glum. At least over here no one’ll try to kill you,” she teases Peyton. “For the most part,” her smile falls for a second, before increasing tenfold, her hand jutting out in invitation with it. “I’m Charlie, this here ship’s quartermaster, and pleased to make your acquaintance…” she gestures expectantly.

“Peyton,” her palm collides with Charlie’s, shaking as enthusiastically as she can manage. “Peyton Bellamy. And, uh, hello.”

---

Peyton rolls over in the bed of the Captain’s cabin, sleep evading her as she tosses and turns. The ship quieted hours ago, the pirate partiers finally turning in sometime after midnight, the soft lapping of waves against the hull now the only sound.

It’s almost eerie, a calm before the storm of tomorrow, a cloud hanging over Peyton as she twists beneath the duvet, chasing a sleep that won’t come. She huffs, staring out across the Captain’s quarters at the furniture and decor, bathed in the night’s lights.

The door creaks open, a head of dark hair popping in, “Well hullo there.” Charlie’s grin is electric as she steps further inside, dramatically hanging from the door frame with that dark hair spilling down her shoulder, moonlight shining along its waves.

Peyton smiles right back without a second of hesitation, fumbling upright on the bed, the duvet splayed over her lap. “Hi,” she greets, heat rising to her cheeks in the low light.

“Alright?” Charlie’s smile dims, replaced by a growing softness in her eyes as she crosses the quarters, dropping beside Peyton’s folded legs. “Up pretty late,” she notes, eyeing the woman across from her.

“So are you.”

“Aye,” she snickers, “but I’m a pirate, I don’t play by the rules. You don’t strike me as the night owl type,” Charlie reaches out, prodding Peyton’s knee with her usual devilish grin.

“I’m not,” Peyton’s hair shifts as she shakes her head, unkempt in the late hour.

“So what’s keeping you up?”

Shrugging, Peyton laughs coldly, the warmth in her cheeks dissipating with it, “Oh, just my impending trial and probable execution. Nothing too serious.”

“Ah,” Charlie nods, her smile nowhere to be found for once, “That.”

“Yeah. That.”

“Y’know, love, for what it’s worth,” she nudges Peyton, “I don’t think yer a witch.”

“No?”

“Nah,” she shakes her head vehemently, expression serious, “A witch would be sneakier. And less smiley,” her grin breaks back out, one hand raising to poke at Peyton’s smile lines, the dents only growing. “Hmm. Less blushy too, I reckon.”

Peyton’s hands snap up to hide her face and the dark blush painting it, “You can’t even see my face! It’s dark!” she fumbles a protest.

“Saw ye when it was light out, though,” Charlie snickers, “All I hafta do is look at ye and there yer cheeks go.”

“That’s so not true,” Peyton’s features twist in a scowl as her hands lower slightly, frowning up at the pirate.

“I’m not judging. I know I’m simply irresistible.”

Hands lowered entirely, Peyton crosses her arms beneath her chest, eyeing up Charlie, “I know you less than a day and you’re already hitting on me.”

“I was focusing more on myself, love, but that doesn't mean yer not lovely.”

Peyton chuckles under her breath, shaking her head as the pair settle against the wall, their eyes roving absentmindedly. “Shouldn’t you be trying to get some sleep?” Peyton starts, finding pale green in the darkness.

“Shouldn’t you?” Charlie counters easily.

“I told you,” Peyton shrugs, deflecting. “Can’t really sleep when I know I’m dying soon.”

“Yer not gonna die.”

Peyton’s shoulders raise in a halfhearted shrug, “Robert certainly wants me to,” she murmurs beneath her breath.

“Robert’s not the captain.”

“You’re not either.”

“No,” the pirate concedes, “but Edward’s a good man. He won’t let ye die.”

“You swear?”

Charlie’s raises her hand over her heart, “I swear on the grave of someone’s father.”

A laugh bubbles out of Peyton, quirking her lips in an easy smile, “But not yours?”

“Mine doesn’t have a grave.”

Peyton shifts forward, inquiring curiously, “Do you visit him?”

“Not really.”

“Why not?”

“Takes more than a few drinks to get that story out of me, love,” the dark haired woman winks, tapping Peyton teasingly on the nose.

“I can wait,” Peyton nods determinedly, features still split in a tiny grin.

Charlie’s lips curve in a soft smile, her head gently thumping back against the cabin’s wall. A silence permeates the space between them, easy as the water outside, the tiny streams dripping down wood to rejoin the ocean.

“How’s yer arm?” Charlie finally breaks it, nodding to the wrapped arm cradled in Peyton’s lap.

“Hurts a bit,” she mumbles, turning it over.

“Lemme see.”

Charlie carefully takes Peyton’s arm, touch light and delicate as her fingertips ghost along her skin, carefully unbandaging the wound. “Did ye dump alcohol on it like ye made Samuel do?”

“Mmhmm,” Peyton hums from deep in her throat, watching cautious fingers dance atop her skin. “Stung like a bitch.”

A surprised laugh bursts from Charlie’s chest, hands pausing as she’s caught off guard, “Then don’t mix blood and booze next time,” she chuckles.

“There better not be a next time,” Peyton grumbles, glaring down at the cut.

“Well then,” Charlie shifts, folding her legs as she holds Peyton’s arm in her own lap, carefully redressing the wound until the wrapping is once again snug on Peyton’s skin. “You’ll be good as new in no time,” she beams, “It’s not that deep.”

“That’s what Samuel said.”

“He’s the doc for a reason.” The pirate stands, patting the other woman’s knee. “Now get some sleep,” before starting towards the cabin’s door.

Peyton lays back down, tugging the duvet back up. “Thank you,” she calls after the retreating form, watching the shadow pause and glance over her shoulder.

“Just get some sleep, love.”

With a nod, Peyton pulls the duvet to her chin, “Bye, Charlie.”

“I don’t like goodbyes,” Charlie turns, hanging from the doorframe once more with an easy smile, the smallest crease in her cheek. “Only g’nights.”

“G’night, Charlie.”

“G’night.” She calls back once more before letting the door fall closed, a strange, unfulfilled silence seeping into the cabin in her absence.

---

Peyton stretches out on the bed, groaning as her sore muscles tense and relax in a wave. Above her, Charlie chuckles, collapsing beside her and poking at her ribs until she attempts evading the jab. “Alright, love?”

Squirming upright, Peyton’s fingers pick at the hem of her shirt distractedly, gaze avoiding the curious green irises beside her. She clears her throat, forcing her shoulders to relax, “...Yeah.”

“What’s weighin' ye down, love?” Charlie nudges the woman’s knee, poking her until she looks up, trepidation swirling in her eyes.

“Nothing. We won,” Peyton’s lips pull into a forced smile, one that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “We won and now we’re free. Everything’s perfect.”

“You’d be happier if everything was perfect.”

“I am happy,” her smile grows, just as artificial and just as unconvincing.

Charlie sighs, her expression drooping, “Love -”

“Can I ask you something?” Peyton sharply cuts her off, impatience tight in her words.

Charlie nods casually, but her brows knit together, “‘Course.”

“What happens if everything’s not perfect?”

With another heavy sigh, Charlie scoots closer, wrapping an arm around Peyton’s shoulders as the latter curls into the former’s side. “What’s wrong?” she repeats, tracing slow circles along Peyton’s back.

Peyton doesn’t answer for a moment, fingers fidgeting with a button to occupy herself. “Remember when I said I saw something else? Where I was alone?” she whispers.

Nodding, the pirate hums in acknowledgment, fingernails scratching lightly as they trace a hipbone.

“It’s coming, I know it,” Peyton’s whisper harshens. “It’s coming and I don’t know what that means for you and I hate that.” Her hands ball into fists, knuckles whitening as she stares at them, entire body going rigid.

A chuckle bursts from Charlie’s chest, good natured as she jostles Peyton playfully, “It means I get more rum to myself!”

“Charlie,” her tone’s on edge, with cracked words, “I’m serious.”

“Aye, so am I,” the joking tone drops from her voice, replaced with as much urgency as Peyton’s. “I know what I saw, and that was me and you in the future. I don’t care how messy everything else is, I know those moments are perfect and that’s what’s coming.”

“Still…” Peyton heaves a sigh, her head lolling forward, weighed down by a million thoughts. “Okay,” she puffs up her chest, turning to face Charlie and taking her hands in hers. “Okay," she repeats to convince herself. "Even if everything’s perfect, I need to say something just in case.”

“That sounds like a goodbye.”

“It is. It doesn’t have to end up being final, but I just -” Peyton sighs, frustrated and gesturing wildly before forcing her hands down. “I want to say goodbye in case I need to.”

“But yer comin’ back,” Charlie’s head cocks to the side, confusion in light green, “And I already know I’ll wait for ye. No point in goodbye.”

“Charlie…” a hand scrubs down Peyton’s face. “Please. I don’t want to regret it.”

“Aye,” Charlie concedes, nodding in acceptance. “Don’t regret it again,” she whispers the last few words under her breath, just to herself.

“Charlie Smith,” Peyton starts, sucking in a deep breath, squeezing the hands in hers, “Thank you, and goodbye. Thank you for opening my eyes to what I could be, and to what else is out there. Thank you for saving my life more times than I could probably count, thank you for teaching me how good rum is -” Charlie chuckles “- and thank you for - for letting me care about you.”

“Goodbye… Charlie Smith.” Peyton lifts their interlocked hands, pressing a soft kiss to Charlie’s knuckles.

“Well, Peyton Bellamy,” Charlie says in a low, teasing voice, “I should thank ye, too. For putting up with our crazy lot, which is no easy feat. And for watching my back around contacts, or mutineers. And for being there, even when I’m up in the middle of the night, or drunk off my ass, or grieving a man that never liked me.

"And for letting me care about ye too, and letting me learn how to care. I wasn't always sure, I could, but you've proved to me again and again and again and again and -”

"And again," Peyton giggles, tears welling in her eyes as she bites her lip, fighting against them and squeezing Charlie’s hands tight.

"And again." Peyton sniffles, with a smile - a real, genuine smile - quirking her lips, with a soft laugh shaking her shoulders. “Thank ye and goodbye, Peyton Bellamy.” She mimics Peyton, lifting their hands and kissing the other woman’s knuckles.

“Who knew a pirate could be so sweet?” Peyton gives a watery laugh, taking back one hand to wipe beneath her eyes.

Charlie chuckles back, thumb brushing over the palm still in her grasp. “Aye, sweet as candy. Ye feel better now?” she questions carefully, dipping her head to catch Peyton's gaze.

“Yes,” Peyton nods resolutely, a deep breath relaxing her posture.

Charlie’s palms find Peyton’s cheeks, warming them as she tilts her head down just enough to press a kiss to her forehead, “See? Everything’s perfect.”

---

“You ready?” Robert’s gaze flickers up to Peyton’s, cautious as his hand rests a few inches above a small, golden compass.

Her jaw clenches, shoulders rigid beneath her top, her own hand poised. She glances across the museum, halting on painted pale green eyes staring back at her, a smile in them even on canvas. “As I’ll ever be.”

Her fingers brush the cold metal, a jolt alighting throughout her body in response, the world distorting around her. Robert and the museum are replaced by swirls of blue and purple, distorted colours and images as time rushes past her. Glimpses of different eras, of typewriters and candles and pots of ink, of poofy skirts and corsets and wigs.

Her feet hit dirt, knees nearly buckling as she reels from the impact, unsteady on her feet. Wood and a carefully constructed building has been replaced with grass and open night sky, displays and antiques replaced by a distant dock and candlelit windows. Tiburon hums with life, even in the late hour, with ships towering over the waters a ways away.

Eyes open in bewilderment, Peyton’s jaw hangs open, gaze roving curiously over the scene before her. Her eyes pause on a figure walking down the path before her, head down and arms full of supplies, burlap sacks and bundles of cloth. Dark hair billows in the light breeze, curls floating like a waving flag, but far more beautiful.

The figure pauses a ways down the path, freezing on the spot. Familiar eyes find Peyton's - so, so familiar. Like a jade, vibrant even in the dark of night, and even brighter as they widen, almost disbelieving.

“Hullo,” Peyton exhales, an anxious smile on her lips.

Charlie’s jaw has gone slack, the grip of her hands loose, cloth held within them slowly falling to her feet. She takes a few tentative steps, her pace quickening as one hand extends cautiously, as if she’s expecting the woman before her to dissolve in a mirage.

Only she doesn’t. Peyton’s real, and here, solid flesh and bone beneath the moon, with the cool night air brushing her skin. Charlie’s fingertips brush her cheek, and a light explodes in her eyes, an excitement that was previously masked by hesitation as she jolts to life, wrapping Peyton in the tightest hug she can.

“You’re supposed to say hi back!” Peyton giggles loudly, breathlessly, into her shoulder, her own arms curled around Charlie’s neck.

“Hullo!” the Siren Queen cheers, spinning the woman in her arms around and around, “Hullo forever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and -”

“And ever! I get it!” laughing, Peyton buries her face in Charlie’s neck, her feet finally finding the ground once more.

“If you want a hullo, I’ll give you a hullo,” Charlie laughs, giddy and just as breathless. She pulls away, jade colliding with Peyton’s own eyes as she stares into them, imploring and excited. “I told ye it wouldn’t last. And look at ye, back again.”

Peyton shakes her head, more fond exasperation than anything else before her eyes scan their surroundings. Scan the distant lights of Tiburon, the grass beneath their feet, the lapping of waves on a beach a ways away. “When is here exactly?” Her eyes find pale green, find the beaming smile in light irises, “How long was I gone?”

“Three weeks or so,” Charlie’s shoulders lift in a shrug. “The crew was startin’ to call me crazy,” she grins, chuckling at her own expense.

“Oh gosh,” Peyton’s hands clap together excitedly, “the crew! I missed them!”

“Ye wanna go say hullo? Seems Robert’s beaten us to it,” Charlie notes the man’s absence, glancing about momentarily. "Or gotten up to somethin' nefarious."

Peyton hums in contemplation, her hands rising and one nail tracing along Charlie’s jawline, “Just a few more moments..." Her fingers slip into brunette tresses, the gaps between them filling with soft strands as she gently tugs Charlie closer, the already small gap between them disappearing.

“Well, hullo there,” Charlie nearly purrs, smiling against Peyton’s lips as her arms wrap tighter around her waist.

#idk how i feel about this but i wanted to try and participate adfdgf #distant shores #choices fanfic #charlie smith #charlie smith x mc #dsaw #dsappreciationweek #the blog said to use tags idk man #distantshoresaw #dsaw day 2 #ive got ideas for a part 2 but idk if anyone would want to see them outside my brain sooo assdfdd #and this was written while watching criminal minds cuz kam got me too invested

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