#at the start of the second video Tulips mentioned how they started taking out a damn notepad immediately upon encountering the hangman game

[angelaiswriting]

Stage Love (2 of 3) | Park Joong-gil

✏️ Pairing: Park Joong-gil x fem!reader (mentions of fake dating!Choi Joon-woong x fem!reader)

✏️ Summary: things finally start moving between you and Joong-gil, but what happens when, following the leak of some pictures, your agency decides to exploit a (fake) dating scandal between you and Choi Joon-woong for its own economic gain? (Not requested, based on an idea by @kind-wolf​)

✏️ A/N: took me forever to write this part, had a breakdown in the middle, and it turned out so long I’d need a part three. Bon appétit😬 jokes aside, this isn’t exactly what I was aiming for, but then again my fics do whatever the f they want, so... Let me know if you’re down for a pt. 3 or not.✌️

✏️ Content Warnings: modern!AU, singer!AU + fluff, (maybe still a bit of) slowburn, (slight angst, maybe?), pining, and (light?) smut, so 18+ ONLY! > Fingering f/r, oral f/r, mentions of handjobs, dry-humping; mentions of death, of a corpse, and of suicide, grieving?. Mentions of the show Tomorrow but no spoilers. [If I missed anything, just lmk.]

✏️ Word Count: 21,7k

part one  <<  PART TWO  >>  part three

The first time you receive that unsigned bouquet of flowers, you worry your home address might have been leaked somehow and that some fan has decided to go above and beyond to show you their love and support. After the porter hands it to you one day after a meeting with Joon-woong and the team for the soundtrack of an upcoming drama, you bring it up to your apartment and dissect it like it’s a specimen in a laboratory you have to study.

It’s the paranoia that’s been haunting you since that time, years ago, when a fan gift contained a smartly-concealed camera, you’re well aware of it. Just as you’re aware of how your whole team – not to mention your whole agency – is big on keeping your privacy intact (or whatever part of it can be protected), going as far as to decline any request for videos or interviews showing the inside of your house. They’re your reason why there’s no need to worry, but you still find yourself pulling each flower apart before putting them in a vase of water when you’ve made sure there’s nothing suspicious about the gift.

Maybe it’s just something your mother sent you and that she simply forgot to sign, you tell yourself. Or maybe it’s from Bit-na, your friend you haven’t seen in forever but whom you miss dearly. But when you bring it up on your Sunday night call with her as you’re watching one of your usual shows together, you come to find out she isn’t the sender.

The second bouquet – tulips, this time, and you wonder just how expensive they must have been this time of year – is delivered to you the next Monday morning just as you’re about to step out of the hall of your condominium right behind your manager. This time, to your relief, you notice a lilac-colored card attached to the wrapping, but you know you’ll have no time to properly look at it before it’s late at night. Before that, you have calls and messages and emails to take care of, and then another lyric writing session for the last-minute collab song you have with Choi Joon-woong.

“Who’s sending you flowers?” your manager, Ji-young, asks as you step out of your clothes to change into your interview outfit, and all you can do is answer with a genuine, “I really have no clue,” as you check your appearance in the mirror one last time before you’re ready to meet today’s interviewer.

People still want to know things about your collaboration album with Park Joong-gil, and pretty much no one is inclined to stop talking about it yet – your music, your chemistry, the raw behind-the-scenes content your agencies posted on your youtube channels and on your social media accounts. Both tabloids and fans ended up blowing that deal out of proportion – although you’re really not complaining: if anything, they’re giving you the perfect excuse to keep on reminiscing all those months spent working with him. The news about an extremely possible future song together hasn’t been leaked yet, but you’re honestly curious to see what the public’s reaction is going to be – both because of how much they all loved the two of you together, and because you really want to see how far whatever you have behind closed doors (not much so far, but still a lot more than you’ve ever had with anyone else, probably) can go.

When you’re back to your van by the end of the day, after a quick dinner on the set of the promotional shoot for a perfume, the tulips you received in the morning look like they have given up on life. They wilted, and it’s like they’re judging you for leaving them in the backseat for all those hours.

Paranoia threatens to rear its head again, but then you remember there being a card and you’re quick at pulling it out of the envelope.

I’m not sure I enjoy this waiting game of yours :( — pjg

It makes you chuckle, that sad emoji he drew at the end of the sentence – and all over the small piece of paper, like it’s middle school all over again. Still, there’s a part of you that can’t help but think, how cute! You really want him to never stop doing these random things that always make you feel special when you least expect them.

Your smile rivals the sun in brightness when you unlock your phone.

[10:09 PM] you: got your flowers x

That’s what you text him, and then you send a picture of his bouquet with a cheeky oops that makes you smile like a child in the back of your van. You can feel Ji-young’s eyes on you through the rear-view mirror, but she doesn’t ask what’s got you smiling like that – she’s quick-witted and as great an observer as Park Joong-gil himself, which means she knew you went down on him the moment you stepped through the door of your apartment the day you ended up fingering yourself to the memory of him.

[10:13 PM] joong-gil 💗: is that how you treat my gifts? :(

He makes you chuckle. He’s actually been bringing more happiness to your life than there has been in a long time. It’s the genuine kind, the type that makes you warm inside and wraps your heart in a feeling of fuzziness that gives it nothing but rest. You realize now, two blocks away from your apartment, that you haven’t made a single origami butterfly ever since your dinner date with him, two weeks ago, and probably even a while before that.

You also don’t remember when you changed his contact name, when you removed his last name and added that pulsing heart emoji, but tonight it takes you by surprise. Like you’re finally realizing that he’s been making your heart beat a little faster.

[10:14 PM] you: sorry, long day. i barely had a break :( btw was it you who sent me roses last week?

He doesn’t reply to you straight away, and you have the time to reach your condominium, take the elevator, and even change into your pajamas before you get a text back from him. In the meantime, you eye the almost completely dry roses sitting in an empty vase on the windowsill of the kitchen like they might have grown cameras of their own.

Instead of messaging, he rings you a call.

“I know you must be tired, but I needed to hear your voice,” he says as soon as you pick up.

‘I needed to.’ He needed to, you smile. It hits you deeper than an ‘I wanted to’ ever would, somehow. Like he can live his days and like he can wait for your schedule to clear, but also like he wants you and your company so badly that he simply can’t hold back and wait.

It makes you feel important. Like you really do matter in this crazy-paced world of yours, where you can never fully let your guard down or take the foot off of the gas pedal.

So, you chuckle, and you’re so empty-headed, drowning in this crush you have for him that is blooming at the speed of light, that all you can greet him with is a lame, breathless, “hey.”

“To answer your question, yes, I did send you roses.”

The grin on your lips makes your cheeks hurt when you plop down onto the couch, too tired to go back to your bedroom after the glass of cold water you got from the fridge.

“You could’ve signed it,” you giggle, no real bite behind your words. “I dissected it, I was paranoid that someone had found out where I live and sent yet another spy cam.”

He’s silent for half a second before his, “shit,” hits you along with the sound of ruffled sheets. “Sorry, I really didn’t mean to cause all that. I actually did write a card, but then I panicked at the last second because of how cheesy it was and I threw it away.”

You really don’t know what this feeling setting your soul on fire is, but it makes you want to giggle and blush and hide your face underneath your warm blanket while you kick your feet. It makes you feel so good that it wipes away the exhaustion of the day and leaves you a clean slate, ready to start afresh tomorrow morning.

“Are you still there?”

“Oh, yeah! Sorry! You lost me when you said you wrote a cheesy card. I bet that would’ve been the cutest shit ever. The Park Joong-gil writing cheesy stuff to me?” You dramatically fan yourself with a hand despite him being unable to see you. “Every fangirl’s fantasy, I can assure you of that.”

He laughs, and two things happen almost at the same time.

One, it cuts your breath short – the sound that leaves his lips, at the other end of the receiver, and you can imagine him throwing his head back the way he often does when he’s really amused, closing his eyes and scrunching his nose up in the cutest way imaginable.

And two, your heart dangerously skips a beat. You’re taken aback by the sudden realization that you’re in so deep when it comes to him that you can’t even imagine how you’d be if things went south. If anything happened and the ‘us’ you’re both walking hand in hand towards shattered like an illusion reflecting on a mirror. You really don’t know how many paper butterflies your soul can take, and you don’t really think you’ll ever have another one tattooed anywhere on your body or on your soul.

“I really miss you.” He says it so intensely, with so much determination, that it really must be the truth. It reaches your heart like a thorn that hurts so good, somehow, makes it bleed warm honey, and you’re quick at shooing the butterflies away.

“I miss you, too. I want to meet up again, but I want to be able to hang out with you long enough.”

“It’s alright. You know I’m willing to wait for you.” And then, before you even have the time to think about all the feelings his words stir up inside you, he’s asking for your plans for tomorrow.

You end up staying on the line for longer than you anticipated, as it always goes with him, and at some point, the voice call turns into a video call, even if you feel like you’re unpresentable, with your make-up badly removed and the stained pajama shirt you should have thrown into the wash two days ago but didn’t. When you fall asleep, unable to keep your eyes open any longer, Joong-gil stays on the line for a while. He watches you, commits to memory the way you look when you sleep, the lines of your face, the way your eyes move underneath your closed eyelids, or how your lips part and stay like that.

You don’t know that and he won’t confess it, but it does something to him. He’s always meant it whenever he told you he wanted to get to know you in the past, but tonight the sight of you makes him think he’s ready to open up again – makes him believe he can fully open his heart up again and allow himself to be vulnerable with you.

*

The studio feels cramped. Between the lyricists, the RMT’s producer, your manager Ji-young, Joon-woong’s own manager… You’re sitting on the leather two-seat couch in the corner and breathing feels like such a hard task, like everything’s closing in on you – the walls of the studio, the equipment, the physical confines of your own body, bone and skin and flesh.

It’s been a while since this claustrophobic feeling last hit you this way, and you really don’t know what it is about today, but not even the memory of the video call you had with Park Joong-gil a few days ago seems to be able to ease your nerves.

I need a breather, but there’s no way those words manage to leave your lips. Instead, you can only look up at your friend and he seems to pick up on what’s going on from where he’s sitting next to the producer.

Joon-woong asks for a break – everyone seems to need it this morning, after all, everyone’s stress levels are way too high – and takes you up to the roof by pulling on your hand.

The air has a chilly bite to it and there are dark clouds on the horizon confirming the weather forecasts calling for possible storms. Once again, you’re glad you’re wearing Joong-gil’s hoodie – you didn’t even remember never giving it back to him after that night at Jumadeung until you found it at the bottom of your closet this morning. It still feels just as warm as it did that night, even if it’s lost any last trace of his scent, and suddenly there’s this restless feeling in the pit of your stomach that you can only describe as a wish to go back there. Go back to those fairy lights, the chocolate cake you shared that night, and the peaceful atmosphere that made you feel like you finally really did have some privacy. Like you could breathe and belong, even if for a little while.

“Are you alright?” Joon-woong asks, handing you a cup of smoking hot tea before pulling you down onto the bench to sit next to him. You didn’t even notice him leaving to grab you something to drink, nor whether someone else brought it to him instead.

“I am now, thanks.” Even you can feel the shakiness in the smile that stretches across your lips, but you can’t quite put a finger on the reason behind it. On why today’s like this, with nothing seemingly going right and everything going wrong – the corrupted music file, the writers of the drama calling for some last-minute changes to the lyrics of their main song, the technological problems in the recording room, and then everyone packed into that studio like it’s some can of sardines. “It’s just…”

He never takes his eyes off of you, not even when you look down at the paper cup between your hands and exhale a long sigh – you don’t really look at him, but you do feel his stare.

“It’s been a long… Hell, a long forever,” you chuckle, turning to face him for a moment before looking back at the rooftops and the clouds far away as Seoul feels like it’s stretching beyond its physical limits. You’re this close to tears that you know they’ll escape your hold if you were to look at your friend for a second too long. “I’m really tired. I feel like the break I had after the tour with Joong-gil passed me by in a flash and my stress never left. I wish…”

Another sigh. You’re grateful for the opportunities you’re given – the collaboration deals with other artists, the odd modeling or acting gigs, your fans and their gifts, and the fact that you’re still here, kicking and screaming instead of flying away.

“I wish this stupid soundtrack would go smoothly, at least,” you say, leaning back against the bench and letting your head fall back. Your gaze trails up to the sky above and that one plane flying by, leaving behind a straight line of white that feels nothing like what your life feels at the moment. You’re jumping from one thing to the next, juggling the billion different appointments that swarm your daily schedule – photoshoots, recording sessions, songwriting, interviews, promotions, training, dancing, and even fan meets, although those will start in a bit.

It takes you a moment – it’s actually taken you months – to realize that the anniversary is coming up and that soon it’s going to be fifteen years. Maybe that’s it – your soul just knows it, feels it, and all it craves is to go home, be with your mother, kick mud and water on the shore, and cry it all out in the freezing rain where you can pretend it’s just water, that on your face, and not tears.

You didn’t even fully realize it when, the day after your call with Joong-gil, you read the synopsis of this drama whose soundtrack you’re supposed to record today with Joon-woong. The main trope. The characters’ backgrounds, the lives concealed behind the façade of the here-and-now. The bittersweet happy endings the episodes leave you with, a reminder that the world has been painted in a million different color shades.

You don’t know why you break down when Joon-woong puts an arm around your shoulders and squeezes your forearm with one of those big hands of his. But that’s exactly what you do, and you have to take a long sip of your scorching hot tea to try and pretend like nothing’s happening, but the tears that managed to get to your lips make the tea taste salty. Maybe it really is the stress. The stress, and the exhaustion, and the fact that you’ve been craving Park Joong-gil’s soothing company probably even more than you do realize, or that you ever even thought possible.

Joon-woong pulls you to himself when you don’t immediately go back to your usual cheery persona. He wraps you in a hug that smells like coffee and aftershave and laundry detergent and safety. It makes you feel like a little kid – both the fact that he’s so goddamn tall and the fact that you’re crying in someone’s arms. And that’s when the sobs you’ve managed to hold in just spill out freely now.

“Why don’t we go out after we’re done here?” he asks after some time.

His head is resting on yours, still leaning against his shoulder, and your sobs have subsided. The tear streaks on your face are still wet, and your lips are still parted as you stare at Seoul’s skyline, but at least you feel somewhat lighter, like the weight on your shoulders has finally gotten more bearable.

“I can’t.” You shake your head slightly and finally pull yourself back together enough to finish your now lukewarm tea. It doesn’t give you that sensation of warmth it gave you at first, when Joon-woong handed you the cup, but you reason it’s still better than the biting cold of the wind that just picked up. “I have a full day of recording for my album tomorrow. And then there’s an interview I’ve been putting off for a while, and then they want me on a—”

“You need to breathe,” Joon-woong interrupts you, turning to look at you with concern painted all over his features. “You need a break before you break. Why didn’t you tell me you’ve been going through this? I wouldn’t have been mad if you had turned this collab offer down…”

“I really wanted to do this, though,” you reply, voice low. “It felt like a great opportunity to finally do something with a friend…”

“Not at the cost of working you to the bone, no!” He’s not mad, but his concern takes you aback nonetheless. It’s on his face, in his voice, in the way he reminds you of every single time your mother’s ever worried about her only child’s well-being. It makes you sit there for a moment and think, and you realize that there are more people that care about you than you ever stopped to consider.

“Tomorrow’s gonna be aired in three weeks,” you reason. “Who else would they hire on such short notice?”

There’s the little-kid part of you who’s standing on the precipice, ready to apologize for taking on more than you thought you’d be able to handle. Two albums in a year, a drama collaboration, the interviews that inevitably follow, and those extra modeling gigs you agreed upon as a way to broaden your horizons. But why would you apologize when this is part of the job? When staying relevant is just as necessary as the next good thing in this line of work?

Eventually, Joon-woong agrees with you. Yeah, finding a stand-in after all these delays would be a problem, he says, looking back out at what’s visible of the city from up here.

“Let’s go to Jumadeung after we’re done here,” you offer as you’re walking down the fire-emergency staircase with a clearer mind to go back to the recording room downstairs. “I really do need to relax for a minute, and you probably do, too.”

He agrees, again. If you’re lucky and you manage to record everything by the end of the day, then you’ll also be able to celebrate a work well done tonight as well.

And as it turns out, you do have some luck, this time.

The producer pulled some magic trick out of his hat while you and Choi Joon-woong were on the rooftop, and everything’s working smoothly now. The stress levels have reached an all-time low, and whoever wasn’t strictly needed for the recording session has been kicked out, which left only the producer, your friend, and yourself in the studio.

You also end up having fun. You’ve known Joon-woong ever since he signed up with your agency and you were still a trainee, but you would have never guessed he’d be this much of a fun person to work with. He makes faces in the booth when something doesn’t turn out as perfect as he’d like, and he also makes faces when you hit a particular note in one of your parts.

All that makes for some good content you end up recording and before you leave the studio way after sun-down, you both end up posting selfies online calling for some ‘secret project’ that’s about to drop. After that, you lock your phone and let your friend take you to his car.

*

Jumadeung is still as much of a pretty view as it was the last time you stepped foot in it what feels like a lifetime ago even though it was just last March. The only thing that’s different is your state of mind: with no trace of post-performance adrenaline and excitement, you’re a bit tired but on the right path to unplugging for an hour or two.

You order food and drinks, and end up playing rock-paper-scissors to decide who’s going to pay for tonight’s outing – you will, but no one will ever catch you complaining about anything, not when Choi Joon-woong has become like a little brother of sorts for you.

Joon-woong also doesn’t complain. Instead, you get to see a side of him you haven’t seen in forever. The fun friend, caring and sweet, ready to listen to your rants with both ears and punch your problems in the face with both hands. And in the peace of the booth, under the slightly dim hues of the fairy lights that seem to promise to keep any and all secrets in their embrace, you find out that your tongue doesn’t have much of a problem letting out some of the weights you’ve been carrying on your back.

“I’ve seen your interview, you know?” he says after Jade, the middle-aged owner, comes with more chips and shoots you a wink. “You get so flustered whenever someone brings Park Joong-gil up.” His giggle is half mirth and half somaek, and the way he squints his eyes when he pinches your cheek makes you laugh a bit too loudly. “You really make it too easy to know you like him.”

“You’re drunk,” you chuckle, pulling his hand away from your face and intertwining your fingers with his. “You have no clue what you’re talking about. Eat this.”

He eats the pork and then drinks from the water bottle you give him, and in the meantime, you try to quieten down that buzzing feeling going off in your chest. Your cheeks heat up, too, and you press the backs of your hands to your skin in a futile attempt to make that blood rush away from your face, but you’re not even able to suppress the smile that stretches across your lips.

You’re down bad for Park Joong-gil, there’s no shying away from that. It’s a fact. It’s obviously not the first time you realize this, but it’s probably the first time the realization hits you this strong. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re at Jumadeung, where everything feels surreal and just as possible as it always is in the wildest of fantasies. It’s also where things started moving between the two of you, like someone cast a spell and tied the same thread to both of your wrists, linking you together. Maybe it’s the fact that this is the first time someone who’s not Bit-na has called you out on it. You want to believe it’s definitely not the beer or the soju, nor the fact that you’re drunker on exhaustion than you are on alcohol.

Joon-woong’s hand on your forehead suddenly pulls you out of your reverie. “You’re also burning, you blushing little thing!”

You stare at him for a moment – unmoving, shocked, confused, and definitely a bit embarrassed, but then you’re laughing in his face, at his antics, at that cute expression his face has morphed into.

“Does he even know?” he asks after you make him sit back and drink more water.

“Yeah.” Distractedly, you think that maybe you should pull the rest of the beer to your side of the table so that he’s not tempted to have more. “He’s into me, too.”

His gasp makes you smile at how dramatic he is at times. “You told him?”

You think back to that night in Joong-gil’s apartment, after your dinner date. For a split second that seems to stretch on forever, you feel him between your legs, spread out on his couch – his fingers knuckles-deep inside you and his lips wrapped around your clit. You hear the way he grunted and then spoke sweet nothings you barely had the mental capacity to understand but that still felt so fucking hot in that gravel tone of his.

Would that count as you telling him?

The feeling that maybe you’ve never actually outright confessed your feelings to him sneaks up on you bit by bit.

“I think so… It was pretty obvious, though,” you reply, but it doesn’t hit him fast enough before you actually spot Joong-gil walking up to the counter.

It feels like being in a dream, what with the hazy atmosphere of Jumadeung and its fairy lights and whatnot. Maybe he’s just a figment of my imagination, you tell yourself as your mouth goes dry. Did you drink that much? Did you fall asleep? Are you really down this bad for a man that your brain has to conjure up images of him everywhere you might go?

“Are you two official, then?”

Are you? You don’t know, you haven’t met in person even once during the last two weeks. You never thought of asking whether he’s also seeing someone else, although such a thought feels so absurd the moment it bubbles its way up to the top of all your thoughts that you dismiss it immediately. Of course he’s not – he wouldn’t be sending you flowers or spending that much time on calls or texting (sexting, too, maybe?) you the way he always does.

“In private, yeah, I guess? I don’t know.” Going public seldom turns out to be the brightest idea in your line of work, after all, so that’s off the list – for now? Or forever? Those are questions you can’t really answer.

You watch Joong-gil hand Jade his card and you can’t help but stare at the way his black coat highlights the line of his shoulders. You want to walk up to him and hold him from behind, like you did that night, in his shower – his forehead pressed against the tiles and your hand wrapped around his aching cock as you peppered kisses over the expanse of his back while working him towards his release.

“What do you mean you don’t—”

“Hi,” you smile, breathless, when Joong-gil has finally turned around and is close enough to your booth to hear you. His mere presence short-circuits your brain while you slip down the rabbit hole of this crush you have on him a little more. It’s like you never resurfaced since you climbed down the set of stairs that leads to Jumadeung, that night all those months ago. You walked down, one step after the other, hand in hand with him, and then part of your soul has remained trapped within the confines of this fairyland dream of a bar, sitting in front of a man as charismatic as Park Joong-gil.

The surprise flashing across his face isn’t hard to miss. He staggers in his steps for half a second when he spots you, lips parted and brows furrowed, before he comes back to his senses and halts by your table. “Hey.”

Joong-gil eyes you for just a moment before his gaze trails over to Joon-woong, sitting next to you, eating the last pieces of his samgyeopsal and ranting on about you and the singer he hasn’t noticed is standing right next to him.

“Are you leaving?” you ask. “Why don’t you sit with us?”

Your heart is racing inside your chest. It’s everywhere in your body, but most of all in the butterflies that go off in your stomach at the sight of him. He looks just as charming as ever, dressed in all black, with his hair slightly tousled and his eyes back on you.

It’s then that Joon-woong spots his very own idol, almost chokes on his water, and then jumps up to his feet before pushing Joong-gil to sit down next to you. “Speak of the devil!” His tipsy chuckle is cut short by a hiccup, and you suddenly regret getting him drunk, or even just allowing him to drink as much as he did. “You two look good together,” he whistles, and it’s then that you lean across the table to slap a hand over his mouth.

“Shh! What are you doing?” you reprimand him with a hiss, quickly glancing around in case any of the other patrons might have overheard your friend.

But Joon-woong simply giggles, fixes the both of you with a knowing smirk he’ll probably have no recollection of come morning, and then leans back against the booth.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your date.” Joong-gil’s voice bites at your skin when he speaks, and you almost don’t turn around to look at him. But you do – of course you do, it’s like he’s a magnet and you’re a ferromagnetic butterfly that can’t stay away from his flower.

It’s like it hurts him, the idea that you’d be out and about with someone else when he agreed on waiting until November to really see you again. To see you, and touch you, and… Your neck grows hotter at the mere thought of what you promised him and all the mental images your mind comes up with late at night, when you’re left alone to wonder how he actually is in bed.

“A da—” You flip a finger between you and Joon-woong, incredulous. “We’re just— This is not a date,” you chuckle. Why would he think that? Why are you nervous?

“Yeah?”

“You two should DRT already.”

Both you and Joong-gil turn to look at Joon-woong when he suddenly speaks out of nowhere, seemingly more sober than he’s been in a while tonight.

“Define the relationship,” he explains, grinning at how comically identical the questioning expressions on both of your faces are. “Y/N says she doesn’t know where you two stand, but I did fear for my safety for a moment when I saw the way you were glaring at me,” he tells Joong-gil. “But what would I know?” he pouts right after, his right hand automatically going for his beer bottle.

Less than half an hour later, after forcing Joon-woong out of the door of Jumadeung, Ryeon and Ryung-gu come to pick him and his car up, and the way Ryeon and Joong-gil briefly eye each other before respectfully bowing their heads in greeting makes you think and worry and realize that they used to be something whose details you don’t even know.

Is it wrong to want a friend’s ex special someone? You’ve been asking yourself that question for a while now, unable to come up with an actual answer, even just a shred of reassurance that it is, in fact, alright. The heart wants what it wants, after all, unable of being controlled, but that feeling – like you’re betraying Goo Ryeon’s friendship – still lurks around the pit of your stomach every once in a while. Not even the smile Ryung-gu sends your way from his seat behind the wheel after cheerfully greeting you manages to put your soul at rest.

You end up going home with Joong-gil. Another bike ride, of course, with your body pressed so close to his back that you can almost feel your own heart beat in his chest and his in yours. He feels so close yet so far, and you can barely believe your luck (or misfortune) at having run into him at Jumadeung.

It shouldn’t, really, and you know it, but it somehow still eats away at you, the fact that you might have come off as someone who doesn’t have time to hang out with him but seemingly still goes out with anyone else. It has every last one of your nerves on high alert, and his silence during the whole elevator ride up to your floor doesn’t help ease them in the slightest.

It’s like a rift in your equilibrium, in that game of waiting you’ve both been playing since the end of your joint world tour. It’s also the first time you feel like you’re standing on opposite sides of the world despite standing side by side in a metal box.

The vase of pink cosmos flowers you received two days ago is the first thing Joong-gil sees when he silently steps foot in your living room. It’s another one of his gifts, one that came accompanied by a card with five verses of a love song you found out you both adore. The balance they were supposed to symbolize now seems to shake lightly underneath your feet.

“I think Joon-woong is right.” You’re the first to break the silence, still plagued by that sense of guilt that has snuck up on you out of nowhere. “About… clearly stating where we stand.”

“I’ve already told you I want you.”

“I’ve never been good at this, and I just want to make sure we’re exclusive.” Your eyes lock with his from the other side of the coffee table, unable to look away when he takes his coat off and lays it down on the back of your couch. “That there’s no one else.”

“There’s no one else.” His gaze softens a bit, and it prompts you to move closer to him until you’re almost standing toe to toe.

“And that wasn’t a date. It’s just been a shit day an–”

“I believe you.” His smile is what ends up easing your nerves enough to put them back to sleep, and when he cups your face in both of his hands, you find yourself breathing a bit better. “I didn’t mean to come off as jealous. You have no explaining to do. I just… God, I missed you so much that seeing you there with him got to my head.”

The smirk slowly grows on your lips, despite you trying your best to bite it back, and soon enough it’s a full-blown smile that makes you feel like you’re brighter than the sun itself. It scorches away any other thought in your head and leaves you with just him. “You missed me?” It comes out as a whisper, intoxicated as you are by what’s left of your drinks and the scent of him pulling you in closer than your stance already has the two of you.

“So damn much.” His voice lowers, and you’d be embarrassed by the way that affects you if you hadn’t expected it – the way that shiver trickles down your spine and straight to in-between your legs, like you haven’t been getting yourself off on the memory of him coming – down your throat, or in your hand, spurting thick cum on the tiled wall of his shower – for a while now. “I want to play fair,” he whispers, his lips barely brushing against yours before he presses a light kiss to the corner of your mouth.

You think you feel his heartbeat where his fingertips press into the sides of your face. It’s fast and strong, burning with the same desperate want you feel for him, but you have no clue whether that’s just you. You and the effect he has on your whole system.

“But it’s so fucking hard.”

There it is again, one of his innuendos that bring pictures to your mind. The first time you had a feel of his erection in that dressing room in Chicago, when his fingers had been brushing exactly that spot inside you while his mouth pressed kisses to the side of your neck, sultry voice whispering the nastiest things into your ear. That night in Atlanta, when you made out in your room, right in his lap, his hips leisurely rutting up into yours and cutting your breath short. Two weeks ago in his shower, your naked body pressed against his back, your hand wrapped around his dick and his hand wrapped around yours, guiding your movements as his moans made your pussy clench and your clit throb and you thought you’d come right then and there, untouched, when he whimpered at your touch over the head of his cock.

You wonder whether that’s just you – you and this unexpected obsession you seemingly have for his dick, the way it’s been driving you crazy since things started getting steamy between the two of you. You wonder whether that’s just you or him, too, but all you can do is stand there, putting all of your trust in your knees despite the fact that they feel weaker than jelly with the way he’s kissing – hopefully not marking – down your neck, one of his hands still cradling the side of your face and the other one slipping down to your backside, both to keep you up and push you closer into him.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he eventually continues, pecking your lips and staring back into your hazy eyes.

Maybe it’s not just you, you realize with a gasp when you manage to get a grip on yourself and feel the way he’s pressing right against you inside his pants. Maybe it’s him, too, and it thrills you to think that. To think he craves you just as much as you do him.

“All day every day.” His lips move against yours, and his eyes close for a moment when your hands trail up his back. You want to believe that’s because he needs a moment to collect and ground himself. You want to believe you have the same effect on him as he does on you – like your brain stops working and your body takes over, and your heart is so fast and loud in your chest that you can barely even hear or feel the outside world. “Every. Fucking. Day.”

He takes your bottom lip between his and gently pulls on it. When he opens his eyes again, you can see just how heated his gaze is.

“Even when I saw you there with him,” he groans, staring down at you. There’s this duality to him – it’s in the way his right hand fondles your buttcheek, giving you just a glimpse of his strength, and in the way his left hand cradles your face, like you’re something precious he wants to shield from damage. It makes your head spin, your lips tingling to just press against his and kiss him again. “When I feared it was a date. I still wanted you then anyway. You make me go crazy.”

You make me go crazy, too – you think you say those words out loud, but they don’t actually leave the confines of your mind. They’re stuck in there, as your brain fights with your body to work but ultimately fails.

“I can still taste you in my mouth.” He breathes you in right after he speaks. His nose trails up the side of your neck, and for a moment he stands there like that, eyes closed, lips pressed against the side of your head, half on your skin and half on your hair. “When I close my eyes, I see you sprawled out on my couch that night, dripping wet. I see you and hear you and feel you. I still fucking taste you on my tongue.”

You can’t hold back the gasp that leaves your lips as your knees grow weaker and your hands bunch his sweater up into your fists. “Fuck,” you whisper, and it’s then that he moves his head, smirks at you, and kisses you, lets his tongue glide over your bottom lip as you swear your heart is about to leave your chest. “Joong-gil,” you whine, breathless, and there are very few other thoughts in your now almost empty head. It’s all full of him. You’re all full of him in every single way but the physical one. “Fuck me.”

He kisses you again, tastes the remnants of the somaek you had at Jumadeung. His left hand leaves your face and joins his other one on your ass, and for a moment he’s content to just stand like that, kissing you, fondling your backside in his hands before pulling you into him. The lack of any sort of space between your bodies gets to your head, deepens your breathing, and whatever thinking ability your brain still has is immediately incinerated by the feel of him, hard and aching in his black jeans.

You’re back in Chicago, and in Atlanta, and on your knees in front of him, and in his shower behind him. You can barely breathe.

“No.” You can barely comprehend him when he pulls back to give your plea an answer.

“No?”

You want to ask what he means. Does he not want you? Is the memory of his mouth on your pussy better than the idea of having a repeat? But then he hums, smiling, and his hands come up to cup your face again. Neither of you moves, however; neither of you wants to lose the contact your lower bodies have.

“No,” he repeats. “We agreed on it, don’t you remember?” He pecks your lips, and then stamps kiss after kiss along your jawline until he’s playfully nibbling your earlobe, playing with your piercings. “Anything but my dick inside you.” He marks his words with a roll of his hips into yours that further sends your brain into overdrive. “It was your idea, have you forgotten? Wait until you’re free in November so that I can take you on every surface of both our apartments until we can barely feel anything else…”

You can feel the smirk in his voice, the cheeky bastard, but all you can manage is a desperate whine as you press your thighs together. “I don’t always have smart ideas,” you complain. Your heart is so strong in your chest that you can physically feel it beat against your ribcage.

“Why? It’s a fun little game,” he hums, pulling you along with him when he takes two steps backward to sit down on your couch with you in his lap. You want to tell him you’ll cry now that you’re pretty much sitting on his dick, but there’s no need to because those tears of frustration gather up in your eyes nonetheless. “It keeps me on edge.”

A chuckle bubbles up his throat when he picks up on you slowly rolling your hips into his, and his gaze trails down to where you’re sitting on top of him. He thrusts up into you once before grabbing a hold of your hips and guiding your movements, slowing them down when you get impatient.

“Is this mine?” he asks then, when he relaxes against the back of your couch and tugs at the hoodie you’re wearing.

You want to tell him that every single part of you is his, but then you remember what you’re still wearing and you hum against his lips – why is he so controlled when you barely know how to breathe or whether you’re still doing it right?

“Can I take it off?” He has one hand underneath it already, teasing up your spine and then moving back down.

“Please.”

He pulls it off of you with the t-shirt you’ve been wearing underneath, and then looks up into your eyes before unclasping your bra. You swear you’re hotter than the sun, and then that you’re even hotter when he drops your bra to the side and leans forward to press a wet kiss between your tits. His gesture pulls this embarrassing whimper out of you that makes you want to hide your face in the crook of his neck, but you can’t even move, not when his tongue comes out to lick one of your nipples before he gives it a suck.

“I want us to come like this,” he says against your chest right as he’s kissing marks into your skin where no one else is going to see them.

“I want you,” you complain. You inside me, any which way and anywhere you want me.

“You have me.”

God, he’s so infuriatingly stubborn, and handsome, his head leaning back and his hands pawing at your breasts, his jeans and your light pants an annoying barrier between the two of you.

“Not really though…”

He wipes your pout away when he bucks his hips up. “You said we’d wait until your schedule cleared up to fuck,” he reminds you for the second time, although it’s hard for your brain to process his words because then his mouth is back on your chest. “That’s what we’re gonna do. Because honestly,” he groans, bucking up again and making you moan loudly at the friction, “I won’t be able to stop once I finally have you.”

Another breathless fuck slips past your lips. Have you ever felt this hot? Has your heart ever beat this hard? You’re throbbing right against him, and you vaguely feel him twitch, and maybe by now you’ve soaked your way through your panties but really, it’s hard to concretely feel anything with certainty right now.

“Really?” you pant. You’re somehow so close – you’re tingling, and the coil in your belly is about to snap, and his mouth on your boob is hot and wet and you want it to stay there forever.

“Fuck, yeah,” he moans, pulling you flush against him and kissing you. “I won’t be able to walk for a while after that. Neither of us will be,” he chuckles, breathless, voice more gravelly than ever.

Somehow, you end up pulling his sweater off. Goosebumps wash over his flushed skin when it comes into contact with the cooler air of your living room. Your thumbs brush over his nipples, and you see the way he bites his lower lip before mumbling something about how you feel even better than what he pictures at night.

For a split second, you picture him in his apartment – on his couch, or on his bed, or even in his shower. The way he’d tug on his cock to the thought of you – of your body, the way you moan or whimper out his name, the way you came that night on his couch or in America. The way he’d moan and make himself come, spurt after spurt of white painting his hand or his abdomen or even his shirt.

Man, you’re fucked.

“It’s like you’re riding me,” he says, snatching you out of your open-eyed dream. He meets every single one of the rolls of your hips into his now, his hands on your hips and then up your spine until you’re moaning incoherently against his mouth.

“I’m so fucking empty,” is what you complain when you feel the way you’re clenching around nothing, throbbing, burning for something he’s not giving you. You can feel how sweaty your legs are in your pants, the way the cotton of your pants sticks to the back of your knees.

“I’ll make it worth the wait,” he promises in-between grunts.

Fuck – you think – is he really gonna come in his pants? But you don’t have time to dwell on your thoughts: his lips wrap around one of your nipples as his hand comes up to play with the other. A few perfectly-placed tugs on them, a few perfectly-angled thrusts of his hips up into yours, his clothed erection brushing against your core, and you feel yourself unravel and come undone.

Your moans are loud and whiny, embarrassed, and when Joong-gil leans back to pull you flush against his chest and hides his face in the crook of your neck to muffle his own moans, gooseflesh breaks out on your back and arms. You barely have the time to faintly see your reflection in the glass window of the oven in your kitchen right opposite you. He groans your name, and then he’s coming right underneath you, twitching against you, right inside his jeans.

*

When you wake up the morning after, you’re alone. The side of your bed Joong-gil slept in is cold, but his scent still lingers on the linen. You find yourself inhaling what’s left of his scent, that cold shadow of him, and the smile that stretches on your lips is so wide it hurts your cheeks.

Fuck. That’s when you realize that you’re down bad. That there is no coming back, the turning point is already miles behind you. Not even Ryung-gu has ever made you feel like this. Like you might combust on the spot because of how giddy you are, like this happiness you have inside is almost too much to be contained, even though he left without a word or a caress.

Bit by bit, memories of last night come back to your mind – Jumadeung with Joon-woong, and the ride on Joong-gil’s bike, and then the ride on his lap, right there in your living room. Even without having to leave your bed just yet to find confirmation, you know you won’t be able to stop seeing him whenever you’ll be resting on your couch – his skin, and his gaze, his lips wrapped around a pebbled nipple, and his hands on your bare back…

You giggle out loud, into the pillow he slept with, and you have to do your best to restrain yourself from running to Bit-na – or, well, to your chat with her – to just vent it all out of your system so that you can go back to being the sanest version of yourself – or what of that you can manage after Park Joong-gil came along and scorched everything else on his path. Hadn’t you listened to her when she told you to let things happen, who knows where you and Joong-gil would be now. What you would be.

Eventually, after much debating on whether you should just ditch your appointments for the day, you drag yourself into the living area of your apartment. Not looking at your sofa is almost a feat, but when you make it to the kitchen, the surprise of having your breakfast waiting for you on the table is enough to make you forget about everything else – what you did on the couch last night and the fact that you woke up alone. Part of you hoped you’d find Joong-gil somewhere in your house – maybe in the bathroom taking a shower, or going over his schedule at your kitchen table, somehow waiting for you to discuss what you knew you still have to talk about. The realization that he’s clearly not still here hits you like a pang in the heart that’s only slightly dulled by the food he’s made you.

I made you something to survive the day. Your gimbap is in the box on the counter. If you want, and whenever you want, you can tell me why yesterday was such a shitty day. No burden is too shitty to be shared x — pjg

Why is it that whatever he does, he still manages to make you feel all warm and giddy inside? Why is it that he’s so nice and kind, and also scorching hot and teasing? He gives you whiplash in the best way possible, keeps you waiting on your toes as you hang from his very lips.

He’s still the king among all your other thoughts when you’re standing in the recording booth, singing the songs of your new album. Its concept eerily fits what your life feels like nowadays, like you’re strapped on a roller coaster ride that’s going up and down, and then looping backward before jumping forward at full speed. It’s a dull rendition of how crazy this year has been – the collaboration with the one and only Park Joong-gil, your friendships – deeper with the RMT guys and stronger with Bit-na, even with the physical distance between the two of you – the new business deals you’ve managed to sign, the brief acting opportunity waiting for you next year.

There’s this one song, the very first track of your album, that feels like the wind in your face on that roller coaster.

Butterflies.

It came to you last, all at once while sitting in your car late at night, on one of those days when the sky feels starless, and that’s probably why you ended up putting it before all the others. It’s like that’s always been your starting point, what really pushed you to be where you’re standing now. It’s all the paper butterflies on the shelves in your living room and the one on your wrist put together, combined and condensed and pressurized into this knot that’s always at the back of your throat and that you’re finally ready – although still with some fears – to let go.

You record it last, however. It’s the heaviest of them all, after all, even if it somehow makes you feel so much lighter. It tastes like dried salt after a day at the beach, catching crabs with your father. It’s him flying your kite so up high you can pretend it’s a bird or even a dragon, and it’s you sitting on his shoulders so that you can make it fly even higher. It’s picnics by the sea, and nostalgic ballads after sunset, when he used to strum his guitar and pretend like he had followed his dream instead of that of his parents, with your mother dancing barefoot in the sand for the both of you.

And it’s you saying, You flew away, but can’t you see it? Can’t you see I followed the path you dreamed of?

You’re standing on the rooftop of the studio during your lunch break, right next to where you sat just yesterday with Joon-woong, your lunchbox with Joong-gil’s gimbap resting by your elbow as you look down at the street. The tears you thought would come still have to show up, but that stubborn knot at the back of your throat chokes you up nonetheless.

The same kind of questions that made you wonder about Park Joong-gil this morning come back once again. Where would you be, had your father stayed? Who would you be? Who would he be?

You ask yourself that, and you think about your mother, back in Busan alone, who lost the love of her life to something she couldn’t defeat for him herself. Had he stayed, would it still hurt – for you to see her and for her to see you?

It’s so cliché, that monarch butterfly blinking at you from a poster at the bus stop down at the corner, advertising some special event in collaboration with the butterfly park in Incheon. It makes a chuckle slip past your lips.

Did your biology-enthusiast father bring you there before your family moved down south? You really don’t remember anymore, although you do wonder when butterflies started carrying this kind of importance – and why. Why was metamorphosis so important when sometimes it’s just so hard to leave the safety of your cocoon. When you reach the stars but still have someone else plan and organize your life.

You switch on your phone when you sit down on the worn-out wooden bench to eat your lunch. Maybe if you can distract yourself enough, today’s recording session will fade quicker so that you can go home and start thinking about what you can do tomorrow to enjoy one of the very few free days on your schedule.

It’s then that all the missed messages and calls start coming in.

A couple of confused texts from your mother.

Half a billion texts and three missed calls from Bit-na.

An unexpected invitation to a group chat with Ryung-gu, Joon-woong, and Ryeon.

And then a link and a Let me know when I can call you by Joong-gil that somehow makes your heart jump up into your throat and almost choke on the last of his gimbap.

At first, you brush it off as just another dating scandal based on nothing, just like the one you barely had the time to confront yourself with when you first started working with Park Joong-gil. But then you force yourself to truly read and process the article’s words, and you jump back up to the title – RMT bassist Choi Joon-woong and solo singer Y/N dating.

There’s a picture of you and Joon-woong at the top of the page, and you recognize yourself from last night, when he drove the both of you to Jumadeung in his car. One unpondered decision and you end up trending online without even knowing.

That’s weird, you tell yourself – it’s just some random rumor, so why all this fuss in your messages? – until you scroll further down and read the statement the PR team of your agency released early that morning.

“We confirm that both our artists, Joon-woong and Y/N, are in the early stages of dating. We apologize to the fans who were surprised by this news, but ask for support as they grow together as a couple.”

You barely register the comments underneath the article and you definitely don’t dare open any of your social media apps because despite having muted notifications from anyone but the people close to you, seeing the drama that is most likely unfolding there will do your state of mind more harm than good.

“It’s all the agency’s doing,” is what Choi Joon-woong tells you through the speakers of your car as you’re headed to your agency’s building on the other side of the city, cruising through traffic at a faster speed than what your manager Ji-young would like.

You were supposed to have a chill night: order some food, and then sip on tea while watching that new drama you’ve been dying to start after Bit-na raved so much about it. Now it feels like you’re stuck in yet another bullet point on your schedule, written down on one of those colorful post-it notes Ji-young taught you to use.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” You know you shouldn’t be mad at him – and you aren’t! Really! You probably won’t ever be, but there’s this turmoil in the pit of your stomach that makes you want to cry and scream and kick everything to the curb. Things were going well; you were opening up more; you found someone you realized you’d love to have by your side for however much time you’re given. And this feels like you’re being stabbed in your back by someone – something – you never thought would.

“It’s not that I didn’t,” Joon-woong replies with a sigh. You hear movement on his side of the line, hushed voices, and then a door clicking shut. “It’s that I couldn’t. When I woke up hungover this morning, the damage was already done. I’m at the agency now, I think you should—”

“Yeah, I’m coming as fast as I can.”

It’s nothing to worry about. No big deal at all. You spend the rest of those endless thirty minutes behind the wheel trying to convince yourself of that. But the truth is that all you can think about is Park Joong-gil. Last night with him. The food he left for you on your kitchen counter. That Let me know when I can call you in your text messages and to which you still haven’t replied.

The super in the hall of your agency’s building tries to stop you, or at least slow you down, when you march through the automatic doors, but you barely pay him any mind. Not him, and not the murmur that goes off when you get out of the elevator and walk down the corridor headed to the Public Relations office.

Everything inside you is just so deafening. Your heartbeat, your blood flow, all those thoughts pounding against the walls of your mind. You’ve had a few dating rumors to your name, but none has ever been confirmed, least of all by your own agency. It’s like you’ve been thrown a pair of dance shoes and now you’re expected to know how to ball dance out of the blue.

So blinded by all the worries swirling around in your head, you almost stumble backward when Ryung-gu catches you by your elbow mid-stride.

“Let’s not add a murder scandal to today’s list of nuisances,” he mutters into your ear as he steers you away and towards the meeting room.

“I was not—”

“Tell that to the secretary who was about to call security on you.”

“What? I have every right to be pissed off and demand explanations!” Everyone and their mother probably hear you all the way down the hall and to the elevators, but at the moment you don’t really care. You’ve kept your head down and worked hard ever since signing your exclusive contract, and never once complained about the mistreatment of your training years because you knew your hard work would eventually pay off.

“You won’t like what they have to say,” Joon-woong says when he pulls you into the meeting room.

Ryung-gu is quick to enter the room after you, and then Ryeon pushes the door shut before pressing herself against the privacy glass. The look on her face is apologetic, and the fact that you’ve never seen her this way confuses you even more. Your anger and annoyance quickly sizzle off of your shoulders and you’re left there, with Joon-woong’s hand still loosely wrapped around your right wrist, wondering whether you’re getting fired or used as a scapegoat before your career is finally sacrificed towards some obscure greater good.

“You should probably sit,” Ryeon says, forcing a smile and pointing at the nearest chair.

You do as you’re told, partly because you want this to be over with, and partly because all the what if’s crowding your thoughts won’t leave you alone otherwise – what if everything goes downhill. What if your friendship with Joon-woong gets tarnished. What if what you have with Joong-gil – and what you could have – goes to shit. What if the fans retaliate against you and your career becomes a horror story that will help make public relationships in the industry even more taboo.

Joon-woong sits down in the chair to your left, and Ryung-gu and Ryeon move to the other side of the table, away from the fury you might unleash. No one’s ever seen you truly mad, but nothing’s ever really happened to make you furious, so you reason they’d rather be safe than sorry.

“You know how your collab with the Park Joong-gil had a ripple effect that increased all of our sales,” Joon-woong starts, and you turn to look at him. He’s staring down at his hands on the metal surface of the table and suddenly it’s so clear in your mind, the reason why your agency and their PR team came up with that lie.

It’s always money, isn’t it?

“Everyone’s liked the two of you together since day one,” he continues.

“I’ve seen the shipping comments,” you interrupt. “Get to the point.”

The point is that everyone’s always hungry for something. Love. Money. Success. Fame. The macarons they sell in that tiny French bakery five minutes from your old house in Incheon. More juicy details about the private life of one of your idols, so that you can bask in the illusion of being able to get a peek behind the curtains that separate their public life from what goes on behind closed doors.

“Someone snapped a picture of us in the car going to Jumadeung last night, posted it online, and then rumors started coming up left and right. By the time the agency posted that statement early this morning, we had become the most searched names online.”

It’s almost like no one ever sleeps. Like they’re always watching you – through a spy cam installed inside a teddy bear you were gifted at a fan meet or behind the camera of some paparazzo.

“So what you’re trying to say is, they’re using us as a marketing strategy.” You look at Ryung-gu first, and then at Ryeon, and some of that anger comes back. It makes your fingertips tingle, and suddenly you’d rather be back in the recording booth, sobbing into the microphone because all you want to do now is tear wings off of fragile butterfly bodies.

Eventually, you turn to look at Joon-woong. He’s staring at you now, and he also does look more apologetic than you’ve ever seen him. You want to tell him it’s not his fault, that none of this is his doing, but then again would it really matter? This shitstorm didn’t only hit you; it also hit him, and that’s something you should keep in mind. You’re in this boat together and you should help each other steer it towards the nearest shore.

“They want us to play along for as long as we can,” he confirms. “I tried telling them we have our own personal stuff going on in our private lives, but they say it’s just part of the game. We signed with them, so now we have to keep on playing our part. The CEO saw the sales increase after your collab and your tour, and soon you’ll have your solo comeback, too. Our shows are also starting soon,” he adds, glancing at his bandmates.

“It’s bad to say, but we gotta ride the wave,” Ryung-gu grimaces.

Ryeon smiles. It feels genuine this time, although you see the look in her eyes. Distant, and glossed over, almost as though it’s trying to say that soon it’ll be over. “You should both hang in there. Play along until they say you can break up.”

“With a bit of luck, it’ll all fade away quickly,” Ryung-gu agrees.

You sigh, leaning your head forward and resting your forehead on the back of one hand. Maybe the idea of going to Jumadeung wasn’t that great, after all. Maybe you should’ve called Ji-young, asked her to take you there with your van – through the black tinted windows no one would have been able to snap any kind of picture.

“I know you said you and Joong-gil—”

You’re trying to shake your head without being too obvious, but when Joon-woong doesn’t pick up and starts mentioning last night’s conversation at Jumadeung, you lightly kick his foot under the table.

You want to say nothing’s been defined yet, but you also know that would be a lie. You and Joong-gil talked last night – probably not about everything you would have wanted, but definitely enough to know he’s yours and you’re his.

“Why—”

“If you’re worried about me,” Ryeon cuts in, stretching an arm out across the table and grabbing your hand, “it’s alright. I would have to be blind not to pick up on something going on between the two of you. I know he told you about us.” She shrugs. “Had we been meant to be, we would still be together, but that wasn’t in the books for us. I wanted things he couldn’t give, and he wanted things I couldn’t give. I’m glad he found the right match.”

*

You’re sitting behind the wheel of your car at a red light much later that night. After everyone with some importance in the agency sacrificed Joon-woong and the rest of the RMT to give you the heads up, the CEO, the legal advisor, and the PR and marketing teams walked in for a briefing meeting.

Do this. Do that. Make sure you’re seen out together. We already have brand gigs scheduled up for the two of you. This is gonna be the best year ever for us!

It shouldn’t be a surprise, you tell yourself, looking at the incoming traffic on the other lane. While you’re an employed worker there, you’re also one of their main money-makers. You produce music, and your music attracts fans, who, consequently, buy your merch, come to your concerts and shows, and are one of the reasons why you end up on TV or on the radio or get featured in YouTube videos uploaded by official channels.

You’ve always been money to them and it should have been expected that you’d always be.

It’s just that…

Your eyes well up with tears of annoyance, and you angrily wipe them away with the back of your hand.

It’s just so unfair. To you, and to Joon-woong, and everyone who’s going to fall for this stunt. To your mother, who’s going to want to know more, and to Joong-gil, who’s been living rent-free in your mind and then probably in your heart as well for so many months now.

You don’t even remember when you put that selfie you took with him as your phone’s wallpaper. No more paper butterflies in favor of a happy memory – you and the guy you’ve been crushing so hard on, making peace signs and grinning in your mother’s living room that one time you visited her and asked Joong-gil to come with you.

There’s no use in running away from his text message anymore. What puts your mind to rest is the knowledge that he’s in the exact same industry as you and that, if anything, he should be able to understand you and the situation you now find yourself in much better than many other people.

Without thinking too much about whether you should be doing it or not, you pull up his contact and press the call button.

He picks up on the second ring, just as the traffic light turns green and you can start moving again.

“Sorry it’s taken me the whole day to call you,” you blurt out before he even has the time to say a word. Now that you’re on a call with him, you worry he won’t want to listen to what you have to say. You worry that he might misread the situation, see stuff that really isn’t there, and hang up on you, never to be seen again.

Why do you worry so much about being wanted by him in more ways than one? Why do you want him to understand you and what you can’t yet say? You want to allow yourself to give an answer to those questions, but there’s a part of you, deep down inside, that just doesn’t want to risk ending up heartbroken.

“I turned my phone off because I was recording the new album’s tracks and when I saw the news, I went straight to my agency to see what the fu—” You cut yourself off. There’s no use getting pissed again, you realize with a sigh. “To see what was happening.”

“Are you alright?”

His question catches you off guard. Out of all the things he could have hit you with, he went with that.

“I’m…” You turn left at the intersection and then heave a sigh of relief when you see the metro station getting closer and closer, the sign that very soon you’ll be home. “I mean, I’m not that pissed anymore, but…”

“What’s going on?”

“They’re using me and Joon-woong as a marketing stunt,” you confess just as you turn into the underground garage of your condominium. There, you said it. It doesn’t feel as unbearable anymore, even though Joong-gil is dead silent at the other end of the phone call.

“So it’s not real?”

You frown. “Of course it’s not. I thought I made it clear last night?” It comes off as a question – you really did think you had been explicit enough, but then again, everything is subjective and he might have perceived it differently.

“Just making completely sure.” You don’t need to see him to hear the grin in his voice when he speaks this time, and it eases a weight off of your chest you didn’t even know had settled there. “Do you want to come over?”

You’re sincere when you reply, “I just got home. I think I’m too tired to drive around again right now.”

“Do you want me to  come over, then?”

Yes! You want to tell him that, but you also, “don’t wanna be selfish by asking you to come.”

“Script reading can wait. I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

Waiting for Joong-gil to ring at your doorbell gives you enough time to take a long shower to wash away any memory of butterflies, the recording session (that went smoothly, despite what you feared), and most importantly, the news that you’re – apparently – in a relationship with one of your closest friends. And it’s then, under the scalding hot stream of the shower, that Joong-gil’s words come crawling back and you realize he’s ditching work to come to see you.

It makes you feel a new kind of warm inside, like you have flowers blooming in your chest in a sudden bout of spring in the middle of October. It empties your mind completely and leaves you standing there, grinning at nothing but the mental picture of the man you are – again, apparently – head over heels for.

For a moment there’s no more fake dating Joon-woong, no more marketing stunts your agency’s employing to line its pockets with even more money, no more comments online talking about you or the picture someone snapped last night. There’s just you, in the shower, and then Joong-gil, and you realize – probably a moment too late, although it still shouldn’t come as a surprise – that your feelings have been growing even when you were trying to ignore them, and now they’re there, somewhere in your chest, in-between those flowers growing in your lungs and spreading down to your belly. And you have no clue what they mean, what they are, but you’re so grateful for them and for how alive they’re making you feel.

You’re on the phone with your mother – you reassure her that everything’s fine, that you will introduce Joon-woong to her, but that she has nothing to worry about and that no, nothing’s wrong between you and the ‘handsome man’ you introduced to her months ago – when you get a text from security making sure you indeed are waiting for someone.

“I will explain everything as soon as I can,” you promise her before bidding her goodnight.

Maybe if you could meet her in person, she would be able to reassure you that everything is going to be just fine and that there’s no need for your heart to beat this fast now that Park Joong-gil is riding the elevator to your floor. It’s like all of a sudden, those flower stems are constricting your airways, squeezing everything inside you like someone found a way to shove their fist into your chest.

You force yourself out of those mounting fears – what did the two of you talk about last night? What did you tell him, and what did he tell you? How clear were you? – and you open the entrance door just in time to see him step out of the elevator at the other end of the corridor.

He’s as gorgeous as ever, even when it’s clear that he’s simply thrown a jacket over his pajamas and put on the first pair of running shoes he found on the rack by his door before grabbing his helmet and heading down to his garage.

He strides up to you and for a moment he simply stands there, looking down into your eyes, his breathing short, almost as though he ran as much and as fast as he could before slipping into the elevator. When he doesn’t say anything, you want to ask him whether he is mad, and that’s exactly when you realize you actually are afraid he might be. You can take a lot of shit, but apparently, you can’t take Park Joong-gil being mad at you.

But then he’s enveloping you into a hug. He smells like the night, and his coat is cold against your cheek when you lean into him.  You want to stay here like this forever – or for however long that could be in real life and not just inside the fantasy world in your head – but then you think about the neighbor you share your floor with and how she could step outside at any given time. If another rumor came out of it, you don’t want to imagine what your agency might come up with. So, you wrap your arms tighter around Joong-gil and step back inside your apartment enough for him to be able to kick the door shut.

“Hey,” he whispers against the side of your face after another – apparently endless – moment of silence.

Your nodding into the crook of his neck makes him chuckle, and then his lips come down to your cheek to press a kiss into your skin that makes you sigh out loud.

Eventually, you let go of him long enough for him to be able to take his jacket and his shoes off before leading him straight to your bedroom. If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show – or you’re just so dead set on spending time with him that you don’t notice. Only when you’re in the safety of your blankets and Joong-gil’s arms do you allow yourself to relax and gaze up at him.

“I’m so pissed,” you confess bluntly. Were he anyone else, his chuckle would worsen your annoyance, but he’s not just anyone and all you find yourself doing is hide your face in the crook of his neck like you just want to rest on him forever.

“I know,” he murmurs. You feel the ghost of a kiss against your hair, just before his arms tighten their embrace around you, pulling you closer to him and his scent. “I was planning the right way to ask you to be unofficially official, but your agency beat me to that.”

“I’ve always liked them and while of course I know they hired me so that we both could make money, I never would have im—” You stop in your tracks, frowning, your brain finally catching up with what he really said – not a they’re real pieces of shit but something entirely different. “You… What?”

You can’t look up at him. You simply look down at his chest, at how it rises and falls with every regular breath of his, and when you move your hand up higher, you feel his heartbeat underneath your fingers. Flowers and butterflies coexist in your belly, and you feel like you might explode in a billion, bright fireworks.

Joong-gil hums, one of his hands moving away from your back to join the one you have on his chest. His palm against the back of your hand, his fingers intertwine themselves with yours. “Yeah, I don’t see why we should wait.” His voice is low, not as stable as it usually is, and you feel his heart pick up its pace inside his chest. You wonder how fast your own is – and why it even is this fast in the first place when it’s been clear for a while how you feel even just about the thought of him. “We both like each other. We both want to spend time together. I can be yours, and you can be mine.”

You pause for a moment and draw your head back on his shoulder just enough to be able to look at him. There’s no trace of playfulness on his face; the smile that stretches on his lips looks just as genuine as ever. “Did you read the articles online? Did you understand when I said my agency is using me and Joon-woong for marketing?”

“I heard you loud and clear when you said the relationship was fake, yeah,” he grins. The fingers of his left hand play along the skin of your low back, underneath your pajama shirt, and his other hand comes up to cradle the side of your face. It makes you want to kiss him for hours on end, to let him take your breath away – just stay here with him and let your feelings blossom together. “You’re bound to fake-break up at some point.”

“You’d… make us official? Even when your agency’s against you dating?”

You want that. You want him. Life has no certainties and you try not to believe in absolutes, but you do know you don’t want him out of your life. You want to walk hand in hand with him until the end of the road, wherever and whenever that might be, even if sometimes it still does feel rushed.

“If you’d like that, too,” he hums, his thumb brushing along your cheek. “I told you I want to spend a long time with you. I meant it. Still do.”

You swat at his chest and your head finds its place back in the crook of his neck. He still feels you grinning against his skin, however, and it makes him laugh. But then you nod, and after pressing a light kiss against his neck, you say, “Let’s do it then.”

He maneuvers you so that you’re lying on your back and then he’s gazing down at you, one elbow by your head keeping his weight propped up. “Yeah?” His eyes stare into yours and you find yourself swallowing around nothing, looking up at him – he didn’t even need to kiss you to make you feel breathless.

“Yeah.”

“So can I be mean with Joon-woong for fake-dating my very real girlfriend?” He’s grinning, so you know he’s just joking, but it’s that last word that brings all the warmth to your face and then back down into your chest, until it’s seeping into every single fiber of your being.

It makes you chuckle. “Don’t you dare.”

“Not even a little bit?”

“No!” you laugh, trying to sit up, but then he gently pushes you back down. “He’s a good friend.”

“We’d better get matching rings so that he doesn’t get the wrong ideas, then.”

You exclaim his name, laughing at his antics, at how playful he feels right at this moment. It’s another one of those shards of him that seeps into your heart and your soul, like you know you’ll want to remember this moment for a very, very long time. “Can’t believe you’re jealous,” you grin, both of your hands coming up to cup his face before pulling him down low enough for you to peck his lips.

“I’m not jealous,” he shrugs, “just a bit territorial,” he corrects, bumping his nose into yours.

You chuckle, and it’s almost right against his lips. “Didn’t you have a script to read?”

“Nah, I think I’m just gonna spend the night with my girlfriend,” he says before kissing you. His tongue slips into your mouth when you gasp at the feeling of his touch between your legs. “Can I?”

You nod, lifting your butt for a moment to allow him to take your pajama pants off. “I feel like I’ll never survive till my schedule’s clear,” you breathe, voice unsteady, when he positions himself between your legs with a grin on his face.

“Do I have that effect on you?” He wraps one of your legs around his waist, and with how close he is to your core, you can feel his cock growing harder right against you. When you let out a soft moan, he grabs your other leg just to bring it up as well. “Do I make you lose your mind as well?” he asks, fully confident, rocking his hips against yours.

“Fuck, yes,” you whisper, cupping his face to bring him in for a kiss.

You could barely recount how you went from that to Joong-gil lying on his stomach between your legs, three fingers knuckle-deep inside your quivering pussy, his own hips slowly rutting into the mattress, as he brings you closer and closer to your third orgasm. You know for a fact that he’s come once already as well, untouched, and even just trying to guess in what amount you affect him makes you clench around his fingers as he sucks on your clit.

He grunts into you when you tug on his hair, after a brush against a particular spot inside you makes your oversensitivity spike through the roof.

“I’m gonna come,” you whisper, barely able to put the ceiling of your bedroom into focus as all you can think about is being filled by something other than his fingers. Even just the thought that his couple ring is coated in your slick is making your head spin and the knot in your abdomen tighten.

“I’ve got you,” is all he says before flicking the underside of your clit and pressing a wet kiss just below your navel.

His fingers curl up, tips pressing right into that spongy spot that makes your synapses lighten up that tad bit more, and then he’s back to teasing your clitoris until you come again, making a mess of his face and the sheets below you.

You’re still shivering when he comes up to kiss you, and your own taste on his tongue makes you whine into his mouth as your legs wrap around his waist. He hisses when his clothed erection comes into contact with your throbbing, wet core, but then he’s rutting into you as you make out and everything else vanishes, drown out by his moans and whimpers and gasps against your lips and the sparks flying underneath your skin.

*

Once you manage to swallow the sense of guilt you feel at faking something in front of everyone just for the sake of your agency’s revenue, it’s not that hard to play the part. You carry out the even more extra gigs both your and Joon-woong’s team take on, and you make sure the two of you are caught by paps when you’re out on fake dates or simply moving from one place to the other with either of your cars.

If you were busy before, you’re a little busier now.

After some additional recording for your album, you have to sit down at your kitchen table to answer the questions of a written interview they sent to your manager Ji-young all the way from the States.

After a day spent rehearsing your new choreographies – and after a day spent practicing for his comeback with Ryung-gu and Ryeon – you and Joon-woong have to take a stroll by the Han River, hand in hand, doing your best not to fall asleep on your feet.

It’s like working overtime in a period when you’re already putting in extra hours, but the agency’s proud of how the both of you are handling the hot potato they threw at your faces. They’re happy with how much popularity they are getting and how far up the charts both you and the RMT group are climbing. Not only that; the two of you have become a hot topic and it’s become hard to go anywhere online without seeing either or both of your names trending.

That’s how your mother and Bit-na find you when they drag themselves to Seoul at the end of October: an overanalyzed talk of the town.

“This feels like something that’d happen only in dramas!” Bit-na gasps after you finish filling her in on this charade you and your friend Joon-woong are playing. “Can they really do that?”

You shrug your shoulders. “No clue. But it’s only temporary, so Joon-woong and I are cooperating. We’ll probably break this off sometime after his comeback.”

From where you’re sitting on the couch, you can feel your mother’s gaze on you from where she’s standing in the kitchen, making the three of you soup. She’s been quiet all day – with her bad motion sickness, she’s never been particularly fond of long car drives, and she’s also been privy to this whole story since it started almost three weeks ago.

Bit-na’s playing with one of your butterflies while inspecting every single one of the ornaments on your shelves after having spent years looking at them through the screen of her computer. The tiny lighthouse she sent you as a gift for your debut is still there and you change its batteries every time they run out. You see her pick it up for a moment just as you get up to walk up to her.

“I didn’t think you still had this,” she mutters when you come to a stop by her side.

A chuckle slips past your lips and you carefully take the paper butterfly from her hands before replying, “why not? It’s a reminder there’s always a light in my life.”

“We’ve been friends for ages, don’t start making me tear up now,” Bit-na whines, pushing your shoulder and muttering an o my gosh underneath her breath before linking her arm with yours. “You know, I think you’re brave for doing this.”

“Doing what?” You glance at her side profile as she’s still focused on that tiny lighthouse. You think of her as one: always guiding you in the right direction when you’re lost in the fog and the darkness.

“Whatever they tell you to do.” She shrugs and then turns with a smirk, “or for wearing matching rings with a different guy from the one everybody believes you to be dating.”

There’s no concealing the grin that grows on your face, and you have to turn the other way to not let her see you beaming like that.

“When did he give it to you?” she asks from behind you, leaning her chin on your shoulder.

You tell her how you got those rings, after how clear Joong-gil made it that you’re now an item while still not breaking the rules of that little game you’ve been playing since that dinner date – although there’s really no need for Bit-na to know what transpired that night in your bed. Joon-woong made it clear that he doesn’t want to hinder your relationship with Joong-gil, and after a long discussion on this new marketing project carrying your faces, the three of you came to the conclusion that fuck it. If it comes out – that you and Park Joong-gil are seeing each other, that is – you’ll be able to pin the scandal to your agency wanting to control your lives even more and while that’s simply wishful thinking, you still did go to an actual jewelry store to handpick your couple rings. Maybe in the silly hope that someone would catch you, or that magically you and your friend would be able to go back to your normal.

Telling someone the truth about your phantom relationship with Choi Joon-woong really does end up serving its purpose of lifting a weight off of your chest, even when that someone is just your mother and your best friend from back home. It doesn’t make that feeling of being a fraud go away completely, but it does make it lighter to bear as you sit in the VIP section of the RMT’s first comeback show.

While you’ve always been a fan of theirs, this is mainly all for show, but no one has to know it, right? The people that matter already do: Ryeon and Ryung-gu are in on the secret, and Joong-gil has been wearing his matching ring ever since you gave it to him despite the fact that no one seems to have picked up on it yet. It feels like doing your best while still half-assing your way through an assignment at the same time: you’ll be on a video call with Joong-gil once you’re back home, while everyone else will be busy talking about the new pictures of you and Joon-woong tomorrow morning – and you know Bit-na will do a better job than your PR team at giving you a summary of what’s going on online about your relationship.

Things get louder in the audience when Joon-woong turns in your general direction during his ending fairy and shoots you a finger heart. It’s something Ryeon jokingly proposed a few days ago, while the four of you were chilling in Ryung-gu’s apartment watching the first episode of Tomorrow, that new show you and Joon-woong recorded those songs for – “Send Y/N a heart or something when the cameras zoom in on you,” but no one had really been serious about it.

Pictures of Joon-woong’s finger heart and of your reaction are everywhere when the shooting for your new music video comes to an end the day after and you finally get the chance to sit down in your van for a sip of water. You don’t even know why he’s apologizing in your chat for going through that playful plan when that’s exactly the kind of shit your agency wants in order to keep your names trending and their revenue coming in. You’re both in this together and as long as your higher-ups are going to keep the music going, both you and Joon-woong will have to keep on dancing.

“It makes me feel like shit that they’re forcing us to go through with this,” he says when you pick up his call. It’s sort of like a reversed repeat of your call with Joong-gil, when your agency’s statement came out and you spent half a day at the office being briefed on and fighting against this new plan of theirs. “I don’t have anything going on but you do, and I really don’t wanna ruin our friendship. What if this whole thing ends up straining it?”

Neither of you wants to worry out loud about something much scarier – what’s going to happen once you call this fake relationship off? What if the truth comes out and the public finds out it’s all been a play since the beginning? Despite it not being your fault, you still played your part, and the mere idea of losing everything the both of you have worked so hard and so many years for makes you nauseous.

“You don’t have to worry about that,” you try to reassure him, even though all those other concerns are still swirling around in your mind. “Everyone involved knows it’s all play pretend. And you also have feelings, so don’t only think about mine. Soon enough this will be over and—”

“I hope that day hurries up. If I have to kiss you for the cameras one more time, I swear I…” You hear him gag at the other end of the call, even when his words make you burst out laughing.

“Am I that bad of a kisser?”

“It’s almost like kissing my own sister and that’s not something I’d ever wanna do!”

More kissing has to happen to keep your agency fed, however. It’s like some new weird fetish for them: after the first peck on the lips you and Joon-woong exchanged while out on a walk after they told you to get back to number one in the trending charts after Joong-gil’s cameo in the new show Tomorrow dethroned you, it seems like that’s all they want to see online now. You both try to seem as genuine as possible when doing it, but it’s hard to swallow down how weird it feels, to be kissing someone you’ve pretty much spent a considerable part of your life growing up with and with no feelings whatsoever attached.

What keeps you going is the knowledge that it’ll be over soon – and maybe in the future, when your contract expires, you’ll be able to consider signing under another label in the hopes that they’d never use you like this.

However, the RMT’s comeback stages come and go, and there’s no sign that your agency will let you call this off. Even when your schedule clears and that mid-November you’ve been so ardently awaiting comes around, you and Joon-woong have a photoshoot for a brand publicizing couple apparel – matching clothes, matching jewelry, and a pair of matching rings dangerously similar to the ones you and Park Joong-gil have been seen wearing despite no connection having been made, strangely enough. It has still presented itself as an excuse for Joon-woong to start wearing one on a chain necklace around his neck, in case rumors came out before anyone was really ready to face the backlash.

Both of you wonder when that fateful day will come.

You’re together late at night, on your very last day of work before your break. You’ve been planning on going back to Busan – back home – for a while now. That tug-o-war game between the idea of going back and the prospect of staying in your Seoul apartment finally reached its final round when, two days ago, you finally booked your ticket. It’s about time you do this; it’s about time you go back home, to your mother – and to visit your father’s grave on the anniversary of his passing.

“Maybe after our tour is over…” Joon-woong sighs, pulling you out of your thoughts and pushing your backpack into the luggage rack of the train that will take you back home.

You’re both dressed so that no one will recognize you, and the fact that probably not many other people will travel first class on the last train of the day makes you heave a sigh of relief. “I sure hope so. I feel bad for everyone who’s fallen for this…”

Joon-woong nods. “Yeah, I hope this won’t end up biting us in the ass.”

Outside the train, a female voice announces the express train to Busan will leave in fifteen minutes, and for a moment everything else is silent.

Imagine we’re going on an adventure, you hear your father say. You’re seven years old, wearing a yellow coat that matches your varnish little shoes and a fluffy bunny backpack, your tiny hand holding tight onto your father’s index finger as your mother’s just a little further away, buying gimbap for you to eat on your first train ride. We get on the train here and we get off alllll the way at the other end of the country tomorrow morning.

Part of you – the version of you who will forever be seven years old – is still there, on the platform, and your father is crouched down next to you, pointing out a pigeon or that one old lady with the bright bouquet of bluebells sitting all alone on a bench. And the adult version of you is standing there, looking back on the memory like it’s a video clip on your computer, but a thousand times more vivid, a thousand times more real. You hear the chatter of the passengers waiting for their rides, the screeching of a train’s brakes, and your father’s coat still smells of laundry detergent and that wooden scent that’s always been him.

Suddenly, Joon-woong’s hand is on your shoulder. “Are you alright?”

Did tomorrow really have to come? Did you really have to wake up in Busan, in your mother’s embrace, and start a new life there?

“I’m fine.” But there’s this big, thorny lump in the back of your throat, and the butterfly on your wrist is pulling your whole right arm down, tugging and tugging like you used to tug on your father’s hand – to run on the beach, to show him something that caught your attention, to bring him out of his endless work.

“Are you sure?” You meet Joon-woong’s eyes and you’re this close to tearing up. When you went home last time, a few months ago, the world didn’t feel this heavy and constricting – was it the excitement of the end of the world tour? Was it Park Joong-gil’s hand in yours? Was it the fact that it was just a random day? “It’s probably not too late for me to get a ticket to come with you.”

The female voice over the speakers announces five more minutes until departure.

“I’ll be fine,” you say, plastering the best smile you can manage on your face and squeezing his hand. After the endless schedule he and his group mates just came out of, this is just for you to bear. “I’ll close my eyes and wake up in Busan. I’ll text when I’m there, okay?”

Joon-woong lets you go reluctantly, almost as though the part of him that wants to stay with you and avoid you going on your own just had a fight with the part of him that respects your will and lost. He waves at you from the platform when the train starts moving and doesn’t stop until you’re out of sight, and you do the same.

A tear breaches the dam of your lashes and trickles down your cheekbone and into the black face mask you’re wearing.

Is it Joon-woong waving goodbye to you that is making you cry? Or is it the memory of a pre-adolescent Y/N, staring wide-eyed at your father on a stainless-steel table as your mother wails on her knees?

Fifteen years pass in the blink of an eye, and when you look back, you have no clue what even happened in that span of time. What were you doing at fifteen? What were you doing at eighteen? Where were you when midnight struck on the first of January and you turned twenty with your friend Bit-na on the phone?

Fifteen years pass in the blink of an eye, and it’s overwhelming, how these emotions feel as they resurface within you, turning your stomach upside down, inside out. Did you not process them? What gives them the right to come back barreling in full force right now, when you’re moving forward one step at a time?

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing those painful tears to crawl back where they came from, but that simply makes swallowing that tad bit harder. Your hands ball up into fists on your lap.

When the train makes its first stop, you have half a mind to grab your backpack and get off the train, call a cab and go back to Seoul, crawl into your shower and sit there. But before you can give it too much thought, you doze off for a minute. Be it the exhaustion of the day or your body catching up with the fact that now you’re off the hook, you find yourself slipping into unconsciousness.

It’s just black, no pictures play out a dream in your mind. It’s just black and voices, first off in the distance and then closer and closer, until you can recognize the voice you had when you were six.

Daddy! Daddy! Look at this one – you’re giggling. You have no need for a clear dream to replay that day in your mind because your subconscious has memorized every single detail about it already. It’s the sixth of October: that day your mother dressed you in your favorite floral sweater over jean overalls before dropping you and your father off at the Butterfly Park on her way to work. You had your bunny backpack on, one hand wrapped securely in your father’s, braids that touched your shoulders, and a chubby little finger pointing at the caterpillar in the glass window. So big and striped!

Do you like it? – he’s beaming. You don’t need to see him now to remember the way he looked that day behind his reading glasses. He was reading on his guide what to that little kid felt like fascinating gibberish. He had this gift to himself: he could make anything sound like the most interesting thing, whether it was a fairytale or the air conditioner’s handbook, that one time he had to fix it during a heatwave.

He reads and reads, telling you everything about that one specific caterpillar you had pointed out in your childlike fascination, and then repeats his question. Do you like it?

The sound you make is everything between a yes, a no, a maybe, and an it’s really a funny little creature and I’m also a funny little creature, so how can I tell?

Then, there’s light. It’s as small as a pinhead, but it’s there, and it feels like it’s swirling with colors and sounds and emotions.

This is where butterflies come from – he’s picking you up. You still feel the ghost of his touch as he picks you up in his arms – the present-day you, and the six-year-old you at the Incheon Butterfly Park, with her bunny backpack and her tiny little braids and her jean overalls, eyes big and round as she looks at the pictures he’s showing her.

Worms, Daddy?

Caterpillars.

But how? You hear your surprised gasp. Your tiny arm wraps around the back of his neck, and with your tiny hand on his throat you can feel the vibrations of his voice when he speaks.

They live and grow and when they’re ready, they build themselves a cocoon.

Like when you put me to sleep? You always say you’re making a cocoon for me!

Exactly like when I put you to sleep – and he laughs. You realize now, in this dream-memory of sorts, that that’s one of the things you’ve missed the most about him. His voice, and the way he’d laugh. They also go to sleep in that cocoon. And then, while they’re sleeping, they go through a metamorphosis – and he says that word with emphasis, because he’s also always wanted for you to have your own. And when they wake up and they get out of their cocoons…

They’re butterflies!

They’re butterflies, indeed, Buttercup.

Will I also be a butterfly one day, Daddy? When I grow up enough?

You already are my butterfly – his smile was blinding that day and as you start to stir from unconsciousness now, you can feel tears prickling at your eyes, behind closed eyelids, because that little kid really did think she’d have her whole life with her daddy. My pretty yellow buttercup, just like this one.

It’s flitting about before your eyes, when you open them and a tear trickles down. It’s the same yellow buttercup your father showed you that morning, behind the glass of the window preventing you from touching the butterflies – or preventing them from flying away. You see it land on the headrest of the seat in front of yours like you’re on its side of the window cage, staring out at the reflection of what you and your father used to look like when you were six and he still seemed happy.

Then you blink and the last tendrils of slumber retreat. The butterfly, six-year-old you, and your father disappear.

You sit there for a long moment, chest heavy and throat closing up, and you wonder what would happen if you could go back in time, to that day, and relive every single day that came after with the knowledge you have now. Would things be different? Or would you still be on this very train, going back to your mother only?

You fidget for a moment – only inside though, it’s like your body can’t really move. What if you do and then you break? Or is this your cocoon, and you’re going through your own metamorphosis, waiting to become a different version of yourself once you make your way out of it? What colors will you have then? How high will you fly?

[9:58 PM] joong-gil 💗: have a safe trip. Call me when you’re home no matter the time x

Joong-gil called you before you left your apartment. He wanted to wish you a safe trip, but that didn’t stop him from also sending you that message – and from putting a smile on your face. He wanted to wish you a safe trip – and hear your voice, and make sure you were alright. He’s not the only one who knows you’re going back to Busan because of your father, but he’s definitely the one that knows the most about him out of the few close people you have in Seoul.

You debated asking him to come with you like you did last time, but then you backed out of it because you didn’t want to tear him away from his life the way you did the night he was supposed to go over his script. Now, in your heart, it feels like you shouldn’t have hesitated. It feels like you should have asked him – to hell with your agency and their marketing stunt, to hell with the way they’re using you and Joon-woong, to hell with everything else. Because there’s this sudden realization hitting you straight in the face like a fist that goes down your throat to grip and twist your insides: it’s the first time you’re going back home alone. No Joong-gil, no Ji-young, no accompanying Bit-na back home after she’s spent a week at your place in Seoul. It’s just you, and your backpack (not a bunny one), and all these feelings reawakening inside you like a beast rearing its head after a long slumber.

What is it about anniversaries that is so hard to swallow?

Your fingers hesitate on the screen of your phone. You enter and exit the messaging app, glimpses of your chat with Park Joong-gil and of the picture of the two of you that’s become your wallpaper. Glimpses of a memory that won’t mutate and glimpses of a conversation that can still go on – and back, and a billion other directions.

[2:37 AM] you: i wish i

[2:37 AM] you: …

[2:39 AM] you: are you sleeping?

[2:39 AM] you: …

[2:42 AM] you: what would hap

[2:42 AM] you: …

You type and delete, type and delete.

Your mother is offline when you leave your chat with Joong-gil and check. Of course she’s asleep, it couldn’t be any other way. She said she’d pick you up from the station when you’d get there, but you also know that after her shift at the hospital she should be recharging her batteries now.

You check on Bit-na. She’s changed her profile picture from a selfie of herself to one with a man, probably the Seung-min she mentioned when she came over, that one chef she’s met through a friend of a friend and that seems to be a really excellent and sweet guy.

Your father was a really excellent and sweet guy, too. He comes back full force, and you’re left there, wondering.

Is Bit-na really happy?

Is Seung-min?

Is your mother?

Is Joong-gil?

Are… you?

[3:01 AM] you: i thought i could do this on my own, but it’s so very hard. it hasn’t been just my mom and i in so long. i feel like i’m tearing apart at the seams

You send him that. He – Park Joong-gil. You send him that, after much debating, even more deleting and retyping, after wondering whether this is a burden you have the right to share with him. He is yours and you are his, but is everything else, too? Is that what it means, to love someone?

Your phone is almost back in your pocket – Joong-gil is sleeping, he won’t reply, he’ll text something back tomorrow morning – when you feel it vibrate longer than it would with an incoming text.

It’s a phone call.

You quickly glance around your coach and only spot an old man at the other end, snoring lightly, deeply asleep. You glance around even if you don’t have a mind to pick up the call, but then you think about your father. What if he had called before taking his life? Would things have gone differently had he done that, had someone picked up the phone?

You shake your head.

JOONG-GIL 💗 flashes before your eyes, on the lit screen of your phone.

“Are you alright? Where are you?” is what he says when you bring your phone to your ear. The fact that it’s him – him, and his deep, reassuring voice, and the fact that he’s up at three in the morning, and that he’s there, on the other side of the call – is like a bucket of cold water soothing every itch and every ache.

“On the train,” you murmur back, careful not to be too loud even though it’s just you and that old man, and a whole empty carriage between the two of you. “I..” Your throat closes up and your vision blurs. You feel scattered all over the place – Incheon, the Butterfly Park, Busan, your house, the beach, your mother’s hospital and your father’s office. Pieces here and there, hidden away from your memories, and it’s like you should retrieve them to be able to go forward at the same speed of this train you’re on, but they’re so many you have no clue where to start. “I dreamed about my father. And… butterflies.” Your voice breaks on that last word, and you wish Joong-gil were there, and that you were in his arms, sheltered away from the rest of the world.

His exhale at the other end of the line tickles your eardrum. “I wanted to come with you,” he confesses after a moment, “but I didn’t want to impose myself.”

“I wish I had asked you to come,” you confess in turn. The landscape flies by outside the train window and you wish you were going in the opposite direction so that you could come back when you’d be ready.

“You can ask me now, and I will be there as soon as I can.”

Seconds tick by.

The train stops at a station. A few sleepy passengers get off, luggage in hand, but for the rest, the place is deserted.

You think it over, again and again, wondering whether you have a right to. “Can you come to me?” you breathe out, and then, on the next inhale, hold the air in, waiting for his reply. You’re hit by the realization that you want him to say yes – and that you want him to stay. Not just at your house in Busan, but by your side. Today, and tomorrow, and the day after. If you could always have a tomorrow with him, you’d be happy. As light as a butterfly, as bright as a buttercup.

“Of course I can.” You hear his smile. It’s like with your father in that dream: you didn’t need pictures to know how his face would move, what his expressions would morph into.

“And can you… stay on the line?” you ask, clutching onto your phone like a lifeline. “For a little bit longer?”

*

It’s silent, at home with your mom.

The pale light of dawn seeps in through the lace curtains of the kitchen. It’s like the ghost of a caress on the skin, so very distant, like a memory fighting to come back to the surface once more. Goosebumps awaken on your skin as you look at your mother falling asleep on the yo she laid out in the living.

Sometimes you wish you could be in her head, read her thoughts, or that you could both open up more. Talk about what happened without a ball of tears and regrets and sorrow forming in your throat. It would be the very best thing after watching both your mother and father sleep on that yo, together, gently kissed by the light of a new day rising above the ocean.

You’re quiet when you get up and even quieter when you wash the mugs you used to drink tea to warm up after the biting cold that welcomed you at the train station. When you’re done in the kitchen, you pad back to your mother and lie down next to her.

Her breathing is soft and even. The expression wrinkles on her face have softened, and you look at the way her eyes slowly dance behind her closed eyelids.

Is she her own caterpillar? Is she wrapped up in her own cocoon, under those floral blankets, waiting to turn into a butterfly?

Is that what comes next?

Did your father become one?

You glance down at your wrist, at that red outline of a butterfly, and there’s this tiny voice at the back of your mind – six-year-old you stuck inside the Butterfly Park, maybe? – that whispers back, yes, yes, he’s become the prettiest of them all.

She stirs in her sleep, your mother, when you gently push away those stray hairs from her face, but she doesn’t wake up. You notice the first gray hairs, poking out here and there on her head, even though her face looks as young as ever, so different from the version of her that picked you up this morning.

Is that how much tomorrow struck her, when it finally came?

You wake up a short time later, without having even realized you were on the verge of dozing off yourself.

Once, twice, you blink the sleep out of your eyes. You’re lying on your right side, facing the French window that opens onto what’s left of the backyard vegetable garden and the empty flower beds.

It takes you a while to come back to planet Earth, and a little bit longer to realize your phone is vibrating next to your head.

“Hello?” you ask without checking the caller’s ID. With your voice so groggy and laced with sleep, much lower than it usually is, it’s no wonder Joong-gil manages to figure out,

“Were you asleep? Did I wake you up?”

“No, I was already awake.” Your free hand shoots up to shield a yawn but it’s a second too late, even when you sit up and yawn a second time. Your gaze flits around the room, your left ear straining to try and pick up eventual sounds, but a look at the clock hanging above the television – a little past seven – and you realize your mother must have already left for work. “Are you still driving?”

“I’m about to pull up at your house,” he replies, and this time, a bit more awake, you pick up the faint notes of the music in the background. It sounds familiar, something you’re sure you’ve already heard even though you’re unable to fully discern it right now.

A gasp of surprise slips past your lips before you can hold it back, and then you’re shooting up to your feet, almost tripping in the tangled-up blanket. “I’ll wait at the door!”

The first thought that goes through your mind when you’re finally in his arms is, you smell like home. It’s sudden and not something you can really explain, but it still feels so raw, in a way. Like you’ve been stripped bare and he’s there, anchor and shield and lifejacket, and probably – definitely – so much more.

You breathe him in like you haven’t seen him in forever, and he lets you pull him in – closer, tighter, pulling at the wooly sweater under his puffer jacket, desperately clawing at his back, and desperately swallowing the tears back down. You’re strong enough, though, to stop yourself from crying.

It’s a different story one hour later, when he takes you to the cemetery.

You’re standing in front of the display case with the urn with your father’s ashes. There’s a picture of the three of you – your mother, ten-year-old you, and your father on the beach. All smiling at the camera, and it’s incredible how much pain you can hide behind a simple thing. You just show a glimpse of your teeth, and everything seems fine. Your mother’s crinkled eyes and a flower in her hair; you and your braces and those two stitched on your cheekbone from when you tripped right outside your ballet school; your father’s glasses, askew over the bridge of his nose, and his arms wrapped around the girls of his life.

“I missed you,” you blurt out, trying not to shake even though everything inside you is clenching up. You have no clue when the last time you showed up here was, always overwhelmed by his loss, and by life with just your mother, and your job, someone else’s dream that slowly but surely has become your own.

If you sing loud enough, will he hear your voice? Will he see you? Will he come back?

“I miss you.”

You’re not even really aware of Park Joong-gil standing a few steps behind you. Looking at you. Looking at your father’s urn, at your father’s picture, at the tiny bouquet you pasted to the glass. Looking at you looking at all that, taking it in like it’s something that is ripping you apart.

And it is.

The pain you thought you had overcome – the pain you always manage to ignore while in Seoul – hits you out of nowhere, from each and every direction. It pulls you under like a wave; it shoots you up into the sky like a rocket. Pain and memories play a game of tug-o-war with you – your body and your mind and your soul.

Just as you were strong enough not to cry in Joong-gil’s arms earlier, you’re strong enough to cry now. The words you’d like to tell your father – whisper, and speak, and yell – die on your tongue, on your sobs, as you crouch down under the weight of a yesterday with him, a today with his ashes, and a tomorrow that’s so shrouded in fog you’re not able to see through it.

It takes your body endless minutes for you to register Joong-gil’s arms around you – strong and secure, pulling you back into his chest like you can let go for a moment and lean everything on him. His face is in the crook of your neck, gently whispering things you can’t really hear over the sound of your sobs and the blood in your ears.

“I told myself I wouldn’t cry,” you manage to say at some point, blinded by the tears, barely aware of the fact that you’re now sitting on the cold tiles of the floor, between Joong-gil’s legs, instead of still being squatted down. “But I can’t.”

He lets you cry it out. He lets you tug at his hands when you silently beg him to hold you closer so that you can feel something else other than this emptiness and this pain, like your own cocoon of sorts.

And he sits there with you through it all, until the tears die out and you’re resting back against him, the back of your head leaning against his shoulder as you look up at the small bouquet you bought for your father from the floor. His lips are by your temple, the ghost of a touch that does more at calming you down than any amount of words ever could.

“How are you really?” is the first thing you ask, voice sore and throat tender. You’re still looking up at those flowers, breathing through your mouth, and while your heart is still beating fast, it’s not desperately galloping in your chest anymore.

“Hmm?” His hum reverberates in his chest and into yours, and he tugs you a little closer.

You swallow – saliva or another lump of tears or simple sadness, you don’t know. “My father always seemed so happy, but then he took his life. He wore a mask for so long and we didn’t see it. And we couldn’t do anything. We never asked.” You tilt your head slightly to the side, taking one deep breath after the other. “So, how are you really?”

He thinks for a while – or that’s your own interpretation of it. And the silence is a nice caress on the heated skin of your face, where the cold of the weather is making what’s left of your tears bite. “I’m… okay. I’m so in love with you that being powerless now tears my heart out of my chest.”

When he asks your same question back, it takes you a while for you to give him an answer, to make order among your feelings and your thoughts and your memories. To lighten your heavy heart and call back your soul.

You tell him about your father, and your mother, and how overcome your job makes you feel, like you’re constantly wandering without going anywhere or like you’re going in too many directions at once without finding your place. You tell him about Bit-na, and how sometimes you wish you were her, teaching little kids ballet and being free to date her Seung-min without having to worry what anyone but her parents think of her and of him and of them together. You tell him about Joon-woong, so sweet and dear, caught up in this web of lies just because your agency wants more money.

And you tell him about yourself. About six-year-old you, her bunny backpack, her twin braids, looking at butterflies with her Daddy. About the tooth you chipped in your Incheon home or all the times you used to run on the beach after moving to Busan.

And then you tell him how you feel – that you don’t know, but that you know you want to love him more than you love everything else because he feels right. And like home. And that your dad would have really loved him, with his deep voice and how he plays the piano, and because that one night he made all of his daughter’s favorite foods, and because he makes her feel happier than she’s ever been in a long time.

When you eventually get off the floor and walk outside, it’s snowing finely.

“If we were normal people, what would you do?”

“I’d love you openly.”

*

Your mother ends up insisting for Joong-gil to stay at your place again. Having someone around is nice, she says, putting even more rice into his bowl than she normally would for herself, after commemorating her husband’s death.

You really don’t want to say it out loud, but it’s clear on her face: how happy she is that Joong-gil is here. Not just simply in her home, but in your – her daughter’s – life. It’s like life is light again, whether that’s for just a moment or whether that’s something that’s here to stay.

When you wake up the next morning, still wrapped up in Joong-gil’s arms on the yo in the living room, you’re barely able to read Joon-woong’s text before you see the pictures someone must have taken of you and Joong-gil at the cemetery.

[6:53 AM] joon-woongie: i hope you’re doing alright, with everything but especially with the anniversary of your dad’s passing 🫂 i’m sorry someone took pictures, but don’t let the agency get to you. i’m on your side and we can both bite back together!

“What are you doing up already?” Joong-gil’s morning voice is a nice combination of groggy and soothing, even more when those words are muttered into the crook of your neck.

“Someone took pictures of us during my breakdown,” you whisper back, eyes glued to your figure crouched on the floor, head on your knees, and Joong-gil kneeling down behind you. The way he held you. The way he pulled your hair away from your face. You didn’t even know he had kissed the side of your head, and that’s the only thing you’re grateful for those pictures because that new knowledge really does make you feel warm inside. “I’m really sorry. Your agency will probably give you hell.”

“Hell is playing by your agency’s lie of you and Joon-woong dating,” he exhales, making you turn in his arms and taking your phone from your hands just when it starts to ring. “I want to be with you. I’ve wanted to be with you for a long time now. I don’t want to have to hide our us just because I’m afraid of what might or might not happen tomorrow. I don’t want a tomorrow where we’re not together because of the rest of the world.”

Your smile turns into a grin, and soon you’re beaming. You haven’t beamed this bright in fuck knows how long, and it feels good. It feels great, even, and you want to continue feeling like this. Today, and tomorrow, and the day after. “Is that your confession to me?”

“I’d confess to you every single day, with every single breath I take,” he grins. “Call Joon-woong. I can handle anything they’ll throw at us.”

When you pick back up your phone, however, it’s your agency calling.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Wow, kudos to you for reading this far! 😅💕

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[mirror-to-the-past]

Word of advice to anyone who likes Omori analysis- check out @white-tulips critical re-playthrough of OMORI on their YouTube! I know they've been making the videos for a bit now, but I just started watching them (I've got to psyche myself up for long videos unless they're video essays, but this is pretty close to that category, so that helps). I watched the first one so far, and it was pretty absorbing. It's come to my attention that I've only played the game fully through once per main route (I have a Hikikomori file where I KNOW I've probably barely scratched the surface/never got to Red Maze), and played the True Route, and now I'm suddenly filled with a longing to play it again once I have the time.

Instead, though, I'll play Yume Nikki to check that out, because I've never played it despite knowing of it for a while, and now just found out (since it was mentioned in the video) that it's free on Steam! Well, fancy that!

Anyway, check out those videos. Neat stuff.

[gucciwins]

so I know that bel and harry are SO busy with their careers right now, and bel just saw harry for his birthday … but are they spending Valentine’s Day together????🥺🥺🥺🥺

happy valentine's darling 💛🥺🥺🥺 this ask is all i could think about. sadly they won't spend it together. bel has just started filming for a new film, she went to australia a few days after harry's birthday to begin filming. she will be there for a few weeks/months. and harry the romantic, is filming a music video for the new album and finalizing lots of items. it's a sweet holiday, one where you get to shower someone you love with even more love. i do think they do something special for each other so let me indulge you for a bit.

Bel was happy to be on set. She loved working with new directors and getting to know the cast. Most importantly, she loved getting to be a new character. Having been in London almost ten days ago it was time for her to do her job for the next few weeks.

Meaning she was going to miss the cheesiest holiday that all couples enjoy spending together. Harry was disappointed that both their schedules couldn't work to fit this day, where he just wanted to shower her in love. There were lots of days planned out to be together but there that bitter feeling of not getting to spend it with him.

It also didn't help that the time difference was a whole whopping eleven hours. While Bel finished a work day, Harry was just starting his day. They sent updates all day or even videos and pictures, and it gave them something to look forward to each day.

Bel started her Valentine's Day with coffee and a bagel at a cafe right next to her apartment for the next few months. It was a warm and welcoming environment that she had begun frequenting it almost daily.

Today was different, less people in the shop but lots more heart shaped treats offered. They made her so happy she made a larger order to be delivered to set later.

As she arrived to her trailer, everyone was chatting and her assistant Emerson who was happy to be back working was telling her that her schedule set on her vanity as well her wardrobe for the day.

Emerson told her that there was a delivery for her. Like there had been everyday since she began filming, Naomi was consistent in sending postcards somehow making them arrive one after another. Bel knew better than to question her. To her surprise this morning that is not what is waiting for her.

There are four different bouquets of colored tulips sitting there, a note sitting a top of the purple one's in his sloppy writing. Then a large box of macaroons from Carette in Paris, her favorite. She had mentioned it once in passing, and he listened.

She's quick to take a photo before picking up a pink macaroon and enjoying the sweetness.

Bel pulls up his contact and presses call knowing he must be getting ready for bed. He picks up on the first ring.

"Hi, my love." Harry greets.

"You're perfect, mi amor."

"You liked the gifts."

"I do. I really do." She admires the flowers for another second. "I'd smother you in kisses if you were here."

"Don't tempt me. I'll hop on a plane."

Her heart flutters at the thought of seeing him, but she knows it won't be for a bit until he comes to visit her.

"Stop it." She sighs. "I love you. It was really sweet of you."

"Anything for you my love."

"Excited for you to get my gift," she confesses.

"You got me something?" He asked in surprise.

"Dork, of course."

"I'm sure it'll be perfect." He answers honestly, because if she picked it for him it surely had to be.

That's how she spends the next ten minutes, switching to face time to see him trying his best to stay awake soaking up every minute with her.

It's not until there's a knock on her dressing room door does he hang up, repeating I love you's until they both hang up longing to be together but counting down the days.

_____

Harry was a romantic at heart. He knew that and so did all his family. Each year he always sent his sister and mother flowers, just a little reminder that he was thinking of them and was grateful for them.

This year he added another person to the list, although he wanted to be with her, their schedules kept them apart. He greedily wished he could taken her away but she did come down for his birthday and even added a few extra days.

He knew that by now she must be back at her apartment resting or just wrapping up. Selfishly, he hopes she's home already so they can spend time talking for a bit before he gets on with his day.

It's after he's done with his morning medication does his doorbell ring. There is Bel's dear friend Luna someone she had reconnected with when she arrived back in London earlier last year. She's holding a bag and large floral bouquet with lots of pink flowers and a few yellow scattered around.

"A gift, from your girl." Luna offers with a large smile. She bids him a good day and leaves.

He sets the flowers down in the kitchen thankful it came with a vase. He was sure he didn't have one that would fit them all this well. The bag is white with red and pink hearts everywhere. He's quick to open it the tissue paper falling to the ground, the first thing he pulls out is a note. Harry sets it to the side before reaching and touching a soft material. He pulls it out and sees it a sweater. Well, a cardigan. It's soft to the touch and has colorful buttons, even pockets. There's a few wholes too large, but he thinks it's perfect.

Harry picks up the note excited to see what she said.

Roses are red

Violets are blue

I might not be there

But I still love you

Did that rhyme? I almost scrapped this, because I was thinking it over. Now how do you think this arrived, well I did it before I left. I'm sneaky. As for the cardigan well I started that as soon as we parted after New Years. So when you wear it you'll always think of me or have a bit of me with you.

Cheesy I know. Te amo mi vida.

Love, Bel.

Harry laughs wiping his tears away when his phone rings. His darling, is calling.

"Did you stay up for me?" He asks forgoing a greeting.

Bel laughs, "'course, wanted to know what you thought."

He hears a yawn.

"Long day?"

She hums, "yeah, lots to do."

"Miss you."

She giggles, "me too, amor."

"It's perfect. You're perfect." He says referring to the gift.

"You really liked it?"

Harry giggles staring down at the knitted cardigan with rainbow buttons. It was a pastel yellow and it was so soft.

"I love it. Going to wear it everyday."

"Stop," she says bashfully.

"Nope, I'm serious. Already wearing it."

"Show me."

Harry turns on FaceTime and waits for her to connect. Once she does, it's like all the air is knocked out as she rubs her eyes trying to wipe the sleepiness she's feeling her hair is a mess and her shirt has yoghurt stain but she's beautiful. Always beautiful.

"H, you look so pretty." She gushes taking him in, he feels his face heat up.

"Thank you."

"Send me a photo, going to make you my lock screen."

Harry nods, letting her see his flushed face and large grin at her confession.

He knows he's going to love her for a long time. Maybe forever, he sure hopes it's forever.

They might not have spent this holiday together, but they managed to make each other feel special even when countries apart. This reassures him that they'd be fine. That they'd make it through anything.

[waynedunlaptheorgandonor]

watched s11ep1

i will provide you with a quick review before i disappear back into the ether of twd avoidance

lots of spoilers under the cut. also i wrote way too much and i worked all night and haven’t slept so i didn’t bother to reread literally any of it, so it might be completely nonsensical, tho if you don’t expect that from me by this point idk whose blog you’ve been reading

enjoy:

hokay, first off, i’ll start by saying that i enjoyed it more than i expected to. i’ve been avoiding any sort of discussion about stuff, but my google algorithm is so fucked at this point that i still get recommended articles and stuff every now and then, so i was already pretty aware of what i was walking into, and was expecting it to be eh, but actually i prob enjoyed it more than i enjoyed the finale

(don’t get too excited tho, the finale was rly boring lmfao)

anyway

episode starts off with a tense scouting mission

it takes .005 seconds into the episode for caryl to exchange a look of longing, establishing that they are still having weird conflict and are both too fucking stubborn to do anything about it even tho they hate it desperately

i imagine that will continue for a while

rosita, kelly, carol, maggie, what’s her face with the bad hair, and lydia (i think that’s everyone?) lower down to some army bunker or something, where a bunch of walkers are taking a snooze, and the girls are very respectful of walker naptime, and do their best not to wake them up

obviously they eventually wake up, but i’ll get to that in a sec

as they’re tiptoeing through the walker tulips, there’s this split second where carol spots a machine gun, and looks at maggie with a face like, “can i plzzzz, i am mad horny for that machine gun,” but maggie tells her no. (i 110% expected her to defy orders and accidentally wake up all the walkers, but she actually behaved herself for once. well. mostly)

never fear, tho, after the girl gang collects a bunch of MREs they go back to wait for the dudes waiting up top to pull them up, and bc men ruin everything, one of the ropes break, and daryl catches it before it falls, but then a slow motion drop of blood falls on a walker’s face, and just like that, walker naptime is over, and carol uses her bow and arrow for two seconds before she is like “fuck this” and whips out the machine gun

yes, she is super hot using it

yes, daryl watches her do it

anyway, all the other girls get rescued, and carol is about to be pulled up, but bc she is a #girlboss, she first makes a beeline for one more crate full of MREs. daryl covers her while she gets the loot, and when she gets back up top they have another charged moment as carol hands him back his knife

just fuck already, jfc

titles!

cut to alexandria where everything is still not smilestimes

BUT, we do get to see uncle daryl run and hug rj and judith (and dog), and FUCKING HERSHEL JR, LIGHT OF MY LIFE is also there

istg, they could not have casted a better child, i a d o r e him

oh, and some friends of maggie’s show up too, idk

cut to a staff meeting where everyone is like, whomp whomp, we’re all gonna starve to death unless we figure out something quick

cue maggie going, “oh, i know where food is, but it requires me to tell you my tragic backstory, in case anyone didn’t watch my bottle episode”

she tells her dramatic backstory about all her friends getting slaughtered by the reapers for no apparent reason, and then she’s like “anyway, let’s go back there!”

no one thinks it’s a great idea, but a group of people decide to go anyway, including daryl and gabriel. rosita is super pissed that gabriel is going, and carol doesn’t go, probably partly bc it’s a shitty fucking idea, and also bc they have to keep caryl apart bc otherwise they’ll fix their problems ahead of schedule and they won’t be able to drag out the needless angst

daryl looks kind of annoyed that carol doesn’t volunteer to go 

bitch, i thought you wanted her to stop putting herself in the line of fire! make up your damn mind!

moving on

cut to a thunderstorm, where, if you look closely, you’ll notice daryl is wearing the STUPIDEST hat i’ve ever seen. just get an umbrella, jfc

for some reason negan is with them, bc ig he knows his way around washington dc, and no one in six years has bothered to figure out how to get around the city and/or get a map, and he is like “hey guys, maybe we shouldn’t try to walk in this fucking hurricane,” and everyone is like “FUCK YOU NEGAN, YOU’RE NOT THE BOSS OF US!!!” 

this will be a common occurrence 

but eventually daryl is even like “actually, it’s rly unpleasant out here, and my hat is mad stupid, can we go inside plz?”

so they go inside an old metro station, which is actually a rly cool cinematic choice. i rly like the idea, and they executed it rly well

speaking of executions

there are some fucking RULL CREEPY walkers. idk why they bothered me so badly, but they were what they at first assumed were corpses wrapped up in tarps, but turns out none of them had been properly put down, so they go through killing these rotted bodies that had supposedly been there since The Fall, and it’s very gross and cool

this entire time, btw, negan is like “hey, i know i’m a shitty person, but i have some rational arguments about why we shouldn’t be doing this right now,” and everyone is like, “FUCK YOU NEGAN, YOU’RE NOT THE BOSS OF US!!!” and he’s just like “god fucking damnit”

(i forgot to mention that at one point, when they’re headed into the metro station, negan is trying to warn ppl of the potential danger, and everyone is ignoring him, and he tries to talk to daryl, and daryl is like “fuck you, you think we’re BUDDIES?” and negan is like “oh, ok, so you’re gonna be like that too? fanfreakingtastic” and it’s very funny)

anyway. a fat monster zombie escapes its tarp at one point, and tries to eat some npc, and negan saves him, again is like “hey, anyone else realize that this is a FUCKING BAD PLAN?”, and everyone is like “we don’t care, you’re still shitty and we’re not listening to you, and you don’t actually care about random npc i would literally not be able to pick out in a lineup bc his face is so generic, you’re not the boss of us!!!”

it’s at this point that negan finally is like, “why am i even here? bc i know how to get around washington dc? do none of you have a map?” and i was like, “right?! that’s what i said!” 

it’s then revealed that maggie only brought negan along to murder him under the guise of “oops, he got hurt in the line of duty, it wasn’t my fault,” and daryl has this look on his face that says, “i seriously need to stop hanging out with lethal women bent on revenge bc it’s gonna give me high blood pressure,” and maggie has a badass moment where she points a gun she has for some reason at negan and is like “i have like, one shred of human compassion left inside of me, and if you keep pushing me i will fucking kill you without a second thought, so shut the hell up”

(in her defense, negan had just dropped glenn’s name to purposely antagonize her, which was rude as hell)

(for the record, i’m completely on maggie’s side here, but negan still is right that trapping themselves in a metro station is a bad call)

anyway, moving away from that briefly

i think this jump cut happens sooner, i don’t actually remember, but whatever who cares, point is, we get to the part of the show that actually matters, and that’s anything involving my love, juanita “princess” sanchez

and also eugene, yumiko, and ezekiel

they are being asked increasingly invasive questions by commonwealth ppl, some of which i wish they actually would of answered (what do they use to wipe their asses with?? surely toilet paper has long since become extinct)

zeke, who is so much more tolerable as a character now that he’s not larping as a king, has this incredibly weird and sort of sexually charged moment with a dude in an orange stormtrooper costume, where he’s like, “i bet you were an asshole cop back before The Fall, you stupid fascist, #fuckthepolice, mb literally? idk, this moment has a lot of pent up aggression that could easily translate to hate sex, it might just be the intense eye contact, but w/e, let’s just move along,” and then he has a coughing fit to remind the audience that he’s currently dying of cancer, and orange stormtrooper is like “lolz, loser, drink some water you dumb piece of shit”

cut to the wholesome foursome sitting at a picnic table in a guarded courtyard eating gruel, and yumkio, who finally has a personality, and princess are like “hey, this place fucking sucks, can we leave?” and zeke is like, “yeah, i met this orange stormtrooper who i think might be dtf and/or murder, so we should probably bounce”

but eugene is like, “but i want some hot stephanie ass, and also some bullshit excuse about how mb commonewealth will save alexandria” which, they left before things went super downhill, right? idr. it was after hilltop fell, but they don’t know alexandria got fucked either, if i recall? w/e, not important

two seconds after he says this, they talk to some people who are like “we’ve been here for four months, or maybe it’s been nine, i don’t actually remember, i’ve stopped processing the passage of time,” and the wholesome foursome takes this as a bad sign, tho that’s just the life i’ve lived as a night worker during a pandemic, so i was like #mood

but then they watch some guy get dragged away screaming to get “reprocessed” and eugene is like “ok, nvm, let’s bounce”

(my theory on what “reprocessing” is, is that they’re stuck in a room and have to watch hours and hours of customer service training videos on vhs from the 90s)

i definitely got my jump cut scenes mixed up bc i think the negan accusing maggie of a murder plot thing happened in between this scene and then the next commonwealth scene, but w/e, i’ll just finish what happens in the commonwealth arch

the wholesome foursome are trying to hatch a plan to escape, except princess, my love, is distracted watching some stormtroopers flirt, and the other three are like “wtf, dude, how can you even tell any of them apart?” and princess then tells them every stormtroopers backstory bc she is brilliant and pays rly close attention to shit, and the other three are like, “this is useful information, thank you for being an insane person”

their plan involves yumiko and eugene dressing up as stormtroopers and leading princess and zeke out of the place, which works fine actually, except on their way out they come across the Depressing Wall of Probably Mostly Dead Missing Loved Ones

they’re about to leave, when princess is like, “wait, yumiko, you’re on here, that’s weird huh?”

sure enough, yumiko  is on the wall, with a note from ig her sister 

the scene ends with yumiko going, “guys...i can’t leave...i have tragic backstory to unveil”

tragic backstory to be continued ig

back in murder metro town, npc and some other npc have stolen all the supplies, there’s a train blocking the track, and a horde of walkers are coming towards them, so things are not going fantastic

they horde is too big to take down, so they start to climb on top of the train car to get away

but dog runs away!

and daryl, being every pet owner ever, is like “gotta go get my dog, guys, try not to get killed while i’m gone, c u soon!” and he ducks under the train and disappears

#priorities

the episode ends with maggie climbing up the train car but getting grabbed by a walker and dangling off the edge, and negan is there and they have a lion king moment where maggie is like, “scar! help me!” and negan is like “long live the king, bitch” and walks away into the shadows, leaving maggie to a potential death

which, while i know isn’t actually going to happen, would be a really fucking funny move on the writers’ part

like, “look, lauren’s back! and now she’s dead, bet you didn’t expect that!”

anyway

my assumption is negan will actually end up helping her up or something, continuing his ambiguous morality bullshit that actually isn’t ambiguous bc he BEAT GLENN TO DEATH WITH A FUCKING BAT WRAPPED IN BARBED WIRE IN FRONT OF HIS PREGNANT WIFE

the maggie/negan arch is kind of dumb, but whatevs, i’ll tolerate it, as long as my boy glenn gets justice in the end

anyway, cue credits!

final assessment: good episode. i’m much more interested in commonwealth than the reapers, tho i am hoping that daryl’s personality-less ex turns out to be a monster killing machine with no conscience, that’ll be fun. princess is a gift from god. hershel jr needs his own tv show. needs more carol (and caryl)

the end! going back into my walking dead free chamber! see you next episode!

-diz

[kreidewaltz]

skyblue + thorns + tsukishima <3 congrats sm on 200 luv ily

COTTAGECORE DREAM | T.K.

about. he knows you're exhausted from all the work you're doing. he decided to bring you to a flower field and he thought he might fall in love all over again.

word count. 1.6k

genre & warnings. fluff, timeskip, comedy, established relationship, mentions of overworking, teeny tiny suggestive.

author's note. i was abt to make this angst but changed the last minute >< sorry for getting to this vv late pls enjoy this bc he's done w all the angst we're giving him he says <3 not prfr as usual okay

“be careful, dumbass.” he expected you to frown at his choice of words, instead you give him a wide smile before doing dances in the middle of the flower field. he pushes his glasses up to his nose to distract himself since he hears the wild beating of his heart. a gasp leaves your lips when your hand touches the different kinds of flowers and you get enchanted when you look at them closely. the azaleas are your favorite because of the bright color it brings to the field and it blends in beautifully. when your boyfriend mentions you’re going here, the hitachi seaside park, it felt like the worries and problems stacking up in your life disappeared for a moment.

you grabbed your blue instax camera and took pictures of the flowers dancing with the wind and took a picture of your boyfriend under the bright sun. you move the polaroid for a few minutes before hiding it in your tote bag before running through the field and imagine as if you were on a music video. he shoved his hands in his pockets, watching you get exhilarated with a smile dancing on his lips. he trails behind you and glance at the tulips few meters from him. he thinks of picking it but he didn't want to cause worry in the field that's suppose to distract you from work. he recalls the trouble he's forced to go through with you since you became a little reckless but he has no regrets, he's done those things with you after all.

"kei! come here!" you wave your hands while he chuckles to himself before taking large strides towards you. you loop your arms together, walking around the field which looks amazing when you're in it. we should come here again, you noted. 

a part of you is relieved that he thought of going here with you to unwind from everything. you recall the time he carried you in bridal style and covered you with blankets, with that you learned that you have no one to blame but yourself. his preposition began when you keep doing that one thing he tells you not to—overworking then excuse it as a way to be productive.

-

he wasn’t supposed to find you like this.

he wasn’t supposed to see papers and pens scattered around your desk, the cup of coffee in your coaster that he never saw empty in the time he checked up on you. “kei, ten minutes!” you pleaded with a pout on your lips and look at him, your voice laced with desperation because you really needed to finish this email tonight or as your friend quotes, you’re damned. you rub your hands together and shut your eyes, hoping that he wouldn’t protest or flick you in the forehead. your boyfriend sighs in defeat before going back to your shared bedroom, a joyful aura surrounding your face when he didn’t react violently. 

your co-worker messaged you earlier asking about the client’s response about the presentation he did a few days prior. he spams you with messages asking why it is taking so long to hear about the response and while you’re typing, you remembered your conversation with him last friday. you were supposed to email the client and provide him basic information about the presentation and add the link so he can thoroughly look at it. for once, oikawa wasn’t the irresponsible one between the two of you and you swear he’s not going to let you forget about this. damn oikawa, you curse in your head before stretching your arms.

you shoot him a text saying i’ll send it tonight and add emoticons even though it contradicts on what you’re feeling right now. you went through your emails and drafted what you wanted to say, the link, and double checked if there are grammatical mistakes and whatnot. when you’re sending an email to a client without checking the message and the information, it lacks decency and poor time management, that’s what you tell yourself. 

luckily when you overwork you don’t do it for weeks but you force your work and deadlines on a day. when he heard you saying this, you hear his caring boyfriend scolding as you call it and flicks your forehead with a frown on his face but you got a glimpse of his lips twitching afterwards. while you’re mentally panicking on how to finish the email that reaches your standards, tsukishima is laying down, staring at the ceiling with his hand running on the (your) empty side of the bed, looking for your warmth. he misses your gentle touch when you draw miscellaneous shapes on his back.

he hopes you get yourself together and actually takes care of you but he doubts you’ll do that, you’re stubborn and prioritize work over yourself. he slowly sits up and grabs a pillow to put in between his legs before opening his phone, thinking of what to say that’ll get you out of your desk. he tries to remember an activity or a place that you’ve mentioned because he misses seeing you being happy without worrying about deadlines or your co-workers. after looking around the room he sees the tulips he gave a month ago, looking bright and healthy since you insisted on not letting the flowers die. ah i’ve got it she’ll like this, he thought of a place he knows you’ll enjoy and begins to search on his phone, knowing he’s got you wrapped around his finger.

-

“hey, c’mere for a second.” your boyfriend rests his hands around your shoulders while you hum, your eyes going back and forth to your laptop and the papers around your desk. he knows you wouldn’t budge so he propped his chin on your shoulder, wrapping his long arms around you. “don’t be a brat.” he whispers too close to your ear which makes you pause on typing and look away because now you’re only thinking about how close he is and the way his voice gets low. 

“consider this as your break, you dork.” he lightly flick your forehead before leading you to the room and the way his face turned to a serious one after locking the door raised suspicions in your head. he grabs the wooden stool and sat there while you’re on the edge of the bed, wanting to know his intentions for locking the two of you. “i’m thinking of going out tomorrow,” he started off gently, and right now he waits for your—

“what about my work?” 

“ah ah, stop talking about work, idiot.” he effectively shuts you up when he rests his finger above your lips and when your shoulders slump and let out a sigh, he knows he’s got your full attention. he pushes his glasses up to his nose to focus himself and clears his throat to continue. he’s getting distracted with the way you look adorable with lounge wear.

“we’ll go to the hitachi seaside park, to get your mind off work and stuff…” you couldn’t hide your enthusiasm and squeal repeatedly while moving your feet around the air. the fondness you have for him never decreases but it grew more and more, but you don’t mind at all. your first reaction was to jump at him and wrap your arms around him but seeing the stool he’s sitting on, you didn’t want to risk having injuries. he remembered, you thought while he looks to the side and act nonchalant about it, but the faint redness to his ears going to his neck failed his cover. you opted to grab the dinosaur plush sitting quietly on the bed and lightly hit him with it, convincing him to let loose. the two of you made eye contact and mouthed thanks and your eyes full of sincerity is more than enough for him. he holds your hand and gives it two squeezes, his way of saying no problem, i got you. 

-

and we ended up here. 

“babe, i know i’m great and i’m flattered but,” you couldn’t continue to talk as laughter bubbles up your chest and clutch your stomach to laugh out loud. he looks like a long stick a few meters away and you walk back to him, twirling so your dress can spin gracefully. he quickly looks at you when he realized what he did, one is stare at you for too long, and two he got caught. you bat your eyelashes to tease him while he curses under his breath. 

you take a quick glance at your bag to see if the polaroid showed the picture already and your mouth parted seeing the result. the picture looks ethereal, the left side too bright because of the sun, the colors of nature and your boyfriend tying everything together. after hiding it in your bag, you offer your hand. 

“let’s go! don’t leave me there.” a pout coming to your lips before intertwining your fingers together and walking around the field in silence. this is what he needed after the games he had, a day to indulge in whatever he wanted, what you wanted. earlier, you're on your favorite restaurant and got a box of desserts to enjoy when you got home. you’re pulling him where the narcissuses flowers are gathered. 

“mhm, hey give me your camera.” you hum to his question, completely focused on the narcissuses. he presses the button beside the camera and tries to find the angle he’s looking for, he also wears the strap to prevent it from falling. it’s his gift to you in the first place. he takes a few steps to the side and angles the camera to his chest and when he takes a look at it, he wants that scene imprinted on his memory forever. your hands almost cupping the white petals, and pretend to blow it and giggles slip from your lips, thinking you look hilarious. the sky behind you creates a happy yet calming atmosphere to the picture, and there’s one thing left to do—

click. 

[sunarintoes]

Dear Whovever: [Kenma]

Synopsis: You and Kenma are both best friends and youtube gamers however you want to be more than just best friends so you decide to ‘man up’ one day and write a heart felt confession in a minecraft notebook before then putting it in Kenma’s personal chest.

WC: 3K

TW: slight swearing :)

[Episode one]

[recording in 3… 2… 1… start!] 

“Hey gamers, Kodzuken here with Tulip-but-make-it-yellow! I've done a few Minecraft videos with Tulip before, but thought I'll start a new series that will be posted every Monday.”

“It's called Minedays with Tulip and Kodzu”

“I- no, Tulip. I'm not sure what we’re gonna call it. But you guys will know- obviously since it's the title of this video.”

You whine and pout into the monitor, “Kodzu I think Minedays is a cute name.” 

Instead of replying Kenma rolls his eyes and hits you ingame. “Should we introduce the challenge and get it started?”

“Yeah that's a good idea!” 

“Well, it's about eleven am right now, we have until eleven pm to build a Minecraft house from a random topic,” he pauses and moves to the side to point to a sectioned spinwheel, “on this bad boy,” whacks the spinner, “we have eight different themes, in a sec I’ll spin it and whatever it lands on will be what we have to build.”

You let out a high pitched ‘hmm,’ “I feel bad for Kuroo and Hinata, they’re both going to have to edit twelve hours of footage down to 10 minutes!”

Kenma chuckles, “fifteen minutes actually.”

This time you roll your eyes. “Hurry up and spin it you fool! I want to get buildinggg” 

Smiling, Kenma moves back a bit and spins the wheel, after thirty seconds full of anticipation the wheel finally stops and its small arrow is pointing at- “Yes! Cottage core theme!” you yell out while Kenma groans. 

“Really? That's lame why couldn't we have ‘Lucifer’s Bedroom’?” 

You poke your tongue out to the monitor - which Kenma could see, after all, you are in a Discord call with him. “Don't be sad just because you're prancing in my turf…. Looooooser!”

Kenma playfully glares towards you, “You’re on! See you in twelve hours!”

Unfortunately, the difficulty of building a cottage core house in the woods - in survival mode, proved more difficult than planned. 

“We spawned in a desolate area huh? Barely any flowers!” you hear Kenma make a sound of agreement as you sink into your comfortable ‘gamer’ styled chair. 

“Don't tell me you've given up? Just because you can't find any flowers?” 

You scowl at his cocky tone however your mood does a one-eighty when you suddenly get a good idea. “Ok everyone! I know what I have to do! I'm going to restart in another place because this isn’t working!”

Kenma makes a sound of surprise, “you're restarting? It's been an hour already-”

“Yeah and we have, like... eleven more.” Kenma sighs in response, “better get a move on.”

For the most part, the two of you kept quiet - not wanting to let the other know how well you were doing. However one look at your phone only to see that your twitter has blown up, you decide to take a short break, after all it has been four hours of you sitting on your ass playing Minecraft. Once you open Twitter you're met with a barrage of tags and mentions - all of which screaming ‘KenYn’ and ‘Kodzutulip.’ You felt heat rise to your face, you - yes you, Ln Yn with the online alias Tulip-but-make-it-yellow, has a big, fat, humongous crush on your best friend and fellow youtuber - Kenma, aka Kodzuken aka the cutest guy in the world. To make it worse - or better, you couldn't really tell, was that many of your viewers shipped you with him - as did his viewers. 

You are of course, happy with this but you can’t help but wonder if Kenma feels the same way, does he feel weirded out by all this shipping content? Does he find it uncomfortable? Does he find it unsettling to be shipped with his in-real-life best friend?

“Hey Yn?” Kenma calls softly, “you've been looking at your phone for the past ten minutes and your face looks sad.”

You instantly look up to meet Kenma’s face and try to find the right words to say, “I… I’m just kinda tired and eventually got distracted!! Sorry Kenken!”

Kenma visibly cringes at the old nickname - the one you gave him in primary school, “if you say so… better get your head in the game though - my mansion looks epic.”

Your eyes narrow, “mansion? The theme is cottage core!” Kenma quietly chuckles in response, “a mansion can still have a fairy aesthetic, you should know that”

You huff in faux annoyance as you place your phone away and ‘get your head in the game’ just as he requested. “Be prepared to be crushed! I am the cottage core guardian!”

There are ten minutes left to your’s and Kenma’s excruciatingly long Minecraft challenge, your ass hurts from sitting on it for almost twelve straight hours - including bathroom breaks. When the buzzer rings the two of you step back from your respective buildings and make your way to the starting point - which had been marked by a stack of 20 or so dirt blocks. 

“Well that was twelve hours of eye straining torture,” you say as you stretch your arms. 

“You're tired already?”

“Kinda… I can't wait to go to sleep after this.”

“Weak, I’m playing Battlefield as soon as this is over.”

You roll your eyes and scoff, “this is why you look like a living corpse in the morning…”

Kenma looks you dead in the eyes and with a completely serious face he says, “yeah but you love it.”

You choke on your spit at his boldness, “y-yeah I guess.” 

If you were being honest, you were not the best at reading people and it was dark in Kenma’s gaming room, the only light coming from his three screen/monitor computer setup, but you think you see a light blush creep up to his cheeks. And you hate it, you hate when he says things that make your heart flutter, you hate it when he just sits there and the digital glow accentuates all of his delicate features, but what you hate most is yourself. You hate yourself because you have fallen in love with your best friend, you hate yourself because you know he doesn't like you back and you hate that you continuously give yourself a sense of false hope. 

“Yn… you want to stay up and game with me don’t you? ”

You sheepishly look to the side, ‘mayhaps.’

Kenma sighs looking at you with a soft face as he whispers “then I won’t play Battlefield and I’ll go to bed and so will you, ‘kay?”

You smile tiredly at him, “sounds like a deal.”

“We'll get back on at the same time tomorrow and we’ll do the final part of this video - the reveal. Until then.”

You smile and wave at the camera “cya soon~”

[recording over]

After your call with Kenma ended you got ready for bed but for some reason, no matter how tired you were, you just couldn't fall asleep - your mind was screaming obscene ideas that you couldn't help but contemplate. At first it was just wishful thinking but then came a thought that refused to leave, ‘confess.’ 

It was a tempting thought, but how? Surely you couldn't just say ‘hey Kenma I've liked you since high school lets date!’ yeah no, that was a horrible idea. Maybe if you confessed with some originality he would be more likely to accept but for now, you were going to do your best to go to sleep.

[Episode two]

[recording in 3… 2… 1… start!] 

In the morning you woke up feeling refreshed and excited for the day to come, Kenma had texted you and asked if you were feeling up to recording the reveal from last night and episode two today and of course you said yes. 

The video goes on without any troubles and soon you find yourself staring at the computer screen at eleven once again. 

“Remember to like, subscribe and comment below on who you think won this round.” Kenma’s voice is soothing - if you had to describe it you would say that it is silky like honey and smooth like dark chocolate; or maybe you would just say his voice is perfect. Kenma waves to the screen monitor, “hello? Earth to Yn! Are you dead or something? You look like a zombie.”

It takes a while to register, you weren’t really paying attention to the words he said as you were more interested in the way he sounded. You sit up and smile into the camera, “I'm awake… thanks for caring!”

He scoffs and swivels in his chair a bit, “I don't care about you, you're just my idiot best friend and flatmate.”

You playfully narrow your eyes, “well this idiot flatmate of yours helped you bake apple pie so you wouldn’t starve to death!”

“Hmmm, I guess. Well I'm going to head off. I'll see you later.”

You smile softly, “yeah I'll see you later, i'm just gonna stay on for a while.”

Kenma looks at you with an intrigued expression, “you're going to stay up longer? Better not be in this world, that's cheating. Want me to stay up with you?”

You roll your eyes and giggle, “it's all good I want to fix my house up in the other world. I'll see you tomorrow.”

He sighs, “if you say so.”

[recording over]

Your chair rolls back as you stretch, “maybe I should confess to him through a Minecraft journal…” you jump up. “Thats it! Thats a great way to confess! Its original and Kenma would appreciate it…. If he accepts my feelings that is…” 

You groan and slump back down into the chair, “maybe it’s best if I don't confess at all. No! I've wanted to do this for years! If he doesn't like me back it's all good! Maybe I just won't do this on a stream!”

You reach over to the bench and pull up your phone, “who to call, mmm ok let’s call Alisa I’m going to need some emotional support!”

“Hey gamers, Kodzu here in another Minecraft live stream, today we’re just in mine and Yn’s regular world and i'm going to build a house - a cottage to be specific,” he pauses and looks at the comment section; ‘no Yn isn't here right now, no Yn won't be joining this video, no I didnt know shes streaming at the moment, yes my favourite food is apple pie, yes I have a calico cat, no Yn is not my significant other, yes we are just friends.’ Kenma moves back and takes a breath, “wow you guys sure are interested in Yn huh? Maybe I should get them in more videos, might get more views that way,” he laughs a bit.

“Let's start off by heading to my base, I have the materials I’ll need there- oh uh what's this?” Kenma pauses as he stares at the foreign object, “I don't remember having a written book in my chest… maybe Yn went in here and put it in?”

Kenma stares at the book for a while before he opens it, only to be shocked. The comment section notices the blush on his face and continue to spam him with questions:

[kodzusbabe]: what's in that diary!!

[Kenmastan]: hahAAAHHA LOOK HE’S SO RED IN THE FACE

[piefacecutie]: ^^ omg you're so right @/Kenmastan hes so cute 💓

[Kenmaxyn]: I hope it's a confession!

[ynhater]: @/Kenmaxyn from who? Cause I didn't do it and I'd be the only one for Kenma oppAr

[kennismaken]: I hope it’s Yn! They’d be such a cute couple

[applepudding]: umm? Kodzu! Why did he get up and leave??

[ynhater]: babe come back!

[Kenmaxyn]: OMG MAYBE IT WAS YN !!!!

After your late night call with Alisa, you decided it would be best to just do it and then ignore Kenma for the day - well, not ignore him per se, just simply decline all his Discord calls and Facetime calls so you could put off being rejected a little while longer. You woke up with a throbbing headache that you could only blame yourself for, after all you are the dumbass who stayed up until God knows when just to write a heartfelt confession. Eventually the angst of waiting for a message from Kenma overwhelmed you and here you are now; streaming Overwatch to get your mind off of a certain someone.

“Ah no! Cant believe that stupid Hanzo got me! What a pain!” you frown at the screen and let out a sigh, “the round is over… bummer. Well while we wait an eternity for the next round I guess I should answer some of your questions… oh? I didn't know Kenma was streaming, no I’m not dating him… “ you feel your heart sink as you read the next comment; “what do you mean Kenma ran away after reading a book? Was he unhappy?”

The next moments felt like a blur, your heart was heavy and you felt tears well up in your eyes and somehow you missed the sound of someone breaking into your apartment and then your bedroom. Within a second you feel someone wrap their arms around you from behind, your body tenses up but immediately relaxes when you recognise the perpetrators scent; sweet yet salty, like caramel toffee.

“Kenma! W-what are you doing?”

“I like you too… I have for so long.”

Your eyes widen and it doesn't take too long for a smile to appear on your face, “I'm so glad to hear that.”

You feel him smile into your neck as his embrace tightens, “finish up your livestream so we can talk please.” 

“You don't need to tell me twice!”

It is eleven at night once again, but this time you’re not sitting alone in your gaming chair, instead you're sitting on Kenma’s lap - in his gaming chair as he slowly runs his hands through your hair and softly kisses your neck.

“So everyone’s pretty much freaking out over us huh?” you hum in response, “we’ve been officially together for what? Five hours?”

“Correct you are.”

You smile and hold up your phone while you continue to cuddle into him, “smile baby, I want the whole world to know that you're my player two.”

[Bonus - the love letter]

Dear Kenma,

This must be so strange - finding a journal in your chest. 

I have wanted to tell you this for quite a while and I guess I have never found the write words to say; or the right way to for that matter,

But I love you

I have loved you since our first year at Nekoma

It's been a while hasn’t it?

I'm sorry if this inconveniences you, makes you uncomfortable or makes you never want to see me again; 

Just let me continue for a little while longer because I need to get this off of my mind.

I love your smile - especially the rare one where you really smile, where your eyes crinkle and your cheeks begin to hurt 

I love your voice - it’s smooth and silky, like honey being spread across bread

I love your scent - it reminds me of salted caramel,  I can never get enough 

I love your mind - the way it works to make me laugh, make me calm and all else

I love your lips - not necessarily in a sexual way, but more so in the way you talk and speak, they move softly and slowly in a way only your lips could move in.

I love your body - how although you're hunched most of the time you still possess a fine elegance in the way you move. How at times it reminds me of a graceful swan floating down a lake. 

I love your hands - they are so pretty and dainty and soft, I want to hold them all day and all night

And most of all;

I love you

I love you in your entire

I could go ahead and pick the parts I love most and least but then you would no longer be you

I love you in your entire

Flaws and all

I know this may not be the most romantic, especially considering you’re reading this through Minecraft and I've never done this before but I had to let you know

Love 

Yn

Taglist: [open] @ladyrenart

note: sooo this is another style that i tried and i have mixed feelings about it :) also if you can’t tell,,, i’ve never written a love letter before :’)

[gukyi]

for you, anything (post-script) | ksj

summary: in the midst of all of the coworker chaos over your newfound relationship, you and seokjin make a deal. 

{established relationship!au, friends to lovers!au, enemies to lovers!au}

pairing: kim seokjin x female reader genre: fluff word count: 2k warnings: bts being annoying coworkers a/n: shoutout to @aurawatercolor​ for being so wonderful and for commissioning this drabble’s monster predecessor: for you, anything!! thank you for being so patient with me and overall being a good friend of mine. much love!

Here

“Back off, he’s mine!” You shriek, furiously mashing your keyboard buttons as your eyes zero in on your computer screen. Maintaining as much of a grip onto your mouse and keyboard as possible, you push your office chair towards Seokjin’s in a desperate attempt to get him to lose his hold by crashing into him, bumper-car style. You hear the scratchy fabric collide, a soft thud that ricochets you forward, almost like you had crashed into a fuzzy rock. 

Naturally peeved, you turn around to find your boyfriend completely unbothered, having moved barely an inch. And yeah, you weren’t great at Physics when you took it in high school, but you have a feeling that that’s not how Newton’s Third Law works. 

Unfortunately for you, the split second you spend glaring at the back of Seokjin’s head means that he can go in for the killing blow, sword stabbing through the warrior king on the screen until he collapses in a pool of video game blood. The sound of a death cry and a cheer echos from your computer speakers, and you groan. 

“Not again,” you say, exasperated. You toss your head back against the chair, eyes rolling upwards, just enough to make out Seokjin eyeing you, a smug expression written all over his face. “I told you I had him.”

“You just weren’t fast enough, I guess,” Seokjin says casually, bouncing out of his chair to gloat to you all up front and personal. 

“You better share all of the money and rewards you got from that kill,” you demand, poking a finger against your cheek. Seokjin kisses you gladly, wrapping his arms over the chair and around you as he rocks your office chair side to side. The benefit of working together in Kingdom is that you always have backup you can trust (unlike some other MMO games, one of which rhymes with Meague of Megends), but Kingdom was designed for loot to be collected by whoever delivers the death blow, and not split evenly among all parties. 

Lucky for you, your boyfriend happens to be both good at the game and willing to share all of his treasure. 

“Ew, gross, PDA at three o’clock,” Jungkook says loudly, his whiny voice interrupting you and Seokjin’s lovers’ quarrel. 

“Ugh, just because you guys can have a successful and empowering relationship doesn’t mean you have to rub it in all of our faces,” Taehyung adds with a huff. At least nobody’s singing playground nursery rhymes about the two of you anymore. Since when last did people actually sit in trees, anyway?

“Get a room,” Yoongi deadpans as per usual. His attitude has not changed even though the state of you and Seokjin’s relationship definitely has. You know you can always count on him to give it to you straight. 

“Hey, no making out on office premises,” Namjoon says, barging into the room with his glasses tucked into the collar of his sweater, one of those pastel cream ones that dads who golf wear (though Namjoon is neither a dad nor plays golf). He’s switched to an iPad in recent weeks, which, despite being much more environmentally friendly, is still not Namjoon-friendly, and he often has to troubleshoot basic things like the functionality of the Notes app. Not to mention, his place of employment is filled with twerps who love doing things like spamming his camera roll and locking himself out of his own iPad. You think the record is three hours, but give the device to Hoseok and he’ll get it up to a couple of days with ease. “You guys agreed to that when you signed the employee handbook.”

“You always think so lowly of us, Joon,” Seokjin chides, and since he’s everybody’s best friend, he’s the only one who can get away with doing that. “We were just talking.”

“And playing Kingdom,” Yoongi pipes up, quickly switching away from his Haikyuu!!! tab. 

“If there’s a rule against Kingdom in the employee handbook, you’d have to fire all of us,” you remind Namjoon pointedly. Not even Yoongi would be spared, even if he’s terrible at the game itself. 

“But if you did, maybe Jungkook could finally live out his dream of being an E-sports gamer,” Taehyung adds, sending Jungkook into a tizzy. 

Seokjin scoffs, “He’d have to knock me and Y/N out of first and second place first, though.” 

“But please don’t fire us,” Taehyung pipes up weakly. 

“Nobody’s getting fired. You guys just better be doing your work,” Namjoon says. “Hey, it says that my iPad is going to be updated later tonight, do I need to do anything about that?”

Everyone groans. 

“Hey, what if we got married?” Seokjin nudges you with his shoulder. 

You sputter out the water you had been drinking all over your desk. “Married?” It dawns on you that shouting out that word in an office filled with nosy coworkers may not be the brightest idea. 

“You guys are getting married?” Taehyung shrieks excitedly. “Oh my God, I call being best man!”

“You don’t get to make that decision, idiot!” Jungkook shouts. “Besides, Seokjin would totally pick me over you anyway.”

“Who says?”

“Guys, we’re not getting married,” Seokjin says before the whole office breaks out into a brawl. Taehyung’s expression falls, sinking back into his chair, defeated. Yoongi had even quirked up for a moment before immediately turning back to his anime. “At least, in real life, we’re not.”

“Oh, you meant in-game?” You ask, the realization dawning on you. You notice everyone in the office eyeing you and Seokjin. Glaring at each and every person, you say, “He meant in-game, mind your own beeswax, you nosy freaks.” 

“Obviously,” Seokjin says with a roll of his eyes. “I love you, Y/N, but seeing as how we started dating three months ago, I think that marriage is pushing it. But in Kingdom, yeah, why not? We’ll get a lot of buffs from being married.”

Seokjin’s got a point. Being married in Kingdom means that the two of you will share wealth, property, and have the option of combining special powers during battles. It also means that the game will split boss and player rewards evenly amongst the two of you without you having to do it manually. Besides, isn’t it only right for the top two players in the game to get married? Assert their dominance? Remind Jungkook that he’ll never be an E-sports gamer for Kingdom? 

“Sounds like a plan,” you say, easily convinced. Besides, Seokjin could ask you to hand over all of your coins in the game, leaving you penniless, and you wouldn’t bat an eyelash. “We can do it later tonight.”

“My place? We can order takeout.”

“Only if we can get some cheesecake as well,” you say. 

“Done.”

Seokjin plants another kiss onto your lips before returning to his own desk, your office chairs facing away from each other as you get back to work, the promise of a nice meal and some quality time together keeping you motivated. 

Out of the blue, you say, “I would have said yes, you know.”

“To what?” Seokjin asks, not even turning around. 

“To asking if we could get married,” you tell him. He rounds on you, eyes wide. “I would have said yes.”

Seokjin seems frozen in place before he caves, body relaxing as his entire face begins to glow, red and orange and pink. “Tell you what,” he says. “I’ll ask again later, and if your answer is still the same, then we can.”

“How much later?” You ask. You don’t like to be kept waiting. Especially since the both of you know that your answer almost definitely won’t falter. 

Seokjin grins. “You’ll see.”

There

“I never liked fancy dresses,” you comment, pulling at the collar of the white dress lacing your features, hugging your body like a bedsheet. It’s scratchy and uncomfortable and restricting, making you feel like you can’t eat a single apple without popping open. There’s a veil with a train the size of the castle behind you, and the tiara on your head is so heavy and sharp that ti feels as though you’re about to topple. All this for a wedding?

“Good thing you’ll never have to wear one again after this, right?” Jin whispers back, the two of you facing the officiant before you as a crowd of onlookers watches the two of you. 

“Is that a promise?” You ask. “We’re making a lot of promises today, aren’t we?”

“And I will keep every single one of them with honor,” Jin says dramatically. It almost makes you reach out to punch him in the shoulder, but you don’t for the sake of publicity, hands wrapped tightly around the bouquet, filled with roses and tulips and carnations. You can’t believe you’re saying this, but you think you prefer your knight’s garb. At least it comes with flat boots. 

You even tune out what the officiant is saying, an old, monotonous advisor who oversees all military weddings, waiting boredly until you are prompted to respond. Time usually goes by rather quickly in the Kingdom, whether you are strolling through the market or on the battlefield, but here, it feels as though it’s taking forever and a day. Discreetly, you turn to look at Jin, who notices your gaze and rolls his eyes, just to make you laugh. At least the both of you feel the same about this whole thing. You wish there were an easier way to do this, perhaps just going to a courthouse and signing some papers and making a vow or two. Does the entire kingdom have to watch? 

“Do you promise to uphold these values, Jin?” The officiant asks. 

“I do,” Jin says. 

“Do you promise to uphold these values, Y/N?” 

Relieved that it’s finally coming to an end, you nod. “I do.”

“Then, by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss.”

Immediately, Jin turns to you, reaching an arm out to hold onto your waist as he pulls you towards him, your faces pressed up against each other, breaths hitting each others’ skin. 

“I’ve been waiting all day to do this,” he whispers softly. 

“Then don’t hold back,” you challenge. 

In one fell swoop, Jin presses a kiss on your lips, soft and warm and gentle. It’s filled with more promises than the officiant could even dream of making, filled with more vows than any wedding ceremony could produce. What this is is more than a silly pledge, a matrimonial technicality. It is an oath. To protect each other. To care for each other. To love each other.

And you know, without a shadow of a doubt, that for the rest of time, until the sun collapses and the moon vanishes, that you will.

↳ links are broken, but don’t forget i’m still taking commissions!

[enchantedlokii]

Field Trip

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: language

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Ned Leeds, Michelle Jones, FRIDAY, Minor OC

Mentioned: Quentin Beck, May Parker, Thanos, Happy Hogan, Pepper Potts, Morgan Stark, Bruce Banner

Every time Peter Parker went on a field trip, it ended with disaster. First there was the trip to Oscorp that ended with him being bitten by a spider and being sick all night before leaving him mutated. Then came the Decathlon trip to Washington D.C. where he got trapped in a fault and then proceeded to almost watch all his friends be killed by a falling elevator in the Washington Monument. Next was the trip that ended with him turning to dust and being dead for five years. And most recently, the summer vacation that ended with Mysterio attempting to kill him.

He could see why Tony was worried when Peter told him about the trip to Albany. It was a simple history trip, but with Peter’s history, anything could happen. Peter knew that. May knew that. It was possible that something could go wrong, but he couldn’t live in constant fear. “Things have been quiet since Mysterio,” Peter pressed, trying to ease Tony’s worries. “I’ll be fine.”

“I have good reason to worry that’s not true, Pete,” Tony sighed, rubbing his face. He was protective of Peter after everything that had happened. Peter could vividly remember him breaking down days after being home when May come to take Peter home. Because the boy had been gone for five years and he didn’t want to lose him again. It had took weeks to convince him that it was okay for Peter to go to Europe, and he had panicked when Happy got the call to pick him up in a tulip field because Mysterio had attempted to murder him via train. Peter had begged him to go home and let him take care of things, but that didn’t happen. That was the first time Tony had put the suit on since Thanos.

“I’ll be careful,” Peter promised, pressing into his side. They were on the couch, watching TV. It was late, and Pepper and Morgan had already gone to bed hours before. “I can take care of myself, you know. And I’ll have my suit if I need it.”

Eventually, Tony agreed that it was okay. Peter knew that realistically the man couldn’t stop him from going. He wasn’t his legal guardian. He wasn’t his parent. He couldn’t force him to stay home, but Peter would feel guilty going without his permission. Because there was an unspoken agreement that their bond wasn’t just that of a mentor and apprentice. Not anymore.

“Dude, you’re tense.” Ned’s comment snapped Peter from his thoughts. Truthfully, he was nervous. Sure, it was just to Albany. It wasn’t that far from home, and May or Tony or Happy could come pick him up if he needed them too, but there was a prickle of anxiety in his chest. “You good?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Peter told him. “Just. . . You know, when it comes to field trips my life is sort of like the Magic School Bus. Something crazy happens every time.”

“Pretty sure it’s a lot different than the Magic School Bus,” MJ chuckled. She quietly slipped her hand into Peter’s and squeezed it once for reassurance. “Relax, Peter. Nothing bad is going to happen.”

And at first, everything was fine. The trip was amazing, actually. Peter wasn’t a big fan of history, but he did have a soft spot for the revolutionary period (courtesy of Hamilton) and there was a lot about that era in the city. By the time lunch came, he was glad that he had come. They were eating at the park, and he was about to text Tony and let him know everything was going smooth when he felt a tingling sensation in the back of his neck that warned him of danger. “Sh*t.”

“Uh oh,” Michelle muttered. “What is it?”

Peter shook his head, not sure where the threat was yet. Then he heard it; a speeding vehicle’s brakes locking up, the tires squealing as it came into view. Without a second thought, he jumped and ran forward to shield his classmates. He knew it would be suspicious when he survived the accident, but he couldn’t let anyone else get hurt.

“Peter!”

Peter barely heard MJ’s scream as the vehicle collided with his body. Pain spread through him, and he was sure that he cried out before the wind was knocked from his lungs. He fought to stay awake, but his vision blurred and before he knew it, everything faded to black.

Tony knew he shouldn’t have let Peter go on that d*mn trip. Every time. Every single f*cking time something like this happened.

He had gotten the call fifteen minutes ago that Peter was in a hospital in Albany in critical condition. Why? Because he jumped in front of a speeding car that threatened his classmates. He jumped in front of a car to save his classmates. Of course he did.

“FRIDAY, how much longer?” he huffed. Pepper had asked him to have Happy drive him, but he knew this was faster. He wasn’t going to wait almost three hours to see Peter when he was in the f*cking hospital. It wasn’t happening.

So when he got there and the nurses refused to let him in, he was furious. “I’m sorry, Sir. We can only let immediate family in at the moment,” the young woman told him. Her voice was kind and sympathetic, but he didn’t care.

“Excuse me?” his voice was close to a snarl. “You think we’re not family just because I’m not on his birth certificate?” The woman started to speak, but he cut her off. “How dare you refuse to let me see my son?”

“Mr. Stark—”

“It will be at least three hours before any of his ‘real’ family can get here,” the ‘real’ tasted bitter as he spoke it. “I will not let him lay in a hospital bed alone for three hours before his aunt can get here. He’s my kid whether you like it or not.”

Tony pushed past her, twisting open Peter’s door and walking inside. He didn’t even stop to see if the nurse was following him. Maybe she would and would see that Peter wanted him there. Because he knew that Peter would want him there. He wouldn’t want to be alone when he’s hurt and away from home.

Peter glanced up as he heard Tony come in, a small smile growing on his face. There was pain in his eyes, and Tony realized that the pain medicine they gave him probably wore off within ten minutes with his spider metabolism. Still, he seemed alert, reaching a hand out as if asking him to come hold it. So Tony did just that. “Hey, Buddy. How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay,” he murmured. His words were slurred, and he silently hoped it was more from exhaustion than pain. “I’m jus’ tired.”

“Don’t lie to me, Kiddo. I can see you’re in pain,” he said gently. Bringing a hand to the kid’s forehead and brushing the hair out of his eyes. His skin was pale and cold, and he wished that he could pull him into a hug to warm him up. “Do you want me to tell someone? I can make them sign something and they won’t tell anyone.”

“No,” Peter said sharply, his eyes widening with fear. Ever since Mysterio, he was even more careful about his identity. They had learned that the man planned to reveal it to the world, and Peter had spiraled into a panic attack watching the video that they had found while hacking into his database. His identity had almost been revealed to the world. Not only that, but Mysterio planned to make him seem like a murderer. “‘M ‘kay, Dad.”

They were both quiet for a moment before it was obvious Peter realized what he had just said. His eyes widened and he struggled to sit up, hissing with pain. “I-I’m sorry, Mr. Stark. I didn’t mean— It was an accident. I—”

“Hey, hey, relax.” He put a hand on Peter’s shoulder, lowering him back to his pillow. “Not mad at ya, Kiddo. Did you not hear me out there with your super hearing?”

“I did but—”

“Then you know that it’s fine,” Tony interrupted. “But we can talk about that more later. Right now, you get some rest. I’m going to call Bruce and see if he can send something stronger for your pain when Happy brings May up, alright?”

“That’s not legal,” Peter mumbled. Still, there was a small grin on his face as he said it.

“Since when have I cared about what’s legal, Pete?” he asked, ruffling his hair gently. He knew that the kid was going to be fine, but he also knew he most likely had some sort of head injury; at least a concussion. He would hate to be too rough and end up making it worse. “Try to sleep.”

“Mkay,” he murmured, closing his eyes. His grip on Tony’s hand loosened a bit as he relaxed. “Thanks for comin’ so fast.”

“Anything for you, Spiderling,” he whispered.

Peter was quiet for a few moments, and Tony was sure he was asleep by now. He got his phone out to call Bruce when the boy shifted slightly, peeking his eyes up at him again. “Tony?”

“Yeah, Kid?”

“You really meant it?” he asked carefully. “When you said I was your kid?”

“I— I, yeah, um,” suddenly he worried that maybe Peter was implying that he didn’t want that. That he had took it too far. “Unless you don’t want me to say that. I would understand. It’s just— it’s been a long time for me and—”

Peter squeezed his hand to tell him to stop rambling and look at him. “‘S okay,” he told him, smiling before closing his eyes again. “Love you.”

Tony smiled and bent down to kiss the boy’s forehead. He almost cried as his smile grew and he seemed to relax in the bed. “Love you too, Pete.”

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Rumor Has It {7}**

Chris Evans x Famous Reader Uriah “Riah” Tyler

Warning: Plot, Cursing, Mentions/talk about miscarriage, HEAVY Angst, Moderate SMUT, Grief, Slight NSFW

Word Count: 7.1K

Summary: You and Chris have been married for four years after a whirlwind romance. You are both happy and trying to navigate marriage in the public eye while balancing your successful careers. In the entertainment industry, not everything is as it seems, the flash of a camera lens impairs vision. As scandal and flashing lights put a strain on your once fairytale marriage is it possible your Hollywood marriage can stand the test of the rumor mill?

**Inspired by a video seen of Chris and his co-star Ana De Armas on their press tour for Knives Out at TIFF where she kept touching his chest and face standing about five inches apart.

**Loosley Edited/Proofread**

**Very Interactive**

Thank you guys for reading!!!! If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG. 😊 ❤️  ❤️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

How do you sleep when you’ve single-handedly destroyed your marriage? You don’t. You wander aimlessly around the house thinking of should-haves and could haves. You think of every little thing that you did that was not right. You worry that because your hair is brown, and your man likes redheads that you were doomed to fail. You worry that you are the root of your problems and you worry that you’ll wake up to hear that your husband had driven into a light pole and died because of you.

  So, what did you do? You called him every thirty minutes but every time you called the response was the same, radio silence. He didn’t reject your calls; he simply just didn’t answer them. To you that was worse, it meant he saw your calls coming in but chose to ignore you. You found his secret stash of weed and decided you’d use it to mellow you out. You only meant to smoke one joint, but by the time nine rolled around you were on your second one and watching reruns of The Cosby Show.

   “Why can’t I have a marriage like the Huxtables?” Your cell phone rang, and you jumped from the couch and frantically looked around for where you could have put it. You looked in the kitchen, the living room, the hallway, and still no phone. By the time you found it in the bathroom on the sink, you’d missed two calls. It rang again, and you quickly answered it.

“Hello? The sound of your agent’s voice came through over the phone, and you groaned.

   “No, Shane, it’s fine. No, I--fine. I’m in Boston, so send it to this fax. Okay.” You hung up the phone and groaned. You’d been on go for months, and right now you just wanted to shut everything and everyone down. The last thing you wanted to do was look over yet another prospective script that would sign you to a movie that would take you away from your marriage, or what was left of it. You could hear the fax machine going off and dropped back onto the couch and back to your depressive thoughts and your tears.

  Without knowing you dozed off and woke up to your phone ringing. As quickly as you could, you eased onto your elbows and answered your phone without checking the ID.

   “Hello?”

   No voice came through. It was dead silent, so silent it made you think it was either spam or a bad connection. “Hello?”

   Then you heard a sigh. “It’s me.” You sprang up to a seated position and pressed the phone to your ear as if that would improve things. Relief flooded through you. Relief that he was okay, relief he didn’t sound infuriated like last night. You didn’t dare speak. You didn’t know what to say, and you were afraid that if you said anything else, it would set him off. You knew you were on thin ice. “Can you meet me somewhere?” His voice was low, raw and gruff. He sounded like he did when he either hadn’t slept or had just woken, the deep voice that always made you shiver. He sighed again. “Uriah.”

   “Yes, yes, anywhere.” Chris took a deep breath then released it and recited an address that you jotted down. One that was no familiar to you. “Where is this?”

   “Pack a bag.” That was the last thing he said before he ended the call. You sat there staring at the address you’d written that you knew was at least thirty minutes away. You were confused, and for a split second, an irrational fear filled you. Pushing it to the side you went upstairs to pack a bag which consisted of a few changes of clothes, your toiletries, and everything you needed your hair, face, and body. By the time you’d packed, taken a quick shower and dressed thirty minutes had passed then you were off.

   After fifteen minutes of driving, you realized you were leaving the hustle and bustle of the city and its closest neighboring towns and your interest piqued further. Once you got on the freeway you were confused as to where in the world the GPS was leading you. Traffic wasn’t bad, and you were grateful for it, you hated being stuck in traffic which is why most of the time you had a driver driving you. As you looked around at the other drivers each lost in their own thoughts and current situations you missed the simple life. The life you led before you got discovered and signed to Elite. You used to be able to walk around the city no hat, no sunglasses and just walk through the crowds with no one stopping you or snapping your picture. You used to take the subway and the passengers pressed into the overcrowded train like sardines in a tin would be none the wiser because you were just a regular girl. Now all that was different and with your rising star came a slew of other challenges.

   When you’d met Chris, you were in your third year with Elite and had just premiered your breakout role in your first big-budget film. You were in Paris for the Victoria’s Secret show where you killed the runway the night before. You saw him across the restaurant gleamed in candlelight and his beard and hair looked auburn. You found yourself mesmerized by the way his eyes uniquely shone. When his eyes met yours, you almost choked on the white wine you were sipping. Everything and everyone around you faded away, and you lived a lifetime in the seconds your eyes were transfixed on each other.

   Your attention was drawn from him, and for the remainder of the dinner with your respective parties you both occasionally glanced at each other and smiled whenever your eyes met again. You were the first to leave. The following day you saw each other in the market. You were deliberating between a bouquet of lavender or bunches of pink tulips, and you saw him across the flower cart inspecting some sunflowers. He hadn’t noticed you yet, and you took the opportunity to get a good look of him in daylight. You immediately thought he was gorgeous. You saw him smiling and wondered if he knew you were gawking at him, so you busied yourself with making your decision. His proximity was hard to get over. By the time you looked up he was gone. The flower cart owner handed you a perfect, pink Peony then nodded off to the side where he was standing. You took the flower, smelled it and nodded your head then walked off, away from him.

   A week of chance encounters ensued, and every time you were sent a perfect pink peony. You began to wonder if he just walked around with one in case he saw you. Every time you got a flower you always walked off. By the end of the week, he finally approached you in the open field that overlooked the Eiffel tower carrying a full bouquet of peonies and a core melting smile. By the time the sun rose the next day the two of you still had yet to go back to your hotels or tire of each other. Instead, you sat on the steps of one of the many bridges in Paris and shared a box of macaroons. Two days later, the two of you were in bed together, and two days after that you were off exploring every island and almost every country in Europe, Asia, and the Caribbean.

  He’d asked you to marry him in Paris at the same restaurant you’d first laid eyes on each other and the next day married on the Eiffel tower with the perfect view of the sunset, precisely four months to the day you first saw each other. It was perfect. Love, at first sight, was possible, you lived it. A loud honk broke you out of your memories. You saw a long stretch of road before you; you were holding up traffic. Quickly you continued on your route and tried not to worry that you wouldn’t share any more days of happiness with him.

   Another twenty minutes passed, and you were surrounded by trees that were lush with leaves that were changing between green, orange, and red. The way the sun caught the foliage made your breath hitch. You loved the countryside. When you turned onto a stretch of land that was surrounded by nothing but trees and wood you began to worry. Had he brought you all the way out here so your screaming wouldn’t draw prying eyes? Did he bring you all the way here to serve you with divorce papers? Could he have had them drafted up that quickly?

   “You have arrived,” the monotonous sound of your GPS announced. Before you was a jaw-dropping house dropped in the middle of the most beautiful piece of land you’d seen in a long time. You slowly approached the house gaping at its beauty, from the way it was built it looked like a farmhouse. About twenty feet away was a huge barn and miles of land. As you rolled to a stop in front of the house you stared out the window to the left out to the property, it looked well maintained and so peaceful. After killing the engine, you stepped out as the breeze picked up. You took a deep breath and enjoyed the smell of country air. You slowly walked along the dirt and gravel path and remembered a conversation from long ago.

   Chris’ voice started the memory; “Dream house, and go, don’t leave any detail out.”

   “Okay, no detail left out. No one around for miles, I want to scream your name as loud as I want without neighbors wondering what is going on.”

   “Or wondering how I’m ruining your cervix.” The two of you giggled like school children who were doing something naughty in secret.

   “Okay, no one around for miles. What else?”

   “Um, trees, lots of trees, lots of green as far as the eye can see.”

   “Uh-huh, so seclusion. Next?”

  “A dirt and gravel driveway. I don’t know why just something about it screams traditional.”

You were standing there staring at the dirt and gravel driveway completely lost to what was happening around you. You spun around to gaze out to the open view and all the trees you could ever want, and there was no one within eye view. Pressing your fingers to your lips you heard the trunk shut. Chris stood there in a pair of worn dark jeans that had patches of paint, a worn blue t-shirt that hugged his biceps like a second skin and boots that looked to have been put to the test to see if Timberlands were the most durable as they claimed.

   From the corner of your eye, the flower bushes caught your eye.

   “Huge flower bushes in every color imaginable, pinks, blues, purples, reds, flowers everywhere.”

   Your eyes scanned the exterior of the house, going over every detail. As you did your voice from your memory rang out as it listed every detail that you wanted. Every single one of those details your eye fell to and you became weaker and weaker by each one. You pressed the palm of your hand to your stomach and tried to calm the butterflies.

   “Wh—Wha—What is, what is this? Wh-where are we?”

  He didn’t answer; instead he nudged his head as if to say come on then walked ahead to the smooth terra cotta stone walkway that led to the double French doors. You almost fell to your knees and bawled. Chris opened the door and walked inside, but you stopped at the threshold complete frozen with the sight before you.

   “What else?”

   “Dark wood floors, floor to ceiling windows everywhere, twenty-foot-high ceilings. An amazing stone fireplace, wood beams.”

   You slowly walked inside and looked around at everything you wanted. When you got to the living room, you were floored staring at the stone fireplace. The stones went from the beautiful dark wood all the way to the high ceiling where you saw wood beams that matched the floor. On the ledge of the fireplace were two blown-up pictures, one a photo of you and Chris from your wedding in Paris and another from your wedding in Boston. Fresh tears sprang to your eyes as you stared at the documentation of the happiest days of your life.

   When you turned, you were alone. You walked out the room and marveled at everything you saw, pictures and paintings lined the walls to give the home the lived-in cozy feeling despite its grandiose size. You stopped unfolding the kitchen before you and what a kitchen it was.

   “I want windows everywhere to look out to the view of the beautiful land that isn’t populated. I want to feel the peace from the outside in.”

   You gasped sliding the door and stepping out to nature itself. Fall was quickly approaching, and this view and this house fully embraced it and gave you every advantage to really enjoy it. You glanced around at everything from the eight-burner stove, to the butcher's block island and the booth like seating in the corner. It was perfect, everything you’d wanted.

   Over the next twenty or so minutes you took in every room of the house slowly marveling at everything you saw. Every detail was as you’d described to him years ago down to the paint color on the wall and even the balcony in the master bedroom and the tub in the master bath. As you scanned the upstairs, you noticed a piece of paper on four of the doors. The first was labeled with “little princess #1”, then the second read “little princess #2”, the next said “little prince #1”, and the fourth said “little prince #2”. You both had said you wanted at least four children and you’d call them little princesses and princes.

   “You’re my queen Dragonfly, of course they’ll be princes and princess.”

  You hugged your midsection again and realized why you’d done it so often over the last months. You were missing a piece of yourself. Leaning against one of the walls, you allowed yourself to cry as quietly as you could. You’d pushed it aside for months refusing to acknowledge it, refusing to let the grief consume you. You’d been successful and had been able to work through it, but now you saw you hadn’t worked through anything. After drying your eyes, you continued walking and saw another door with a sign on it that said, “Oops prince/princess #1”, and a door across from it that read “Oops prince/princess #2”. You laughed through the tears.

   “I can assume there will be at least one surprise baby, I mean it’s us,” Chris joked.

   By the time you made it back downstairs, and to the backyard, you were sure you were going to pass out. You stood there staring out to the greenhouse that was perfectly set up. He knew you had a knack for gardening when you had the time, and you’d said you wanted a space for it that the cold Boston winter wouldn’t ruin. You closed your eyes and took several relaxing breaths. By the time you’d found some semblance of calm you felt him behind you and every nerve in your body fired off.

   “I promise Dragonfly. I will give you everything you want and more.”

   You found some courage and turned; he was leaning against the stone of the house and looking out to the distance with his arms crossed before his chest.

   “What is this?” You knew, but you kind of didn’t know why.

   “It was supposed to be a gift.”

   “My birthday is not for weeks--.”

   “I know it wasn’t meant to be for your birthday. It was supposed to be for the day we found out we were going to be parents. It was going to be a gift for that.” You felt even more horrible. It was your fault he didn’t have the baby he could see in one of those rooms. You looked down and tried to avoid his eyes.

   “Chris, I’m sorry, it’s my fault--.”

   He quickly closed the distance between you and wrapped his arms around you in a comforting embrace. You sighed out and instantly felt as if every piece of stress and worry melted from your being. You were reluctant to touch him afraid that as soon as you tried, he’d move. You inhaled his masculine scent that reminded you of all the best parts about fall, apples, leaves, pumpkins, and spices. He also smelled of the cologne you had made especially for him last Christmas. You nuzzled your cheek to his chest and wanted to stay there forever, no need to food, water or anything else.

   Chris pulled away, then sighed out. “Let’s talk.” He walked further out onto the back patio, and he sat down and waited for you. It was time to face the music, time to bear your heart and soul to your husband. Taking a deep breath, you sat in one of the rocking chairs, rocking chairs you’d specifically said you’d wanted on the back patio to look out to the beauty that mother nature gifted. You didn’t know how to start, didn’t know what to say, didn’t even know if he wanted you to say anything.

   “You could have told me, Uriah. You didn’t have to go through that alone. You shouldn’t have gone through it alone.” The gentleness of his words brought the tears, and there was nothing you could do to stop them, so they fell freely. It was hard. The first week was the hardest. Your doctor had told you there would be blood, but you weren’t prepared for how much blood there was. Then when the clots began passing you lost it and cried for days without getting out of bed. The memories flooded you, and you did your best not to bawl out loud. You cleared your throat and blew out the breath you held.

   “I should have told you; I know. I’m sorry. It broke my heart, and I only wanted it for a few hours. You’ve wanted this for years. I thought if it broke me, then it would do far worse to you.”

  “What’s the rest of it?” You scoffed; he knew you well.

   Taking a deep breath, you looked to him and saw he was already watching you with a solemn expression. You knew he was holding back his grief trying to be there for you. You fell in love with him because of his compassion for others, how he always put others before him. You wanted to be open with him, wanted to trust in the possibility that he’d married you for more than the prospect of children, and that if you couldn’t give them he wouldn’t leave you. As you opened your mouth to confess it all the thought flashed into your head that he might very well blame you for the miscarriage. He might grow to resent you for it. You knew you already blamed yourself.

   “I didn’t want you to look at me differently.” It was a half-truth.

   “Different? How?” His full attention was on you now with his body turned as well.

   “I don’t know Chris, just different. I don’t know what I was thinking then.” Chris sat quietly studying you. You felt as if any second he would see through you and call your bullshit and the end of your marriage. You knew how much he valued truth, and honesty and you’d fucked that up several times. You knew he was at his wit’s end with you.

   Sighing you took it there; “I didn’t want you to blame me and hate me for it.” Chris quickly crossed to you and sank to the floor before you, clasping both your hands in his oversized ones.

   “Blame you? God Riah how could I ever blame you for this? You didn’t do anything for this to happen. Look at me, Riah.” You lifted your head and glanced into his eyes that were filled with so much emotion. Fresh tears rolled down your cheeks, and Chris quickly wiped them away. “I don’t blame you. I’m angry that you didn’t tell me. We’re in this marriage together, we both said vows before God, we made promises to each other, and I meant them with everything in me. I love you dragonfly.” Your nickname made more tears flow, and a sob escaped your throat.

   “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” the words spilled out of you amidst your sobs. Chris pulled you into his strong arms. You finally released all the pain you’d held in over the last month and a half. He didn’t speak or move; he just let you cry, and it was what you needed.

   Twenty minutes later, Chris’ shirt was soaked with your tears and snot, but he didn’t seem to care. You pulled away from him, your body finally free of the violent spasms from your sobs. You wiped your face then sunk your hands into your hair and held it down then stood and stepped away from him. “I’m gonna clean myself up.” Without another word you walked inside to find one of the bathrooms. Once inside the half bath in the hall your reflection scared you. Your eyes were red and puffy as was the majority of your face and your nose had trace smears of snot. After you washed your face with cold water you used one of the hand rags and did your best to make yourself presentable again. Instead of walking out after you’d finished, you just stared at yourself. There were close to a million things running through your head, so many feelings and thoughts you had no idea how to tune them out. You looked around the bathroom for the first time and smiled remembering what you’d told him.

   “I want one of the bathrooms just to be pure ridiculousness, it has to be a guest bath. It would be the funniest thing; they would think we were the most ridiculous couple.”

   Yours and Chris’ laughter echoed in your head, and you began to laugh as well. The intricate gold branch and leaf wallpaper was beautiful, but it was bold and way more luxurious than either yours or Chris’ taste. As you spun around the room you fell more in love with it. He did amazing, you thought. You walked out and to the kitchen where you heard clattering. Chris was there in his white undershirt cooking.

   “When did you buy this place?”

   “Two years ago. It was an old rundown farmhouse ready to be torn down, but the land was perfect. So, over the last few years, we’ve been rebuilding.”

   “We?”

   “Me, Scott, my dad, some friends, and some work crews.” Your jaw dropped.

   “Don’t look so surprised, you know I’m good with my hands.” He smirked your way, and you blushed. He continued doing what he was doing, and you looked around the kitchen once again. It was your dream kitchen; everything was how you wanted down to the color of the backsplash.

   “Who knew you listened to me and remembered that far back.”

   “I listen to everything you say, and I remember everything.” A few moments passed with the two of you staring into each other’s eyes before Chris looked away and back to the vegetables he was chopping.

   “Do you like it?”

   You scoffed because he had to be kidding. This place was amazing, and your dream come to life. It was everything you’d ever wanted.

   “I love it; every single inch and square foot is incredible. You guys did amazing.” He smiled and nodded.

  “You can keep exploring around there is still plenty to see, or you can come be my sous.”

   You smiled. In the early days, months, and years of your marriage, you always cooked together. It became tradition to prepare dinner together if you were together and it always proved to be a good time for you to talk, laugh and just be silly together. It had been almost a month since you’d done it. You took off your long cardigan and walked to the sink to wash your hands. When you turned to him ready for instruction he smiled. “Where do you want me?” Chris stepped to you.

   “Forever and always by my side dragonfly.” Your heart raced, then he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before he turned away and went back to work. He gave a few instructions, but you didn’t hear them, all you heard was the pounding of your heart in your ears.

   Cooking together was just as great as you’d remembered it to be. After him showing you around the kitchen and where things were, you moved together with ease. While he worked on the vegetables, you began on dessert, surprised to see the fridge was stocked. He told you about the process of building, how much he enjoyed getting dirty with it and doing all the construction stuff. You saw small inspired smiles on his face and enjoyed listening to every detail of how he’d orchestrated the build and keeping it from you. As you talked, some normalcy felt to have returned, but you could feel the talk that still had to be had weighing on things, and you knew he felt it too. Neither of you pushed the other to speak before they were ready, and you were grateful he was being so gentle and understanding about things. It was a drastic one-eighty from last night and the days you’d been at odds.

   By the time the two of you sat to dinner in the booth seats you, the sun had set behind the trees bathing the entire sky outside the house in a beautiful magenta. You knew why he’d chosen this land. You ate quietly just watching the beautiful colors of the sunset and the backdrop that nature provided. It had been months since you’d felt anything close to calm and this was the first time.

   “Thank you. This is—more than I can could have ever dreamed up. I love it here.”

   He gave you a small smile and nodded as he finished his beer. “Me too.”

   You sloshed around your wine in the glass and watched the candlelight reflect through the pale gold liquid before you gulped the remainder down. When you put the glass back to the table, Chris raised the bottle and refiled your glass. As he poured you watched him. “Do you want a divorce now?” Chris’ actions stilled.

   He held the bottle in midair and watched the liquid empty from the bottle before he slowly put it to the side. He took up his napkin and wiped his mouth, then put it down onto the table. All his movements were slow, methodical as if they were actions, but he was using the time to properly formulate speech. Each second that ticked away that he didn’t respond your mind crafted some horrible future where you were a divorcee, and then Bravo or VH1 would approach you with some offer to be on the next season of Ex-wives of Hollywood. You’d no doubt be the ex-wife who was secretly bitter and depressed and lonely because she didn’t want the divorce, but she had no one else to blame but herself. So, during the day she’d play the badass boss bitch, and at night she’d cry in bed in her negligee and fur heels and six to nine bottles of wine. It was almost certainly your future; you could see it.

   The sound of Chris clearing his throat was what snapped you out of your Ebenezer scrooge ghost of futures to come vision. His fingers were steepled underneath his chin, and he was just staring at you with a very unreadable expression on his face. “Do you want a divorce?”

   You felt like you were going to throw up the dinner you’d just had then pass out in the vomit. Part of you said to play it cool and not show how scared you were, but the other part said throw everything out on the table. The pounding in your head made it impossible to think or focus and you decided to listen to your heart and just speak. “Of course, I don’t want a divorce. That is the last thing in the world I want. I love you so goddamn much, but—but if you want a one then I will respect your wishes and give it to you.” The words made you sick. It would kill you, but you’d do it.

   “When I asked you to marry me, do you remember what I said?” You took a shaky breath and held it before you nodded.

   “Tell me.” Tapping into that strength your parents said they saw when you were a child you forged ahead.

   “My life—your life has become exponentially better since meeting me; you’d never been happier and never met anyone like me and had never felt that way about anyone in all your life. You don’t know how you made it through life without me and now that you have me—you can’t imagine ever spending one more day without me in your life. You want to grow with me, build with me, fall even more in love with me and grow old with me surrounded by our four planned and two accidental children. Will you make me the happiest, proudest, most grateful man in the world and spend the rest of—our lives with me?” you dabbed the back of your hand at the tears that spilled out. He nodded.

   “I meant those words and nowhere in them did I say spend four years of our lives with me. I said the rest of our lives. Four isn’t nearly enough, dragonfly. So no, I don’t want a divorce. Hell, even if you wanted one, I would fight with everything in me for you—for us.” You covered your mouth as relief washed over you. “Divorce is not the answer for me—it’s never going to be the answer Riah. Do you understand? When I said till death do we part, I meant it, and nothing is going to change it.” Sniffling, you nodded and wiped your tears away and tried to get a hold of your emotions. Silence filled the room, and neither of you moved, or even continued to eat the scraps on your plate.

   After a few minutes, he stood and took your plates and busied himself with the after dinner clean up. After a few minutes of watching his movements, you got up and walked around the property taking everything in. Although it was now night and darkness took over the entire property was bathed in the light of hanging lanterns and draped pepper lights and it gave the most romantic glow. You saw a lake and smiled.

   “I want a lake; my very own lake and I want a pretty deck that has enough chairs for our umpteen-‘leven kids, and we’ll all sit out back on summer nights, and you’ll teach them to fish.”

   The deck as you wanted was right there, and you saw plenty of seats just waiting to be sat in. Turning to the right you saw a beautiful cherry tree and a hanging swing. You smiled and walked to it, the final piece falling into place.

   “There better be a swing that overlooks this lake so we can watch the sunsets when we’re seventy thinking about how perfect our life together had been.”

   You sat down and felt as if you’d finally come home. You watched the water dance and got lost in your feelings and thoughts. Your father did say he was a good man; you knew that or else you wouldn’t have married him. Your mind flitted to the conversation you still had yet to have. Closing your eyes you took a deep breath, held it and smiled sensing him.

   “I see you found the piece de resistance,” Chris said as he sat beside you.

   “Oh yeah and what a piece de resistance it is.”

   “Is it as you imagined?” You looked at him and bit your bottom lip.

   “No. It’s so much better.” Chris looked to you and smiled that smile that always made your stomach do loopy loops.

   “What’s the answer?” He nodded fully understanding your question, then looked back out to the lake. He didn’t speak, and neither did you for a long while.

   When the air grew colder, and the breeze picked up the two of you made your way back to the house. Chris locked up, and then the two of you slowly walked upstairs. Once outside the master bedroom, he opened the door for you so you could walk inside. You walked to the balcony that overlooked the lake and sighed at how beautiful and peaceful it was.

   “I’ll um—I’ll give you the bedroom, I can take one of the other rooms.” Your stomach sank. In all your years together, you never slept apart when in the same city. Last night was the first time, and you didn’t want to do it again. You were disappointed and hurt that he wanted to. You looked down and nodded then turned your back.

   “Goodnight,” you responded. Soon after he repeated the same and you heard the door close. Trying your best to stifle your cries you hopped in the shower and took a quick one. Once you climbed into bed and laid down the moonlight bathed the bed and you laid there mesmerized by its beauty. You couldn’t help but feel incomplete. You looked beside you to where Chris should have been and missed him. You walked to the French glass doors that separated outside from in and put your forehead to it. The cool glass helped to slow your racing thoughts. You felt like some innocent teenager who was scared to say what she wanted and go after it. That wasn’t you; it had never been.

   “Riah.” You spun around at the sound of Chris’ voice. There he was in a pair of sweats, and a white undershirt and even that made your heart race and your belly flutter. “Sorry, I didn’t knock.”

   “Why do you need to knock it’s your room too.” He nodded and looked down.  

   “Earlier, did you not want me to sleep in another room?” You bit your bottom lip again then found the courage.

   “We don’t sleep apart. Remember?” Chris nodded then rubbed his head, sending all his luscious locks in disarray.

   “I remember, I just thought you’d want your space after everything. I didn’t want to crowd you. I want to—give you what you need—be how you need me to be right now.”

   He meant well, you knew it. You didn’t know what to say to him about anything and didn’t know what to do. You knew one thing, you needed him.

   “Come to bed?” He studied you trying to grasp your meaning. After a few moments, you walked to him, held out your hand and waited for his decision. Without a thought he took your hand, and you led him to the bed.

Once there, you lifted up the hem of his shirt, and he allowed you to pull it off. After the first time you’d seen him shirtless in person you always thought he should just remain shirtless. He was beautiful to look at. You traced your hand down his chest to the waistband of his sweats. As you hooked your finger in you took notice he wasn’t wearing any underwear. Glancing back up to him you noticed his eyes hadn’t left your face. He just stood there letting you take the lead. You pulled his sweats from their precarious location on his hips and kneeled on the bed taking his hand to lure him to follow. He didn’t object and took his place before you. His hand cupped your cheek and softly caressed your cheek.

“I love you, Uriah.”

   “I love you too.”

   You loosened the ties of your robe and let it fall from your naked body. The two of you kneeled on the bed before each other with the moonlight casting a milky glow over your bodies. Neither of you moved or spoke; there was no need for words. Slowly you traced your hand over his chest taking in every ab indentation and each definition of his pec muscles. Once you made it to his face you reveled the feel of the softness of his hair, then the smoothness of his bottom lip and the slight wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Chris took your hand and kissed your palm before he placed your hand back on his cheek.

   You brought his face to yours and softly kissed his lips. The kiss was not one of passion or yearning. It was a kiss of gentleness, one that said how much you missed him, and it was a sentiment he returned. You could feel his pain in the kiss. A pain you shared. Chris deepened the kiss and pulled you flush against his body and wrapped his hands around your waist. You tasted salty tears and sunk your fingers into his hair and gripped his strands. For the first time, you realized that the pain you’d tried to push down these last weeks was a pain he was feeling now. He was grieving right along with you.

   You lied down on onto your back and looked up at him. Chris slowly looked over your body. You opened your legs, and he settled between them as he hovered over your body. You reached up and wiped a rolling tear. He turned his head and kissed your palm again before he dipped down and claimed your lips again. This kiss was an urgent one tinged with something else. You pulled him close, and he buried his face in your neck and cried. Holding him to you, you allowed your tears freedom and cried with him.

   “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, dragonfly. Forgive me.” Chris kissed your neck, then your collar. His lips moved to your chest, and down to your breast, his tongue lazily circled your nipple and awoke a gentle heat within you. He pulled his head back quickly and searched your eyes. You knew what he was asking. Nodding your head, he kissed you again and returned his lips to your breast. He brought his mouth lower to your belly, and he stared at it. His hand possessively circled it before he kissed around it. Your tears streamed form your eyes, and a strangled cry escaped your throat.

   Chris moved lower and kissed your sex before he began slowly pleasing you. Your back arched and your fingers dug into his hair holding on to him praying to God that you would be able to come back from this. The pleasure he brought you felt different than all the times before. Before it was an unquenchable fire that consumed you and never relented, now it was a slow burn that comforted while it maddened. You gasped loudly and pulled at his hair feeling your orgasm rage through you. Again, Chris nestled between your legs and slowly connected your bodies. Both of you sighed feeling your connection strengthen. He didn’t move; instead he stared deeply into your eyes and rocked you to your core with how much you saw hidden behind his blue orbs.

   When he began rocking into you, your skin peppered with goosebumps and the tightening in your belly was another sign you were close to claiming your pleasure. Chris pressed his body to yours, and you took the initiative to roll onto him. Once you adjusted you rotated your hips to the motion of the letter “c” and then rocked back and forth. Chris’ hands flew to your hips and squeezed then rocked you to the pace he wanted. Throwing your head back you tried to focus on the sensations he was giving you. You tried to equally allow all you were feeling to come through. When you looked back to Chris you could tell his complex emotions were warring as well. You lowered your body to his and buried your face in his flesh and inhaled his scent--a scent you loved. Without knowing a sob escaped you and Chris’ arms wrapped around you.

   “It’s not your fault Uriah.” Those words felt like permission to let it all go, approval and reassurance all at once. Your crying became louder until Chris rolled you back onto the bed and wiped your tears as he stroked the fire within your veins to a blazing inferno. You dug your nails into his skin and held on to him as his movements became less controlled and more desperate. Chris’ grunts and moans were soft. You bit your bottom lip and let out a high pitched wine when he sunk into you to the hilt and broke the dam of your orgasm. The two of you clung to each other as your bodies shook from the power of your release and what you’d just shared together.

   After several long moments, Chris rolled off of you onto his back and the two of you laid there staring at the ceiling in silence each trying to catch your breath and lost in your thoughts. Chris pulled you close to his side, and you nestled your cheek onto his chest as you’d done thousands of times. You could head the rapid thumping of his heart and closed your eyes as you focused on it. Chris’ fingers languidly drew patterns on your cooling skin breaking you out in goosebumps everywhere he touched. The intimacy of the moment made you feel closer to him. A closeness you hadn’t felt since the night in Australia where you finally decided to start trying for a baby. You were so lost in the quiet of the moment and your thoughts that you didn’t hear Chris say your name.

   “Uriah?” You opened your eyes and sighed. “Hmm?”

   “Let’s go to therapy.” Tilting your head up to meet his eyes, you listened with your heart to everything his eyes said. You nodded.

   “Yeah.” He released a relieved sigh then kissed your forehead, and the two of you fell into a comfortable silence as sleep finally washed over you.

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[skruttet]

I wanna do some season 2 speculation (aka ramblings that don’t actually reach a set-in-stone conclusion lmao)!! I’m gonna assume that all the sneak peak visuals and audio from this video are from season 2 episode 2 and are all gonna be in the final cut (even though really we don’t actually know that), just to make theorising a bit easier for myself!

Please feel free to add your own thoughts if anything I say makes the cogs in your head turn! :D

Alright, so the first thing we see is four animatic frames of Snufkin holding a red, flame-like object. In the first frame, it is partially hidden by what looks like a cloud (or mist? fog? a wave? but I’m personally going with cloud), and through the cloud there is still a faint spray of the red colour, therefore we can assume that the object glows, the red colour being its light. Snufkin seems to be happily talking in this first frame, then has stopped in the second but is still slightly smiling as he lifts his head to look at Moomintroll, who we next see look at the object in shock, then up to Snufkin. As I have said in the past, my only theory as to what this object could be other than a normal flame is the King’s Ruby - here is a description of it from Finn Family Moomintroll: “At first it was quite pale, and then suddenly a pink glow would flow over it like the sunrise on a snow-capped mountain - and then again crimson flames shot out of its heart and it seemed like a great black tulip with stamens of fire.” If this is truly what Snufkin is holding, then we know that the King’s Ruby is a symbol of Thingumy and Bob’s queer love - beautiful, precious, something that is all theirs and that they only show to those they trust. So is this tableaux the creators sneaking in more Snufmin subtext? Or am I being too hopeful?

We know that we will be seeing Thingumy and Bob in episode 8, The Trial - so why would Snufkin be holding the King’s Ruby this early on, and in what appears to be a dream or vision that Moomintroll is experiencing? In Finn Family Moomintroll, Moomintroll actually hears about the King’s Ruby before Thingumy and Bob are on the scene - from Snufkin (who in turn heard it from the Magpie), who tells the gang about the Hobgoblin, ending with how unhappy the Hobgoblin is until he finds the King’s Ruby (”It’s almost as big as the black panther’s head, and to look into it is like looking at leaping flames.”). Therefore, it’s possible that Moominvalley Snufkin has also told this Moomintroll about the King’s Ruby, although episode 2 is still super early on and it seems like Snufkin isn’t actually in the valley yet in this episode (based off of the lines in this video where Moomintroll is clearly pining for him). Perhaps this vision doesn’t explain what the King’s Ruby is yet, only shows it, and we find out in a later episode what it is and start putting the pieces of the puzzle together then? Who knows.

Onto the audio that plays on top of this storyboard; assuming that it is in fact what should be playing during these frames, it seems to support the theory that this scenario is playing in Moomintroll’s head, and at sunset (which is super romantic imo). Unfortunately for us, we don’t get to hear the end of the sentence as he gets cut off by Little My presumably kicking him, telling him that she is trying to sleep. Moomintroll appears to not have even realised that he was thinking out loud, making this situation seem even more gay, as if he was thinking something very private (like, say, imagining a romantic date with your best friend?). The fact that Little My is sleeping is interesting - is this daytime, and she’s just napping somewhere near him, or is it nighttime? In which case, she never slept in the same room as him in the first season (to our knowledge - I wouldn’t put it past her to have crawled into a nook or cranny without him knowing lol), so where could they be? We know that 3 episodes of season 2 take place on the lighthouse island; are they there already? It seems a little too early in my opinion, though I can’t imagine where else they’d be.

Moving on, we hear the end of a Moomintroll(?) line: “...amazing adventures”. There isn’t really much we can go off here - he could be referring to anyone’s adventures (his own, his father’s, or Snufkin’s seem to be the most likely), and at any time, past or present or future. We also hear Pappa say something but I cannot for the life of me figure out what it is, it may even be the end of a line again (sounds like “killjoy” or “old boy” but I’m probably completely off). Then there’s laughter that at first I thought was one of the creators watching but I think it might be one of the characters, probably Little My.

Then, we get a male character saying “well, at least there’s some use in that old volcano.” I assume it’s Moominpappa saying this, as in Moominsummer Madness it seems to be only he and Moominmamma who know about the volcano. I’m not sure what this “use” is they’re referring to - in the book, he wishes he could have a paperweight made of real lava from it, though the volcano itself is mainly referred to as a “nuisance”. The volcano is located on a “black little island [off the coast] where nothing grows”, so theoretically they could be mashing it up with the lighthouse island but I doubt it. In Moominsummer Madness, the volcano and the ash it spews are the early warning signs for a storm and flood - will there be a flood in Moominvalley season 2? Obviously it can’t be the same as the one in season 1, but there are at least 3 floods in the Moomin books & comics (The Moomins and the Great Flood, Moominsummer Madness, and Moomin Falls in Love). It wouldn’t be the flood from the Great Flood so that would leave Moomin Falls in Love, though nothing else we see here seems to come from that story, and neither does it seem that another natural disaster happens, so I’m crossing “flood” off the potential plotlines list. But then, there must still be a reason as to why the volcano is mentioned, mustn’t there? I still haven’t quite figured that out, though.

Whilst these “volcano” lines play in the video, a few more frames of animatic are shown - depicting Moomintroll in the foreground, and Snorkmaiden slightly behind him with her hand on his shoulder. He looks back at her before she walks away. I’m not sure whether these frames are actually the ones that play during the volcano lines, since I just find it strange for Snorkmaiden to be all “volcano!?” but then immediately walk away from the conversation. Though I guess I don’t know the full story of what’s happening in the scene (ofc my shipper mind tells me that maybe Moomintroll gives her a “please don’t touch me” look and is the start of them realising they’re not cut out to be a couple but there’s nothing standoffish about their behaviour at all so that’s clearly not what’s going on lol).

Finally, we get the last pining line from Moomintroll: “we’ll soon be cutting the long winter grass by the stream where he pitches his tent”. This seems to be referencing, yet again, a line from the beginning of Moominsummer Madness: “And then summer came, and long grass grew all over Snufkin’s camping place by the river, as if no one had ever lived there.” This is another indication that Snufkin is late to the valley for at least the first two episodes of season 2, which I find a little strange for him to do considering the soul-searching and self-realisation he did in the season 1 episode The Spring Tune. Maybe the volcano mentioned earlier has something to do with his delay?

Before Moomintroll says this, you can hear a female voice sighing; it sounds like one of Little My’s rolling-her-eyes huffs to me, and during his line it sounds like someone is sniffling and/or sneezing?? Again, it’s hard to tell which noises are from the characters and which are the people in the room watching, but if it’s the former, then that’s quite interesting. Is it cold wherever they are? Is the person crying? Or are they huffing still at Moomintroll’s pathetic longing for his best friend?

As a summary, it seems that this episode will definitely be at least partly based on Moominsummer Madness, with perhaps a sprinkling of Finn Family Moomintroll, and Moominpappa at Sea if any of it ties into those episodes. I haven’t caught anything I recognised from any of the comics, though.

Whatever happens in this episode, clearly at this point, Sophia Jansson was NOT happy with it, and judging by the phone call she has with Marika, it seems that she felt as though the characters’ motivations/emotions/problems were not clear enough or there hasn’t been enough development for those things to make sense yet. I guess we’ll have to wait and see how different the final result is compared to these snippets!

[medea10]

My Review of Happy Sugar Life

[jin0uga]

Dance the night away

More whiterose because I need more of this otp. 

Whiterose, Married!AU, inspired by that video of a sweet dad who danced with his daughter on-stage. Second part of my A Rose in Bloom series.

Tonight was the night. Ruby dithered behind the curtains, anxiously watching her daughter get ready. It was Dia's first recital and her little girl was a bundle of nerves, constantly nibbling on her nails and jumping as stage hands flitted back and forth. Dia nervously smoothed the ruffles of her adorable, pink tutu and looked at her mother. 

"I don't wanna dance," Dia pleaded, paling as the mutter of the crowd drifted backstage. In contrast to her daughter's pallor and skittish behaviour the other girls buzzed in excitement and floated towards the curtains, alternating between peeking out of it and grinning at each other like overly excited rabbits.

Ruby gave her a reassuring smile before her attention was stolen by Zwei wriggling in her grasp. He whined, pawing at her shirt. She sighed and gently pecked the top of his head, briefly putting a stop to his struggles. Ruby hadn't wanted to take him along, but Weiss insisted he would be terribly lonely them. It was complete rubbish since Ruby knew the maids and servants always entertained Zwei more than was strictly necessary, but her wife's pleading eyes were too powerful a weapon to resist.

Dia tugged at her shirt – Ruby couldn't help think it was like another puppy clamouring for her attention – and mumbled something incoherent.

"You're going to be great out there. Remember how you showed the entire dance to Grandpa Tai?" Ruby stroked her daughter's head, smoothing the cowlick that sprung up despite the thorough gelling Weiss put it through an hour earlier. "We even watched the recording afterwards, you danced so beautifully!"

Her daughter hesitated. She met Ruby's gaze after seconds of quiet contemplation, eyes blazing with renewed determination. "Did Mommy come to watch me dance?" For the first time that night, she looked in the direction of the stage. Ruby beamed. "Your Mommy's here, along with Aunt Yang and Blake. Even Winter– I mean, Auntie Win, is here to watch you steal the spotlight."

Dia drew in a deep breath, and looked at her Mom. "Are you gonna be here once I finish?"

"Of course." Ruby wound her hand around hers, squeezing gently. "I'll be here no matter what."

The instructor's assistant finally appeared backstage, calling for the girls to assemble. Ruby looked on in amusement as the group of tiny girls rushed past her feet to get into formation. Dia stared after them with a hint of apprehension, but covered it up with a expression Ruby recognized. The Schnee's stoic mask was definitely hereditary.

Ruby bent forward and kissed her daughter's forehead. "Okay, my little diamond. Go out there and knock em' dead."

"Both of you, shut up. It's starting!" Weiss hit the record button as soon as she saw the first ponytail enter the stage, swishing like a tiny feather duster. Yang chortled. Blake rolled her eyes at her friend's overzealousness. Winter patted her sister's arm, laughter dancing in the normally stormy eyes.

"This is an important milestone in Dia's life." Weiss refuted their amused stares with sharp words, glowering at their lack of seriousness. It was only obvious she'd be excited her baby's first recital! She clicked her teeth. "Yang, make yourself useful and start recording."

"What? Don't you already have it covered?" Even as she said this, Yang lazily took out her scroll, doing as she was told. It was easier to go with the flow than fight against the current that was Weiss Schnee-Rose.

"One angle isn't enough to capture this moment. Besides, you have a better view of the stage from your seat." Weiss sighed in frustration when Yang nudged Blake, the two of exchange insipid grins. "I wish you three would take this seriously. I refuse to lose this memory to scroll failure or bad lighting." Her wife and father-in-law would be beside themselves if she didn't have at least three videos and a dozen pictures by the end of it.

"Weiss. If that's what you wanted you'd better… I don't know, watch it with your own eyes before whipping out your scroll?" Yang said, arching her eyebrows and jerking her chin in the direction of the stage. The girls were lined in a row, soaking in the applause and shouts raining down as the crowd peppered them with 'Good luck's' and 'break a leg!'

Winter pried the scroll from Weiss' hands, ignoring the outraged gasp. "Miss Xiao Long has a point. Enjoy the show, Weiss. I'll aid you in recording so you can watch without obsessing over angles, and how terrible the stage lighting is."

Weiss squinted. "Now that you mentioned it..."

"Just concentrate on your daughter, Weiss." Blake chided as the music started.

As the group of girls danced on stage, Weiss found herself smiling at Dia's expertly executed movements. Her daughter had obviously inherited Ruby's grace, each sweep of her leg and arms sinuous and smooth, liquid given physical form. Weiss also noted that although the girls wore identical pink outfits, Dia looked the loveliest out of all of them. A blooming rose among a field of tulips.

The tinkling music rose to a pitch. The girls circled the stage, taking turns to execute small jumps, twisting in the air like curling ribbons. Dia was the last in line. To Weiss's horror, her daughter lost her footing just as she was poised to leap. There was a crack of wood as knees met the stage floor, and the atmosphere in the recital hall plummeted into the negatives as the crowd looked on in stunned silence. Weiss took in Dia's hunched shoulders, ready to elbow people out of the way to rescue her daughter. It was Winter's vice grip, rough hands experienced in keeping order and stability even during the most tumultuous of times, that kept her pinned to her seat.

"Winter," Weiss had to fight to keep her voice steady. "Let me go."

"You know what would happen if you rushed up there." Winter watched her niece quake in embarrassment. The rest of the girls fluttered nervously in place, not daring to draw attention to themselves, leaving the poor girl stranded by herself. "It will do her no favours if you made a scene." Winter said, regretfully.

Weiss scowled. "I don't–"

Ruby barrelled onto the stage and pulled her daughter to her feet. In her other arm, Zwei swept his gaze over the crowd, tongue lolling out as he yipped in a obnoxiously adorable way only dogs could.

Dia snapped back to attention. Weiss watched their daughter regain the determined set to her jaw after taking in Ruby's patient smile. The tension in her shoulders dissolved and Weiss' heart leaped as her daughter took several steps back, before running forward. Dia did a perfect twirl in mid-air, and landed soundlessly on her feet.

From her seat, Weiss saw Ruby beam at Dia before she disappeared behind the curtains. The rest of the performers were spurred back into action when Dia returned to her spot. Everyone's movements were considerably stilted compared to before, but they continued admirably until the song's final note. The curtain fell accompanied by a smattering of applause. Murmurs rose as the audience got up from their seats, but Weiss remained rooted to hers, an unreadable expression plastered across her face.

Yang turned and said to Blake, "Wow, I'm glad we got that on video."

The parking lot was a flurry of activity, parents spilling from the recital hall after collecting their daughters. Friends and family stood near vehicles, chatting amicably about the performance as their children giggled and chased each other around the lot in a hasty game of tag.

Yang broke into brilliant grin when she spotted her sister and niece tottering towards them. "Here come the two scamps!"

"An admirable performance little diamond." Winter's expression was unusually soft as she bent down to face Dia. "How do you feel about it?"

"It stinked when I fell." Blake covered up a snort. They were spat in a distasteful, familiar tone that reminded her of Weiss in their University days, a time where the Schnee was critical of everything and did not hesitate to point it out. "But then Mom helped me out and made everything better." The tiny ball of sunshine beamed, melting the hearts of every adult in the vicinity. Winter chuckled and patted her cheek.

"It was a good performance overall, then?" Yang followed up, ruffling Dia's hair. The action made the girl more excited than embarrassed, a trait she'd definitely picked up from Ruby.

"Yep!"

"Be careful next time," Weiss chided, waiting till Winter stepped away to wrap her in a hug. Her daughter hugged back, though she sighed dramatically at the reminder. "Yes, Mommy, I promise."

Ruby watched Zwei run circles around them before gesturing at Yang to pick him up. She clapped her hands. "Okay, who's up for some victory ice cream?" Yang and Dia yelled their agreement in unison while Blake lazily waved the red flag she'd brought along.

Winter inclined her head towards her car, a speck of white in a sea of grey. "Come along, everyone. Dia will take the front seat which means you'd have to sit in the back with Blake, Yang."

"Um, aren't we going together?" Ruby interjected, sounding terribly confused, "I mean, Dia and I came in Weiss' car after all."

Dia nodded, fringe flopping up and down. "Yeah!"

Weiss rested a gentle hand on her daughter's head. "I know, darling. But like I told your Aunts earlier, I've decided to take your Mom for… cookies, first." Ruby blushed, the warmth in her cheeks reaching high enough to stain the tips of her ears. Weiss was staring at her in an awfully familiar way. It brought to mind the memory of their wedding night, icy blue eyes ablaze with predatory hunger and slivers of unblemished skin peeking from black, racy lingerie…

Dia made a face. "Mommy, why's Auntie Yang giggling like that?"

"Don't mind her, she was dropped on her head as a child." Yang pursed her lips, shooting an annoyed scowl in Weiss' direction. Blake snickered and patted the blonde's arms. "You walked into that one."

"Har har."

"Come along, Dia. We'll leave your mothers to their own celebration." Winter told her, extending a gloved hand. "They will be joining us later, yes?"

"Y-Yeah." Winter smirked at Ruby and lead her niece away. Blake and Yang followed after them, but not before Yang gave her sister an overly exaggerated wink.

Weiss trailed her hand down Ruby's shoulder, enjoying the way her wife shuddered at the touch. The small whimper Ruby made sent a thrill of excitement through her.

"Back to the car, Ruby." Weiss silently cycled through their favourite isolated dating spots. Oh, the possibilities were endless. "I think it's time we tested if my car seats are as sturdy as advertised."

[sickficksandmorr]

His stomach churned for Aiku

Aaahhh this is so much longer than usual and i cut it back a LOT!! Sorry!!---Aiku woke with a start, his limbs flailing as he struggled to shake off the remnents of his nightmare.His breathing sporadic and anxiety levels way up there, he sat up and looked around his room.It was dark, but not as dark as the others in the house due to his nightlight.He looked at his clock. 2:30 in the morning.Rosie should still be up. Right?God he hoped so. He was way too shaken to go back to bed right now.He must also be getting sick because he really wanted Rosie to hold him too.He slid out of bed and made his way to Rosie's room, using the wall for support.He knocked on her closed door, hoping she was still awake.He heard shuffling of papers and clothes, then the door opened."Can't sleep?" Rosie guessed, taking his appearance in.He guessed he must look aweful because she rested a hand on his forehead."Come on in." She moved aside, concern gracing her features.He shuffled in and she left the door open. The only light in this room was coming from the computer screen that showed an amv still playing."I had a nightmare..." Aiku stifled a burp into his fist. He wasn't feeling particularly queasy, but he figured this was just the calm before the storm."Wanna talk about it?" Rosie asked, going over to pause the video.She turned on the light and Aiku shielded his eyes at the sudden brightness."Yeah. Startled me too, and I was the one who turned it on." Rosie laughed."Can we cuddle?" Aiku asked timidly, shifting his weight and fiddling with his night shirt."Of course. But only if you tell me what your dream was about." Rosie moved over to the bed and sat down, patting the space beside her.Aiku stumbled over, his legs suddenly feeling very heavy, and sat in her lap, cuddling up to her chest. Rosie wrapped her arms around him and shifted so she was leaning against her headboard.Aiku liked cuddling up to Rosie's chest. It was flat like a man's, unlike Jasmine and Tulip's and made him feel like he was being held by his mom, who'd had to have her breasts removed when she was thirty due to breast cancer.Of course he was very young when that happened and didn't remember her having breasts at all, but she said she was happier without them, so he never said anything about it."I dreamed that I was in my old castle again, but it was different. There was a table in the dining room that had a dog on it. I asked the dog to move because I know it could understand me but it-" Aiku felt panic rise in his throat as he spoke, remembering the dream was almost too much for him. He broke off to repress a sob."Tell me when you can." Rosie said softly."Hey, I have a question." Aiku asked suddenly, raising his head. "I'm sorry if this is a sensitive topic, but did you loose your boobs to breast cancer?"Rosie laughed. "No. I'm actually on hormones that are supposed to make my boobs actually grow.""Did they not do that naturally?""Nope. But then again, they weren't supposed to, no matter how hard i wished they would. I'll probably be flat chested forever unless i get implants because my body isn't reacting the way it should to the hormones.""I'm confused. If you're a girl why wouldn't your boobs grow when you started puberty? Are you intersex?"Rosie clammed up. "Let's not talk about that anymore. I noticed you had a fever. Why don't you tell me how you feel?"Aiku decided to let the topic of Rosie's sex drop. "I don't know-" he was cut off by another, more forceful burp. "Sorry."Rosie shook her head. "It's fine. Is yoir tummy troubling you?""I mean. I'm a little queasy. It's barely noticeable though." He stifled another burp into his hand. Maybe he was just gassy."Anything else?""My limbs feel all heavy." Aiku offered."Are you tired?" Aiku assessed himself for a moment. "Kinda. But I'm also starting to wake up.""Would you like a snack? I hoard them in my room." Rosie offered.Aiku thought it over. Then his stomach churned. He bit back a groan and simply shook his head.His stomach churned again and that was all the warning he got before he was suddenly vomiting all over his lap.He figured Rosie was still under him until there was a trashcan under his mouth and a hand on his back.She must be quicker than The Flash to be able to pick him up, move out from under him, place him back in the bed, get a trashcan, and be back to him before the second wave of puke left his mouth. He hadn't even noticed her moving.He looked blearly over to her and was surprised to see that there was vomit on her shirt. He didn't think he had hit her, and now he felt bad.Rosie followed his gaze and looked down at her shirt, pulling it out for her to look at better. "It's fine. You have no idea how many times Tulip threw up on me when we were growing up. Not to mention Jasmine when she's drunk."Aiku looked down back to the trashcan, it was clean save for the little bit of vomit that Rosie had caught with her demonic speed."How did you-" he gagged and spit into the trashcan. "How did you move so fast?"Rosie smiled. "Wanna know a secret?"Aiku perked up. He liked knowing secrets.Rosie went to her dressor and pinned back the fair covering her eye. Then, she placed a hand over it and turned back to Aiku."You have to promise you won't freak out." She said, looking embarrassed.Aiku nodded, stifiling a burp into his fist again. The nausea was starting to eat at him again.She took a deep breath and removed her hand. The eye that she had been covering up looked totally different from her other eye. While her other eye was different shades of orange, purple, and red, this eye was pure red. The iris and pupil were a lot smaller than a normal eye and the veins in it stood out prominently. The eye flickered around the room before landing on Aiku.Aiku felt a shiver go up his spine before his stomach made a mad jump fir freedom and he was doubled over the trashcan, vomiting again.Rosie quickly covered her eye again and began rubbing his back. "I'm sorry- I didn't- I thought you could handle it- I didn't mean to upset you- I'm sorry- I-"Aiku cut her off with a gravely voice. "I actually think it's really cool." He cleared his throat and used his shirt to clean his mouth off. "What made it look like that?""I'm actually possessed by a demon that's in love with me. That's why I'm a fire witch and i have a lot of unexplained strength and speed." Rosie seemed glad that Aiku didn't hate her eye, but she didn't lower her hand again.Aiku spit in the trash can a few times. "Can i see is again?"Surprised, Rosie lowered her hand.Aiku reached out and grabbed her face gently, rubbing under her eye, tracing the bags there. "Does it ever close?""Nope." Rosie sat on the bed. "I don't think it even blinks. I know it doesn't close long enough to sleep. I've recorded myself sleeping with my bangs clipped out of my face."Aiku was speechless."Are you feeling any better?" Rosie asked as Aiku continued to stare at the eye.Aiku's eyes shot to meet her normal eye. "Yeah."The only thing he felt now was cold."Good. You wanna spend the rest of the night in here?""Will you keep your eye uncovered?" Aiku found himself all but begging.Rosie chuckled softly. "Sure. Now let's get both of us cleaned up. You can tell me about your dream while we do it."Aiku smiled.

[euroman1945-blog]

The Daily Tulip

The Daily Tulip – News From Around The World

Monday 21st May 2018

Good Morning Gentle Reader….  Start of another week.. how quickly they come round.. We leave the house for our morning walk, after a great week end of beach time, never moving the car once.. We wander up the hill this morning, Bella catching some scent or other as she sniffs the morning air.. the little bats are wheeling and diving, mice with wings, my mother used to call them, regaling me with tales of when her sister got a bat caught in her long hair.. ah! The tales … even though there is not a cloud in the sky it feels a little humid this morning, …. Hope all is well where you are…

JAPANESE TRAIN DEPARTS 25 SECONDS EARLY – AGAIN…. A Japanese rail company has apologised after a train left a station 25 seconds early, the second such case in months. The operator said the "great inconvenience we placed upon our customers was truly inexcusable". If the details are anything to go by, customers are faced with slipping standards: a train last November left 20 seconds early while this time it was a full 25 seconds premature. As was to be expected, social media has been making the most of the story. Twitter post by @HarrisAzhari…What a shame Japan!!? Early departure for 25 second? What if I only can catch the train 4 seconds before departure!?? According to Japan Today, the train conductor thought his train was scheduled to leave Notogawa Station at 07:11 instead of the actual scheduled time of 07:12 on Friday. After closing the doors to the commuter train one minute early he realised his mistake and still could have averted the looming embarrassment. But as he couldn't spot any waiting passengers on the platform, he decided to go head and leave early - rolling out of the station 25 seconds ahead of time. Japanese trains have a reputation for extreme punctuality, and it turned out that there were indeed still people hoping to get onboard. Left on the platform, they complained to the rail operator and an official apology was issued shortly afterwards.

IS REMOVING 'ABORIGINAL' FROM BIRTH CERTIFICATES WHITEWASHING HISTORY?.... Garry Smith wants Western Australia to stop altering historical birth records. It was never a requirement, but back in the 1800s some clerks in Australia took it upon themselves to add notes about ethnicity to some birth certificates. As the BBC's Frances Mao in Sydney writes, a move to reverse that has generated a new problem. Garry Smith just wanted to complete a family tree documenting his Aboriginal heritage. However in 2013, when he retrieved the 19th Century birth certificate for his great-grandmother, he noticed a glaring omission: the word "Aboriginal" had been covered over. He asked authorities what had happened, and was told the word had been erased due to its "offensive" connotations. "Having somebody telling you it's offensive, I just stood there and felt a bit sick," he told the BBC. "Was I supposed to be embarrassed or ashamed to have Aboriginal heritage, ashamed of my father, and great grandparents?"

POPE WARNS NUNS TO USE 'SOBRIETY' ON SOCIAL MEDIA…. The Pope has issued instructions telling nuns to use social media apps "with sobriety and discretion". The document, titled Cor Orans, clarifies rules governing monastic life that were issued in 2016. It says the guidance is intended to safeguard silence and recollection. The document mentions "social communications" rather than specific apps, but Catholic newspaper the Tablet said that this referred to Facebook and Twitter among other services. The document says that discretion should apply to "the quantity of the information and the type of communication", in addition to the actual content of the media. An order of nuns in northern Spain made headlines last month after taking to social media to comment on a controversial case in Pamplona that saw a group of men accused of gang rape given what many regarded to be unduly lenient sentences. On their Facebook page (in Spanish), the Carmelite Nuns of Hondarribia defended the victim by pointing out the free choice they had made to live in a convent, to not drink alcohol or go out at night. "Because it is a FREE decision, we will defend with all means available to us (and this is one) the right of all women to FREELY do the opposite without being judged, raped, intimidated or humiliated for it," they added. The latest guidance is not thought to have come about as a result of that case; and this is not the first time the Catholic Church has issued guidelines on social media use for nuns. The original constitution on feminine monastic life, Sponsa Christi Ecclesia, was published in 1950 by Pope Pius XII, but Pope Francis expanded the document in 2016 to warn against digital culture's "decisive influence" on society. He urged nuns not to let digital media "become occasions for wasting time". The Vatican itself is a prolific tweeter. It has posted close to 15,000 messages on its news account and more than 1,500 times via the Pope's English-language official page. It also runs Facebook, Instagram, YouTube and Google+ accounts.

UK PRISONS 'AWASH' WITH SMUGGLED PHONES AND SIM CARDS…. "We are also taking decisive action to find and block mobile phones" - Prison Service spokesman. At least 15,000 mobile phones or SIM cards were confiscated in English and Welsh prisons last year, equivalent to one for every six inmates. Phones are used by some prisoners to order drugs and co-ordinate criminal activity inside and outside jail. A penal reform charity said the government had failed to tackle the root of the issue. The Prison Service said improved security measures had led to more confiscations. The BBC's Shared Data Unit compared figures for the period 2010-2014 and 2017 from ministers' answers to written questions in Parliament, Freedom of Information requests to prison services in Scotland and Northern Ireland and published prison population figures. A former prison worker, who spoke to the BBC on condition of anonymity, said: "They [mobile phones] are a huge problem - they make getting any kind of contraband in very easy. "They can sit all night with unlimited access to the internet and make voice calls. "The big part of being in jail is you are cut off and denied your liberty. With the spread of mobile phones that's completely irrelevant. "It's difficult to keep order in jail because staff are outnumbered. If prisoners don't take the authority seriously, it makes a joke out of the whole system. "People see [videos posted on social media from inside jail] and they are less frightened of jail, they think their mates are having a whale of a time." Mobile phones have been used by prisoners in recent years to orchestrate fatal revenge attacks, helped coordinate an armed, masked gang freeing a drug baron en route to court and by inmates flouting authority by broadcasting themselves live.

RUSSIA WORLD CUP: ARGENTINA 'FLIRTING MANUAL' PANNED….  The manual was issued to journalists, coaches and officials heading to the World Cup in Russia. The Argentine Football Association (AFA) has been panned for including a chapter about "how to stand a chance with a Russian girl" in a manual it handed to journalists travelling to the World Cup in Russia. It recommended that journalists "look clean, smell nice and dress well" in order to impress Russian "girls". It also urged them to treat women as "someone of worth". The advice caused an outcry on social media and the AFA has since removed it. The association apologised and said that an internal investigation had found that part of the material was "printed by mistake". The controversy comes just months after the Argentine capital, Buenos Aires, saw the biggest women's march in Latin America with protesters decrying rampant sexism and demanding an end to violence against women.

Well Gentle Reader I hope you enjoyed our look at the news from around the world this, Monday morning… …

Our Tulips today are just plain beautiful... if beauty can be defined as plain.....

A Sincere Thank You for your company and Thank You for your likes and comments I love them and always try to reply, so please keep them coming, it's always good fun, As is my custom, I will go and get myself another mug of "Colombian" Coffee and wish you a safe Monday 21st May 2018 from my home on the southern coast of Spain, where the blue waters of the Alboran Sea washes the coast of Africa and Europe and the smell of the night blooming Jasmine and Honeysuckle fills the air…and a crazy old guy and his dog Bella go out for a walk at 4:00 am…on the streets of Estepona…

All good stuff....But remember it’s a dangerous world we live in

Be safe out there…

Robert McAngus

[samthewrestlingfan]

DIVE Part 4

It’s Monday! You know what that means, Lovebugs! 

Time for a DIVE update!

This one is so angsty...#SorryNotSorry

But for real guys, please enjoy! Remember your feedback means the world to me, so let me know what you think!

Thank you as always for taking the time to read my lil story. 

I love you all! <3

TAGLIST: @wrestlingbabe @alexahood21 @caramara3 @panda-girl1999 @isawthesights @blondekel77 @ravishingrandall @sxrxndipityy @camm-wow 

I stood in front of the door, feeling like I forgot how hands worked. I had been standing here for 10 minutes, and still hadn't knocked on Seth's door.

How could he think what he did was justifiable? There is no way. I began to walk away from the door, when I saw Sami coming out of his room.

"Ella! How've you been? Good?" Sami asked happily.

I smiled hugging him, "Yes! I've missed you though, how are things?"

"You know, ever changing, but always good." Sami's eyes drifted to my bump. "Are congratulations in order?"

I nodded, "Well then congrats, Ella! This is a surprise, but baby's are blessings after all."

I heard the click of the door behind me open. I turned to see Seth step half of his body into the hallway and keep his eyes locked on Sami and I.

"Sami, I don't wanna keep you..." I murmured.

He glanced over my shoulder, and made the connection. "Of course, Of course! Have a good night--see you soon!"

Sami headed for the elevator as I spun around. "Hey, Els."

I smiled softly, the universe was really testing me tonight..."Hey, let's go inside, I don't want to wake anyone up."

He nodded and moved to the side, giving me space to walk in.  I instantly walked to his bed and sat down, leaning against his pillows.

"Feeling okay?" Seth asked genuinely.

I rubbed my legs, "I'm just so tired, and the travel isn't helping the swelling. Everything hurts and I'm blowing up like a fucking balloon."

He let out a soft chuckle, "Please, you look beautiful. But I am sorry you're in pain, anything I can do?"

I shook my head, "Nah, It will go away once I get a good night's sleep." I leaned my head back closing my eyes momentarily.

"Well that's good. Did you like your flowers?" Seth asked almost sounding nervous. "Of course I did, you know white tulips are my favorite." The fact that he remembered it actually shocked me a little bit.

He smiled ear to ear, sitting down in front of me on the bed. "I'm glad I didn't forget that one...I take it you read the note?"

I opened my eyes, and picked my head up off the pillow. "I did." I scooted forward, adjusting the pillows so they were supporting my back.  "I'm a little offended that you think you have a right to justify--"

"I'm not trying to justify it. I cheated on you, and no matter what I say or do I can never take that back. I wish I could, Ella, every fucking day." He spoke like he was frustrated with himself, but I could see the sadness on his face.

I crossed my arms as best I could, "Why am I here then? Why did you write that note?"

He sighed, "I don't know, Els. I just wanted to tell you why I did what I did. I need to get it off my chest and maybe it will ease your mind a little too, I know that sounds bad, but I don't know how else to word it."

I rolled my eyes, "Well go ahead then, you have my attention." I folded my hands over my stomach and rested them there.

He rubbed his palms together. "Okay I just wanna start off by saying despite what it may have looked like, I didn't enjoy what I was doing."

I internally groaned, I promised myself I'd let him finish. "The bitch you saw me with was Marissa Malone from that stupid trash site, WrestleWrecks or something."

I nodded, before connecting some of the dots in my memory.  I couldn't stop the look of disgust from creeping its way onto my face, "Oh my God, Seth...she's the cunt that leaked Paige's sex tapes! All those photos! How coul--"

He put his hand up, "Please Els, just--please." He continued, "Well for months she would show up to every show, every live event, and just watch you. She'd watch you, me, and anyone she thought had a skeleton or two in their closet."

I scoffed, "And you thought you could solve that by putting your dick inside her?"

Seth sighed, "Please let me finish?"

My emotions were getting the better of me, and I was regretting coming here. I don't know how much more of this story I can take.

"It was one Monday, after Raw. You had left with Nia 'cause she was new and didn't want to drive alone. I was waiting in the lot for Dean to come out when Marissa walked up to me."

Seth began to recount that night to me from his point of view...

---

"Hey Seth...beautiful night, isn't it?" Marissa was dressed in a tight black dress that barely went to the middle of her thigh.

Seth sighed, "Was about 30 seconds ago...what do you want?"

"Seth, I don't know why you're so frustrated, not getting any lately? Is that why Ella sped off so quickly without you?"

She held a tape recorder against her breasts, Seth bent his head down to it, "Uhhh no...fuck off."

Seth moved to walk away, but she called after him, "I'm not so sure Ella would be happy knowing you personally gave me these photos and videos for the website..."

Seth turned around to her, anger spreading across his face, "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Marissa slid her perfectly manicured finger across the screen of her phone. Seth's eyes were greeted with photos of Ella. Naked photos. She scrolled more, and pressed play on one of the videos that popped up. It was Ella giving Seth some head, then there was the lap dance she gave him, along with more nudes.

"How the fuck did you get those..." Seth damn near growled. He knew since Paige's iCloud was hacked, Ella felt uncomfortable with them being on there so she deleted them. The only evidence of those were on Seth's personal phone.

A pure evil smile spread across her overly-made up face. "How did I get them? Why you sent them to me, from your very own phone...see?" She turned her phone to show him the sender and it indeed was his number at the top of the screen.

With trembling hands, Seth pulled out his phone and saw that he had a thread of sent photos and videos to what he assumed was Marissa's number.

"You did this didn't you? What, did you fucking steal my phone from the locker room? Did you pay someone to do it?" Seth was shaking with anger.

She laughed sarcastically, "Sethy now come on, you know I can't tell you that! But just some advice? I'd start making sure your locker was locked from now on..." She finished with a wink.

"You can go fuck yourself..." He sneered. "You know I'll sue you right? I'll make sure you're fucking destroyed."

She laughed, "Seth do you know how many lawsuits people have tried to put against me? Guess how many I've lost?" Marissa held up a '0' with her fingers.

Seth groaned, "What do you want? How the fuck can I make this go away."

"Oh Sethy, this is too good to get rid of I'm afraid. I just wanted you to be the first to know what was coming. I would have told Ella myself but she left so quickly."

Seth took another step towards her, "You leave her alone."

"I will! I don't need her anyways, I have what I need. My followers are going to go nuts..." Marissa began to walk away, strutting towards the car.

"Please." He begged, "I'll do anything, anything to keep you from doing this to her."

She froze in her tracks, "Anything?" she questioned. Seth nodded as she walked back to him. Marissa through her hand on his shoulder and ran it down his chest, playing with the zipper on his jacket.

She rolled her red-painted lips together before she spoke, "I know just the thing."

---

As Seth spoke, I felt like I was going to throw up. How could a person be so vile and so cruel?

"Basically she told me if I slept with her, she would delete the messages and any backups that she had. I did it at our home so I could make sure I would have control over the environment and that there wouldn't be any planted cameras or some shit like that. She was supposed to show up right after you left that morning, but of course she was late. Part of me thinks that was on purpose too, I don't know."

I squeezed my eyes through the stinging tears. "I-I don't know what to say..." I sobbed.

Seth's eyes softened at the sight of my tears, "Oh, baby please don't cry. You don't need to say anything."

Baby. I didn't even object when I heard it. It was so comforting. Seth moved up next to me and held me as I cried. "Ella I'm sorry, I really was just trying to protect you. I didn't think it through--all I wanted was to stop her from destroying your life and your career."

I was shaking, and sobbing into my hands. The poor baby must be so scared inside me. "I just did what she wanted and I went through her phone and checked iCloud upload history--every trace had been deleted. That's all I wanted."

"I want to say thank you, but--"

He stroked my hair, "I know, I know." Seth gently pushed me back, "I'm sorry I did it, and I'm even more sorry you saw it, but I would do anything to keep you safe. I didn't know what else to do, Ella. I really didn't enjoy it. I couldn't even cum, hell it took me 20 minutes to get hard cause I felt so guilty. Not to mention she looks like a fucking troll."

I let out a small laugh as I wiped my eyes. "I just needed to tell you that, Els. Thank you for listening." He wiped a tear off my cheeks and rubbed my stomach.

Seth leaned down towards the bump and whispered something I couldn't make out. He gave small kissed to my stomach that cause the baby to start kicking.

I craned my neck and kissed the top of Seth's head. He sprung up as I moved back. "What was that for, Els?"

I shrugged and let out a yawn, "I don't really know to be honest. I just felt like it." I hopped off the bed and stretched before looking at myself in the mirror on the wall. "I need to get some sleep. All of this wore me out today."

Seth shot off the bed and grabbed my hands in his. "You could stay in here? Ya know if you-if you want."

I hesitated for a moment, "Seth..."

"Look, I'll sleep in the chair, I just...I wanna be near you guys. I missed so much of your pregnancy already I just want to spend some time with you while the baby is still in there."

I nodded, "Okay, that's fair. I'll stay in here tonight."

He opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off, "and no, you don't have to sleep in the chair." I smiled softly.

---

After Seth helped me grab my things from my room, I threw on my long night shirt, put my hair up in a bun, and brushed my teeth.

I flipped the switch in the bathroom off and walked out to see Seth laying on the bed. Shirtless. In his boxers.

Damn...

"See something you like?" Seth asked with a wink. I swallowed hard, shocked at the feeling I was feeling. "No..." I lied hopelessly. "I'm just--listen there's a lot of hormones running through this." I joked, gesturing to my whole body.

Seth laughed and lifted the covers for me, "Come on, crazy...you need some sleep."

I went over and flopped into the soft bed, instinctively on both our parts, Seth's warm arms enveloped me as I laid my head on his hot chest.

He lifted his arms, "Sorry..."

"No," I spoke quickly, "I haven't been held in a long time, I guess with you and I in the same bed instinct just kicked in."

I scooted away, but Seth held me still. "Would you mind if I held you?"

I blinked, and shook my head. "Not at all actually." He smiled pulling me into his embrace once more. Seth kissed the top of my head, and soon out breathing was in sync.

"Night, beautiful." Seth whispered softly.

I sighed in contentment, not knowing what this meant or why I was so happy. "Goodnight, Seth."

A moment of silence passed before we spoke together, "Night, little one..." I looked up at Seth as he looked down at me. We both let out a chuckle as he rubbed my back.

Soon after I was asleep; and it was the most comfortable, deep sleep I've had in months.

[demigod-dems]

junghope fanfiction mistresslist

because i clearly don’t know when to stop

(previous yoonseok fanfiction mistresslist)

Before you start reaping the fruits of this list, here’s some info you should know:

- The list is made up of fanfics I have personally read and thought worth reading (I have read a lot more than these, and a lot didn’t make the cut)

- This list is in no way finished and done, it will evolve and update as I gather more fics for you to enjoy (feel free to message me new ones or some that i’ve missed)

- I’m a fluffy marshmallow and enjoy happy endings, so 99% of these fics won’t have any tragedy / death / gore and mutilation or cheating AND it won’t have any mpreg, because I am just not into it, sorry

❤ Favourites

☆ New to the list

FICS IN THE SAME SERIES CONNECTED BY BLOCKQUOTE

last updated: [19/09/2018 03:06AM]

A-D

☆ 11 Things To Do Before You Die (bucketlist, friends to lovers)

☆ 27 Kisses (Hoseok is confused)

☆ ❤ A Little Help (oh my god, just. Read it, I love it so much, WIP)

☆ ❤ A Sheep in Wolf's Clothing (A/B/O, beta Jungkook wants to be knotted)

❤  another life (wistful, nice, BonVoyage AU)

☆ An arrow to the foot and a bow to you (pretty ironic for Hoseok to shoot himself, him being a cupid)

☆ all because of you (sad hoseok, but overall uplifting fic)

❤  all tomorrow's parties (jungkook/jimin/hoseok, a common hobby, AU)

always nice to meet you (AU, ace!guk, platonic)

❤  all the world’s noise (ridiculously sweet AU)

☆ Are You Sure (you want to stay?) (Jungkook overthinks)

☆ baby, you're a caramel macchiato (fluff)

☆ Be a good baby, mr. bad boy (Jungkook is good just for Hoseok)

☆ Belt Loops (public)

Bloodflows (unplanned bath sharing with Jungkook)

Black Cat (ancient Egyptian deities, AU)

❤  bone + tissue (sex, tension, photos, AU, sssssooooo goood) 

☆ Boy Meets Boy - Boys In Luv (Hogwarts AU)

Brat (fluff)

breathe again (daddy kink)

Break Your Plans Tonight (sex worker hoseok, new gang recruit guk, smut, AU)

☆ Bunny Boy (hybrid AU, human Hoseok)

☆ Call Me Baby (Jungkook wants to be called ‘baby’ by one person only)

can you teach me how to feel real (drabble, robots/androids AU)

'cause i'm burning up, burning up for you baby (yoonkook/hoseok, pizza delivery boy AU)

☆ Come Over Here (And Overwhelm Me) (Jeongguk takes a yoga class on a lost bet)

☆ Coffee in the Morning (KookYoonseok, needy Jungkook)

☆ Creep (the famous shower incident)

crushworthy (awkward jungkook, teasing hoseok, AU)

☆ daddy’s good boy (Jungkook wins  a private skype session with camboy Hoseok)

☆ Daydream (Hoseok borrows Jungkook’s laptop and finds some personal videos, daddy kink)

❤  Dance With Me Hyung (sexual tension up to the sky)

- Pt. 2

- Pt. 3

Double Texting (AU, fluff)

Don't Say Goodnight (Don't Say Goodbye) (AU past lives)

❤  DOES/DOES NOT (both are oblivious and everyone’s frustrated, AU)

Dream Chaser (Members only, nightmare, fluff)

☆ Drip Drop (A/B/O, submissive alpha Jungkook)

E - H

even my name, knelt down inside me, asking to be spared (mentions of prev. char death, past yoonkook, mental health issues)

eventually (AU, awkward Jungkook)

❤  Fall and Recover (ONLY THE BEST JUNGHOPE AU EVER???)

❤  Go (ONLY THE SEQUEL OF THE BEST JUNGHOPE AU EVER??)

Hit Well With an Open Hand (dumbasses slapping each others butts)

☆ Faceplant (Jungkook crashes into Hoseok)

fallingforyou (short, sad)

Falling, Catching (A/B/O, knotting, mating cycles/in heat, AU)

Fever (Yoonseok/jungkook, crossdressing, smut)

☆ Five Months (very fluffy)

☆ footprint nostalgia (taehyung won’t have to go back to farming)

☆ Forever Seems Just Long Enough (Jungkook has been a permanent fixture in Hoseok’s bed lately)

☆ Golden (KookYoonSeok, Jungkook has a nightmare)

Hard. Rock. Steady? Rock. (Daddy kink)

☆ ❤ helping hand(s) (maybe Jungkook has a crush on his best friend that happens to have tentacles)

☆ Here in your arms ( sometimes the air is too quiet and his limbs are too restless, Jungkook sneaks into Hoseok's room)

❤  Hold Me Close (betrayal of a trusty heater, fluff, AU)

☆ hold me tight (KookYoonSeok, bondage)

☆ Hope is Last to Die (childhood crush, AU)

☆ #HopeKookWeek2017 (link to whole series ↓)

1 - how long, baby, have i been away? (oh, it feels like ages though you say it has been only days)

2 - your skin is so soft (kiss him once, kiss him twice to keep the night on)

3 - heaven’s on the backseat of my cadillac

4 - we can't hold back 'til the night escapes

5 - they'll hang us in the louvre (down the back, but who cares, still the louvre)

6 - you don’t have to leave (you could just stay here with me)

7 - shiver shiver (you strip the buttons off my coat)

☆ How to Make These Feelings Known 

I - M

☆ ❤ i wanna be yours (Jungkook has been in love with Hoseok since he's 15)

☆ If You Let Me In (soft and fond winter evening)

i'll take you on (established, sore loser Jungkook) 

i'm not a coffee drinker, but i lost sleep thinking about you (so pour me a cup, i need to wake up) (tired Hob, fluff)

☆ I’m bound up in you (Jungkook wants to ask something new, rimming, facesitting)

☆ i’m coming home to you (every night) (jungkook’s sensitive nose has trouble sleeping)

ineluctable (pool boy Hoseok, rich home-owner son Jungkook, AU)

☆ It’s Called Appreciating Beauty (lets admit, Jungkook is a liiitle obsessed)

☆ It's important to stretch before strenuous activities (Hoseok is a personal trainer and Jungkook has had his eyes trained on him)

is it me that you see? (tell me i'm not dreaming alone) (kookyoonseok, AU, fast paced)

Join US (vkook/hoseok, birthday present, smut)

☆ Joke (Jungkook needs to be punished)

Just a Boy (And boys have Needs) (hormonal teenager Jungkook, weak Hoseok)

Jungkook started a game (VHopeKook, Jungkook is shameless, really) 

Keep On Wanting (smut, established)

Young (pt. 2)

Cosmic Love (pt. 3)

Found You (pt. 4)

A Beautiful Mess (pt. 5 , Junghope/Yoongi, not finished)

The One (pt. 6)

Take a Breath, Take a Step (pt. 7)

I'll Give You Love (You Wanted Nothing) (pt. 8)

Love You (Even In My Sleep) (established, sleepwalking, kink negotiation, smut)

❤  less is more (less is a bore) (a lot of hickeys, feelings, AU)

❤  Lather Me Whole ( Prince Jungkook, Hoseok, his servant ↓ )

Mark Me As Your Own

Whisper In My Ear

Keep Me In Your Hands

Tie Me Up, Hold Me Down

Life with demons (should not be this hard) (exorcism AU, ending frustrated me to tears)

like everybody else (Daddy kink) 

Lionheart (aged up, established, AU)

☆ Lose My Cool (highschool AU, yearbook photographer Jungkook)

☆ Lucidness (daddy kink, the big red hoodie)

❤  Ma Tulipe (a BRILLIANT, soft glowing fic, AU) 

☆ Mountain Dew Me? (Jungkook is a bartender)

☆ Mommae (Jungkook gets caught watching something) 

☆ my favorite places (it gets too much sometimes)

N - R

Name The Stars (and know their dark returning) (getting together, fluff)

New Romantics (AU, piercings)

no mess, no fuss (aged up, AU, rough sex)

❤  Noge Do Poda (yoonseok, yoonkook - yoonseok just like Jungkook)

Noge u Zrak (yoonseok, junghope)

Dolje na koljena (yoonjunghope)

No One But Me (Jealous Jungkook, Oblivious Hoseok, established)

☆ ❤ not a booty call (the feelings, oh my god the feelings)

☆ now my bedsheets smell (like you) (5 times +1 one time)

☆ of white lies and autumn leaves (pretend relationship, ofc until it’s not)

☆ on the edge (wakeboarding, ‘rivals’)

☆ On My Life (I Swear) (Bodyguard AU, multichaptered)

one shot (is all i need) (bartenders, AU)

☆ one strange night in one strange city (rich young businessmen au) 

☆ Ousia (magic AU)

☆ pas de deux (growing old together, fics like this always make me sad even with happy ending)

☆ Perfect Ten (bowling AU)

petting (predebut)

☆ Pink Cushion (Jungkook needs some disciplining) 

☆ Room for Three (Yoonseok fall for Jungkook)

S - V

[second] (student/teacher relationship AU)

☆ Sing For Me (part of ot7, smut)

☆ Sixth Position (miscommunication, getting back together)

☆ share my life (it's yours to keep) (might as well marry they’re so domestic so fast)

Shelter From the Storm (fobias, jungkook trying to fix things, AU, slightly bdsm)

☆ ❤ Skip The Glory (demon AU, rough sex, some tentacle action)   

☆ Social Animals (nonsexual intimacy)

☆ Somebody’s Crying (Hoseok is the resident dorm advisor)

☆ ❤ sparkles in his eyes (my heart is jumping out)

stars (brotp, drunk jungkook)

study time (aged up, established, AU, piercings and tattoos, bottom hoseok)

☆ stuck (sometimes Jungkook’s mind gets.. stuck)

Stranger Dangers (rape kink) 

☆ stitch me up (you're so pretty) (Jungkook enrolls into an embroidery class)

sunshine (angst, character death)

☆ Sunshine next door (both Jungkook and his cat crush on Hoseok)

☆ sweeter than honey, softer than silk (no milk, however) (nursing kink and some awkward conversations, KookYoonSeok)

talk me down (petting, fluff)

☆ That Kinda Lovin' Turns A Man Into A Slave (they run away from Catholic boarding school)

❤  the underlying rhythm (favourite hyung, drabble)

☆ the feeling of getting you closer (is taking me under) (anal fisting)

the world is in your palm now so take a breath and calm down (Hogwarts AU)

The One (Hoseok steps in as a stand-in date)

The Stars In Your Eyes (Are Only For Me) (Space AU)

❤  these spaces between infinities (so so so good ;=;, AU)

❤  there and back again (sports therapist Hoseok, soccer player Jungkook, AU) 

☆ ❤ the world could use more of you (modern magic AU, multichaptered)

☆ this feels like falling in love (a step away)

☆ touch me in your own sweet way (Jungkook would not be lying)

☆ ❤ touch, my love. touch my heart. (Jungkook is into ASMR and Hoseok happens to make asmr videos on youtube, this is so nice)

too naughty to say no (Vhope/Jungkook)

☆ Tryna Count Me Out (who goes around kissing random strangers?)

☆ Twist of my Heart (misunderstandings)

Untraditional (A/B/O, kookyoonseok, AU)

☆ Up in the Sky (Hoseok is a businessman and Jungkook is on his first shift as a flight assistant)

W - Z

☆ wanna stay locked (between your fingers) (hair pulling)

☆ we could be together (if you want) (it’s been 2 years)

❤  What It Means to Know (breathplay, platonic)

☆ While You Were Sleeping (Jungkook is having a wet dream and Hoseok doesn’t want to interupt. much)

☆ Whipped Like Cream (they’re whipped)

wide awake (seokjunghope, jealous junghope, smut)

☆ world business (collars and bsdm, canonverse)

your warm embrace (AU, fluff) 

☆ you attack my heart (surely you're my destiny) (jungkook wants to be pretty)

☆ you got me catching feelings (they start as fuck buddies, but start catching feelings)

☆ you are my favorite "what if" (and my best "i'll never know") (junghope are hoeing w each other at a club)

☆ You Don't Need To Hesitate (so they’re handcuffed together)

☆ your love is bright as ever (Hoseok worries)

☆ you’re staring too much (Jimin sees straight away that Hoseok has a crush)

☆ you're the sun in my morning babe (KookYoonSeok, birthday sex)