#like it would’ve been easier to find for when I’m feeling sentimental

[thatonepersonthatdied]

Everytime I see an orphan account on ao3 I imagine they went into witness protection

[thranduilsperkybutt]

💍 Glimpse of Us 💍

Gif sources:  1  |  2

Pairings:  Steve Harrington/Reader; Eddie Munson/Reader

Warnings:  MAJOR SEASON 4 VOLUME 2 SPOILERS; angst; crying; grief; marital troubles; brief mentions of OC children (I know, shocker coming from me); emotional trauma; mentions of canon-typical events & blood; short instance of drinking/drunkenness; arguing; bittersweet ending

Word Count:  5,773 words

Reader Gender:  Female

Author:  Meg

Summary:   Said I'm fine and said I moved on; I'm only here passing time in her arms, hoping I'll find a glimpse of us. A series of events following the aftermath of the worst day of your life, and how Steve Harrington picks up the pieces that are left of you.

A/N:  Committing myself for female hysteria after the events of volume 2--- that’s right, we’re bringing that diagnosis back, because I’m losing my mind. 😭😭😭 THIS IS NOT A FIX-IT FIC. THIS IS SIMPLY A COPING FIC.

Numbness is what despair feels like, when you’re wrapped in the all-black exhaustion of it. Too lost in the dull ache to shed another tear, staring down at the ring on your finger. Turning it with your thumb. The small gold band was accompanied by an equally modest stone settling, but it was worth more than anything else you own, if only in sentimentality, and that is what makes you feel the most guilty right now. It’s been years, but as much as you’ve tried to put that life behind you, you remember it like it was just yesterday.

— 💍 —

“He’d asked me for it a couple weeks ago,” Wayne Munson had said that day that you sat on his couch in the desolate emptiness that gripped the trailer which had once been so full of life. “Couldn’t rightly figure out why he wanted his mother’s ring after all this time, and I had to dig around to find it, but I think I know, now.”

The older man had simply placed it in your hand. There hadn’t been a box. There had been no knee to bend down upon. There was no question to give your answer to, but you knew what your answer would’ve been, all the same.

There was just you and Wayne, swallowed up by the grief that would always tie the two of you together, far more than his words ever could, “That boy always loved you. He didn’t talk much about it, but even I could see that much.” You were crying softly, as you slipped it on, and it fit perfectly, as if it were always meant to be placed on your ring finger, which was somehow worse than if it hadn’t. Wayne struggled through his words, having to pause between them with the emotion in his own throat, black suit jacket shifting with his anxious fidgeting, “It’s yours, now. You’ll always be family, to me… I know it’s what… what Eddie would’ve wanted. You were good to him, so thank y—”

“Don’t,” you’d interrupted, choking around a sob, tears falling onto your own black dress. Wayne didn’t know the truth of it. He didn’t know how you’d left him there. Wayne had to bury an empty casket, all because you didn’t fight hard enough. “Don’t thank me—”

“No, you made him happy, these last couple months—”

“Please,” you beg, heart breaking with every word. Shutting your eyes so tightly, because you can barely see past your tears as it is. Whispering, “I couldn’t save him—”

He had taken your hand, then. The one the engagement ring was on, squeezing your hand. Unknowing of what to say, but perhaps there was nothing at all. He was crying, too, as much as Wayne Munson tried not to.

You’d both sat there for a long while, or perhaps only minutes, and you’d known then that missing Eddie Munson was something that had seeped into your soul. You’d never shake it, and the way Wayne tried to comfort you through his own debilitating grief only made it worse.

When he had collected himself enough to promise, “You’ll always be welcome here,” you could only think about how you wished you weren’t. You wished he could turn you away, because that would be easier than mourning Eddie in the emptiness of his room. Taking the few things that you had left there back with you, and maybe if Wayne had met you with more animosity, you could have grieved Eddie in a way that allowed you to move on.

But you’d been destined to live in the past, ever since he died.

— 💍 —

You pull the ring from your finger, older, but none the wiser. It’s been nearly seven years since Eddie passed, and maybe Steve was right. Turning your eyes towards the bedside table, at the decorative plate where you’ve already rested your more formal wedding rings, you know he is.

You were still just as in love with Eddie Munson, as that night you’d refused to leave his side. That’s the worst part, the truth.

— 💍 —

Blood had covered your hands, your shirt, with how tightly you gripped Eddie to you. He was getting cold as Dustin screamed at you to get up, to move from your place on the street that you had ended up. The boy was too hurt to drag you off of Eddie, and you had long since dissolved into an endless stream of sobs, cheek pressed against the crown of his head.

Any attempt you’d made at CPR had failed when your arms did, the burn in them aching even worse after the fact of your attempt at dragging the man back towards the gate. You weren’t thinking about the danger, about the risk that surrounded you and the nearly-inconsolable boy begging you to come back with him through the gate.

It’s how Steve, Robin, and Nancy came upon you, sobbing as you held onto Eddie’s lifeless form, while Dustin weakly tried to pull you up by the arm. They tried to talk to you, tried to get you to hear reason, but there was no sense to it.

There was only the blind, hysterical hope of denial that if you held him, he would somehow be alright.

Steve had grabbed you under your arms, breath warmer than Eddie would ever be again, “You have to let him go,” and you’d screamed when he dragged you away.

“I can’t leave him! I can’t—!”

“You have to! We have to go! He’s gone—!” Steve had choked out, wrestling you to your feet as you fought him every step of the way.

“Leave me here!” you had begged in your mindless hysteria, but Steve’s grip was firm, as he wrapped his arms around your waist to hoist you towards the trailer, out of the street. “Please, Steve, just leave me! Let me stay with him!”

“I can’t, you know I can’t—!”

It felt like you had already died, as the vision of Eddie’s body blurred behind your tears, dissolving into incoherent, gut-wrenching screams, while Robin tried her best to help Steve all but manhandle you back into the trailer. Nancy handled the limping Dustin, but your legs had all but stopped working with the overwhelming sea of emotion that washed over you in that moment.

Sobbing, “No—! No, please—!” as you abandoned him there.

Steve, stopping your fight in its tracks when you find yourself inside the trailer, straightening you with a firm shake on your shoulders, tears brimming in his own eyes as he screams at you to come to your senses, “I can’t leave you here! You know I can’t leave you here! Come on!”

“Steve,” it sobs, broken, in the back of your throat, tears streaming down your cheeks at their own accord, and your old friend drags you into his arms.

“I know, but we have to go. He,” Steve swallows, “he wouldn’t want you to stay here.”

As much as you knew it was true, you hated him for it.

But you left him there.

— 💍 —

Had you ever forgiven Steve for saving your life that day? Was that the reason you put him through hell, now? Did you even realize you had done it, at all?

You’ve told yourself you’ve moved on. That the part of you who had loved Eddie Munson with your whole heart had been able to step aside when you fell in love with Steve. That, just maybe, she could bury herself deep enough that loving him would be enough to forget.

Truth be told, she was closer to the surface than you’d ever wanted to admit, and Steve had every right to feel like he did about it.

After all, he was your husband, not Eddie.

— 💍 —

“Uncle Wayne,” you’d smiled, seeing him again after all this time. Three years, and he was finally back in Hawkins, if only for a little while. The diner was bustling, but the dark-haired baby on your hip seemed to be the only thing Wayne could keep his eyes on when you slid into the booth across from him. “Sorry I’m late, but getting ready takes longer these days.”

“I can imagine, with a little one. I didn’t know you’d had the baby yet?” he’d asked, leaning back in his booth. The years had worn on him, as much as the grief had, and he looked in worse health, “I guess I’ve been gone for longer than I thought. Time gets away from me, these days. Trying to focus on work.”

“Yeah, he’s almost one now,” you chuckled. “Steve would’ve come, but he’s working today.”

“That’s alright,” Wayne reached for his coffee, sipping it. “Just tell him I said, ‘hello,’ if I’m not able to see him before I hit the road again.”

“Actually… I have something to tell you,” you began, brushing the baby’s hair along his forehead with your hand, while he tried to catch your dangling bracelet. Wayne’s eyes focus on the movement, at the three rings settled there along your fingers. You wore them every day, now. The wedding band Steve had slipped onto your finger the day of your wedding, along with the engagement ring he’d given you back in those earlier days of your relationship. The smaller, older ring, though, that was the same one Wayne had given you, that day after the funeral, in his trailer.

“Oh?” Wayne hummed curiously, eyes darting away, out the window beside where you sat, “What is it?”

“Steve and I hope you don’t mind. I would’ve asked first, but I couldn’t get a hold of you,” you had worried, nervously stroking your son’s head, before catching the stare Wayne finally cast upon you once more, “We named him Edward James Harrington, after Eddie.”

Wayne’s coffee cup had clamored against the table, when he fumbled it in his hands, but he recovered quickly. He’d always had to.

“What?” he had breathed softly, swallowing thick, as he looked down to the dark-eyed baby boy who would always look more like Steve than you. In another world, that might have been Eddie’s, and you both know it. It’s left unsaid, but in the way Wayne’s eyes had softened when he looked at the child, it’s clear as day. “You… named him after… Eddie?” If Wayne’s poker face was any less practiced, you would’ve seen the tears that threatened to brim in his eyes, “Now… you didn’t have to do that.”

Reaching across the table, you caught the hand he’d rested alongside his coffee cup in yours, rings brushing against his skin when you gave him a squeeze, “Of course we did.”

And you might as well have still been that same nineteen-year-old who had left him food for supper after a night spent planning Dungeons and Dragons campaigns with his nephew, because you still managed to touch his heart after all these years, “You know… I think Eddie would be happy, to know y’all still cared about him.”

“We’ll always care about him, Wayne,” you’d tried to keep your breathing steady, while the baby in your lap cooed. “He saved Steve’s life, and… and he saved mine in more ways than one.”

You were glad the regret hadn’t been so audible in your voice this time, if only for the sake of the person you were supposed to have become by now. The truth, though, is that you could’ve been an entirely different person, if Eddie had been there to sit beside you. You’re sure Wayne already knows, though, how you would have answered the question, if Eddie ever had the chance to ask it.

But Hawkins had different plans.

— 💍 —

The ring is warm from a day’s worth of wearing it, as it sits in the palm of your hand. The ache in your heart is tethered to the band of it, and the knowledge of what you need to do doesn’t make actually doing it any easier.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, opening the drawer of your bedside table to place the ring there. You don’t know who you’re apologizing to. Is it Eddie, or is it yourself, for never having allowed yourself to move past this?

Any taste of happiness you have achieved these past seven years has always been tinged with the hint of grief, and that, well… That was only ever your fault.

There’s no more looking back. You can’t afford it, not after the events of this past week. Not when your marriage was nearly in shambles because of it.

You’ll have to choose, and really, Steve’s waited long enough.

— 💍 —

It took a couple of months, but you had effectively pushed everyone away. Distanced yourself from your friends, your family— too consumed by the grief of losing Eddie to do much else. The reality was, you were going through the motions of living, rather than actually living.

The worst part of it all wasn’t the senselessness of it. It wasn’t even the fact that Eddie had died trying to save a town that still hated him, that called him a murderer, a satanist, to this very day.

No, the worst part was the fact that the world kept on going without him. That you had to keep on going without him.

If you had been able to crawl into that empty casket all those months ago, you would’ve done it. Part of you wished you’d died beside him, back in the Upside Down. Many a night you’d cursed Vecna, the whole town of Hawkins, and even Steve, for the result of you being here today when he wasn’t.

It was as low as you’ve ever been in your life, those months immediately following his death, and maybe you were to blame for that. If you hadn’t been so verbal in your defense of Eddie, perhaps the people of Hawkins wouldn’t have turned their ire onto you. If you hadn’t made it so hard for the people around you to help you, maybe it wouldn’t have taken so long before Steve had all but forced his way into your apartment.

Seeing the state of neglect evidenced by the clutter of your home, only served to break Steve’s heart further, “You can’t go on like this.” He’d said your name in a pitiful way, but you hadn’t wanted his pity then. His pity only made you angrier.

“How am I supposed to go on, Steve?” you had been all teeth, biting back at the man who’d been your friend, even before Eddie had ever come into your life. “Like you? Like everyone else in this god-forsaken town that can just forget?”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Steve stepped towards you, and you’d avoided the hand he’d attempted to catch you with, pushing him away.

“You don’t care! No one cares about Eddie! He died for a town full of idiots who never even bothered to get to know him!” you shouted, “Eddie died for all of you and you didn’t even go to the funeral, Steve! The only people there were me, Wayne, and Dustin!” It’s not fair to blame him for everything, but he’s the only one trying, and that makes him the only one left to blame, “Why weren’t you there?!”

He doesn’t have an answer. Not one that he can tell you.

He can’t tell you that he didn’t go, because in some deep, dark part of himself, he was filled with some bizarre acceptance of Munson’s death. That, after the past year of watching you fall in love with Eddie while he’d been standing right beside you for even longer than that, Munson dying had been something he could never be completely bereaved about.

Steve had wanted to be the last man standing when it came to you, but never like this.

Not when you were left so broken in the aftermath of it. Not when he couldn’t pick up the pieces of you that were left without them being haunted by Eddie Munson.

So, he stayed silent, as you raged at him, knowing only how to reach towards you to pull you against him, letting you hit weakly at his chest as tears burst from your eyes all over again, “I’m sorry… I’m sorry.”

Munson just had to go and die, instead of breaking your heart in any other, recoverable way.

Steve knows it’s a selfish thought to have, before he even dares to think it, but as you dissolve into his arms, and he holds you so tightly to him that he’s afraid he might break you all over again, he can’t help himself.

“I’m here—” Steve’s breathing shook, “We’re here— Robin and me. You don’t have to do this all alone.” Your fists had relaxed against his chest, fingers instead grasping into his yellow sweater to hold onto him for dear life as you grieved against his shoulder.

It’s only the tip of the iceberg, when you finally managed to sob, “They… they vandalized my car.” The red spray-paint along the sides of your beat-up Chevy is nothing compared to the mountain of grief that threatens to rip you apart from the inside out, but you focus on the mistreatment instead. It’s easier to talk about, to blame your tears on how the people of Hawkins viewed you these days, rather than how utterly alone you felt without Eddie.

The ghost of his presence still lingered, even when his scent had faded from the shirts of his that Wayne had allowed you to keep, and with each passing day, you were terrified that his memory would fade, too.

So, you focus on the vile words they’d labeled you with, all because you’d dared to speak up. To tell them that they were wrong about Eddie Munson. That he wasn’t a killer, or a cult leader, like they all said.

Defying popular opinion was all it took to earn The Devil’s Whore scrawled along the side of your car in red paint, and as much as Steve wished he could make it all go away, this was too big for even him.

“I know… I saw,” Steve murmured, pulling you back just enough to watch you blink up through your tears at him, brushing the hair that stuck to your damp cheeks away, along with the tears. “Let me help you clean it off, okay?”

You felt far from okay, but you tried to swallow it down, and instead nodded, “Okay.”

— 💍 —

Turns out, Steve was the one out of the two of you who was truly capable of bottling up his emotions. He’d hid his hurt so well, so completely, that you’ve been so oblivious of it for all these years. Not realizing how your lingering grief had seemed to wound him, was perhaps your biggest regret.

It might sound stupid to be jealous of a dead man, but if it was stupid, then you were the worst of all for making him feel that way. For making him question the life you’ve made together— the life that Eddie can never give you.

When Steve had once talked about his dream of a white picket-fence life, filled with a brood of little Harrington children, you never quite thought you’d find yourself in the middle of it. You had been so foolish, back then, to have never realized that he was talking about you, when he told you about that dream.

You were just as foolish now, because how could you not have realized how in love with you he had been, even back then?

The thought that you’ve somehow tainted his dream, is the most excruciating heartbreak you’ve ever felt.

— 💍 —

When Wayne died, you were surprised to find he’d left you what little he had left. Years of grief and hard work could do damage to a heart, and his was more burdened than most.

Steve had helped as you made the arrangements, always the dutiful husband. By your side as you laid Wayne to rest beside Eddie, in that little cemetery you still visited to clean the tombstone which had seen more vandalism than any brick wall in downtown Hawkins. The two of your children who were old enough to stand beside you had clung to your black skirt, while you grieved the fact that they would never get to know how good a man Wayne Munson truly was.

It was a day that had brought back too many memories, and too much grief. Losing Wayne was losing Eddie all over again, because your final tether to that boy had been put in the ground, just like everything else.

You hadn’t realized that it had brought up memories for Steve, too, until it was too late.

Steve was generally a pleasant person, and in all honesty had been your rock for these past seven years. Through the immediate aftermath of day-to-day life without Eddie, to the nights you spent waking up in a cold sweat from the dreams of that night he’d died, Steve had been there. Through everything, he had treated you with this gentle, patient hand, but that night when you emerged into the kitchen of your suburban, white picket-fenced home, the patient, doting Steve was not the same man who sat at your breakfast table with a bottle of whiskey in his hand.

“I just put Eddie and the other kids down,” you had gone straight to the sink, moving to wash the dishes from your dinner earlier as you glanced towards your husband.

“His name is Edward,” Steve bit, the bottle in his hands almost empty, “Not Eddie.”

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you abandoned the dishes to march towards him, taking the bottle from his grip before he could bring it to his lips once again, “You really had to try to finish this bottle, today of all days? Wayne just died—!”

Steve reached for it again, snatching it from where you’d set it on the table, only to shrug as he took another swig, “I figured I’d finally take the excuse to.”

“‘Finally?’” you scoffed, placing your hands on your hips, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means,” he was angry, despite how his voice remained level, and you couldn’t for the life of you realize why. You’d been so blind.

“You need to put down the bottle, Steve. You’re not making any sense.”

“Maybe I’m just finally thinking clearly,” he starts, the chair scraping against the tile as he pushes back from the table to stand up, moving towards you. “All this time, I’ve had my blinders on. Thinking one day you’ll someday be over Eddie Munson, but it’s been seven years, so that’s never going to happen, is it?” His voice was rising, frustration in his dark eyes, mixing with a hurt that he’d kept from you so perfectly until now. “Shit, Wayne just died, and you’re still carrying that damn torch—”

“You’re drunk, Steve,” the disgust is evident in your voice, as you try to brush off his words with that simple excuse, but he just comes closer.

“And you’re in love with him still! You think I can’t see it?” Steve shouted, reaching out to grip your arm just enough to bring your left hand between the two of you, “You’re wearing his ring!” When you jerked your arm back, he let you go, though the fire in his eyes holds you still, “I’m your husband! Eddie never was!”

“You think I don’t know that, Steve?” the sting of his words drives your own brewing anger, and you’re past regulating your tone, “You think I don’t know that I never got to marry Eddie?!” You didn’t even realize how your words had slipped into the truth, aided by the heat of the moment and your fresh grief, “You make it so hard to love you sometimes, Steve!”

“That’s rich,” he scoffed bitterly, “considering our son is a constant reminder of how much you love Eddie Munson!”

He’s saying things that hurt just for the sake of hurting, but there’s a truth to his own words, just as much as there is to yours, “Don’t you dare act like this is all on me! Eddie was your friend, too, Steve!”

“Yeah, and I wanted you the whole time! I loved you first, don’t you realize that? I was there before him, and I loved you before Munson ever had the chance to,” the ringing in your ears was from more than just how loud the two of you had become, “But he was always your first choice, right? He still is!” Steve’s chuckle is dry, bitter, and you can smell the liquor on his breath as he steps even closer, “Sometimes I wonder, if Eddie had never died, would you have ever even given me a chance?”

“How can you even say that to me?”

“Tell me I’m wrong!” he was begging as much as he was fighting, venom dripping from his words in an attempt for you to feel even a fragment of what he had felt for far too long, “Tell me you’ve ever loved me as much as you loved him!”

You had been so taken back by his words, that you couldn’t say anything at all, but that was perhaps the worst thing you could’ve done.

If looks could kill, Steve’s glare would have buried you in that very moment, “Maybe if I’d been the one to die that day, Eddie would be the one standing here, having to wonder that same thing! I guess it’s a good thing he took the easy way out, becau—”

The sound of your slap had been just as loud as your shouting match, reverberating around the kitchen while his face turned a bright, angry shade of red. The palm of your hand stung, but not as much as the straining pain in your chest did, and as tears softly fell from your eyes, Steve knew he’d gone too far.

Sobered for the moment by your slap, regret washing through the both of you. You hadn’t truly meant to hit him, but you’d done it all the same. He hadn’t meant to say things so cruel, but the words had fallen from his lips with all the loose-tongued rage that liquor could fuel. In the beat that it takes for his dark eyes to cast upon you again, watching you cry in the middle of the kitchen of this house you’ve worked so hard to earn together, part of him wants to apologize, but there’s too much pride— and too much truth to his words, to allow it.

You turned away from him, intent on storming back to your bedroom, but the sight lingering in the open arch to the kitchen stops you in your tracks.

Your oldest son and daughter, standing there with wide, frightened eyes, look back at the two of you. So tiny in the doorway, and yet filled with emotions that were much too big for children of their age. You don’t know how much of your fight they’ve witnessed, but the pit in your stomach only swells at the thought that they’d seen any of it at all.

“What are you two doing up?” wiping your tears, you moved across the tile, picking your daughter up into your arms while you ushered Edward through the doorway, “Let’s get you back to bed.”

A glance was all you spared for Steve, and it was all you needed to see how wrecked he had been by your children's interruption. This wasn’t who either of you wanted to be. You couldn’t be these people you’ve become, not now.

Not when there was more at stake than just your shaky relationship.

He watched you leave the kitchen with the kids, before bringing a hand up to run through his hair, cursing as he leant on the countertop with the weight of the crushing grief that threatened to swallow him whole. When he reflectively brings the bottle up, to take another sip, he pauses, glaring at the amber contents within the glass, before turning towards the sink and dumping the rest of it there.

Eddie Munson’s been dead for years, and somehow he still feels like an obstacle between you.

— 💍 —

You buried Wayne days ago, now, and since then you and Steve have been dancing around the eggshells of the pieces of each other that you had stripped apart in the kitchen that night. Sleeping alone is something you haven’t been used to since before you married Steve, and you don’t like the feeling of the cold space beside you, knowing he’s on the couch instead. You know you can’t keep going on like this, not when there’s a whole life that you have left to live with Steve.

A whole life left to live without Eddie Munson.

Staring down into the drawer of your bed-side table, you take one last lingering glance at the ring there, and all it represents. All the missed chances, and the dreams that had died when Eddie did. Shutting the drawer, you instead reach for the wedding band that Steve had given you that day you’d been all dressed in white, and Robin had cried as your maid of honor.

When had Steve’s dream become your dream? Somewhere in the time you spent grieving the dreams you’d made with Eddie, certainly, but the truth was, you had fit yourself into this life just as easily as Eddie’s mother’s engagement ring had fit on your finger.

You were meant to be here, with Steve, and your little brood of Harringtons. In this life, you had only ever been meant to stand here as Mrs. Harrington. Whatever piece of you that had once wished to be Mrs. Munson would be buried beside him, because you can’t keep fighting for a past that will never exist again.

All you can do now, is hope that you haven’t already messed up the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

The sound of the bedroom door creaking open catches your attention, and you slide your wedding rings back onto your finger. It’s strange, and there’s a bittersweet absence that comes with the lack of your third ring, but the sight of Steve standing in the doorway quells any second-thoughts about what you know you have to do.

He swings the door awkwardly, listening to it squeak again, “I should probably fix that, one of these days.”

You know it’s his way of extending an olive branch. You’ve known him in ways you would never know anyone else, and you don’t want to lose him, all because of your past.

“Yeah,” you murmur softly, shifting on the bed as he comes closer hesitantly. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Steve makes to sit beside you on the bed, hands coming to his knees like if he doesn’t grip them he’ll risk reaching out to you. You haven’t felt this uncertain in years. Taking for granted just how sure you were of him, of how unconditionally he loved you.

You were done doing that.

“Steve, I’m—”

“I’m so—”

You both speak at the same time, words jumbling together until you huff out a chuckle, reaching to take his hand in yours, and he looks down, catching sight of the rings that reside there, “I don’t like fighting with you.”

“Does this mean,” his thumb brushes over your fingers, turning the ring, and the space where Eddie’s had once been, “I can pack my little rucksack and come home?” There’s a shallow tease on his breath, when his brown eyes dart up to catch yours, but there’s a worry in them. That’s what perhaps makes your heart ache the most, because you want to be as certain for him as he’s been for you.

“Yes, Steve. God, I’ve treated you so terribly, without even realizing it,” your voice shakes, and he gives your hand a squeeze with his own. “I love you. You asked me that night if I loved Eddie.” You try to even your voice, “Yeah, I loved him. I loved him with my whole heart, but,” you reach out, catching him by the side of his jaw, stroking your fingers against the fresh shave there, “I love you, too. This life we’ve created together, that’s something Eddie never can give me. You’re my husband, and Eddie…” Trailing off, you swallow thickly, before, “Eddie’s dead.”

“I’m sorry— I don’t want you to feel like I’m giving you some kind of ultimatum,” Steve starts, but you finish his thought before he can.

“There is no ultimatum, Steve. You’re the one here. You’re the one who’s always been here,” you try to fight the tears that well in your eyes, but you can’t help it. “You’re not a second choice. You’re the man I married, and you don’t have to apologize. I’m the one who’s been lost in the past.” Your hand falls from his face, onto the other that he holds, “Sometimes I do still feel like that girl who sat between you and Eddie, that day we were plotting to kill Vecna in his trailer, but I’m not her anymore. I don’t want to be. All I ever want to be now is your wife, and the mom our kids deserve.”

Steve lets out a shaky breath, relief evident on his face as he pulls you into his arms, “I’m sorry.” There’s a heavy emotion in his voice, and you finally let the tears fall as you hold him to you, “I’m so sorry for how I acted.”

“No, I’m sorry,” you pull back, when his lips brush against your forehead, seeing his own tears streaming down his face and reaching up to wipe them away, “I’m sorry for ever making you question the way I feel about you.”

Steve nods, pressing his forehead against yours with shut eyes, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you sigh, closing the distance to press your lips against his in a soft, slow kiss that you hope will seal this new chapter in your life with as much certainty as you abandon the last one.

As much as you’ll always have loved Eddie Munson, the version of yourself that you’ve become with Steve’s loving patience is the only life you want to live. At the end of the day, Steve’s the one who made you want to live it.

And you’ll never stop loving him, because he’s the one who saved you, over and over again.

Moving on was easier said than done, but if there was one person you would want by your side through the ugly thick and thin of it, it’s Steve Harrington.

[lab-trash]

Villian Arcane

This is the last chapter for a little bit, since it's the last one that I have completed. I have a really rough time writing on the weekends, so hopefully I'll be able to write more tomorrow.

Chapter List

Oliver didn’t share the fact that he knew where Marcus had been hiding out. 

Why should he? Marcus would’ve moved by now. Chase wouldn’t be there. It was fine. Oliver had no reason to turn over Marcus’s base. 

Oliver had a feeling the others were keeping something from him. That they knew something that he didn’t know. 

Normally he wouldn’t care that much, maybe he’d be a little bitter about it, but it felt more important this time. 

Maybe it was because of Marcus. He wanted to know as much as possible.

And in all honesty, when he overheard Kaz and Skylar talking, he didn’t know if it was on purpose or not. 

“Do you think Oliver might be easier on Chase if he knew?” Skylar asked. 

“Honestly, probably not. He’d probably be even worse on him, knowing how bad he’s been lately.”

Oh, fun, overhearing your supposed best friends talking about you like you’re a piece of trash. Lovely. 

“I hate to agree, but you’re probably right.”

“Plus, it’s not like there’s anything actually going on.”

“I disagree,” Skylar said, “I mean, you heard that radio transmission. There’s not nothing going on.”

Oliver fucking knew it. That was a bit upsetting, that they were just keeping this a secret from him. 

Sure, he did like Skylar, and he would be upset if they started dating, but he’d still want to know. 

“I just don’t think anyone should say anything about it unless we get him back.”

“Until we get him back, Kaz,” Skylar corrected sentimentally. Oliver couldn’t fight the urge to roll his eyes. “We’re getting him back. No matter how long it takes.”

“I know. I’m just afraid of losing him forever.”

“That won’t happen. Not right now at least.” Oliver heard two thuds that was probably Kaz punching Skylar in the arm, and Skylar punching back. “I’m serious though. You know Chase is coming back. I don’t think he’d let himself go without… y’know, saying it in person.”

“That’s sweet. And the annoying part is that you’re probably right. He’s such a sap.”

“It’s hard for him to get close with people. It makes sense that he’s so… sentimental about it.”

“I know,” Kaz said. He sounded happy about it. 

Oliver had enough. He wasn’t going to barge in on their conversation, so he just walked off. 

Fun fact about their entire apartment: It had a PA system. It was the same speaker system that set off their mission alert.

Bree’s voice rang out over it as Oliver was walking down the stairs. 

“Guys, new note, get down to Mission Command.” 

He heard Kaz and Skylar’s footsteps shuffle quickly, which made Oliver feel a bit annoyed since he wasn’t in too much of a rush. He supposed he should be, but it’s not like hearing from Marcus was very odd for him. 

They all went down in the hyperlift together, where the rest of their affiliates were; Bree, Davenport, Douglas and AJ. 

“What’s the new note say?” Kaz asked urgently, standing close to Bree. 

“‘I hear you’re missing your precious (former) leader. I don’t know why you keep looking for him, have I not been saying that you’ll get him back? (Seriously, have I not?) “And it’s not like you’ll find us anyway. Trust me, it’s impossible. I’m smarter than all of you combined. I could take another one of you away and you still wouldn’t be able to find us. “I don’t understand why you’re still trying. Just be patient.’”

“That’s what I’ve been saying!” Oliver exclaimed. 

“Yeah, agree with our current enemy,” Davenport muttered bitterly. 

“Like I’m known for being patient,” Kaz droned sarcastically. “Has Marcus never had friends? Does he just not understand… being attached to a person?” He asked, only half joking. 

“I mean, he liked his mom,” Douglas said with a shrug. “And he was pretty clingy at first. But I don’t think he ever had actual friends.”

“He hung out with Nico Alverez at school sometimes, but I don’t know if they were like… actually friends,” Bree added. 

“Where was this note?” Skylar asked.

“We found another place that he could be and had Bree go there.”

“Where was it?” Oliver asked as if he didn’t know.

“A base that Douglas used to share with Krane,” Bree said. 

“The last place they were was an old base of mine too,” Douglas commented. 

“Maybe that’s just where he’s staying,” AJ said with a shrug. “Going to different ones, maybe every day. How many bases did you have?” Douglas chuckled lightly.

“Several.”

“Do you remember where all of them are?” Bree asked. Douglas hesitated. 

“Yes,” He said, but it sounded a lot like a question. 

“So no,” Donald spoke up, earning a quick punch in the arm from his brother. 

“Well, get the coordinates for the ones you know the location of, and I’ll check them all,” Bree said. 

“I could probably get all of them, but it’ll take me a little longer,” Douglas said. 

“Start with the ones you know first,” Bree said. Douglas nodded as he began working again on the cyberdesk. 

“I wish we could get his location faster,” Kaz said with a sad look on his face. Skylar put her hand on Kaz’s shoulder and Oliver fought the need to grimace. 

“We all do,” Davenport said. “We’ll get him back.”

“That’s what he’s been saying,” Oliver muttered. 

In all honesty, Oliver definitely preferred life without Chase. He absolutely did not understand where everyone else was coming from when they talked about how they missed him. 

He really wasn’t looking forward to when he came back. 

He couldn’t just say that though. Everyone would hate him. 

That wouldn’t bode well for him. 

Oliver had mixed feelings about that, honestly. It’s not like they liked him anyway, and he was starting to not like them. But he still didn’t want to be on their bad side.

Not yet.

“Why can’t we track them actively?” Kaz asked, a bit uneasy seeming. 

“We can only track where a transmission came from, we can’t track the device itself,” Donald said. 

“Why not?” Kaz asked, “Didn’t you guys make the radio things?"

“Chase did,” Douglas said, “He’d know how, but we don’t.” Kaz sighed.

“Of course,” He muttered. “I guess we just wait until the next transmission.” Skylar shook her head.

“Have we had any luck finding Marcus directly? That was something you guys were working on, right?” She asked. Douglas sighed.

“I mean, I’ve been working on it, yeah, but no luck. Any identifying things I put in there must be long gone by now,” He said. “Giselle must’ve changed something, or maybe Marcus himself.”

“Marcus can change his own code and shit?” bree asked. 

“Yeah,” Douglas said, “If he automates it and then hooks himself up, then yeah. But he might’ve even found a way to do it wirelessly, since he’s got those supersmarts.” 

Oliver thought back to the base. There were wires everywhere, but that didn’t mean they connected to Marcus. 

“So that’s a dead end…” Skylar groaned. 

“Mostly, yeah,” Douglas said. Skylar scrubbed her hands over her face. 

Kaz sat down in a chair at the cyberdesk. He let his face squish against his fist. 

“What’s wrong?” Oliver asked, seeing the sadness in his eyes. Kaz moved his eyes to look at Oliver, filled now with anger instead of woe. 

He let out a hefty sigh before standing up and leaving through the hyprerlift. Bree followed. 

“Oliver, I know you don’t like Chase,” Skylar said, “But the rest of us do. You need to be more mindful of what you’re saying.” 

“I didn’t—”

“You did,” Skylar said. “Kaz is in a bad place right now. It’s not every day someone just disappears,” She said.

Douglas and Donald left the room, probably to avoid the drama.

“Kaz is unmedicated right now. Did you know that?” She asked. “His parents haven’t gotten him his medical information to give to a psychiatrist. Chase was his coping mechanism. Chase kept him happy, and kept him productive, and helped him relax. It wasn’t perfect, but it helped. Two years, Chase helped him so much. And now, he’s not eating. “He keeps forgetting to drink water, and he forgets to do anything that isn’t looking for Chase. It is the weirdest hyperfixation in the world, but it makes sense. And you saying stuff like that is basically the same as someone… I don’t know, lighting your comic books on fire. “That’s the closest I can think of,” She said. She paused. “Okay, no. It’s like if someone kidnapped me and kept taunting you about it. That is exactly what this is. Gain some sympathy, Oliver. We all know you hate Chase. But Chase tries for you, and we all try for you. It’s your turn now.”

And with that, she left. 

“She has a point,” AJ said, startling Oliver. He forgot he was there. He was sitting in a chair with his legs up on a cyberdesk like he usually did. 

“Damnit, man— why are you still here!” 

“Chase is my best friend,” AJ said, “The closest thing I’ve ever had to family. Your parents both left, you should know what it feels like to be alone.” He put his legs down, leaning forward, a fist on the table. “How did it feel when your dad went to England? That’s what I’d compare it to.”

AJ got up, opening one of the passage doors with his tablet, and walked through. 

Oliver’s sensitive to stuff like this. People he cared about talking to him like that. In that way that was like yelling, but wasn’t. That stern tone of voice. 

He’d start crying. He wouldn’t be able to stop. 

But he felt nothing right now. He didn’t care. 

Maybe it was because he knew Chase was okay. The yelling was empty. 

Not that his mom’s yelling matches had reason behind it. No valid reason, at least. 

Maybe Oliver’d matured, gotten over that trauma. 

Or maybe he stopped caring.

He pushed that thought away, taking a hefty breath before heading upstairs.

He attempted to enter the boys’ room, but it was locked. He didn’t even know the door could lock. He knocked quietly. 

The door opened quickly, Skylar behind it. 

“Skylar?” Oliver asked. 

“You’re sleeping on the couch tonight,” Skylar said. “Kaz wants to be alone.”

“But you’re in there.”

“I don’t count,” Skylar bit. “I’m not human.” Oliver huffed a breath.

“Fine,” He said. 

“Your blanket is on the couch,” Skylar said before shutting the door. The lock clicked. 

Oliver slept surprisingly well that night.

[harryfeatgaga]

saw some dude on some tik tok live shitting on harry and was talking about how he was going to film a fashion video tomorrow meanwhile the dude looks like he got lost in a kohl’s clearance section….let’s not speak on what we don’t know ❤️

LMFAOOOO BYE

Anonymous asked: Ben Affleck looked so miserable you could tell he and Jlo fought before the Grammys there’s a video of her scolding him and then laugh when she see the camera on them

HELPPKFJNUIK!??!?!?!

Anonymous asked: saw some tweet that was like “i’m just gonna look up harry’s racist tweets” as if that man didn’t only tweet song lyrics for years I just know whoever tweeted that hasn’t seen sunlight in days

literally bye good luck all ur gonna find is song lyrics

Anonymous asked: WAIT I LOVE HARRY LIKE IM HERE AS A HARRIE BUT IM ALSO HERE AS A DARKSKIN WOMAN SO "beyoncé’s fans are so fucking mean" AND BLAMING HER FOR STAYING SILENT IS NOT A COOL THING TO SAY. i'm saying this with kindness, but have y'all met harries. do y'all know HARRY? love him but when has he ever defended anyone his fans have come for? & as a white man it *IS* easier for him to speak up than it is for bey. all fandoms suck. lets not bring down a black woman lets just be happy for harry. thank you.

Anonymous asked: my last ask might be confusing sorry im responding to the anon talking about how beyonce doesn't do anything to stop hate and that somehow her rude fans means she is just as bad too. was not calling anyone racist in particular but i've just seen that sentiment a lot today and its made celebrating harry hard because it feels personal. idk why people can't ever celebrate harry without putting others down. beyonce was smiling and happy for him in the crowd

no yeah I dont think anon was blaming her I know I certainly wasnt but yeah it applies to all fandoms but hers are quite notorious for being....mean fbhcj she has a lot of male fans as well and men are just nasty so hfbhucjik as many other fanoms are aka swifties, bts and yes harries can be too absolutelyyyyy but yeah beyonce was literally happy for him people need to relax

Anonymous asked: ill get everyone trying to spread a false narrative adele did not leave everyone was happy for him and if people r mad about ben winston being a producer why do they not care about beyonces dad being a voting member of the academy and campaigning for her like first 20 grammys apparently

like as if ben has any actual say in the grammy winners themselves he just produces the show that is airing like

Anonymous asked: I just woke up and omfg the hate??? Ridiculous I feel like I need to cleanse my eyes. I can’t wait until Harry is out of the country so these uncultureds can leave him alone 😭😭😭

still havent seen too much and im glad so pls yall dont send it I really dont wanna see it lmao

Anonymous asked: I never thought I’d be telling her to gtfo of America like I need these people to leave him alone!!! Cant wait for him to shine at Brit’s and see no one pissed about it 😭😭

brits sweep incoming!!!

Anonymous asked: Fandoms hate Harry but their idols sure don’t

LITERALLY

Anonymous asked: i’m sorry but i’m still mad. does b deserve a grammy? yes. were a great majority of people dragging and not streaming renaissance at all? yes. if we’re going to war on somebody’s behalf, it should be uvst by bb because it objectively was the most streamed album of last year, but i fear twitter wouldn’t have liked that either bc a lot of twitter is still xenophobic as hell and refuse to listen to spanish music and it would’ve devolved into a conversation about “why didn’t they give bb the latin grammys instead?”, which would have been xenophobic too but in a lowkey “progressive” way so i’m glad harry won bc i really don’t think a b win would’ve really been appreciated by twitter at all anyway bc it would still be about how they dislike the album or its genre or whatever billion ways they’ve tried to drag renaissance this past year when it’s literally always been a gorgeous album that you should have been appreciating from the get-go but now want to pretend like you’ve always loved it bc you love to be victims and somehow snubbing an album that twitter didn’t like just bc you like the artist and they are deserving of a grammy in general is a ridiculous hill to try to die on when i truly think b wouldn’t have liked to win an album for something that wasn’t well-received either 🫠

im shocked I didnt know her fans didnt really like the album but yeah she deserved it bad after lemonade like we all been knowing the grammys are fucked up im.very happy for harry and all hs peers there last night including beyoce looked happy for him 🫶🏻

Anonymous asked: So many famous people or you know social media known people made memes out of Harry saying “stuff like this don’t happen to people like me” and literally almost all of them took it down within minutes lmao idk why but either is the power of harries, the power of Jeff or the power of Harry, they should all shut up and let him have his moment! Especially when they do nothing with their sad miserable life pretending to be famous because of Instagram, try getting a real fucking job!

GOODBYEEEEEEE

Anonymous asked:

the grammys were never gonna give aoty to something like renaissance🤷🏼‍♀️ i. can tell you the grammys hates giving awards to albums with that many producers and they loveeeee when there’s a smaller number of producers and writers( they’re weird)🤷🏼‍♀️🤷🏼‍♀️ with it fitting into a sort of niche the grammys (sadly) are not up to recognizing something that was made for the black queer community i think renaissance deserved the award the most tbh but what beyonce fans don’t understand is that there’s 10 albums in the category…. and most of them deserve to be there (coldplay and abba nope but anyways) and you can’t blame harry because he deserved the award as well you have to blame the grammys😭 because the truth is this year was a solid category and she should’ve won album of the year long ago for her self titled AND lemonade😭 and now they’re trying to find a way to blame him by tearing everything he’s said apart😭 because now people are expecting him to act as if he didn’t deserve the award??? when he completely did??? and beyonce she just sits there and cheers and she genuinely looks happy for everyone who wins and she’s not about what some of her fans are about😭😭😭

IM JUST SO TIREDDDDDDDDD THE AOTY WAS STACKEDDD EXACTLY LIKE YOU SAID FULL OF GOOD ALBUMS LIKE GOD

Anonymous asked: I’ve seen harries be equally as nasty when Harry looses things so I think everyone needs to realize that this stuff is not worth being a horrible person over because even though it’s online it still hurts. I hope a lot of harries will remember this feeling and not be so horrible to other artists so we can stop the hate circle

so true!!!

[goodmusic-goodsex-blog]

21st November, 2022

“I used to be more passionate” 

It’s been 1021 days since the last time I wrote something on this page and it’s 3:21a.m.

I read another entry I came across from almost five years ago when I was going through my first heartbreak with my first real love. I read it and felt sentimental towards myself. It’s always strange when that feeling happens. But I think it’s just another way of recognising that you aren’t the person who was experiencing those things, but you still remember the time fondly. and you certainly remember how it felt. but now it’s become so faded into the metaphorical fog of your own memory and your life that that’s all it is now. A distant memory of someone you used to be. as you age I think it’s easier to forget how naive you once were.

I’ve always been so critical about my own writing. I feel I have a lot to say but upon revisiting anything I’ve ever wrote it’s met with confusion. I’d like to think I could articulate my thoughts in the same way some of my favourite writers do. How is it when Patti Smith sat down to write her autobiography she was able to put words together in a way that shook me to my core and made me feel alive? Or how hauntingly beautiful the words of Bukowski are. Huxley. Nietzsche. I hope I get there one day. I hope that one day I reach a level of satisfaction in my own writing that I inspire myself. As I read the entry written by my past self, a version of me who ceases to exist but lives vicariously in my memory; I came to a revelation. That person felt so much more than the version of her that exists right now. She had so much to say and so much love to endure. She had so much to give and was ready for just about anyone to love her. That younger woman would’ve mistook falling in love as easily as someone could mistake salt for sugar. 

I couldn’t say I cared too much for the way I wrote the entry. It certainly wasn’t the next life changing piece of literature. However, it was filled with pain. Raw emotion. Empathy. Hurt. A realness to oneself. I feared that if I am so numb to the idea of vulnerability now that I won’t ever feel true depth in myself again like I did before. When I was young and stupid and naive. And if I can’t do that, then how will my writing ever be great? 

Maybe I’ll write about something else. My life, perhaps? But maybe I’m not that interesting. My life has hardly been about meeting Robert Mapplethorpe and living in poverty in the name of passion and art. Maybe I don’t have anything to say after all of that. 

Maybe I’m lacking inspiration. I hope I find my muse one day. Some lovers have come close to the title but have left me feeling empty and unsatisfied.

[hansolmates]

a hero’s journey (m)

summary; jungkook and jisoo are the mightiest power couple. however, one drunken confession and that whole facade fades in an instant. you realize that maybe you need to break from your unvaried life for a bit and be the hero of your own love story pairing; jungkook x editor!reader (f) genre/warnings; best friend’s boyfriend au, slice of life, angst with a happy ending because im weak, pining pINING, everyone’s kind of a mess in their own sweet special way, alcohol use, mentions of ze weed, toxic relationships, mean friends, sex—slight dom!kook, food play, fingering, squirting, heavy use of the petname “pretty girl” bc im weak, strength kink, manhandling (oop!) w.c; 22.2k a/n; woof! my first fic for @goldenclosetnetwork​ 23 | jungkook’s birthday project! this goes out to all the closet romantics *ahem me cough* who doesn’t love pining between a cutie koo? a huge thank u for vivi @eerieedits​ for making this bbbBEAUTIFUL fic banner!  

prompt used: “I should’ve known.”

if you like this fic pls consider giving a like n’share🥺💜🥺💜

It’s so easy to ignore the world. 

Maybe it’s a young-adult thing, but it gets difficult fitting into the 9-to-5 and playing to satisfy bosses that don’t entirely understand your work ethic. Maybe it’s out of complacency, or fear. But you prefer to let the world flow around you and when you’re needed, you’ll act. You’ve reached that point in your life where you enjoy the little things, satisfied by an extra hour of overtime tacked onto your paycheck, a new fabric softener, or finding the perfectly squishy yoga mat. 

You’ve finally started feeling comfortable in your shoes, uncaring as to whether you’re single or drowning in college debt, happy to live a relatively stable life. You’re grateful. There’s nothing more than you need than your happiness, and the love of your friends and family. 

Namely, your best friend from college. Jisoo always joked about how you two “won the lottery” as dorm rooms in freshman year were determined by lottery. Pulling numbers 883 and 884, you and Jisoo snagged a corner spot of the dormitory, leaving you two utterly cramped but utterly close as the years went by. Six years later and it’s still the case, the two of you have grown into talented working ladies. While you may not be able to spend time with each other the same way you did in school, you still care for each other. 

So when Jisoo shows up teary with a rumpled dress shirt and her hair waterfalling out of this morning’s bun, you break out the good alcohol and season three of Jane the Virgin for her. 

After the liquid is warm in your cheeks and you’ve fawned enough over Micheal and Rafael’s love triangle, you let Jisoo ramble. 

Jisoo has downed a whole bottle of soju on her own, while you’ve decided to have a tasteful glass of wine. You’d rather be tired wine drunk than wasted on soju. 

“Jungkook and I had a fight,” she warbles, stuffing a handful of popcorn in her mouth, “it was totally stupid.” 

Your eyes flash, picturing Jisoo and Jungkook in quarrel. They’re the epitome of an Instagram-worthy couple, beautiful and deathly charming to a fault. They show nothing but kindness and sweetness to you whenever you third-wheel, not a lick of anger between them when you’re all together.

So a fight is something surprising. Jisoo and Jungkook, J-squared are a power couple. Saying their names next to each other just emits a sort of energy you can only akin to famous small screen couples like Troy and Gabriella or Cory and Topanga. Jisoo’s Instagram is belly full with sweet selfies of them together, the doe-eyed man always looking completely sweet and gentle to the woman in his arms.

You never piqued Jungkook as the type of guy who would pick a “stupid fight.” And you know Jungkook pretty well. 

Maybe a little too well. 

“He surprised me during my lunch break and he caught me talking to Doyoung and he thought I was flirting,” Jisoo is practically eating her sweater, her head falling between her flannel pyjama sleeves. 

“Doyoung, as in your ex Doyoung?” you raise a brow. 

She groans, glaring at you in earnest. “Not you, too! I told him it was ridiculous to get jealous, and then I told him how jealous I get when he’s around girls and I don’t need to tell him that,” she rolls her eyes, twisting her feet petulantly in her fuzzy socks, “but then you know what he says back?” 

You wince, swirling your wine glass, “That you’re crazy?” 

“That I’m crazy, exactly! How did you—” her bloodshot eyes zero in on you, where you’ve tucked yourself in the corner of the couch. You swirl the ruby liquid in your cup, watching the feet web around the cheap crystal, “you think I’m crazy too, don’t you?” 

You swallow your sigh, taking your time to finish your liquid in languid sips. Uneasy, you wish you could just sink through the couch in order to avoid this conversation. Jisoo’s heart is generally in the right direction, but in terms of emotions she has the kind of sensitivity that you prefer to ignore rather than tread. Jungkook is also equally emotional, but in a different way. He wears his heart on his sleeve, preferring to keep things straight as opposed to bottling it up like Jisoo. 

However the theoretic bottle has reached it’s brim and Jisoo’s tipping, fast. 

“I need to tell you something,” Jisoo is swerving, crawling like an infant on wobbly limbs to reach your corner of the couch. You almost stop her, tell her you can continue this conversation in the morning, it’s what you normally do when she drinks into a stupor. But tears are swimming in her glassy caramel eyes and she’s grappling onto your blanket, resting her head in her lap. 

Her glossy russet strands curtain her head, so you don’t see the expression on her face when she says her next words: 

“Jungkook told me he liked you senior year, and I told him you weren’t interested so I’d have a chance.” 

Wow. So that explains everything.

The memories that you’ve tried so hard to brush away, the feelings you’ve tried so hard and continue to try to suppress, are laid out in front of you on a rusted platter. You could laugh, you could fling the rest of the Pinot Grigio down your throat like fresh water on a hot day and call it a night. 

But instead you choke back your tears, and push her off because you’re hurt.  

Deep down you know you would’ve been less upset if she told you the week after Jisoo and Jungkook called it official. If you knew from the beginning, it would’ve been easier on your heart. But it's been over two years since the past, thinking you’ve been needlessly, stupidly, delusional in thinking that you could’ve possibly had a chance with Jungkook.

Because it could’ve been you. And the reason why Jisoo and Jungkook fought today? Now you know it’s because deep down, they know they’re each other’s second choice. 

You can’t even recall a time where Jungkook and Jisoo were together alone before they suddenly started dating, remembering how it used to be you and Jungkook before Jisoo found him one day in your shared apartment, utterly smitten. And now you know you weren’t delusional, because the feelings and the signals you two were exchanging in senior year was real. 

But it doesn’t stop the fact that over two years have passed. Two years of a serious relationship between Jisoo and Jungkook, and two years of you secretly loving him from an arm’s length. 

“You hate me,” Jisoo removes herself from you, voice trembling. The quick, dark part of your mind wants you to snap back of course I hate you. You’ve trusted Jisoo with your life all these years, she was the reason you got through college so gracefully, why you enjoyed the past seven years of your life. 

But the sentiment is stained, and all you can do is deliver a tired smile and stand up. “I don’t hate you,” you say, “I’m just, really overwhelmed. I can’t lie and say that I’m not hurt,” your fingers clutch the fake crystal in your grasp, and for once you’re thankful you’re not strong enough to break it, “but you two love each other now and there’s no point in dwelling in the ‘what-ifs’.” 

Now that you think about it, when was the last time Jisoo treated you like a best friend? You stare at your wine glass, thinking that the only time comfort is provided in this apartment is when Jisoo is upset, never when you’re upset. 

Jisoo bobs her head senselessly, agreeing to every word. It’s pathetic, seeing her on her knees and her eyes glimmering with the hope that you’d forgive her straightaway. She must feel awful. That’s good.  

You sigh, needing to be the bigger person. “You need to call Jungkook and tell him he has nothing to worry about though, after all, you two have history now. As much, if not more than Doyoung.” 

“Right,” she replies, biting her lip. It suddenly feels like you're talking to a wall, carrying a conversation that's long ended.

“As for us,” you have half a mind to slam your glass on the counter, but instead you give it a heavy hand, letting slowly thump to the coffee table, “I don’t think I want to see you two, for a while.” 

“Understandable.” 

“And I don’t want to help you move out anymore,” I just want you gone.  

“Right,” she whispers. The both of you will be completed with your lease in two months, and Jisoo and Jungkook have decided to move into Jungkook’s apartment. As for you, you haven’t decided as to whether you want to go through the whole process of moving out or looking for a new roommate. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so so fucking sorry. I just was insecure as fuck in college and Jungkook was the first person I met in a long time that helped me feel more… like me.”

You want to say that she's right, she’s selfish. Her excuses aren’t palpable anymore. It’s too late. But if you were in Jisoo’s shoes, you’d think this apology is mere crumbs in comparison to your friendship. Why isn't she trying harder? Maybe because she doesn't know any better. After all, you never told her what you felt for him has morphed into love. 

You don’t even have to ask as to whether she’ll tell Jungkook this or not, you now know honesty is not her style. 

Jisoo doesn’t get a goodnight and a drunken kiss on the forehead like she usually does whenever you two have your late night talks. Instead, she seals herself to her own demise as you slam the door to your bedroom, effectively shutting each other out. 

Work is a bitch the following morning. You’re like molasses, rolling out of bed despite the whole world and its mother telling you to go back to sleep. 

Your feet are killing you as you make your walk to work, deciding to wear a pair of red-backed heels so you can stomp your way through your day. 

Your Wusband (Work-Husband) Kim Namjoon matches you step-for-step, eyes glued to his phone as he catches you on the sidewalk. “Woman on a mission,” he comments absentmindedly, eyes glued to his phone as he follows the click of your shoes to your favorite cafe. 

You spare a glance to your right hand-man, eyeing him appreciatively at his dedication to your morning routine. He’s your favorite co-worker, one who keeps you on time to your meetings and keeps you sane when you want to pull your hair out and dig out a coffin in your little cubicle. Namjoon’s long legs always seem to catch up with you during your workweek, whether it’s to get coffee in the morning or to talk shit about the latest gossip in the breakroom. 

The bell of the glass door tinkles in your ears as you enter the café, relatively busy for the morning rush. While you wait in line, Namjoon ticks off your activity list for today. 

“Meeting with Victoria is cancelled this morning,” you groan in relief, your supervisor Victoria always scares the shit out of you even when she’s not doing anything, “and just the usual proofing and whatever we have to do on the third floor today—can I get a large iced Americano with a pump of caramel? Thanks,” Namjoon moves aside so you can throw your order in as well, “and after work could you stop by Vernon’s? He took a sick day today and he has most of the manuscripts for the next issue.” 

“Done and done,” you swipe your card in the dip, tucking your card away in your zippered pouch. “So like, do Americanos taste any good? Like it’s literally watered down espresso how do you pay to drink watered down tar—” 

Jungkook’s at the pick-up counter. Jungkook’s at the pick-up counter swirling stray sugar crystals with his thumb and putting them in his napkin. What an impeccable display of Virgo energy, absentmindedly cleaning things he has no business doing. You scoff to yourself, recalling this morning that Jisoo got off the phone this morning with a stupid smile on her face. From the mirror image that Jungkook is excluding while he’s smiling on his cellphone like a smitten teenager, it seems like they’ve made up. 

Nevertheless the hurt from last night is still fresh in your bones, and you force yourself to look away despite the fact that your morning pick-me-ups are almost done and are sitting tauntingly next to Jungkook’s elbow. Does he really need to learn against the counter like he owns it? Hair slightly damp from the shower, your heart beats a little faster at the fresh image.His biceps are straining against his charcoal lycra long sleeve, which is slightly damp from his morning run. Snap out of it! You are a mature, working woman who does not swoon in the view of bulgy muscles, especially when the man who owns those muscles is taken. Suddenly there’s a call of your name, and two cups and a paper bag are put in front of Jungkook. 

He blinks, and you immediately pale when you see his eyes flit over your name surrounded by your favorite coral pink beverage. You feel struck as his head perks up at the name and he narrowly makes eye-contact—

“The fuck you’re doing,” Namjoon gripes, shoving your guava iced tea and croissant in your chest, “standing there like a moron as if we don’t got shit to do today.” 

“Sorry,” you mumble, pulling at the brown paper bag to tug a piece of croissant between your teeth. The warmth, buttery pastry melts in your tastebuds. Ah, bread. Nothing like a little bit of carb to make you feel better. 

You’re suddenly thankful for Namjoon’s gargantuan torso from effectively blocking you from Jungkook, hauling you out of the coffee shop like a petulant toddler. He doesn’t even give you a chance to catch another secret look at the object of your affections, making sure you’re back in your work game before you enter the building. Even if he doesn’t know it, Kim Namjoon’s always got your back. 

Or in today’s case, breathing down your back. 

Without your third editor and a hard deadline coming up by the end of the week, you and Namjoon are working in tandem throughout your 9-5 to complete drafts for Big Hit Publishings Arts & Media section. Both of you take turns to bring snacks and feed each other, feeling like reading zombies and slaves to your desk as you remind each other to breathe throughout the whole ordeal. 

In complete honesty you don’t totally mind. Namjoon is a great partner-in-crime, and you both love what you do and do a damn good job at it. You call it “Buzzfeed but with Benefits.” 

And at least for today, you could quell the feelings in your chest from last night and this morning. Sure, you’ve always been okay with the pining you’ve had for Jungkook. The feeling comes and goes whenever it pleases, and since yesterday you’ve been okay with just admiring from afar and being their third wheel. 

However, now the feelings are acutely comparable to a third-degree burn with the help of Jisoo playing with fire. 

With a quiet exhale, you concede in your gaming chair (because it’s just so damn comfy to keep in the office.) You’re an adult and not a petty child, and you will not let this piece of information derail you from your calm, stable lifestyle. 

But honestly? Fuck Jisoo. 

“Let’s go, buckaroo,” Namjoon logs off for you, the cinnamon-y smell of his shampoo effectively waking up your senses, “it’s already 5:30. And you said you’d stop by Vern’s to get his drafts.” 

“Right,” you blurt, mindlessly putting away your papers and snack wrappers in your bag. You can’t believe the whole day’s gone already. 

“Maybe you don’t even have to go to his apartment. Just text him or whatever.” 

“Sounds good, thanks Joonie.” 

“And y/n?” Namjoon gives you a look that causes you to force a terse smile, one you give one too many times to higher-ups at work. It isn’t to insult Namjoon by any means, but you guys are partners, the kind that tell way too much but hide just enough to remain close from afar. “Take it easy, will you?” 

“I will,” you concede, stretching your arms, “I’m def overdue for a massage.” 

“You don’t look sick,” you scoff, taking in the casual look your co-editor boasts as he leans casually against the doorway. 

Hansol Vernon Chwe is the epitome of fluffy, decked out in large electric blue sweats and his russet brown hair curling softly above his porcelain skin. Not only is he your co-editor, but also a friend from college. Not to the extent that you were with Jisoo and Jungkook, but you operated in the same publishing club and managed to get partnering internships that made you the co-workers you are today. You see a little bit of that collegiate youth in Vernon right now, as he looks well-rested and fresh faced despite the fact he probably didn’t apply moisturizer or drink enough water today.

“But you kinda do,” he tilts his head, noting the heels that adorn your feet, “you’re wearing your sexy shoes today, that means something’s going on.” 

“Gee, ever the ladies’ man,” you scoff, getting under his arm to invite yourself inside, “all I want is the completed interviews so we can pick out the best parts and draft them. Then I’ll be on my merry way.” 

“Oh c’mon, we’ve been talking nothing but work this whole damn month. What happened to college when we’d talk hours about House Hunters, the safeness of library sex, that little furry thing in Lincoln Hall’s urinal? That was prime conversation.” 

“Vern, I’m just here for the drafts,” you sit at his tiny kitchen table, glaring at his open laptop.  

“You could’ve just emailed me,” he teases, twisting around his chair so he can rest his arms against the back. “But since you’re here, that means you probably wanna spill some tea but you’re too upset to admit it.” 

“If I talk will you stop talking like that?” 

“Yes. Give me the juicy details. Need some juicy juice.” 

“Nevermind, get out of my apartment.” 

“Uh, this is my apartment.” 

“My point still stands,” you make another face at his outfit, “you look like the blueberry girl from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.”  

Vernon purses his lips, scooting his chair closer to yours. He’s unfazed by your insult, far used to your defenses being higher up than Fort Knox. He looks up at you with his pretty lashes and deceivingly sweet caramel eyes, leaning his head along the backrest. “C’mon, tell me what’s bothering you,” he says in a gentle tone, coaxing you open. 

He always knew how to do it for you, a little bit of sweet talking and that clear open gaze always reduced you to shreds in university. For him, it always took a good meal and some sci-fi movies to get him to talk. That must be why you’ve stayed friends for so long, you two knew how to connect. 

Finally you crack, kicking off your shoes and hoping the sharp end doesn’t land on his cat. You hear Luna meow in protest but she’s got great reflexes. Unbuttoning the first three buttons of your stuffy blazer, you air out your cleavage, not caring about Vernon’s gaze. He’s seen worse. 

“Remember Jeon Jungkook? Majored in graphic design.”

“Ah, yeah. The guy who like, lived at the gym and the dining hall? Haven’t seen him in a minute,” his eyes seem to glaze over the glory days, reminiscing in the simultaneous safetynet and stressor that made up your early twenties, “didn’t you guys hit it off real well? Like I remember you ditched like—three sci-fi nights to study with him. Who even studies at 1AM?” 

“Yeah, we did,” and you can’t help but frown at as you remember the 7-Eleven runs, the utter warmth you felt when he would wipe a stray rice grain off your cheek, and how happy you felt to laugh so much with him it hurt, “but uh. Jisoo got drunk last night, because they had a fight. And she sort of admitted to me that she sabotaged our relationship and told Jungkook I wasn’t interested in him so they could start dating. Two years later and here we are.” 

A pause. And then, “Want a beer?” 

Vernon doesn’t even wait for a response when he gets up, bare feet slapping against the tile as he prepares some drinks and snacks for you. 

“That’s pretty fucked up,” he practically sing-songs among the cacophony of popcorn pop-pop-popping in the microwave. The aroma of buttery kernels is all but a relief, reminding you of movie matinees, “and like, she knew you liked him! It was totally obvious, even if you didn’t spell it out for her.” 

“Yeah,” you practically gushed to Jisoo those past two months, every waking moment with heart-eyes over the talented graphic designer Jeon Jungkook. 

“I can’t believe Jisoo would keep that a secret from you for so long. Like, can you even trust her anymore?” 

“Don’t know, was she even my bestfriend or was I just a good roommate to her?” you ask. Vernon is holding two beers in one hand and a bag of popcorn by the tips of his fingers in the other, careful to not burn himself. Opening the beer for you, you thank him and take a long swig.

“Well, good thing you’re still not in love with him or whatever. That would really suck. Unless—”

The look on your face says it all. You’re practically snotting into your bottle, your face tucked into your chin as you fight hard to stop the tears you’ve been suppressing for the last two years. “Don’t give me your pity,” you garble, turning away from the sad look Vernon gives you as he wraps his arms around you. 

The tears are soft and gentle, flowing freely onto the cotton of Vernon’s arms as you let it out. 

“‘M’not,” he concedes, rubbing his chin into your neck. He really is a lot like Luna, just like his  cat ready to give you affection. “Let’s just, get some take-out and watch Hamilton or something.” 

He lets you wear his matching sweat suit, lime green, as you order Thai food and rap along to Hamilton’s sick beats. Vernon does a better job keeping the flow, but you’re having a good time being his hype man as he parades around the living room like it’s 1776. 

You go home that night around ten o’clock, feeling noticeably lighter and more relaxed. Be that it may you are still wearing the sweatpants and heels ensemble, you feel comforted. 

The apartment is quiet when you walk in, not a single light turned on. You get a slice of the city lights bleeding in from the organza curtains, which allow you to kick off your heels and hobble to where you think the kitchen counter is. 

Today is Jisoo’s day to cook dinner. You can tell she decided to cook today from the faint smell of Japanese curry and a small unwashed plate in the sink. Whenever it was someone’s turn, they usually left an extra bowl or serving in it for the other roommate when they got home. Unsurprisingly, you find no such thing on the counter or in the fridge. 

You’re not upset, but rather decided. If Jisoo is going to let your friendship fade off with no intention of redeeming herself, then you should give her the same amount of energy back. You realize now the apology she gave last night wasn’t for you, but empty words to make her feel better and mend whatever toxicity she’s created in her own relationships. People like Namjoon and Vernon reminded you that you didn’t need to try and earn other people’s friendships. 

It’s disappointing, but the feeling is all but too familiar. 

If you could describe Jisoo as anything, it would be the color pink. Blushing, beautiful, beguiling pink. The way she flushes when Jungkook does an uncalled for grandiose gesture of romance, or when she wears a hot magenta number when she’s hosting a fashion show. Jisoo is the personification of La vie en rose, unbothered and unabashed.  

But now all you see when you think of Jisoo? Nothing but red. 

With that, you go in your room and untack the polaroid of you and Jisoo at the carnival last month, putting it away in your junk drawer to be forgotten. 

“You’re running away.” 

“Am not.” 

“Are too,” that interjection comes from Vernon’s roommate, Jung Hoseok. He’s been watching you two bicker over work for the past hour while he plays GTA5, failing to get a good hard carry because you and Vernon are too busy discussing whatever finishing touches you need on your final draft. 

“No one asked for your opinion, Jung,” you throw over your shoulder. 

“I’m just saying,” Hoseok flicks his wrist and nabs a tank, “you never wanna go home, you eat all our food, and I found your pyjamas in my laundry basket.” 

“You said your basket was the blue one,” you hiss under your breath. 

“The navy blue one,” Vernon chirps unhelpfully, “not the electric blue one.” 

Hoseok hits “save” on his campaign, disconnecting from his PS4 and stretching his lean limbs. “I mean, we could use a third roommate,” Hoseok jokes, getting up from the couch and grabbing a handful of M&Ms from your bowl, “you do make a bomb mac n’cheese.” 

“Appreciated,” you relent when Hoseok presses a kiss to your cheek and tells Vernon he’ll be back late working, leaving you and Vernon alone in their shared apartment. When Hoseok is gone, you stare at the door, tilting your head, “y’know,” you remark, “Hoseok’s a cool guy, why did I never hang out with him in college?” 

“Because he was stoned the majority of senior year and you just didn’t vibe with that crowd.” 

“Oh, yeah.” 

“But, you’re trying to change the subject,” Vernon carefully untacks your hands from your keyboard, knowing that you two have already been done with this month's issue and you’re now just mindlessly re-reading emails. “You’ve been here since Thursday, and now it’s Saturday. And as much as Hoseok and I like having you around so you can wake me up before we go to work, it’d be nice to throw me a bone and let me in on what you’re thinking right now.” 

You frown, noting Vernon’s large hand covering your laptop closed. He isn’t going to remove his hand anytime soon unless you talk. “Jungkook’s helping Jisoo pack up her half of the apartment this weekend and I don’t want to be there,” you say, short and simple. 

“You miss her?” 

“Yeah,” you admit honestly. You hate this version of yourself, unable to even look at Jisoo nowadays despite the fact you’re under the same roof for the remainder of the month. It’s hard to believe that the roommate from six years ago finally got under your skin, cancelling out all the years of friendship because of one silly relationship, “sad she doesn’t want to be my friend anymore.” 

“Did you talk about it?” 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you reply despondently, “if she cared at all she would’ve to apologize again by now.”

Vernon figures, and his neutral expression doesn’t change as he leads you to the couch, brushing away Hoseok’s things so you two can get comfy. You busy yourself with the remote, exiting the PS4 homepage to scroll Netflix. 

“And are you trying to get over him?” 

“I mean, yeah,” you have been, but it’s a little hard when you’ve been contentedly pining. It was easy to keep your feelings bottled up because you originally thought Jisoo and Jungkook were meant to be for each other for the past two years. Now you're still pining but ruefully bitter at Jisoo.

“It’s not fair, y’know. She broke girl code, bros before hoes. Or is it chicks before dicks?” Vernon shakes his head at his lame attempt to get you to smile, which works anyway because Vernon’s silly and his sense of humor always gets you a little loose. “It’s your house too, you shouldn’t feel like you don’t belong there.” 

“Well I was supposed to help her move out this weekend, and I’d prefer it if Jungkook didn’t know what was going on.” 

“What?” your friend furrows his thick brows together, tucking his hands under his knees as he leans into your stubborn expression. “You’re gonna let Jungkook go on with his life not knowing that his relationship is based on a lie. That’s not cool. Even if you’re into him, he’s still your friend.” 

Damn, when did Vernon get so good at giving advice? Truth is Vernon’s always been good at dishing advice, you’ve just been privy to what you wanted to reveal to him. The first year or so being together outside of college was always about work, saving each other’s asses to ensure you two got that promotion and aim higher and higher. Now that goal is out of the way, and what better way to reconnect over some shoddy romance straight out of a Degrassi special? 

“I know,” you hug your knees tight to your chest, “when I’m ready, okay?” 

“Okay,” he agrees, because he’s not a pusher, “do you know the best way to get over someone?” 

“What?” 

“The best way to get over someone, is to get under someone," he emphasizes that point with his hands, sliding one under the other with a wiggle of his thick brows.

You slap him on the shoulder, “Vern, you disgust me.” 

“But it works!” 

“I’m not going on Tinder to find a fuckbuddy.” 

“You don’t have to look on Tinder or Tumble.” 

“Bumble.” 

“Whatever,” and his eyes flicker to his lap, where his pale fingertips turn red as he grips the edge of a throw pillow. "If you really don't wanna find someone, I can help." 

Is Vernon offering himself up? He is offering to fuck your brains out in the hope that you could inevitably fuck out your interest in Jungkook? Your eyes flicker over to Vernon's form on the couch, who's tucked in the couch just as you are. 

It’s true that you find Vernon attractive, and to some extent he definitely finds you attractive as well otherwise he wouldn’t have suggested the idea. It’s just that in college you never viewed him in that kind of light, probably because you were always so caught up in Jungkook. But tonight you can’t seem to ignore the eagerness hidden in Vernon’s carmine gaze, and how shiny and touchable his chocolate locks look under the setting sun. 

“I don’t want our friendship to change,” you reply slowly, furrowing your brows. “I appreciate it, but I don’t know. It sounds like a temporary fix.” 

“Can’t knock it if you don’t try it,” and out of curiosity, you don’t shy away when Vernon leans over to you, squeezing himself between the couch so he can tuck you in his arms. “I want to help you, but only if you want to.” 

Maybe it’s the frustration you feel with Jisoo, Jungkook’s ignorance, or the fact that you haven’t felt physical pleasure in such a long time, but you soften into Vernon’s hold. He’s relaxed, nothing betraying him as he waits patiently for your answer. You’ve always admired how much he kept up his “cool as a cucumber” demeanor. He isn’t the type of guy to let life pass him by, but he’s the kind of person who walks along life, embracing the ups and downs like old friends. He’s the ocean waves that crest along the shore, pushing and pulling along without a care in the world. 

He’s the textbook opposite of Jeon Jungkook, which is why you give Vernon the okay to lean in and press his lips against yours. 

His kisses are soft, and he takes great care in making sure you’re comfortable with this new step in your relationship. It almost feels as if you’re cutting corners, and you can’t help but feel a little guilty that you revel in the way Vernon’s hands trail under your too-large t-shirt. 

The pleasure you’ve ached for is there, bubbling low in the pit of your belly. It’s hard to get you out of your mind however, because this man isn’t the one you love. His kisses hold no power, only brief reprieve. Your heart doesn’t palpitate and your palms don’t sweat, you’re just languid. 

You’re greedy and selfish, but you remind yourself that it’s okay to allow yourself of these freedoms, even for a little bit. As Vernon finds your sweet spot that has you rolling your hips against his, you find that temporary fix isn’t a bad start at all. 

When you trudge back to your apartment that night after much reluctance, your face is still flushed and you think you smell a little too much like Vernon’s cologne. But the fact that still stands is that you're satiated, and you feel a tiny percent closer to moving on. 

The television is glowing with a terrible reality TV show, angry brides upset over cake layers or whatever. Jungkook and Jisoo have fallen asleep on the couch, surrounded by half-empty boxes. Jungkook has his arm lazily over Jisoo, her petite body fitting perfectly between his chest and the crook of his neck. 

You scoff when you spy Jisoo's bedazzled manicure digging into Jungkook's bicep, as if someone's going to take him away if she doesn't hold tight.

With stiff muscles you spare one look at Jungkook, ignoring the pang in your chest as you weave between boxes to turn the TV off. Barely an iota of your feelings have dissipated since your previous tryst with Vernon not an hour ago. Looking at Jungkook brings it all back, unfortunately. You suppose the feelings will pass with time. The soft hum of the television ceases, and you’re bathed in a room that feels dark and empty, despite the apparent life in the room. 

There’s some bleary talk coming from the couch as you walk to your bedroom, and if Jungkook is sleepily mumbling your name in question, you pretend you don’t hear. 

“So, where’s y/n? I thought she was going to help us pack.” 

It’s an innocent enough question, as Jungkook scans the corner of the living room hallway that leads to the bedrooms. You haven’t come out yet. He knows that you love sleeping in on the weekends, but he hopes the smell of fresh food will coax you to the table. His pan is sizzling in protest, telling Jungkook to quit talking and flip the hashbrowns. He's fried up three, in the hopes you’d be up for some crispy potatoes. He knows how much you love potatoes, especially at 2AM when you’re craving fries and a McFlurry combo. 

Instead Jisoo mutters, “You toasted too much bread, you know I don’t eat bread like this,” she’s pulling slice by slice out of the toaster, until there’s a stack of six golden toasts in the middle of the kitchen table. 

A little part of him wishes to quell the precursor to the argument there. It would be so easy for Jungkook to say, “the extras are for me” because he’s trying to gain weight, and that would be that. 

Instead he continues with his unanswered question and replies honestly, “I made extra toast for y/n, babe. She was supposed to help us pack but I haven’t seen her all weekend.” But he’s pretty sure you came home last night, unless that was his imagination. 

Jisoo pulls a carafé of apple juice out of the fridge, pouring the amber liquid into two glass cups. “Ah, she said she had some last minute things to do for work. Y’know, Big Hit always wants a big hit.” 

He chuckles, tilting his head as Jisoo gives him a small smile from the kitchen table. Jisoo is always good at cheesy jokes. “She must love her job, huh.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Her articles are really good, too,” the air smells like butter and Italian seasoning, as he places one hash brown on Jisoo’s plate, and two on his. He knows you edit in the Arts & Media section, and loves how you make it a point to include video games and modern graphics when it’s deemed appropriate. “She did a piece on the evolution of RPG and I thought her commentary was really spot-on.” 

He brings breakfast over to the table, while Jisoo places two slices of toast on his plate, one buttered and one with strawberry preserves. Breakfast is a quiet, but peaceful affair. Jungkook takes note of how Jisoo takes extra long to complete her meal, her fork creating ribbons in her little blob of magenta jam. He allows himself to complete his first hashbrown and a slice of toast before asking the difficult question. 

“Are you and y/n okay?” and he also takes note when Jisoo’s ministrations on her jelly stop, as she looks up at him with her big brown eyes. 

“We’re fine,” she insists, “just normal roommate issues, I promise.” 

“Maybe I should text y/n,” Jungkook says, pulling out his phone. “Lemme help you fix this, wouldn’t want you and her in a bad place when you’re about to move out.” 

“Baby, why are you so concerned about y/n?” Jisoo croons while his thumb hovers over your contact, his screen showing a two-year old selfie you two took during a study session early on in your friendship. He can’t remember the last time you two took a picture together out of spite, one without Jisoo. Jisoo’s hand pulls him away from his phone, rubbing small circles between his palm. 

He wants to ask, why aren’t you? But he sees the terseness in Jisoo’s smile, as her eyes fix between the interlocked fingers. He has a feeling he’s hovering somewhere he isn’t allowed to be in. Maybe it really is roommate stuff and it’s none of his business, but he feels a little insulted being left out because you and Jungkook are just as much best friends as you were in college. 

Or are you? 

This question plagues him throughout the day, and when Jungkook packs enough boxes for the weekend and says he needs to go home, Jisoo for once doesn’t argue. Normally Jisoo would cling to him like a koala, murmur simultaneously adorable and dirty things in his ear and lead him to her bedroom to coop up for hours on end. But Jisoo says she’s tired and needs some alone time, which is also fine. 

He doesn’t feel like going home, and instead heads straight to the gym. A couple pumps wouldn’t hurt, and it would clear his head. It’s nearly five in the evening when his body is thrumming with the afterglow of his post-workout, and he decides to take a little cool down in the mall and treat himself to a smoothie. 

It must be kismet when he sees you coming out of the bookstore, looking a little winded but no less professional in your beige blazer set and rose gold iPad. Whenever he hung around your apartment with Jisoo and you’d come home from work, he’d make it a point to acknowledge your plethora of multicolored skirt-suits. He never needs to be professional in his place of work, and admires how much effort you put in. 

“Hey!” he jogs up to you, and he catches the way your shoulders jump at his voice. “We missed you today.”

Your smile curls into something dry, and you twist your spine like rusty hinges to face him. In turn, his smile dims a little, wondering if he’s doing something wrong. Maybe you’re tired? He catches the line of sweat that glistens your baby hairs, and how your hair is done up but has fallen a few centimeters with some pieces falling out. 

“Jungkook,” you exhale, “lifting boxes wasn’t enough of a workout?” 

“You know me,” he replies stiffly, hiking his backpack higher upon his shoulder. Why does this conversation feel so awkward? “So, finishing up work? Sucks you have to work on a Sunday.” 

“Ah, it wasn’t so bad,” you face relaxes a little as you explain your work, “it was children’s day at the bookstore and they were watching Disney movies. I’m writing a piece on how I believe Ratatouille is Pixar’s magnum opus. Interviewed some kids, I wanted an expert opinion.”  

“Ratatouille is the superior film,” he declares with a firm nod, “after all, anyone can cook.” He revels in the small smile he manages to retrieve from you, immediately understanding the inside joke. If he came out of the gym five minutes earlier, he probably would’ve been able to catch you in the bookstore. What a shame, he would’ve loved to see you play around with the kids. 

At the mention of food, the mall manages to silence itself enough for him to catch the grumbling coming from your stomach. He laughs when your cheeks heat. 

“I was on my way to get some smoothies,” he jabs a thumb in the direction of the food court, “wanna catch up and get a bite?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, I have a lot of work to edit,” disappointment pangs in his chest at your easy rejection, but he ignores it, “I kinda wanna save some money too, still not sure if I’m staying in the apartment after Jisoo moves.” 

He doesn’t know what compels him to take your shoulders and wheel you in the direction of the food court, much to your protest and whines. “C’mon, explain to me why Ratatouille is the magnum opus—I need to defend why The Incredibles is superior. I’ll treat you to dinner.” 

“What? I can pay for my own food—” 

“And I can’t treat my best friend to a nice meal once in a while?” 

That has you stopping in your tracks, and Jungkook nearly barrels his chest into your head if not for the grippy soles of his Adidas Ultraboosts. He can’t see your face, but his hands note how your muscles cord tightly between the cotton of your blazer. 

He doesn’t understand why you’re so tense. Was it because he called you his best friend? Well, you are? At one point he felt that way, early on in college. The position just stuck with you. And when Jisoo told him you weren’t interested, he was perfectly fine with the platonic relationship. It was nice to have someone to talk media and video games to, someone not as chaotic as Jimin and someone not as deterred as Yoongi. 

Although, maybe as of late he hasn’t been so much of a friend. It’s no one’s fault, he’s been caught up with work and Jisoo’s move, he hasn’t said so much as a “hey how are you” when you’re around. He can’t blame you. 

Suddenly his mind blanks, the mall fading away as he focuses on how small you look as your eyes dart between the parking lot and the food court. Jisoo and Jungkook have been so caught up on each other lately, that he fears you’re starting to separate yourself.

“Um, this place is good,” you tug him by the elbow and lead him to a fast food joint. 

When he picks up both your orders and comes over to your saved table, you’re talking animatedly on the phone. You’re laughing, looking at Jungkook as if he’s the one intruding and you’re muttering a hushed “sorry” as you continue the tail end of the conversation. 

“Yes, Joonie. Go with section two, I know my shit. I’m your Work Wife for a reason, Umji in PR could never compare,” you’re giggling like you’re five years younger, and Jungkook feels stuck in a timelapse. 

He watches you go, throwing around names and terms that he’s so lost on but so desperate to understand. He knows nothing about your life other than the one that’s tied with Jisoo, which is a damn shame. Since when did he inevitably downgrade you from “best friend” to “his girlfriend’s roommate?” 

“I’m sorry,” you turn your phone over and push it to the side, giving Jungkook a smile as well, albeit weaker, “let’s dig in!” 

To his relief the dinner goes as good as it should be. You have your tray practically overflowing at the seams, all on Jungkook’s dime. It has his heart swelling with pride, he hasn’t seen you eat in a long time. There’s fries spilling out from the corners, and two sandwiches because you couldn’t decide between a chicken sandwich and a burger. 

Food gets you amicable, and he doesn’t mind when he does most of the talking. You’re engrossed in his talk, lettuce hanging out of your mouth as you’re rapt with attention as he recalls a story that happened at work recently with Mingyu. You ask questions in all the right places and he sucks up all your attention like a happy pill, and it feels nice to be able to lead a conversation for once. 

“Jeez, I’m getting the burger sweats,” you giggle to yourself, and his smile brightens at your positive change in attitude. Food always helps. 

When you remove your thick high-collar blazer, that’s when he sees it. 

“Seeing someone?” he asks, eyes flickering curiously towards the violet bruises that bloom across your neck. 

“What–oh,” you have the audacity to look embarrassed, hands clutching your neck like a shield, “no, just a hookup.” 

A messy hookup, too. Unless you had a thing for showing off marks, which doesn’t seem to be the case. “Didn’t peg you for someone who hooks up,” he says more to himself than you, but you catch him on his impulse jab. 

Your eyes narrow and your defenses go up, “I’m trying to get over someone,” you snip back, busying your hands by crushing up your greasy sandwich wrappers. 

“Am I allowed to state my opinion?” 

“Since you asked so politely, no.” 

He sighs, “I just don’t think that’s the best way to get over someone,” heck, Jungkook doesn’t even know who exactly you’re trying to get over. He just knows that you’re far too smart and independent to let yourself resort to such matters. 

“It isn’t, but it’s really the best option as of now,” you reply curtly. 

And his gaze saddens as he sees you fold your blazer over your arm, indicating that your time is up. Jungkook is aware the comment he made is out of line, and it weakens him knowing that you don’t even want to pick a fight with him. He can’t even find it in himself to apologize properly. 

He doesn’t know if he’s more sad that you’re pining over someone unattainable or upset at himself for not knowing you’ve been harboring feelings for someone. If you really think hooking up is your only option, you must be really hung about whoever you’re into as of late. 

“If it’s worth anything,” Jungkook adds, wanting to leave on a high note, “fuck that guy. He clearly doesn’t deserve you.” 

A small, secret smile plays on your lips, “Yeah, I like to believe that.” 

“I’m anxious,” Namjoon’s mantra makes the whole energy in the room wobbly, paired with the fact the two of you are squished between cardboard boxes as Jungkook aimlessly moves things around like a Tetris screen. 

The only time you feel remotely comfortable basking in your home is when Jisoo is gone. Oh-so conveniently is the Big Hit building undergoing maintenance today, so you and Namjoon have decided to work from home in your apartment. Although you thought by now that Jisoo’s boxes would be long gone and tucked away in Jungkook’s place, instead you’re living in an episode of Ed, Edd and Eddy and the cardboard is practically wall-to-wall. You also thought by now that Jungkook would have no reason to show up unannounced anymore, but apparently that’s not the case. 

“I have, anxiety,” Namjoon adjusts his glasses for the nth time this afternoon, brain not fixed enough to focus on the screen of his chrome MacBook, “anxiety, anxiety. I can’t right now. I need my weighted blanket and a pillow.” 

“Namjoon, I can get both of those for you if we just send in this last spread,” you coo gently, as if placating a baby. You make brief eye contact with Jungkook from the other side of the room, his lips quirking in amusement as he stacks a box of clothes by the kitchen. 

“Do you feel my palms? My palms, they’re like a fucking fountain you need to feel them—” your Wusband approaches you like a zombie, leaning over you and tripping over his criss-crossed legs before he topples over you. 

“Blegh, get off of me you sweat giant!” you cry with a good-natured laugh, although the grip of Namjoon’s palms under your shoulders are damp and slimy, “Joon, I can’t get you your blanket if you’re crushing my boobs.” 

Namjoon finally relents, untacking himself to rest his chin on your glass coffee table. “Fine.” 

“Look over the last column and I’ll bring your blanket, okay?” 

Pushing yourself off the ground, you shuffle your way out of the living room through the maze of boxes and into the hallway. It feels like your apartment is less of an apartment and more of a storage space when you’re trapped in-between two lines of boxes, and Jungkook effectively blocking you from entering your room. He was just in the living room but now he’s come from the linen closet, standing between the entrance of your room. 

“Sorry,” he pops his head out from a smaller box, one filled with designer costume jewelry. 

“It’s fine,” you chirp, barely making eye contact as you shuffle over the boxes. 

Your toe drags over the lid of one of the open boxes in an attempt to move diagonally. You nearly crash your face into the hardwood if not for Jungkook’s arm stretching out to catch you. In seconds he manages to catch all your weight in one hand, pulling you to him with your hip pressed against his. Your breath traps itself in your neck. Your subconscious fears that if you speak now, you’ll babble about how attractive it is that he’s able to catch you as easily as grabbing a light sheet of paper. 

“Careful,” his voice rumbles in his throat as he regards you with a wan smile. 

Your “thanks” is barely uttered as you slip into your room, heaving your weighted blanket and a pillow in your arms to let Namjoon borrow. 

The burgundy quilted fabric is hunched over your shoulder, draped around your body so it’s easier for you to carry on your back. You try to eradicate the memory of Jungkook’s arms, lean and strong as he held you to him moments before.

Ugh, you thought messing around with Vernon would stop your silly pining. It seems that it’ll take more than a couple rounds to satiate your curiosity. For such a kind guy, Jungkook seems like a wolf in sheep’s clothing when it comes to the bedroom. 

You can imagine him being so kind in the beginning, coaxing you to wan and bend to his every wish and command. And then when you keen a little too hard at the attention, you bet a switch would flip and he’d grab you—

The blanket flops around your back, and you’re sorely reminded that you’re thirsting over a taken man, yet again.  

Jungkook makes it extremely difficult for him to be hateable. It’s by nature that he’s just so damn likeable. Heck, he’s pretty much packed seventy percent of the things Jisoo should be packing right now. 

Making sure not to trip again, on your feelings and your blanket, you successfully reach a tired Namjoon. You tuck your koala-shaped pillow under your co-editor’s arms, and drape the heavy blanket over him like a cape. He’s giving you a thumbs up and a toothless smile, the previous meltdown overcome as he focuses on finishing the last of today’s work. He’s slipped on some noise-cancelling earphones, presumably filled with generic coffee-house music or rain playlists. 

Wordlessly you go to your nook to prepare some tea. It’s getting late and a warm cup would distract you from the impending deadline. Despite the fact that you and Namjoon are 99% of the way done, his previous freak-out has you on live-wire and you could use a little caffeine. 

Placing three mugs on the counter you call, “Jungkook, tea?” 

“Yes please,” you stiffen when you feel Jungkook magically appear right behind you, his head peering over your shoulder, “with milk and honey.” 

Deciding to give Jungkook the beehive-shaped mug because it’s very on-brand for him, you begin to steep the leaves in your kettle while he spoons the honey. 

“So,” his words are slow as the drip of honey, the amber goo taking its time to descend into his mug as it falls from the dipper. “Is that the guy you’re trying to get over?” 

Jungkook lifts his brows towards Namjoon, who is softcore jamming to his white noise playlist. It’s cute as to how curious Jungkook is about Namjoon. While you try to keep your work life separate, there really isn’t much backstory to your personal life to warrant that kind of divide. 

“Namjoon,” you state aloud, watching Namjoon sing badly to himself, “why, are you gonna beat him up for me?” 

“I can take him,” you can practically hear Jungkook’s chest pop out. 

With a roll of your eyes, you reach to kill the heat off the tea kettle, “No need. He isn’t the guy I’m trying to get over.” 

“Oh, he’s your fuck buddy then?” 

“Shit!” being caught off guard, you grab at the handle of your kettle without a pot holder, burning your fingertips. In seconds Jungkook’s larger hand encases your own, pulling you over to the sink to soak your fingers in cool running water.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Jungkook is chanting like a sinner at church, searching for any sign of pain in your visage, “I shouldn’t have asked while you’re working with a hot stove.” 

You suppress a sigh, relaxing your fingers as Jungkook soothes the burn with his gentle hold, “Shouldn’t have asked in the first place,” you mumble. 

“I know,” he replies, “guess I’m just feeling a little left out. We don’t talk like we used to. I guess I’m getting a little too nosy for my own good, aren’t I?” 

You don’t understand what’s going on with his incessant babbling as of late, but you chalk it up to work stress and Jisoo’s move. Having no answers to his honest reply, you gently untack your red palm from his grip, assuring him that you’re fine. 

Namjoon steps into your kitchenette, being surprisingly careful as he takes your potholder to pour himself a cup of tea. If the tea is oversteeped and bitter he doesn’t say anything, only leans against the counter as he regards you two with slow sips. “You alright?” 

“M’fine,” you reply stubbornly, avoiding Jungkook’s worried stare. 

Namjoon holds out his hand, “Hand.” 

“No—”

“Hand.” 

His deep voice coerces you, and you immediately slap the back of your palm onto Namjoon’s. Your partner brushes his golden hands over the tiny blister that’s forming over your fingertips. “Can’t have my Work Wife outta commission.” 

“Your Work Wife is fine,” you gripe back. 

Your co-worker’s eyes flicker over to Jungkook’s for a brief second, Jungkook regarding him in curiosity as he stares at your connected palms. “I have some aloe in my bag for sunburns,” Namjoon offers helpfully, ignoring the weird glances, “I’ll give it to you in a bit. Also, I’ve overcome my sudden bout of stress and I’m ready to email our progress to Victoria. We’re done for the day.” 

“Awesome, thanks Joonie,” you exhale, relaxing against the sink, “wanna go eat somewhere?” 

“There’s a niche place in Itaewon if you wanna check it out?” Namjoon offers.

Jungkook interjects, “Jisoo ordered pizza if you guys wanna share with us?” 

“Pizza also sounds good—” 

“We don’t wanna interrupt your alone time,” you gracefully cut in, stepping in front of Namjoon despite the fact that he’s easily towering over you. 

Jungkook snorts, “I’ll have enough alone time with her when she moves in, don’t worry. Besides, I ordered three pies because I wanted to try three different flavor combos. I need two additional judges.” 

“Thanks Jungkook but,” you stifle a cry when Namjoon jabs you in the back with his thumb. It’s pressing, digging into the small of your back as if he’s trying to telepathically tell you that you’re being rude, “but… I don’t know if I can eat three slices! Namjoon on the other hand, can probably eat enough to fairly judge.” 

“Great,” Jungkook’s smile is blinding, causing your grin to stiffen as he looks for his phone to shoot Jisoo a quick text that they’re having dinner for four. 

Once Jungkook’s out of earshot, Namjoon tugs you by the sleeve, “The hell was that?” he hisses in your ear, “you look like you’re about to shit and piss your pants at the same time.” 

“I just don’t feel comfortable eating with them,” you cross your arms in defiance. You think back to just a week ago where you and Jisoo reluctantly attempted to eat breakfast together one morning. You provided minimal small talk while Jisoo clinged to her phone, replying to you in non-committal clipped tones. 

“Do I want to know?”

“No.” 

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” you retort, “you got me into this mess, you’re gonna stay with me ‘till the end.”

“I don’t know what you want from me, woman,” Namjoon throws his arms out exasperatedly, oolong tea nearly sloshing onto his hand, “just suck it up or I revoke your bragging rights to that snag you got on our spread next Monday.” 

“Not my fault you couldn’t get Kim Taeyeon on the spread,” you smirk. 

“Well I didn’t so happen to stalk the Sephora she frequents for the past two weeks—” 

“I didn’t stalk her I just so happened to need a new Fenty Gloss Bomb every other day—”

“I’m home, Jungkookie!” 

Your face contorts, your playful energy melting to the hardwood as your previous banter with Namjoon evaporates into thin air. Work bags in one hand and three boxes of pizza balancing in the other, Jisoo kicks off her heels somewhere across the door and places the pizza on the dining table. 

Jungkook immediately appears by her side, and you look away and Jisoo plants a heavy kiss on his lips. She cracks open one eye as she notices you and Namjoon hanging by the kitchenette, “Oh,” she mumbles at her audience, “you’re here?” 

Yes, you bimbo. I’m here in my own apartment. 

“I guess you didn’t read my text that they’ll be joining us for dinner,” Jungkook cuts in good-naturedly, “we have way too much pizza anyway. Have a seat, guys.” 

Jungkook navigates the kitchen as easily as your own, and you slump in your chair while Namjoon exchanges pleasantries with Jisoo. She looks impeccable, hair in a tight chignon and a tight navy dress as she converses with your co-editor. 

“I’m starving,” Jungkook announces, making sure to place a slice on Jisoo’s plate. He shuffles through the other boxes, making brief eye contact with you when he decides to put a slice on yours as well, “you like these toppings, right?” 

You regard the greasy, hearty piece of cheese and bread with a curt nod. You feel Jisoo’s eyes laser on your skin, “Yeah, thanks Kook.” 

Namjoon, Jisoo and Jungkook mostly stir up the conversation, you opting to eat as slow as possible to avoid any conversation. It’s easy to blend back and let them take over, as Jisoo loves to talk about her fashion firm and Namjoon is a great listener. 

Jungkook and Namjoon make it a point to direct the conversation to you from time to time, and you let the ball leave your court as soon as it lands. You prefer to keep your responses short and simple, especially when Jisoo is so eager to talk about the new silk drapes she’s installing for Jungkook’s windows.

Your phone buzzes in your lap, and you discreetly look under the table to read the incoming text message. 

vernie bernie: would u like to do the devil’s dance tonight

vernie bernie: or a tickle to my pickle? 

vernie bernie: beatin ya bean? 

You: ohmyGOD 

vernie bernie: or y’know, u could just come ovr and chill. Hobi made some bomb tres leches

You: call. Ill come after dinner

“Are you okay, y/n?” your head bounces up to meet Jungkook’s gaze, “you’ve barely eaten and you haven’t talked much.” 

“Oh you know, she’s just stressed about the upcoming spread,” Namjoon steps in for you, and you send him a discrete, but grateful smile. He’s always impeccable at reading the room, “she’s just nervous about her interview with Kim Taeyeon, but I think you did her interview justice.” 

“No way, the singer Kim Taeyeon?” Jungkook gushes, regarding you with stars in his eyes, “your interviews are always so great, y/n. You ask really good questions. Like that one spread about  Lee Yonghwa’s art gallery? Really cool.” 

You notice the way Jisoo presses her lips together, a thin line as if she’s trying to seal away words that she’ll regret saying. She’s jealous, and you can’t help the blush of pride that fills your veins as you raise a secret brow at her. 

“Right, you got nothing to worry about,” Namjoon squeezes your shoulder encouragingly, as if you’d get his double-meaning. 

“Thanks,” you reply, pushing your plate away and standing up, “I’m actually gonna go head to Vernon’s for a bit, though. He wants to double check his work before we email Victoria.” 

It’s a bald-faced lie, Namjoon sent the files to Victoria right before dinner, but he isn’t going to argue. 

“Okay,” Namjoon thanks Jungkook and Jisoo for the meal, stacking his plate atop yours, “I’ll walk out with you.” 

“It’s only been twenty minutes, though,” you see the slight panic in Jungkook’s gaze as he watches you quickly clean up for you and Namjoon. You can’t quite pin why he’s so concerned, after all he has been acting strange as of late. 

“Yeah, I’m full,” you reply curtly, licking your lips and avoiding his gaze. You already know what he wants to say, that he’s been in your apartment all day and all he’s seen you eat is stale chips and tea, “but we can do this again.” But hopefully not. 

“If you’re coming home late again,” it’s the first time Jisoo has spoken to you directly. You tilt your head to her slowly, watching the plastic smile carefully carved onto her expression. You see the contrived care and concern between her brows, “please try to be quieter next time, the last time you came home late you woke Jungkookie up.” 

Snapping your gaze to Jungkook you plaster on a thick smile, “Sorry Jungkook—” 

“What? No, it’s fine!” he furrows his brows in confusion, finally able to detect the strange tension between the two housemates, “I barely heard you—” 

“Maybe I’ll just stay the night at Vernon’s,” your eyes trail over to the pajama set you immediately switched into when you got home today, “wouldn’t want to disturb you two.” 

“Good,” Jisoo’s tone is saccharine and clipped as she tacks on a, “have fun.” 

It’s laudable, how much Jisoo wants to make a fool out of you but you won’t have it. You revel in the perplexed expression as Jungkook’s gaze darts back and forth between the two of you, wanting to butt in but unsure of how to approach it. Not giving him the time to, you bid the couple a goodnight and make a fast getaway. Heck, you don’t even take your work stuff with you. 

Once you’re out the door, Namjoon wordlessly gives you a hug. You sigh gratefully into his embrace. 

The next time Jungkook sees you, he reads the room before anything. You and Jisoo’s apartment is scarily empty, almost clinical. He’s tried texting you a few times after his failed-not-failed attempt at catching up at the mall and his awkward conversation concerning Namjoon, but you always reply back with vague replies and an unpromised promise of meeting up sometime soon. 

It dulls him to think that you’ve given up on him as a friend. But can you blame him? He needs to keep an appropriate distance for Jisoo, after all, she doesn’t like it when he gets too close to other women unless it’s strictly professional. Usually Jisoo’s jealousy inevitably works itself out and Jungkook doesn’t pose any problems because he has very few girl friends, but for some reason your friendship with him specifically gets Jisoo stiff in the face. Is it because you and Jisoo are so close? Possibly. 

But it doesn’t mean you can’t join the same Valorant server with him at 2AM and accidentally bomb each other, or argue over the magnum opus of each film company. Is that not enough? 

Jisoo’s working overtime, and Jungkook suggested last night that he move the boxes to the front of the door for easy pick-up when the moving truck arrives. Jisoo promises to buy Thai food in return, and with a kiss emoji she leaves him to audit fabric budgets. 

As he glides down to Jisoo’s room he notes that the pictures along the wall have disappeared, and there’s double the amount of boxes in the hallway. It seems that you’re moving out too. To where, he doesn’t know but he hopes it isn’t too far. 

He chides Jisoo remotely when he sees that her room is completely intact, and he makes moves to pack up her things. 

That’s when he finds his letter. Not a love letter to Jisoo, but a love letter to you. Deep in the recesses of Jisoo’s junk drawer, is a faded lavender envelope with a pressed cream colored baby’s breath taped up in plastic. The glue is yellow and old, clearly served its purpose due to the fact that the letter is already opened and the contents rumpled. 

Hey Pretty Girl–

He immediately stuffs the letter back in its holder, stricken at his messy handwriting from two years ago. It feels like he found a time capsule, another version of Jungkook confessing to you. He used to call you Pretty Girl, not enough for you to catch on to his feelings, but enough for you to understand that he did find you attractive. It was early on in your friendship. 

When you first asked him to be study partners for some silly class that had nothing to do with each other’s majors, he gaped like a guppy and pointed to himself. That day he went to class in last night’s clothes and a nest of fluffy strands. “Me?” he felt like absolute trash, and you were probably desperate due to the fact you two were the only seniors in this class, “but you’re a pretty girl… and I’m pretty dumb when it comes to this subject.” 

But instead you scoffed and pulled him from his slumped figure, dragging him to the library, with a wink and a “you’re pretty, too.” Those words have burned in his brain since then, as he wasn’t used to getting such off-handed compliments, especially from intelligent girls that wanted more than one night. 

For whatever reason you continued seeing his dumb self, even after the semester ended and together registered for one more class for spring. 

Whenever you’d go out for ice cream you wouldn’t hesitate to stuff your face and add for extra Oreos and fries, you’d assure Jungkook you’re not normally this much of a slob. 

Jungkook would just smile and offer you a napkin and say, “You’re still a pretty girl.” 

He fell for you gracefully. There was no regret, no walk of shame, no cliché late night party where you or him could’ve instigated it into the physical. It was all by feel. 

However the two of you took your time with your relationship, languidly enjoying the hushed conversations in the library at 2AM, the late night McFlurry runs, the integration of each other’s friends like it was natural. Ergo the lavender love letter. It was a gentle declaration, one he felt pretty confident in. 

So color him stupid when you passed him in class with a happy wave, Jungkook dumbfounded at how well you handled his confession. You weren’t oblivious, you just never read it. 

But now he knows the declaration was for whatever reason, lost in transit. “I should’ve known,” he whispers in the air, the letter crumpling in his grip. Composing himself, he pinches his brows.  

There’s an electronic buzz and a sharp slam of the front door. Judging by the time, you’re home. 

You flop onto your mattress, folding an arm over your head to stop the sun from seeping to your eyes. Vernon’s exhausted you, and you barely got away before he could have any say in it. You need a little space, and some time to think. 

Just as you close the door to your bedroom, it swings open. 

You gape as Jungkook thrusts himself into your bedroom like a deer with horns, looking pale. You follow his gaze, darkened eyes that linger a little too long on your neck again, and you narrow your eyes at him to avert. He looks a little red in the cheeks despite his pallidness, looking like he just got out of bed with messy wavy locks and his signature sweats. Is Jungkook packing for Jisoo again? 

Acutely aware that you smell like sweat and sex, you clutch the blankets closer to your body. “Uh, rude.” 

He looks uncharastically frantic, waving a letter in his hand, “Did you ever read this?” 

“Read what?” you ask, hands reaching out for the envelope. 

“My confession letter,” he blurts, having no shame now that all the gears are running through his head. “I wrote you a letter asking you out, because you said you wanted to collect notes like in Letters to Juliet. But I just found it in Jisoo’s drawer, why would it be there?” 

And all the pent up frustration that never seemed to escape under Vernon’s sheets, the feelings that never seem to subside, all bubble back to the surface. Now that Jungkook knows, there’s no hiding. 

You’re in shock, hands reaching for the letter despite the burn that seeps through your fingertips. Jungkook’s shoulders slump when you do indeed look like it’s your first time seeing this, as if a missing puzzle piece in your timeline has finally been revealed.

“I, I didn’t think you’d write me a letter,” you take the lavender envelope, clutching the letter by your chest like it’s something precious, “that’s so sweet,” you say to yourself.  

It dawns on him, “Wait, you knew about this? I knew something weird was going on.” 

“Only recently,” you frown. 

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” he nearly shouts, causing you to flinch, “no wonder why you were being so weird all this time. How could you let me live the rest of my life knowing this? That my relationship is built on a lie? ” 

“I don’t know,” you suddenly feel very small in your mattress as Jungkook rounds up on you, pulling your desk chair closer to your bed, “because you love Jisoo, of course.” 

“Well obviously that’s not possible,” and while yes a two-year realtionship ending like this is going to hit him hard tonight, he’s focused on you and the fact that you failed to tell him, “somehow I’d find out. Why wait for me to find out on my own?” 

“Because I wanted to protect you!” 

“Protect me,” he scoffs, crossing his arms and sneering at you. It causes you to tense up, feeling the telltale signs of tears bubbling to the surface, “you don’t even want to be friends anymore, y/n. I’ve tried to catch up to you so many times, but you keep leaving me hanging. I know I’ve been a pretty bad friend and I get it if you just feel awkward that I liked you, then that’s a shitty reason.” 

“Have you ever considered that it’s too late to tell you?” you shoot back, sitting up straight, “yes, I admit I should’ve told you earlier and I’m sorry, but it was a lot for me to process to y’know? Jisoo and I haven’t talked properly in weeks!” 

“Oh, so you’ve stopped trying to be friends with Jisoo too, huh? Just like you’re trying to stop being friends with me.” 

“No,” you pinch your brows, “she stopped being friends with me! She doesn’t care about me because she has you,” conflict burns in Jungkook’s gaze, and you only serve to fuel the fire, “she’s tried so hard to not involve me in your relationship.” 

“Just tell me why you’ve really kept this secret instead of saying you want to protect me like a baby—” 

“It’s because I’m in love with you, idiot!” 

You blink and back up against the wall of your bedroom, as if you can’t believe that the words came out of your mouth. 

It’s quiet again. The sour look evaporates from Jungkook’s face as he watches you suppress your sobs on your mattress. The room seems devoid, sucked out of its color as you’ve cleaned up most of your things, the only thing left being some plain grey sheets and a pillow. 

Jungkook’s mind is absolutely reeling, playing back memories from a different point of view. 

“When Jisoo told me she sabotaged our relationship so she could date you, I was so upset and didn’t know what to think,” you manage to place the lavender note on your wooden desk, making sure no tears could mar it. “And I thought I could move on and eventually stay friends with the both of you, but the next day Jisoo put all her attention on you and completely ignored me or any attempt to salvage our friendship. She only told me to forgive herself,” you’re hugging yourself, wrapping the blankets around you like a weak embrace, “so I thought if I cut myself out of the picture and forced myself to move on like I should’ve, everything would’ve been okay.” 

“So, you would’ve rather kept all this pain to yourself?” 

“Yeah,” you give him a teary smile, “because I wanted you to be happy.” 

And with an equally sad smile he murmurs, “But I’m not happy.” 

 Your face falls, and you really look at Jungkook. He’s exhausted as well, slumped in his chair. Has he been trying to grapple along the threads of his relationships, while you’ve been trying to loosen them? 

“What a waste of two years,” he slumps in your chair, letting the pieces click into place, “a relationship built on fake love. I was really trying, y’know. I thought I was going crazy.” 

The three of you have unknowingly been playing a futile game of Cat’s Cradle, a game that no one wins. 

Jungkook looks wistfully out the window, noting the pleasant day that fails to present itself in your tiny room. It feels simultaneously satisfying and bitter when it falls into place, your thoughts finally fitting together for the first time in months. “We could’ve loved each other. For real,” he says, and you silently agree. 

You’re still crying, shaking like a leaf in autumn. Jungkook’s arms hover awkwardly over yours, his warmth palpable despite the fact that he hasn’t touched you yet. With a timid smile you allow consent, and you melt like putty in his arms. 

“Kookie, ‘m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” you murmur into his shoulder, not caring if it hurts when you press your chin into his skin. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way.” 

It’s been so long to have him close like this, the friend you’ve always wanted but never needed. Since college you’ve always imagined a life without him doing just fine, but that doesn’t mean you want to live without him, roommate’s boyfriend or not. 

“I’m sorry too,” he sighs back, “this sucks right now, but we’ll be alright.” 

The two of you sit in your room until it turns dark and the sky muddles into shades of twilight and egg yolk orange. There’s lulls in the conversation, the two of you filling in the gaps and making sense of the mumbo-jumbo that’s been going on in your consciousness up until this point. Your insantities turn sane, and by the time Jisoo’s making her way back inside with the smell of pad thai, Jungkook is ready. With a squeeze to each other and a press of your lips because you don’t know what to say, you tuck yourself in and pretend to fall asleep. 

“Messy, messy, messy,” Vernon sing-songs, knocking his heels against the wall. 

The both of you are sitting upside-down, butts attached to the wall connecting to his mattress and your feet hanging in the air. Your mint floral organza socks pad against his Pink Floyd poster, while his yellow tube socks are heeling against some old Polaroids from college. There’s no prospect of sex today, not when shit just hit the fan. 

Today you and Vernon are just two old friends and very close co-workers. 

“Tell me about it,” you bemoan, frowning at the beige wall, “this whole week’s just been a whole mess. It’s like, warm tuna salad.”

“Gross,” Vernon grimaces at the apt comparison, “so what happens now?” 

You sit up on your elbows, looking down at Vernon’s peaceful expression, “What do you mean?” 

“Like, are you gonna get together with him?”

You snort, flopping back down on his bed. The blankets fluff around you and you inhale the pine scented sheets. “After all that? No.” 

“But you still love him?” 

It must sound dumb to still love him after all this time. You wouldn’t be surprised if Vernon thought you’re silly to still hold a place in your heart for someone who has fifteen million things on their plate now. After all the physicality and the space Vernon gave you in his home, your feelings haven’t wavered. 

Your companion doesn’t bother waiting for your answer, hearing your answer somewhere in the air as he gets up and throws on his denim jacket. Rolling over your stomach you ask, “Where are you going?” 

“Some friends down in printing want to meet up for drinks,” Vernon messes up his hair, making the waves part in that little coiff that makes his jawline look sharp. “I heard Yerin really wanted me to come, so.” 

You can’t help the little middle school coo that comes from your lips, causing Vernon to giggle and throw a pillow at you. “Yerin’s cute!” you declare, remembering the petite girl in overalls who’s all about pops of yellow and violet, “you're into her?” 

“Nah,” Vernon holds up two hats in his hands, gesturing for you to pick one. “Just figured it was a push in the right direction.” 

Crawling out of his bed you stumble in your oversized t-shirt, tucking a finger under your chin as you decide between the emerald bucket hat and the red Ralph Lauren baseball cap. You pull out both hats from his hands and set it down on his vanity, opting to smooth out the flyaways and ringing your fingers through his soft curls. “And what direction would my free-flowing friend be going today?” you ask aloud, “you look better with your hair out,” you declare firmly, “makes you look like a fluffy CEO.” 

He laughs at your silly comparison, and he gently moves your hand away from his hair when you linger a little too close to him. His gaze is solemn as he regards you with a gentle smile, “Keep your distance, I’m tryna get over someone,” he says simply, and your arm falls limp at your sides. 

Your heart thuds in a different direction, your mouth parting but no words coming to the surface. When was the last time you asked about Vernon’s needs, wondered if he was doing alright, making sure you two were on the same page—

“You’re spiraling,” he reads you like a playbook, smoothing down your hair to press a kiss to the crown. Suddenly you feel guilty for not having sparks in your belly, shaming your conscience for not even considering his sacrifices in your self-absorption these past few weeks. “Like I said, I wanted to help you. Stop looking like a kicked puppy, it’s okay to be selfish.” 

With transparent tears the two of you pack up and head to your next destination. Hands ghosting between each other you make your way to the exit of Vernon’s apartment, him to meet up with his friends while you have to unpack your new apartment. With a hug you tell each other you’ll see them on Monday, and as easy as that you go your separate ways.

Hey Pretty Girl—

I kinda wanted to tell you this in person but I know how much you liked Mamma Mia and all those other movies that have grand gestures in writing so I thought hey, might as well shoot my shot on paper. 

Not gonna tell you all the details, because you deserve to hear it in-person. But mayhaps this letter has something to do with how much I like studying with you, watching movies with you, doing absolutely nothing with you and all of that in-between. 

There’s a gift card to our spot attached. Meet me at McDonalds @12 tonight, so I know it’s real 😎

Hopefully yours, Jungkook

P.S. if you haven’t noticed already, I sprayed a little cologne and stole Taehyung’s fancy paper from Muji. That’s how serious I am about you. 

“Joon, we live in a bonsai garden. We’re like giants in a forest.” 

“Can you—can you stop spitting at them? Let them breathe, dammit.” 

“Not my fault they’re so tiny! I literally have to zoom 200% just to get a good look at ‘em.” 

The two of you are huddled in what used to be Namjoon’s balcony, now a sunroom for his succulents and bonsais. Your heart feels pink and swollen with affection as you regard Namjoon with interest, absorbing every bit of information you can as he teaches you how to care for his plants. After all, you’re co-parenting now. 

Having your Wusband co-sign as your roommate for the next year is probably the best decision you have made this year. Everyday is like a breath of fresh air. With Seokjin gone for the year to tour his restaurant franchises, his room is yours for the taking. The two of you are easy going roommates, filling the apartment with color and vigour whether it be in the form of baking sweets or watching Netflix documentaries. 

The only drama you ever have is when you two are having a meltdown over the same work-related issue, as if you two somehow share the same brain cell. It’s significantly less stressful, no need for unnecessary anger when  you have someone as mediating as Namjoon.

After today’s plant lesson, you two go back to the living room to finish up your work for the evening. Another perk of living together is that you can go home at normal work times and continue where you left off with the comfort of your couch and eating a whole pizza pie with no shame. 

Namjoon’s phone pings with a new email from corporate. “We got the new concept for next month’s spread,” he gestures to you with a grandiose wave of his arm, “drumroll please.” 

He pulls up the newsletter from corporate with a flick of his thumb. Your company put out every month’s concept out in an Evite, like every month was a themed party. A stressful, month long work party. In seconds, the page loaded and you’re met with next month’s title bathed in electronic glitter. 

The Most Beautiful Moment in Life: Class of Youth

The two of you say silent, absorbing the concept like a cookie to milk. It’s a personal spread this month, a real treat for the team to show off their normal non-professional life. A spread that reveals the masters behind the ink and text. Last year’s personal spread was about the staff’s vacation destinations, but this year’s is much more intimate. You can imagine all the ideas that will be thrown around on Monday’s meeting: pinning down shared ideas like Throwback Thursdays, late night munchie runs, drunk stories, and all the crazy college nostalgia that you’ve been trying to avoid as of late. 

But now it’s presented to you in a gold chalice, and while you’re sick of the past you think it’s about time to face it. You’re excited to tackle the dark monster you’ve suppressed since Jungkook and Jisoo’s breakup. 

“Did I ever tell you I was president of my university’s Mock Trial?” 

“No, I always thought you’d be president of the Comparative Literature Club or whatever. But Mock Trial is equally as nerdy.” 

“I’ll have you know Mock Trial got me tons of action,” he winked, “made me very convincing.” 

“Gross,” you sneer, “so that’s what your spread will be about? How the co-editor of the Arts & Entertainment section managed to bag with his skills from Mock Trial?” 

“Nah, I went on a penniless journey with Jin during spring break. Six days around Malta.” 

“That does sound so you,” you sigh, fingers slipping between the cracked screen as you mull over the overly happy Evite, “sounds like a cool story.” 

“I know that look,” Namjoon quips, snatching his phone under his nose, “don’t overthink your spread just yet, it’s still the weekend. Now to more important things, what do you want from Taco Bell?”

And because you can’t refuse the combined efforts of nachos and Namjoon’s dimples, you relent for the night and tack the unmade idea to the next workday. 

Unfortunately the next workday is just as disheartening. Today’s work meeting is the antithesis of icing on the cake. While your college life isn’t anything remarkable, you didn’t think it was a painfully dull time. With every passing moment and every excited co-worker throwing memories back and forth like ping pong balls, the more you felt inferior by competing with their amazing memories. 

“Who can even afford Aruba at twenty-one,” you mutter under your breath, stalking back to your cubicle. 

Filling up a whole spread is daunting to you, the thought of Victoria popping her head in your cubicle to ask what you’ve got for the day is practically eating you from the inside out. Maybe your college life was in actuality, super boring? You have no crazy drug trips to tell, any vacations that gave you a life-changing perspective, or an epic love story. 

“What’cha got there, partner?” 

The third musketeer of your editing team’s caramel eyes peer into your cubicle, causing you to jump in your chair. Vernon wheels around, chair and all to push you into your already cramped space. His gold button up gleams in the sunlight, effectively blinding you. 

“If by something you mean nothing, then yeah I got nothing,” you frown, spinning around your chair. “What are you writing about?” 

A fond smile melts onto your friend’s face, and you can’t help returning a smile that mirrors his own. You two have fallen back into a good place, as far as you know. He’s still easy, simple, sweet Vernon. When you dropped some boxes off in coloring, you heard that Vernon and Yerin have recently started seeing each other. 

“Thought of the idea as soon as the Evite came out. It’s more of a photo spread, but I’m gonna write about my study abroad in NYU,” Vernon ticks a pencil on his forehead, “a self-identity piece talking about how I felt like, not-white around my family n’stuff. And then felt not-Asian at the same time, s’complicated but I think I can make it work.” 

“Deep,” you pat his shoulder caringly, knowing that Big Hit is a good outlet for these kinds of subjects, “alright City Slicker, since you’re so full of ideas then tell me what to write about.” 

Vernon sits up straight, regarding you with narrowed eyes, “Aren’t you gonna write about your little love triangle with Jisoo and Jungkook?” and it seems like he’s already storyboarded the idea in his head, gesturing to the air as if he’s writing down a timeline, “I can see the headline now: How to Steal a Heart,” he’s grinning, nodding fervently as you cross your arms in distaste. 

“Vern, are you suggesting that I exploit Jisoo and Jungkook’s personal lives?” while the journalism business didn’t pride itself on sincerity, it did feel wrong to drag in your personal life to that extent. 

“Babe, you don’t understand. You have the perfect slice of life story. Everyone’s writing about expensive vacations and that one time they got cross-faded and ended up in Busan,” he squeezes your hand, “but your story, it’s relatable. It’s romantic. It’s angsty. It has closure. No one’s gonna be able to relate to an impulse spending on daddy’s money to Aruba. But first loves? Unrequited romance and all that ish? Everyone can speak to that. And you’re a beautiful writer, they’ll eat up that story like honey.” 

“I don’t know, it still doesn’t feel right.” 

“Change up the names, twist the story,” he offers easily, knowing you’d put up a fight, “besides, it’s not like you’re planning on talking to Jisoo or Jungkook ever again,” you open your mouth to retort, but Vernon’s phone beeps to the Star Wars theme song and he’s flying out of his chair. “Shoot, gotta go help Joon upstairs. Just think about it, okay? Good luck!” and he’s kicking his chair out with a brown loafer, leaving you with breathing room in your cubicle. 

Five seconds later Vernon is jogging back, pointing a finger at you, “And if you do choose to write it, you have to add that Jisoo copped your McDonalds gift card. Like, who does that shit? Couldn’t she have just given it to you and say it was from her and not Jungkook? Seriously fucked up.” 

For the next ten or so minutes you mull. Out of all the memorable college events you’ve participated in, the largest one by far is your (now defunct and debatable) friendship with Jisoo, and your (un)requited love for Jungkook. Reluctantly, you must admit Vernon has a sharp idea, busting in like a hero and offering you the most writable piece on a silver platter. 

It doesn’t feel morally right just to start writing, because ultimately you can’t feel comfortable until you get the consent of Jungkook. While you don’t want to touch Jisoo with a ten-meter pole, you do want to start talking to Jungkook again now that the waters have calmed.

Your life has moved gracefully up until this point, and you’d like to start being friends with him again. Decision made, you pull out your phone and make an important call.

“Hey Yoongi,” you say nervously. Min Yoongi is Kim Namjoon’s equivalent, Jungkook’s Wusband and former upperclassmen in college. 

Said man hums noncommittally on the other line, “Whaddya want, it’s been awhile.” 

You stifle a giggle at his apathetic attitude, knowing he’s someone who wastes no time in getting straight to the point. “I just wanna make sure Jungkook’s address is still the same? I know it’s been a couple months, but I need to send him something and I wanna make sure it gets to him ASAP because—”

“Because last time something was sent, your crazy roommate intervened and Jungkook ended up in a two-year half-toxic relationship? Yeah, let’s make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

“Yoongi,” you say slowly, “where are you?” 

“Working in the studio,” he tuts, “Jungkook says hi, by the way.” 

Typical, cat’s out of the bag. With a roll of our eyes you reply, “Thanks for outing me, Yoongi. Talk to you later.” 

“And y/n? Jungkook says he’s waiting.” 

With a stupid smile slapped onto your face, you hang up the phone and pull out your stationary kit from under your desk. You pluck out a vermillion red envelope, a color so bold and begging to be seen, you know it can’t possibly get lost in transit. Feeling a little bit like a high schooler as you pull out a glitter jelly pen, you get to writing. 

Hey Pretty Boy...

Jungkook and Jisoo are no longer together, evidently. 

Their social media runs in different directions, with Jisoo sporting absolute elegance in her work at her family-owned boutique. Her posts are full of shiny outfits and soulless gazes, betraying any pinch of emotion she may have felt over these past few months. Her profile is wiped of any personal posts, all traces of you and Jungkook evaporated from her page. You must admit that she looks good, like a real fashion mogul, but only at the surface level. 

Conversely, Jungkook is thriving. It’s evident. Normally he isn’t the type of guy to post so frequently, his habits being often sporadic and limited to sweaty gym stories. But whenever you scroll, it’s pictures of him smiling. Big bunny teeth broken into a genuine, full-bellied laugh. Cute selfies of him and his co-workers. You notice two familiar co-workers in those posts, Irene and Seulgi, two beautiful women Jisoo always felt intimidated by whenever she ranted to you. You conclude positively that Jungkook doesn’t feel tethered and can hang out with all the friends he wants, female and male alike. Jungkook looks free, and you’re happy for him. 

It’s another Instagram-worthy moment tonight at McDonalds, where you and Jungkook proposed to meet each other at 12AM. 

This time, the letter makes it to its desired destination. You make sure of that because this time you hand-deliver it, slipping under his apartment door knowing he lives alone and no one would be able to access it except him. 

You’re parked in an obscure corner, but you can see that Jungkook is currently having a great time with his co-workers for an after work meal. Yoongi is unbothered on his phone, while Jimin and Seulgi are taking turns throwing fries into each other’s mouth. Jungkook is squished between them, scrunching his nose cutely as he tries not to get in the fray of their fry-war. 

Your phone pings, and you laugh at what pops up on the screen.

Yoongi: come inside, u loser. 

You: can’t ur friend group makes me nervous stop being so dang cute

You: dw i’ll wait, it’s only 11:50

Instead of replying, Yoongi puts his phone down and resumes eating. In turn you pick a playlist, deciding that “summer time high mix✨✨✨” is a theme you need to subscribe to for the rest of the weekend. 

Busying yourself by sending some texts to Namjoon and checking some emails, you relax in your seat as you let your brain turn to sludge for the weekend. You’re tired, eyes glazing over as you watch Yoongi elbow Jungkook harshly, forcing him to look out the foggy window. 

Jungkook’s eyes light up like it’s Christmas Eve, but instead of Christmas lights it's your car’s lowlights. The graphic designer  pays no mind to his friends as they wish him goodbye and goodluck, throwing on his jacket with a wave. 

The night air whizzes by, Jungkook’s floppy black strands bouncing with each step as he bounds to your car. He throws your door open, bringing in the cold air as he regards you as easily as an old friend would. 

“Hi,” he chirps, placing his tattooed palms by the air vent, “c’mon, let’s order.” 

“You know, you could’ve ordered inside and brought it in here.” 

“Yeah but then it would take longer to get to you,” the cheeky grin that Jungkook throws at you is unmistakable, “c’mon, get out the car and let’s switch.” 

“Huh?” 

“You look tired, you didn’t come back from the office again, did you?” 

“I did tonight,” you say, “I just really wanted to get the soft copy of the article done and—” 

“Out, out!” Jungkook clicks your seatbelt off and he’s coming out of the passenger side, opening your car and pulling you out by the hand, “c’mon, I’ll drive.” 

You shake your head, hiding your smile in your hand as you let Jungkook do what he wants. Normally you’d be insulted that anyone suggests they should drive your car but Jungkook would always drive you around, saying he loved long rides. Above all, if you could trust anyone to drive your car, Jungkook is at the top of the list. 

Buckling in, you bite the inside of your cheek as Jungkook easily pulls out of the parking spot one-handed. His jacket is pulled up to his elbows, exposing his veins as he expertly whirls the wheel in the direction of the drive-thru. Since college he’s always looked very attractive driving.  

Doesn’t mean you have to act like you’re still in college. You tamp those feelings down, knowing that your article probably has you feeling stuck in time. 

“—coming along?” 

“Wha?” 

“I said, how’s the spread coming along?” 

“It’s pretty much done, I think. I’ll send you the hard copy when it’s ready,” you tap your fingers against the dashboard, “but are you sure you’re okay with me writing it? I know I’m using a pseudonym and everything for you two but I still feel weird—” 

“It’s fine, I think it’s a good thing,” and you still squirm in your seat when he flashes you a genuine smile, “I mean, it kinda is a funny story and I think it’s good for both of us. Like closure, y’know? Moving on and—hi, can I get two Oreo McFlurrys and a large fry? Thanks!” he pulls out his wallet to scan the total on the e-reader.  “I mean, didn’t it feel good writing it?”

“Yeah,” you replied honestly, relaxing in your seat, “like, college was fun and all, but when Jisoo kinda ruined all that… after awhile I didn’t think it was ruined after all, y’know? I still made amazing friends and ended up where I wanted to be. I want to show the readers that shit happens, and that’s okay. And if things are really meant to be, they’re meant to be.” 

The summer playlist hums in the background as Jungkook pulls up to the pick-up window. He thanks the worker and hands you the tray, and you make quick work to put the fries in the first cup holder for optimal sharing. He doesn’t park at McDonalds, but instead smoothly pulls out of the restaurant into the direction of his apartment. It isn’t a particularly long drive, but you figure it would be easier for Jungkook to go home first if you’re already parked at his complex. 

“What do you mean by that?” Jungkook parks in the driveway of his apartment, taking his McFlurry from your hands. 

“Mean by what?” 

“If things are really meant to be, they’re meant to be.” 

“Well, we’re here now, right?” 

Jungkook pops his spoon in, swallowing vanilla and a silly smile through his coral pink lips, “We’re here now,” he repeats. 

The night air is cool and your conversation is warm. You promise Jungkook that you’ll send him the final copy of your spread as soon as it’s done, and you two eagerly deviate away from the past and focus on the present. 

You can’t help the eagerness that flows between you, as if you’ve never spent time apart like this and it’s only now that you’re reuniting. It must be absence that makes the heart grow fonder, because you swell with affection and you find Jungkook’s presence sweeter than any kind of ice cream. 

Are you dating now? Maybe. You and Jungkook are going on dates, everything without the title. McFlurry runs, marathons of HGTV’s Design on a Dime, having lunch at each other’s respective buildings with the Wusbands. Whether these dates are exclusive or not is unknown, but you figure the question will present yourself one way or another. 

You’re in a good place right now, potential relationship or not. After all, your priorities are simultaneously positive and in order: family, work, friends, and any potential romantic trysts are at the very bottom. You could kiss the cover of this month’s issue (and trust, you have kissed your own copy multiple times) if it is not for the fact that this specific issue is for Jungkook. 

So, romantic trysts and friends have a tendency to flip-flop on your priority list, but only because it’s Jungkook. 

Unsurprisingly, there’s no guilt knowing that you’re dating your former best friend's ex-boyfriend. 

After a much deserved early work day, Namjoon and the crew arrange a hearty happy-hour filled with good food and enough relaxation to last the weekend. With your combined successes, your team felt like they made the best issue yet. At the heart of it, The Most Beautiful Moment in Life: Class of Youth became a reckoning of each other’s young life. Despite the love and the growth that occurred from your college years up until this point, you’re glad to close that chapter and move forward. 

You did not tell Jungkook when the issue would come out, so you think it’ll be a fun surprise for him when he sees it magically show up at his apartment. Bending down you move to slip the issue under his door, one hand pushing it under while one hand braces against the frame to steady your balance. 

Just as the shiny cover glides under the door it swings open, and you fall flat on Jungkook’s feet. 

Being the little shit he is, he simply giggles at the blunder, looking at you with excited eyes. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he says. 

“Creepy as hell, Jeon,” you mutter under your breath, brushing the dirt off your aqua pencil skirt. Looking at him from your spot on the floor and his large height, you grimace. “You look like a middle-aged serial killer looking outside your peephole.” 

“Now, we know that’s not true.” he finally offers his hand, easily pulling you up to your feet. You follow him into his kitchen, where he’s cutting up fresh fruit. He throws your issue on the counter, gentle enough so it doesn’t slide off the granite. He gestures to himself with both hands, “me, a dashingly handsome late twenty-something in Nike sweats who can bench-press two of you? Totally not a middle-aged serial killer.” 

“It’s in the eyes,” you chastise, “you look crazy.” 

“Maybe I’m just crazy excited to see you,” he says with a cheeky grin. 

You try your best not to choke on your spit at the cheeseball comment, throwing a blackberry in your mouth. Savoring the burst of tart flavor that fills your mouth, you wait for Jungkook to plate the fruit before meeting him on the couch. He’s holding a prettily arranged plate of berries, bananas, and mango with a huge dollop of whipped cream in the middle. In his other hand is Big Hit’s magazine. 

Throwing your blazer on the couch’s arm you don’t hesitate to cuddle up next to him, eagerly waiting for him to read your spread. 

The cover gazes back at the two of you like a reflection. The entirety of the staff is posed on the cover, made to look like a class photo. Some of you are holding balloons in your respective school colors, many of you grouping up with whoever happened to go to college together. You and Vernon are wearing matching university sweaters with silly grins on your faces. In the middle of the issue is the editor-in-chief, Victoria Song holding a placard that reads: Class of Youth. 

Jungkook spares you a glance from the corner of his eye, your head naturally tucked into his shoulder. With an exaggerated sigh, he fiddles through the glossy pages, “Hmm, which one should I read first?” 

“Of course you’ll read mine first,” you pout. 

“Ah, Namjoon’s looks really fun. Or Vernon’s? New York looks pretty cool,” he flips to a random page, “wait, Yerin’s spread is a Korean cookbook! I definitely want to make some tuna rice...”  

“Jungkook,” you whine, “read mine.” 

“I don’t know,” he taps his finger on his lip, “I mean, I pretty much know your spread because I’m already in it. It would be kind of redundant to read it.” 

“Kook, you’re being mean,” you glower, rubbing your cheek against his soft sweater. He’s just so damn comfy. 

“I’m kidding,” he tugs at your cheek, “where’s the table of contents, first page?”

“I’m on page eighty-three.” 

You speed up the process like an impatient child, leaning over to brush the pages to the desired spread. You even dog-earred it, a habit that drives Jungkook crazy as he immediately fiddles to iron out the crease. 

“Are you gonna read it to me too, mom?” he teases. 

“Okay fine! I’ll be quiet, but don’t take too long.” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

Eyes fluttering, you let Jungkook take his time to absorb your piece. A roommate by any other (rude) name: the lost letter. A cheesy, gimmicky title that Victoria insisted upon that you had no choice but relent to. The rest of the spread thankfully has a very authentic edge to it, your story laced with photos of you and Jungkook, your internship with Vernon, and most importantly, a scan of the lavender letter that got left in the past. 

Jungkook’s not silent through his read-through, either. He laughs at all the right parts, fueling your ego as his smile grows at your favorite lines. While he doesn’t directly engage in conversation, his positive energy is enough for you to make you feel like you’ve done your job right. It’s one thing to write about unknown celebrities and unnamed artists, but for people like Jungkook, the validation is personal. 

“It’s beautiful,” Jungkook says when he’s read it thrice through, running his thumb over a picture of you. “Really organic. Really, real.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he chuckles, having run out of adverbs. “It’s funny, too. I liked your little internal monologue. I wish I knew how you felt back then.” 

“I wish you did, too.” 

You’re quietly munching on a strawberry, looking over a polaroid Jungkook took. It was  sometime in the beginning of senior year, where you’ve fallen asleep on his mattress, drool drying on your mouth. Normally you’d be opposed to having such unflattering, grainy pictures amongst your writing, but it encapsulates the youth you’ve tried so hard to chase away. 

“How do you feel?” Jungkook says, switching out the magazine for the plate of fruit, placing it on his side. 

“Feel great, actually,” you muse, smiling to yourself. By no means are you a hero writing some grand gesture in an entertainment magazine, but you feel like you’ve saved yourself. You’ve savored your youth in four thousand words, cutting out the poison and keeping the moment as sweet as it can be. 

“I’m proud of you,” he reaches to ruffle your hair, and you don’t even get mad when it tousles out of your pinned style. 

Reveling in the attention, you simply close your eyes and feed yourself a handful of blueberries. 

“Love that I make money, but I definitely miss college from time to time,” Jungkook stretches, jostling you out of your comfortable position. “Like I remember Taehyung and I would take turns bringing backpacks to the dining hall so we could stuff fruit in it for later.”

“Yeah, but as much as I loved college I wouldn’t go back,” you nod to yourself, “I’m happy where I am now.” 

“What about when we stayed up for midnight breakfast? The dining hall was filled to the brim with food. Remember when I tried to eat a whole stack of pancakes?” 

“Jungkook…” 

“Or when our classes got cancelled and we went to Lotte World? You ate way too much funnel cake and I had to carry you to the car!” 

“Jungkook—” 

“And that one time we snuck out to the music hall’s rooftop?” words gush out of Jungkook’s mouth like a waterfall, unable to relent, “that’s when I realized I liked you. I liked you so much, I tried to tell you that night but choked—”

“Jungkook!” and he immediately zips up, frowning. You straighten up, on your knees as you reach over to run your hands through his onyx tresses, moving the styled strands to the back of his pierced ears, “Jungkook,” you repeat softly, “I’ve heard all these stories, I was there for most of them. As much as I love the past… can we talk about something else?” you give him a small, tentative smile to show him you’re not mad, but a little uncomfortable at his reminiscing. 

He leans into your touch, pressing your palm against the soft swell of his warm cheek. “Okay,” he agrees, resting one hand on your thigh. 

You’re roped in his gaze, and you have to force yourself to breathe when Jungkook moves closer to you. He hooks a leg behind his back, and another across his lap. A cool breeze kisses your inner thighs when your skirt exposes your cotton underwear. You should be embarrassed but instead you’re fixated, unable to understand what he’s trying to accomplish. 

“Then I’m gonna talk about the future,” Jungkook traps you between the couch, his thumb running hot circles to where your skirt has hiked up. It exposes a slip of the thigh that Jungkook has seen a million times. He’s seen you walking around your apartment in a large shirt, ridden up to your boyshorts. It’s different now, you feel exposed and tingly, thrumming with excitement. “I like you, obviously anticipated news and old news. I can’t stop thinking about how much I want to go on dates with you, re-watch Avatar, grumble when I force you to come to the gym with me,” he bumps noses with you when you scrunch yours, “I wanna be with you. Heck, I’ve even cleared space in my spare room so you’d have closet space for all your fancy designer suits if you ever need it.”

“You cleared space?” you manage to choke out. Visions of a shared apartment roll through your brain. Cooking meals together, having two toothbrushes side by side, and waking up to his face. 

“Of course I did. Do you know how financially attractive you are?” he says lightheartedly, “you’re a sexy working woman and it’s crazy to imagine you’d want to settle for me and my little apartment. But I have to try now because if I don’t, it’ll be too late.” 

“That’s not true,” you retort, “you’re not someone I’d settle for. I want you, and no one else.” 

He chuckles, running a thumb over your cheek. “Then what are we waiting for? Your key’s hiding under the mat.” 

“Jungkook…” on the tip of your tongue lays the words you’re going too fast but it doesn’t make its way to the air. 

“But do you really think it’s too fast?” he reads your face clearly, “these feelings never went anywhere. They were locked away, sure. And I loved her,” he can’t even say the name, not when you’re warm and flush against him, “but I loved our friendship more.”

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you breathe, letting the cogs in your brain roll until sparks develop. 

“You don’t have to say anything,” he concedes, “I just wanted to let you know. Could’ve done the letter thing all over again and let the past repeat itself. I know Namjoon wouldn’t hide a love letter for two years, but if I left another damn letter he’d definitely make a copy and tease me about it.” 

You snort, pressing your forehead to his. You’re practically buried in the couch now, tingly and vibrating with happiness. “And I’m not going to leave you hanging. I do want to say something,” and he looks at you expectantly, licking the leftover berry juice on his lips, nearly making you miss your train of thought, “I like you too,” you say, the other L-word is also applicable, but you feel like that phrase is reserved for another time, “I want to show you off on work vacations, bring you along as my date and show them you’re my muse,” you confess, “I wanna play video games with you ‘till 2AM, and eat ice cream in the comfort of our apartment instead of our cars because we’re too stubborn to admit we don’t wanna go home without each other.” 

Jungkook absolutely preens at the affection, sending you a heart melting smile that has your stomach doing backflips.

“Jungkook, I want to fall in love with you again.” 

Your squeal of surprise is swallowed by Jungkook’s lips, tasting of mangoes and berries as strong hands cup your backside, easily lifting you onto his lap. You plop under his strong thighs, feeling them flex against yours. The both of you are pouring in this kiss, raining with promises and hopes for a future with each other. His taste is concentrated, and you can feel the devotion practically injected in his embrace. 

When he pulls away his lips are cherry-red and shiny, looking up at you through clear coffee eyes. “This isn’t a dream, right?” he looks at you up and down, unable to decipher fact from fiction, “because I distinctly remember two wet dreams that involve you looking like this.” 

Looking down, you heat at the disarray you’re in. Hair wild and parted in different wavelengths, tired of the day’s efforts. Your slightly sheer dress-shirt is rumpled, the lace collar opened with two popped buttons revealing your cleavage, and your skirt is stretched so tight that it’s ruched all the way up your thighs. Sprawled across Jungkook’s lap, you’re dangerously close to something long and hard. 

Emboldened, you clutch at Jungkook’s collar, pulling him closer. 

“Show me what happens in your dream,” you whisper into his ear, barely brushing your clothed core against his crotch, “maybe we can make it come true tonight.” 

You can’t see his face, but you feel something dark and sensual overtake him. The grip on your ass tightens, a delicious pain that has you pressing your breasts against him and nipping on his ear, your tongue darting sensually through the cold silver hoops that dart through his skin. 

Within seconds, he rips you away from his neck and demands, “Open.” 

Dazed, you barely get a centimeter of your mouth open when Jungkook presses something cold and sugary against your lips. Whipped cream. You manage to take a small bite of the tart strawberry that he holds by the viridian stem, rolling the flavor between your mouth as Jungkook paints the leftover whipped cream over your lips. Once he’s satisfied he then creates a white trail that leads to your cleavage. 

Better than any dream, his eyes drink you in like the last glass of water in a desert. Your lips are swollen and parted like a baby kitten, covered in the creamy confection. “So pretty,” he exhales, his hot tongue licking from your cleavage to your lips, swallowing the flavor of you and strawberry juice, “such a pretty girl you are, and all mine.” 

“Yours,” you submit easily, rolling your hips against his. 

At that moment you think you’re meant to fall in love this way. You can’t imagine the shy, fumbly Jungkook and your equally confused self waltzing around a relationship when you barely had your lives together. The two of you still had growing to do. The wait is certainly worth it, because as you feel his arms tighten around you, you’re sure this love will stay strong.

It’s difficult for you to find a rhythm at first, what with Jungkook’s strength and need to be satiated, both of you are sloppy but the friction is nothing less than delicious. Your finger reaches over to swipe at the leftover cream on the plate, and you press your finger to Jungkook’s mouth, and he immediately complies. A dollop of sweet cream leaks out of his lips and your panties dampen further when you feel his tongue lick you clean, imagaining how good it would feel if it was your pussy he was licking. 

Your mouth waters at the feeling of his dick lining up against your core, as sticky as the strawberry juice that clings to your bodies. 

“C-can I make a confession? I—oh, Jungkook…” your mind is all fuzzed up when he snaps his hips against yours, causing you to shamelessly bounce on his length. 

“Yeah?” 

“I… I like it when you use all your strength like that,” his hips slow as your words sink in, but you don’t mind as it gives you time to make a long drag along the entirety of his member. “Everytime you pull me up when I trip, or you come back from a workout, I like it when you carry me around like I weigh nothing.” 

“Do—do you think about it a lot?” he grunts, and you stifle a moan when he does a slow, hard drag against your wet folds. “Tell the truth.” 

“It’s, it’s embarrassing,” you whimper, unable to think straight with the amount of stimuli you’re receiving.  

“Please, baby.” 

“Yes mm—oh! I do,” you try to get the words out as quickly as you can. He stops moving, and you groan in frustration so you just lay it all out on the table. “I, I love it when you hold me in your strong arms. And, ah, uh w-henever you come back from the gym you just look so sexy fresh from the shower. Sometimes I think about how you’re too damn nice for your own good but I bet you’d be so rough in bed.” 

“Really?” and then he’s shoving you onto the couch, air brushing against your bare thighs as your back hits the beige throw pillows. He’s hovering, dark eyes starting from the tip of your toes to your damp lips. “You like it when I manhandle you? Throw you around like a little doll?” 

“All that strength, and for what?” you try to keep your snappy remarks in check, but it’s hard when he’s pressing his straining dick against your thigh, weeping and needy. 

“You’re not gonna be joking about my strength anytime soon, baby,” emblazoned, he easily throws your leg over his shoulder, pushing your panties to the side to let your wetness leak out and onto his fingers, “are you gonna complain or be a good girl?” 

“Yes, I’m ah—” you wince when he inserts a finger, “I’ll be good for you,” 

“My good girl,” he revels in the way you melt under his touch, your previous sarcasm quickly dissolving into a puddle. You always had an inkling that Jungkook would be a sneaky fox in bed, all that muscle hidden behind a kind smile and a penchant for tea with milk and honey. 

Jungkook slips in another finger, stretching you and preparing you for what’s to come. He’s scissoring you at a sensible pace that has you squirming and wanting more. To prevent you from shimmying off the couch he holds you down with his free hand, and you love the way he practically feeds you to the couch, hands dancing over your neck as he shoves you further into the furniture. 

“You look so gorgeous,” he says, causing you to moan and keen at his attention, “you’re such a strong, gorgeous woman. Having you sprawled out like this, ready to do whatever I want to you is so fucking hot.” 

“I’m—I’m only weak for you Jungkook,” you say honestly, tears pricking when he dips another finger. The stretch burns deliciously, and your folds eagerly swallow him up until you’re filled to the brim. Your fingers or toys cannot compare to flesh, and you sigh in relief when you see his inked fingers pick up the pace once more. 

“You’re damn right,” Jungkook husks, and with a grain of love he murmurs in your ear, “I’m only weak for you, too.” 

And that’s when he snaps, thumb rolling against your bud as he slams his other fingers against you, going at a brutal pace. You cry out, not caring whether his neighbors hear as he pulls you back and forth through pleasure and pain. 

“T-too much, Kookie,” you mewl, your hand warbling to find his, “I, ah, ‘m gonna cum!” 

“That’s the plan,” he only goes faster, stretching your band further and further before your desired high is reached. His hand trails up to force your chin straight, looking up at him, “let go for me, baby. Wanna feel your pussy clench around my fingers.” 

In seconds, you gush. It has you in a slight panic, drunk on endorphins as you try to lift your head up but Jungkook’s hand is firmly pressing you on your shoulder as he fingers you efficiently through your high, the wet squelching sounds only increasing with your cries. His lap is drenched in your arousal, along with his chin and lips glistening with your essence. 

He finally releases you when you’re practically shaking, his hands sticky and creamy. You moan when he shamelessly licks them within your view, making sure to wrap his tongue around his ink-stained digits. 

“I,” your mouth is dry when you feel the dampness that hits your bottom, “I’ve never, I don’t remember ever—” 

Your babbles are lost between your throat and Jungkook’s tongue, shoved deep into your mouth. Tasting your arousal has you practically vibrating in your place, as you two rut against each other like hungry bunnies. 

“God, you’re amazing,” he says between pecks, kissing away your face of any tears you may have pricked, “Amazing, adorable, absolutely beautifulIadoreyousoso—” 

“Pleasepleaseplease,” you press your hips up, wiggling for more attention, “please fuck me, Jungkook.” 

You can’t help the witchy, satisfied smile when Jungkook’s eyes darken to a thick coal, “Anything for you,” he murmurs, swinging your legs between his arms as he lifts you like a feather. 

On his lap again, you soon accept that the way you two mesh like puzzle pieces is one of your favorite positions as it gives you both equal space to ravish each other. 

Just when your hand trails to the waistband of his boxer briefs and you’re rolling your thumb over its collected moisture, the moment is shattered when the doorbell rings. You jump in his arms, unprepared for your moment to be interrupted. 

He groans into the crown of your hair, and you soften in his relaxed hold, “I ordered us pizza,” he nearly forgot. 

Perking your head up to look at him you regard him innocently, as if you didn’t release a waterfall on his sweats two seconds ago. “You got us pizza?” 

“I knew you’d be coming over tonight,” he’s pouting into your neck, regretting ever having called the pizza guy if he knew this would happen, “Victoria posted the publish date on Twitter. I just didn’t think,” he gestures vaguely to the mess on his pants, “this would happen.”  

“Damn, and here I thought I was being sneaky,” you chuckle, flicking his ear playfully. 

He gives you an uncharacteristically subby whine, shamelessly upset he has to let you go so fast after he’s given you your first of many highs. Before he weakens further under your beauty, he unceremoniously shoves you off. “Sorry, pretty girl,” you melt at the easy way his pet name rolls off his lips, “can you wait in my room for a bit so I can pay the delivery guy? I don’t want them to see you like this.” 

“But I want to eat pizza,” you declare stubbornly, standing up to button your blouse and pull down your skirt. 

Before you could fasten one button or pull down one centimeter, his hand darts out to snatch your wrist away from your body. It doesn’t hurt much, but it causes your body to heat in more places than one. He’s sexy like this, demanding your attention. “No,” he rumbles definitively, “my room. Now.” 

“Why?” you throw your hands in the air, yelping when he slaps your ass. He makes sure to make it sting, cupping you fully. 

“Because,” he says firmly, “you don’t get to eat until I eat,” you whimper when his hand reaches to cup your sex, panties wet and cold without his warmth as he pushes you in the direction of his bedroom. 

Oh, you can’t wait for both of you to eat tonight. 

some time later.

“Ohmygod the view is beautiful!” Krystal, who works in advertisement, squeals. “No filter needed!” 

“Alright alright, make room Princess,” Namjoon teases. With a bump to Krystal’s tiny hips Namjoon shoves you two across the pavilion, putting his arm around you once he finds the perfect angle, “Umji, can you get a pic of me and my Work Wife? I want this on the Big Hit Instagram!” 

You hold your straw sunhat down from the salty wind, smiling beautifully as Umji takes multiple pictures of you and Namjoon from her Nikon. Another successful year under your notch, ending with a successful work retreat. 

“Namjoon, can I take a picture with my actual wife now?” 

“We’re not married, Jungkook,” you chastise, patting the chest of Namjoon’s floral printed Hawaiian shirt so he can switch. Instantly, Jungkook slides up next to you like a picture perfect stock model piece, and you wrap your arms around his trim waist, “we’re not even engaged.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he pouts, looking over the pavilion and adjusting the both of you so there’s a good amount of you and the resort in the background. The sun may be scathingly hot, but it looks beautiful perched over the crystal clear waters. “Namjoon, you got it easy,” Jungkook says when he hands him your phone, “every angle is our good angle, so you can’t mess it up.” 

Being the honest man he is, Namjoon knows better and doesn’t say anything to that. Instead he shoots down whatever pineapple-flavored concoction is offered to him on a silver platter, and starts shooting. 

“Is this swimsuit new?” Jungkook murmurs into your ear between shots, flicking your little red number by the strap connecting the back, “because I didn’t see this in the luggage.” 

You smile big, pearly whites as Namjoon demands to pop out your butt and work it, pressing your body closer to Jungkook’s. “Tiny enough so I could hide it in my purse,” you reply proudly, voice low for only each other’s ears, “why, surprised?” 

“Definitely not prepared,” his fingers dig deliciously in your bare flesh, “would Victoria fire you if she catches us doing it in the cabana?” 

Amused that your boyfriend now shares your combined awe and fear of your boss, you twist his nipple lightly. He yelps, and from Namjoon’s guaff he’s definitely got that on camera. “We didn’t come to Boracay to fuck in the cabana.” 

“Then the hotel room?” 

Namjoon hands you back your phone when he considers his job done, letting you and Jungkook have some alone time. You wave your phone in his face, trying to get him to focus on the task at hand. You wanted to post some cute pictures of you and your boyfriend, one to impress the family back home and the Big Hit interns back in Seoul who are absolutely pining for your position. 

“Jungkook, they have the water ski thing where you can flip in the water mid air! Doesn’t that sound fun? Or we can go scuba diving, have Filipino food, or get massages. LIterally, we’re on Big Hit’s dime, and the first thing you want to do is go back to the room?” 

“Yes,” he pouts petulantly, leaning into the hollow of your ear and whispering, “got a chub on.” 

Discreetly so, your hands brush against his navy trunks and you note yes, he’s half hard. “No!” you shake your head definitively, pushing him out of your arms. You’re not letting sex get in the way of your hard-earned vacation, you’re on company dime and you intend to milk every peso of it. “Namjoon, take him away!” 

You blow him a kiss and follow another group who’s decided to go eat, watching your boyfriend get dragged away by Namjoon’s long arms. Krystal, who’s been mildly watching the whole ordeal in-between taking selfies, looks at you in awe, “You got it good, bosslady,” she says, and you happily link arms with her in the direction of the restaurants. 

You and Jungkook definitely have it good. You don’t see him until dinnertime, looking utterly relaxed as he sips on a mango-muddled concoction. He must’ve gotten a couples massage with Namjoon, cute. Splitting up was definitely a good idea, by the time your meal arrives the two of you are practically leaning against each other, telling each other what events you need to do tomorrow and events you think will be fun to do together. 

“Joon,” Jungkook is throwing an arm over your Wusband’s shoulder, mildly tipsy. The image is adorable, as Jungkook long ago previously confessed that he felt a little jealous of Namjoon’s work relationship with you before you were dating. Now, it feels like they’re best friends and you’re third-wheeling. “What do you think about having halo-halo tomorrow? It’s like bingsu but with a bunch of other good stuffs. There’s red bean, mango, ube, ice cream…” 

Just as Jungkook begins his tirade of dessert ingredients, you pull up your phone to check on your social media. You smile back at your profile, seeing your latest Instagram post at the very top of the feed. Not to flex, but the two of you look pretty smokin’ since you’ve been keeping up with Jungkook’s insistence to join him at the gym. Jungkook and you are leaning against the pristine veranda, overlooking the clear blue water and a cloudless sky. The smiles you two sport are genuine and utterly in love. 

You scroll down the comments, most of them filled with sweet messages but one of them has you doing a double take. 

@sooyaaa__: 😒😒😒 knew something was goin on behind my back… good riddance

The smell of Jungkook’s detergent overtakes your nostrils, and you turn to him. He’s stopped talking, now immersed in whatever’s going on in your phone. 

“The nerve of her,” Jungkook scrunches his nose, disgusted at her latest comment. “As if anyone would believe her.” 

“Yeah,” you echo, “I feel bad for her, though. She’s probably lonely.” 

“Her loss, she put this upon herself. Not us.” 

You pout, “I know, but she was my friend at one point.” 

He frowns, putting an arm behind your backrest. It would be easy for him to say yeah, and she was my girlfriend and one-up you, leaving it at that. But now he knows better, and that friendship is a much better value than an ill-fated relationship. “Sorry baby,” it’s not his fault, but he sees your disappointment in putting out hope for an old friend. He gives you a little smooch on your temple, “do you miss her?” 

“The old her, yeah,” you sigh, clicking on her profile, “but now? I can do without her negativity.” 

“Okay,” he takes your phone from your hand, “have you ever blocked a person before?”

“No.”

“Well, today’s the day,” he says it so coolly, you barely have time to think when he clicks the ‘block’ button on Jisoo’s profile, then clicking off his phone to put in his pocket. “No more phone for today,” he proceeds to take your plate that was recently served, taking the time to cut your large vegetables into smaller portions. “Like you said, we shouldn’t waste your vacation time.” 

Your heart swells with butterflies for Jeon Jungkook, who’s meticulously cutting your food and telling you to relax and stop dwelling on the past. He’s right, if Jisoo’s not going to stick around for the future and continue to cause negativity in your life, why not keep the positives in the past while it lasted? 

“You know I love you, right?” 

He ceases cutting, and looks at you to pop a sweet potato in his mouth. “Love me enough to do it in the cabana?” 

He’s still on that? “Jungkook,” you warn, pretending to get up, “forget I said anything. I’m gonna go karaoke with Umji.” 

“Kiddingggg,” he whines, pulling you back down with an outstretched hand, “you know I love you too.” 

“You’re terrible.” 

“Only this way because I’d know you’d totally be into cabana sex if we were vacationing by ourselves.” 

“Yes, but you’re still terrible,” you giggle when Jungkook steals a kiss, just as easy as he’s stolen your heart.  

[tokoyamisstuff]

This Is New For Me

Loki x Reader

Summary: Life on Asgard can be straining - especially if the God of Mischief has taken a liking to you.

Warnings: Loki being so terrible at flirting it physically hurts, bullying, this got way angstier than I initially intended

Words: ~2800

A/N: I’ve written this trying to distract myself from personal problems, but honestly I can’t think straight rn. Dunno I kinda hate how this turned out but here you go I guess...sorry.

Loki Odinson must really despise you.

No matter how often Thor would stand up for his brother and try to justify his behavior, there was no other explanation for you other than that he must truly hate you with every essence of his being.

In the beginning, having been invited in the palace to train magic under the Allmother sounded like a once-in-a-lifetime chance - yet all that’s left from your initial excitement had been replaced by pure annoyance.

Lately, whenever you knew that you had to attend class with that certain raven-haired prince, your insides would churn before you even arrived.

Weeks have turned into months, never once ceasing his condescending remarks or childish pranks. Of course, he wasn’t called the God of Mischief for nothing.

All nine realms had tales to tell about his sheganinans - yet with you, he seemed especially invested. There was not one encounter where he could leave you at peace, always ending with you being victim to his wicked humor. 

The man did not seem to respect you at all - and it made you furious.

Today, you’d show him just what you were capable of!

“Greetings, great Allmother.” Polite as always, you bowed deeply in front of your queen, her magnificent presence still making you jittery beyond belief.

“No need for formalities, my lovely student” she responded heartily, only making you admire her even more - until a loud, exaggerated sigh cut through the calm atmosphere.

“Her again?” There he stood, maintaining his defensive pose as he rolled his eyes at you. “Mother, why would you keep on bringing a lowlife like her to defile this holy place?”

This was probably the millionth time that Frigga apologized deeply for her son’s behavior, and you were always amazed by her patience with him. How could a person so formidable end up raising such a troublemaker?

But then again...if she believes that there is good in the God of Mischief, then so would you.

“For today, I have prepared a spell that can only be cast by two mages at once”, Frigga explained, while Loki would still not bid you a single look. “So throughout this lesson, you will need to work together to succeed.”

Irritation was clearly visible on his face - and if you were perfectly honest, you weren’t really fond of that idea either. Yet if it was your scolar’s wish, none of you would protest.

“Spontaneous creation of complex concepts puts a huge stroll on one’s mind and body, so do not be frustrated if it doesn’t work within the first try.”

The idea was simple: Create a blooming meadow in midst of the palace floor, since creating life would be way too complex - only masters of the sorcery arts could take this spell to completion.

You and Loki were now sitting on the bare floor in front of each other and only now you realized how tense he had become, sweat dripping from his forehead and biting his bottom lip.

Was your presence really so terrible that he couldn’t bear with it?!

“Hey” you whispered, taking his hands to form a ring just as instructed “Don’t worry, we’re gonna get this!”

“I don’t need your encouragement...” he spat between gritted teeth, now that you noticed his palms were just as sweaty as his face seemed to be.

One second. Two, tree...fourty....a hundret and two...

“Relax” Loki repeated to himself as if it was his mantra - but now, with your fingers entangled in his? Sheer impossible.

Distraught, he shot his mother a desperate look, just for her to point  towards you, sitting cross-legged and seemingly completely relaxed.

Since your eyes were closed, Loki took this chance to observe every detail of your face, without having to fear that you’d notice his little infatuation.

By the norns - you were as fair and bewitching as always. So way, way out of his league. An unreachable, vigorous being. No angel, valkyrie or similar could ever reach up to you - at least in his eyes.

Was this what they called love at first sight? Loki only knew those sentiments from novels he always ridiculed before he got to know you.

Slowly and steadily, Loki aligned his breathing pattern with yours, picturing the cycle of energy the two of you formed. Carefully, he began infusing you with his magic, trying his best to allow yourself do the same to him.

Another minute passed by and you were finally able to let your magic flow through each other’s bodies entirely, like a serene stream.

With things being like this, he felt so different from the Loki you knew.

His magic was strong, indeed - but so gentle, warm and somehow comfortable to be coated with. You wondered-

“HEY!”

As soon as Loki slapped your hand away, breaking the cycle, all of the flowers that had previously bloossomed through you would wither in an instant.

“What the hel do you think you’re doing, you mewling quim?!” Loki shoutet as loud as his lungs allowed him to, while his mother’s face distorted in second-hand-embarrasment at her son’s choice of words. “Who do you think you are?!”

“I-I’m sorry, I just-” You only wanted to scan his emotions through the magic bond you shared, just peek under the cover for a mere second - what was he so afraid of you to find?

“Know your place, woman!” The god pointed at you before he rushed up, ignoring the ache in his heart as he saw your face contort in sadness. “You are beneath me, never forget that!”

Why were you even surprised?

“You’re right” you sniveled quietly as you balled a fist in your dress, and Loki hated himself so much that he wished to just disappear. “My apologies. You don’t have to put up with me ever again.”

As always, instead of fighting, you made your leave without ever fighting back.

Frigga’s pleads for you to stay and talk this over were all for naught when you rushed away, muttering curses directed towards youself rather than anyone else.

Instead of scolding her son, she’d punish him through her silence, furiously shaking her head as she rushed away as well.

Why did he always have to ruin everything?!

The God of Mischief was very well aware that whenever you were close, his mind went completely blank - and that made him panic.

Never before he had felt so goddamn vulnerable in front of anything, terrifying him beyond belief.

And Loki loathed that feeling: Losing control over himself, being reminded once again how alone and  unloveable he is, facing a goddess as stunning as you are every single day.

So he concluded it to be best to cope like he did all those millenia: Cover up those insecurities, shove his anxieties in the back of his heart and protect his heart from anyone coming close.

Good thing you believed that presumptupus, disoblinging duplicity of his to be his true self.

That would make it easier for the both of you, having as much distance as humanly possible. Vicinity could become dangerous terrain.

Yes, he would only save you some time - it would be a waste if you would try to actually give him a chance, just to be let down by what kind of disappointment he truly was.

But it wouldn’t end here - since the only way Loki Odinson first and only communication was through causing mischief.

A scream of yours startled the servants early in the morning, with your personal maiden being the first to rush to your side.

“Milady, wha-” She stopped in her tracks as she saw you standing in front of the mirror, touching your scalp in disbelief, where everything had been cut short.

That was it. Enough of it!

Dismissing the servants, you took a scissor and tried to at least make an acceptable hairstyle out of the mess he had made, before you would leave to the royal garden.

“You!” Pointing towards Loki, innocently sitting on a bench to watch the sunrise, you screamed and let a strand of hair run from your fingers to the floor. “You did this!”

“Now relax, would you” he chuckled, wearing his smug grin like a trophy as he defendingly held his hands into the air. “You should be grateful, it looks much better like this.”

Next thing he knew was the feeling of your backhand, mercilessly crushing against his collarbone.

Usually, you’d be shocked at yourself, for you had never been a person to choose violence ever before - but right now, you were too full of anger and hurt to even realize.

“You conniving craven pathetic worm!” you exclaimed, breathing heavily as you swung yet another fist towards the prince - however, he grabbed your wrists, trapping you in his hold.

In his life full of wrongdoings, he had been called worse than that - yet still, hearing insults coming from you of all people shot arrows through his heart with every word escaping his lips. Not that he’d ever admit, though.

“It was just a little prank.” Loki would’ve never thought that his actions would affect you this much. “What are you so worked up about?”

“All this time I believed there could be a good person beneath all that...but now what?” The compassion you detected in his eyes were only upsetting you even more. “You are a selfish, cruel and terrible person, and I gave up on you.”

Loki let go off of you, staring at you in disbelief:

You actually believed in him, all this time?! That was impossible!

If anything, the Odinson had always believed you to ignore his existence completely, if he wouldn’t use such drastic measures to attract your attention.

“Wait a second, I-”

“I hope you know that you deserve to be alone...” you sniveled, turning around to face him one last time before you fled the scene. “And you always will be.”

Several minutes had passed until Loki had given up in silencing he voices inside his head that told him you were right: He was indeed a despicable being, tainting your pure goodwill - repelling anyone that would still be willing to give the God of Mischief a chance.

Out of a whim, he jumped up from his place, wanting to rush after you. He was very well aware that he was probably beyond forgiveness by now, yet he at least wanted to make things up to you - even though he had no clue where to start.

“Calm down, Lady Y/N.”

Thor’s voice drang to Loki’s ears just a mere second before he saw that particular heart-wrenching scene unfold in front of him:

You were lying in his brother’s arms, crying to your heart’s extend while soothed you, softly petting what remained from your hair.  Loki remained hidden in the shadows, even though his guts told him to stab his brother right here and now.

“My brother...you know-” The God of Thunder was trying to find the right words, even though poetic speeches were not really his forte. “It’s just his speecial, twisted way of interacting. Who knows where he got that from.”

“I rather wonder if he realized how his behavior truly makes me feel” you snapped back, unwilling to keep defending him. “Weak and worthless, that’s how I feell. And every time our ways cross, he’s making it worse!”

By the gods, Loki never wanted to make you feel that way, let alone think such ways about yourself! He of all people, who knew best what its like to feel unfit and nowhere near enough.

Loki grabbed the fabric of his shirt tight, feeling that his heart might burst if he didn’t. It took everything in him to not let out a loud sob and be caught - but then, his brother snapped him out of it with an impossible question:

“Do you still love him?”

“L-Love might not be the right word, I mean-” Lately, you had let Thor in on your secret admiration for his younger brother. “With the way he’s treating me, and all-”

You just couldn’t help being drawn to him against all reason. After everything you had endured, just to be close to him - and he never even acknowledged your feelings.

And still, here you were, crying over a man that didn’t want you.

“Lady Y/N?”

Loki’s voice made you panic, immediately wriggling out of Thor’s embrace. The Odinson understood immediately, nodding towards his brother before leaving the two of you alone.

“Since when have you been standing there?!” Panic dropped to your stomach, wondering just how much he had heared.

“From the very beginning.”

Before you could even think about what to do now, Loki summoned a dagger, cutting off his raven locks in one swift move. “Wha-”

“Please, accept this as means of apology.” The man now dropped to one knee, humbly facing the ground. “I have never intended to make you doubt your most perfect self.”

Frantic, you were scanning his voice, face, anything for the slightest hint of a lie - but nothing. Loki seemed determined and sincere when he looked up to you, hesistantly taking a hold of your hand.

“This is new for me...” he uttered under his breath as his lips graced your knuckles, and only now you realized that he was trembling ever so slightly. 

“I-Is that another trick?!”

“What kind of vicious being do you think I am?” Well, after everything he had commited it was only natural of you accusing him. “There are lines not even I do not cross.”

Only for a brief second your heart felt a little bit lighter, as his eyes were locked with yours, lost in this moment you have been waited for so long...

...a little too unexpected, right?

Suddenly, you tugged your hand away, and Loki could only sigh in frustration. Of course it won’t be that easy for him to gain your trust. “I don’t need your pity, Loki...”

No matter how he racked his brain around the matter, he had burdened your shared past probably beyond the point of repair.

That would be his last chance, maybe the last time he’d ever see you again. He was so desperate in his attempt, and yet - what else could he do?

So for the first time in millenias, the God of Mischief decided to speak from the heart for a change:

"Y/N, I-I...As I said, this is new for me, so...” he cleared his throat before continuing, stress literally dropping out of every pore. “From the first day we’ve met, you...I mean...you were the most magnificent being I ever laid eyes upon, and...when I think about it now, I-I may be enarmored with you.”

Your eyes widened at this wholeheartedly confession, a sincere smile playing on his lips in contrast of sole tears running down his face.

Never before you had seen him like that: Flustered, vulnerable, and honest...

“I thought to be unworthy of your affection, so I tried to belittle you, to...I don’t even know. I’ve been told many times I am quite assertive of anyone but myself. I-I mean, I am a mess...I don’t understand my own feelings and thus drive away any chance of happiness, and...how could you ever-?”

“Mhh...” you silenced the man as your lips crushed over his, falling straight into his arms. It took Loki quite a second to fully grasp the situation before deepening the kiss, his arms wrapping around you as if you’d disappear if he was to ever let go.

“Y/N...” the prince gasped when your lips parted from that breathtaking kiss - and this time it was you who wore that thug grin on your face.

"Apology accepted” you giggled, just to smother the face of this flabbergasted man in yet another thousand smaller kisses.

This had to be a dream, he thought...and immediately, a wave of guilt washed over him. He did not deserve this in the slightest.

“Now, don’t give me that look.” Cupping Loki’s face in your hands, you gifted him that heartwarming expression he had ignored for so many years, thinking it was not meant for him. “That kiss wiped my memory from everything you’ve done...by now.”

Out of sheer, genuine happiness, Loki leaped from the floor and excitedly swirled you around in his arms.

After another kiss that would kick the air right out of your lungs. the god would peck a more gentle one afterwards, as sweet and tender as no one ever thought he could be.

Even if it’s gonna be a long way, Loki would prove to be worthy of your love.

“Lady Y/N...if you are to believe in me, then I swear I will be on my best behavior from now on!”

"Let's see about that."

[hangovercurse]

Like Father Like Daughter

You meet Colson while visiting your dad, Tommy Lee, on the set of The Dirt and the rest is history.

Request: “Have colson(mgk) meeting tommy Lee’s daughter(reader) on set of the dirt and they fall in love and she meets casie scared that casie won’t like her but casie loves her”

Colson X Reader

Warnings: Cursing

A/N: I wrote this 3 different times because I didn’t like the first two…

Word Count: 2558

Day One

Stepping out into the New Orleans air for the first time was shocking; the smell of cigarettes, liquor, and swamp mixing around in your nose. But there was something in the air; something electric, exciting; something new. You headed towards the studio where your dad told you he was working for the day. A young woman with an earpiece and a clip board found you at the entrance, a kind smile on her face. “You’re Y/N, right? Tommy’s daughter.”

You nodded, letting her lead you through the maze of sets until you walked into a large room with lights and cameras surrounding an area of floor that was set up to look like the set of one of Motley Crue’s old music videos. Your father was on the set, talking to two men who looked around your age and Jeff Tremaine, the film’s director. You hesitantly walked further into the space, but not past the cameras, to alert him of your presence. This process was made much easier by your Uncle Nikki spotting you from across the room and shouting “Little Lee!”

Your dad, along with the men he was talking to and a few other people in the room, turned to look at you. You smiled shyly, sending a small wave to your dad’s best friend. Your dad beckoned for you to join his conversation, wrapping an arm around your side once you landed next to him. “Hey kiddo, how was your flight?”

You leaned into his shoulder, “it was fine. Longer than I’d expected but, at least I’m here.” You took in the unfamiliar faces of the men surrounding you, eyes lingering on the man with bright blue eyes and a drumstick twirling around in his hands.

“Oh, shit, right. This is my oldest, Y/N.” Your dad introduced you to the guys. “Y/N you know Jeff, this is Douglas,” he motioned towards the guy with long black hair and two painted stripes under his eyes, “he’s playing Nikki in the movie.” You nodded, sending the man a smile which he returned brightly. “And this is Colson, he’s me.” He pointed to the man your eye had caught on, who sent you a wide grin.

“Nice to meet you.” You said, towards all the men, but your eyes still trapped in Colson’s blue ones.

The rest of the day was spent uneventfully. You watched the boys film scenes over the monitor with your dad, him feeding you commentary on what actually happened. Even though you’d heard most of the stories growing up, you let him retell them.

You kept finding your attention drifting towards the man with bright blue eyes, a long black wig, and a set of drumsticks always at hand. Your dad noticed, teasing you every chance he got. “He’s hot, right?”

“Dad!” You huffed.

He chuckled, “Just spitting facts. At least I’m not the one drooling over him like a teenage girl.”

You rolled your eyes, “I am 26 years old: I don’t drool over boys.”

“Oh, well, Colson’s a man.” He elbowed you jokingly.

“You’re annoying.”

“Passed it down to you, kiddo.”

Later on, he’d swear he had nothing to do with it, but you’d always suspected he told Colson about your attraction for the man, as after filming wrapped for the day, Colson asked you to dinner. It was quite honestly the best date you’d been on in a long time, and soon you were agreeing to another the next night.

With Colson everything seemed naturally easy. He was one of the sweetest, funniest guys you’d met, and you wouldn’t have to worry about your dad not liking him. The only problem was that you were only able to spend a week in New Orleans with him.

Day 6

“You live in LA, right?” He asked on the walk back to your apartment, his jacket slung around your shoulders.

You looked up at him with the same smile that had been on your face the entire night, “yeah, why?”

He let out a nervous chuckle, “well, I was hoping that when I get back to LA in a month, we could do this again?”

Your smile turned into a smirk, “are you asking me to wait for you, Colson Baker?”

“When you put it like that I sound like a fuckin dweeb.”

“I thought I was making you sound romantic.” You whined jokingly, hand reaching out to intertwine with his. “But if you were asking, I would say yes.”

“It’s a date.”

“You better call me while you’re gone though.”

He looked down at you with a confused expression, “what do you take me for, an idiot? I am going to be texting and calling you so much you’ll be begging me to stop.”

“Good.”

You swung your hands back in forth the rest of the way home, comfortable silence enveloping you. Colson walked you all the way to the door of your hotel room, leaning against the wall as you unlocked the door. You turned to him before making your way into the room, a sad smile on your face. “I’ll see you in a month?”

He leaned off the wall and moved to stand directly in front of you, hands grazing your hips lightly, hesitantly. “One very long month,” he mumbled, trying to burn your image into his memory.

“Well,” you started, “maybe you should give me something to remember you by.” Colson raised his eyebrow at you, feeling somewhat taken aback by your boldness. But then he remembered who your dad was and was much less surprised.

His grip on your hips tightened as he leaned in, lips colliding with yours. Your arms moved up his arms slowly, landing finally around his neck. The kiss was sweet and slow, something you would have never expected from looking at the man. His lips felt intoxicating, like you would die if you pulled apart. It had only been a single kiss, but you were already addicted.

You were broken out of your trance by cheering from the end of the hallway, a familiar voice calling out “that’s my girl!” Your face turned red as you pulled apart, finding your dad and his fiancé, Brittany, clapping at the end of the hallway.

“You are so fucking embarrassing.” You told him as he approached you and gave Colson a firm pat on the shoulders.

“It could be worse. If it was anyone else, I probably would’ve kicked his ass for even thinking about kissing you.” Tommy said, an innocent smile on his face. “But Colson, I will kill you if you fuck this up.”

The blond boy gave him a small salute, “yes sir.”

Day 34

Your text tone rang from your phone as you sat on your couch, watching TV.

Colson:

Be ready in 45

Even though you’d spent the last 4 weeks facetiming him, you weren’t fully convinced that Colson would keep good on his promise to see you again once he got back in town. You’d been pretty convinced he wouldn’t as the days dragged on with no mention of his return or a reunion. But here he was, telling you to be ready for something.

You texted him back

Wait… are you serious?

When he responded with a

Flight just landed, yes I’m serious.

You squealed, rushing around the house to get ready. The simple thought of seeing him in person, of hopefully tasting his intoxicating lips again, made your heart flutter. And then he was knocking on your door. When you opened it to see him standing there, a single rose in his hand and a nervous smile on his face, you wanted to jump into his arms.

He was a gentleman the entire night, opening your door for you, pulling out your chair, complimenting you. Everything just felt so perfect. And when he walked you up to your door and kissed you goodnight, you swooned.

Day 50

You were sat on his couch, your back resting against his chest as some movie played on the TV. One of his hands was wrapped around your waist, the other intertwined with your own. You’d been sitting in relative silence for a while, save for the noise from the TV.

But that was broken when Colson spoke softly, “I know this is lame but like, I gotta make sure. You’re my girlfriend, right?”

You chuckled lightly at his lame attempt to ask you to be his girlfriend. “No, I’ve just been going out on dates with you and not talking to anyone else for shits and giggles.”

He let out a breath of air from his nose humorously, “Okay cool.”

“That was a yes, by the way.” You turned your head and leaned up to press a soft, strained kiss to his lips.

“Cool.”

Day 96

You were half asleep, wrapped up in Colson’s arms on his bed. Your head rested on his chest, eyes struggling to stay open. Colson was just as tired of you were, his words slowing when he said, “I think I’m in love with you.”

You mumbled out a lazy “really?” too tired to be shocked at the gravity of what he was saying. Truthfully, you weren’t all that surprise at the admission, as you had been looking for the right way to express the same sentiment.

“Yeah. I’m pretty fuckin’ in love with you.”

“Sweet” You mumbled, pressing a small kiss to his bare chest.

His chest shook with a silent giggle, “Cool.”

“I love you too.” You said, snuggling closer into him.

“Sweet.”

”Cool.”

Day 102

You were making pancakes at your stove, Colson’s arms wrapped around you from behind. He’d been staying the night at your house for almost a week, simulating the feeling of living with you. You couldn’t admit that the thought wasn’t attractive, having him around almost all the time was amazing and something you were afraid of ending.

“Hey, could I ask you something?” He mumbled as you watched the pancakes cook. You hummed a response and he continued, “my daughter’s gonna be in town next week. I was hoping you’d meet her.”

You bit your lip, a grin growing on your face. You knew meeting Casie was a big deal to Colson, he had told you many times how important she was to him. He didn’t let her meet just anyone in his life. “Yeah, I’d love that.”

But then that thought crossed through your mind; the one that would raise your anxiety levels for the next seven days. What if Casie doesn’t like me?

If Casie didn’t like you, things with you and Colson would be over. He didn’t even have to tell you that, you just knew. And you couldn’t blame him; she’s the most important person in his life. But you loved Colson, and you wanted him to be around for a while. So, if you made a bad first impression, everything would crumble down.

And that’s exactly what you told him a few days later while you lay in bed, Ferris Bueller playing in the background as you traced the outlines of his tattoos.

Day 106

“What if Casie doesn’t like me?”

“Babe, she’s nine years old. She’ll get over it.” He kissed the top of your head lightly, fingers running up and down your spine.

“Yeah, but what if she doesn’t? I know you won’t wanna be with me if she doesn’t approve. And I don’t blame you. I don’t want to be with you if she doesn’t want me to be.”

He grabbed your chin, pulling you to look at him, “you worrying right now is exactly the reason she’s gonna love you and the reason why I already do.” He kissed you softly, your eyes fluttering closed. He still manages to take your breath away.

“I love you too,” you whispered, “I’m just scared of losing you.”

He chuckled, “Casie’s tough, I won’t lie, but she’s going to see just how amazing you are and fall right in love with you. And, if you want extra brownie points, you should let her help you bake something.”

“Was that accidental or were you trying to make a really bad pun?”

He pressed another kiss to your lips, chuckling slightly, “they don’t call me comedy genius for nothing, babe.”

“No one calls you that.”

Day 109

Colson had decided it would be best for you and Casie to meet at his house, mostly because he hated taking Casie out in LA. He’d ordered dinner to be delivered and told you he’d stocked up on baking supplies for you and Casie. Now all you had to do was show up.

He answered the door, pulling you in for a long kiss as soon as he saw you. “I love you.” He whispered, trying to ease your nerves. You spoke the words back to him, letting him take your hand and lead you inside. “Hey, Case, there’s someone I want you to meet.”

You’d seen Casie through pictures that Colson had shown you or from around the house, but she seemed so much prettier in person. You could tell by the way she moved that she took after her father, just like people always said about you. “I’m Y/N.” You said shyly, a soft smile on your face.

Casie beamed up at you, “I’m Casie. Dad talks about you a lot.”

You chuckled, turning to him, “he does?”

She nodded, “he thinks you’re great.”

“I think he’s pretty great too.” He pressed a quick kiss to your cheek. “He tells me about you all the time.”

“Really?”

You smiled at her excitement, “heck yeah. I was so scared to meet you because of how cool he makes you sound.”

The three of you ate dinner, chatting conversation. You were less nervous than before; Casie seeming to like you, but you were still on edge. When you finished, Colson announced, “I happen to know that two of the best cookie makers in California are sitting at this table and I am not one of them.” He looked between you and Casie, a smile on his face. “So, I believe cookies are in order.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, an amused smile on your face. “You’re helping us.”

Casie nodded, “every master chef needs an assistant.”

“She speaks truth.”

Colson pouted at both of you, “I was gonna be the judge.”

Casie giggled, getting up from the table and dragging her dad by the arm to the kitchen. “Too bad!”

You stayed at the table, picking up dishes and taking them to the sink before joining the other two at the counter in front of a large bowl and a variety of ingredients. Colson was currently holding a bag of chocolate chips over Casie’s head as she jumped to reach it, failing miserably. “Y/N he won’t give me the chocolate chips.” She whined.

You gave Colson a stern look, “hand them over, noodle boy.” You held out your hand and he placed the bag into your palm, a pout on his face. Casie laughed, repeating the phrase “noodle boy” to herself as you handed her the bag.

“So, are you two just gonna team up against me the whole night?” He asked, looking between you two.

Casie and you made eye contact, firmly shaking your heads, “absolutely” you said at the same time.

[runtedfiction]

immediately

day 4: trust @zelinkweek2021

ao3

AN: sometimes it's like, wow. i don't care about plot. i don't care about good writing. i want hand holding and cudz

* * *

It's easier to talk at night.

* * *

“When were you most annoyed with me?”

Link doesn't know why she can't just sleep. Maybe it's the whole just-came-back-from-being-a-goddess-for-a-century thing, but still. Yeesh.

She pokes his cheek. “I know you’re awake. You haven’t started snoring yet.”

He tightens his arm around her waist and scoots a bit closer. “Zelda. I think it's 2AM.”

“Please?”

He can picture her eyes pleading.

“I barely remember anything. I know, like, eighteen things.”

“I know, I know.” She gets quiet for a bit. “I’m sorry. But it can be from the past month too.”

“Well, you're being annoying right now,” he says. She harrumphs. “But let me think.”

“Yay.”

He pauses, and she accuses him of sleeping, but he really isn’t (maybe just on the border of dozing off). It’s strange how clearly you remember things when your past is composed of eighteen pieces. It’s easy to recreate exact scenes and examine them over and over.

“Ok, I got it.”

“Tell me, tell me.”

“The most annoyed I’ve ever been with you, and believe me, there’ve been a lot of times—” he stops for dramatic effect, and she shoves him a little “—is probably the Kara Kara Bazaar Incident.”

“Oh,” she says, sounding surprised. “Really?”

“Okay, well.” He struggles to put this politely, and decides he can’t. “My guess is you lied to me, ran somewhere I couldn’t find you, and then almost died. I can’t remember, of course, but my guess is that’s what happened. That’s the only way I would've let you out of my sight.”

His eyes have adjusted to the darkness; he can see her face when he runs a hand across her cheek.

She smiles, but it doesn't look happy. “Ok, that’s fair. I think for the entirety of our time in the desert I was trying to lose you.”

Something about staying up late together makes it easier to talk. “Well I’m glad I didn’t.”

“Yeah,” she says, squeezing him briefly, “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah.” He squeezes her back. “You’re here.”

Unfortunately, he's wide awake now. After ten minutes of trying to feel sleepy again with no luck, he asks, “Hey. When were you most annoyed with me?”

She snorts and turns over to face him again. “Oh, when wasn’t I annoyed with you?”

It’s his turn to act prickly. “Hm.”

“But,” she says diplomatically, “one could argue, it was unfair to be so annoyed in those few months we spent together.”

“One could agree with that sentiment.”

“Hm. I’m thinking. You want to hear about something you don't know yet, I’m guessing?”

“Yup.”

“Alright, I’ve got it.”

“Lay it on me.”

She starts tracing mindless squiggles on his arm. “The first time I met you.”

“Oof, that bad?”

“Just listen. I remember it so clearly--exactly where I was when my father summoned me, what the light looked like streaming through the castle’s halls as I walked towards the throne room. It was the hour just before sunset--everything was golden when I opened the doors.

“And there you were, standing so tall and quietly. And I knew exactly who you were; everyone did. You were the chosen one, the boy who could throw men twice your age over your shoulder since you were, something like, five years old.

“And when my father introduced us, he told me that from now on I could trust you with my life. I said nothing and still you looked up at me.” She grabs his hand. It’s instinct now to thread his fingers through hers. “No one else had looked at me like that in a while—so plainly, without judgement. My friends were always worried, my father disappointed, my elders disapproving. It made me like you immediately, and I hated you for being so perfect.

“And,” she’s laughing now, “you were so cute. It really pissed me off. Hylia gave you every single superpower and couldn’t even give me a glowing hand, and now I supposedly needed you. And you were attractive. You could’ve at least done me the favor of being ugly.”

He laughs. “I’m sorry I caused you so much distress.”

“Apology accepted.”

“Thank you,” he says after a bit. He likes it when Zelda tells stories: the cadence of her voice, the way she uses her hands to describe things. How he suspects she’s giving him every detail so he can picture it and store it as a memory. (He tucks this one close to his chest.)

“Ok, just one more question.” She’s grinning the way she does when she knows she’s trolling. “What’s the second most annoying thing about me.”

He turns around in protest. “When you don’t let me sleep.”

She drapes an arm over his waist. “I know you just want to be spooned.”

He smiles into his pillow. She liked me immediately. “Night.”

“Goodnight.”

[sleepylixie]

3.1k words, Angst, Fluff (Romance), Non-idol AU

Kim Hongjoong X fem! Reader

Inspired by Love you Like Me- William Singe ( Playlist here )

Beware of Profanity, Heavy themes of infidelity, implied sexual activity 

The studio was loud, bustling with murmurs and movement, lighting being fidgeted with and artists putting in the final touches to the simple, neutral toned set. A shiver traced down your back as you watched people walk this way and that, preparing everything to be perfect just in time, just before the cameras begin rolling and the star of the show settles in front of the camera-

The steady buzz of your phone in your hand interrupted your train of thought. Took him long enough, you thought to yourself as you watched the name flash across the screen. Hongjoong. 

Not a couple of months ago, his contact’s name had been ‘loml’ with a red heart- how quickly things change. You knew he would call you before you were to go on-air, a tradition that he had unfailingly kept alive over the last 3 years. This particular call however, was different. Special. 

Because it was going to be the last. 

You would miss his calls, you mused as you accepted the call. His smooth, lilting tenor always greeting you with- 

“Hello, starlet.” 

The amused endearment didn’t make you smile like it used to. You used to shy away from it when you had initially started dating Hongjoong. Over the years, however, you had truly grown into a starlet in your own right so the inside joke was now laced with adoring truth. 

“Hello, my love.” 

Your voice was soft, mellow, the perfect replication of how you would respond to him in better times. Funny how a relationship you’d valued as much as your career had come down to pretence and secrets- 

“Are you ready?”  

The real question is, are you ready? The response was heavy on your tongue but you swallowed it down, letting a sardonic smile curl up the edge of your lips as you hummed into the phone, a show of contemplation.

“I think so.” 

If only he knew what you were talking about. 

“I’m sure you are, you spent so much time in the studios with Chris. Trust yourself, darling. You’re going to do amazing.” 

There had been a time when his reassurance would’ve given you enough motivation to rule the world- now though, it felt like nothing but a sham. Pretty, deceptive falsities that he kept up only for the sake of his promise to you. A game of make-believe he seemed to be amusing himself with. 

He was going to find out soon enough, you convinced yourself. He was going to find out soon enough that you were no game to be trifled with. 

The producer caught your eye, motioning to the set – it was time. 

“It’s almost time, I need to go.”

What a glorious double entendre this conversation was. 

“Good luck, my love. I’ll be watching the live.”

You hummed again before hanging up, coughing into your hands as you made your way to the set. The producer flashed a smile and thumbs up at you as you took your seat on the stool meant for you. 

“We’re going to be live in 3 minutes. Ready?” 

Between your makeup artist doing some final touches on your face and the sound technician checking the wires and mic-set for your in-ears, you returned the producer’s thumbs up with a confident smile- more confident than you were truly feeling, you were sure. 

“Ready.” 

All too soon, the 2 minutes had passed and you were sat alone in front of the camera, nothing but a mic in your hand as the producer did a countdown- Rolling in 3,2,1-

The first strains of the backing track flowed through your in-ears, your grip on the mic tightening as the repetitive, building melody washed over you like the tune of a haunted nursery rhyme. With the melody came the memories, a barrage of feelings tinged angry red and melancholy pink. 

After all these years, it seemed your love really had to end the way it began- mic in hand, lyrics at your lips and leaden heart in your chest. This time though, he wasn’t the healing balm, he was the twisted knife itself. 

Kim fucking Hongjoong.

“He never calls this late at night, no… But I can tell he’s been drinking all night long.” 

The studio was pin-drop silent except for the soft, dragging lilt of your voice. The track Chris had made for you could catch a listener’s attention all too easily- the magic your voice brought with it soon afterwards only served to hook the listeners more. 

You remembered slipping into the studio one rainy 2 a.m, scrawled sheets of paper feeling heavy and hot in your pocket. Chris had been rightfully concerned with your deceptively put together appearance, knowing exactly what had brought about the torrent of words you had thrown onto the table. 

Chris had always been safe, warm comfort for you- from the days of pulling all-nighters before graduation to the sleepless nights spent recording and producing in your shared studio, your friendship had come a long way.

But you’d shaken your head at him, urging him to look at the sheets. The memory of your pen slicing into the sheets was still burnt onto your fingertips, your vision almost blurring with tears as you scrawled every word that came to mind. Fiery, sensual, vengeful words seared onto the paper, a clear reflection of everything that had silently plagued you every night, every sunset, until you broke.

 “He sounds upset, I’m asking baby where you at, I called you earlier but you didn’t call me back…”

You met Hongjoong a little more than 4 years ago in a dive bar- him, the tired university student looking for a break and you, the evening’s entertainment. Your set had been entirely covers of moody love songs, reminiscent of your own sentiments- all you wanted to do was write your own music but it seemed all rookies were destined to be stuck with small gigs and other artists’ music. 

But for some reason, this one man with electric blue hair that contrasted- clashed, even, with his formal outfit had approached you after you finished your set. Only when he sidled closer to you did you noticed the paint splatters on his cuffs and the tiny earring dangling against his neck. The first thing he told you was that he had fallen in love with your voice and would love to get you a drink so he could hear it more. 

Even in the heartbroken haze you were in, you knew there was something about this odd patch-work quilt of a man with a sparkly smile that you couldn’t shake. Conversation had been uncannily easy after that-

Falling in love with Hongjoong however, hadn’t been a cakewalk by any means. 

 “He’s breaking down, I’m about to lose it… I’m screaming who the fuck were you with…”

Falling for Hongjoong was walking through fire and hail and ice; it was always expecting the worst out of each other but somehow ending up with the best too; to see each other as flawed humans before possible targets of affection. It took a good part of a year for the both of you to acknowledge any sentiment beyond friendship for each other, even more time to consider dating. 

He’d been hesitant at first- so had you. But as Hongjoong murmured to you that fateful evening your relationship began, the thought of not knowing how you’d be together was one he could not digest. Sometimes you wish you hadn’t agreed- but to disagree would’ve been a regretful lie. 

Over the years, it had always warmed your heart to have known without a shadow of a doubt that he would walk through all the world’s calamities for your hand in his.

Kim Hongjoong was perfect, after all. 

The perfect son of a perfect family, the visual arts graduate with a perfect score, the perfect fit for a job as an art gallery’s curator- Surely, his love was tinted with the same shade of perfection as the rest of him?

You were wrong. 

 “I grab my keys you better tell me where you at… he said he fucked up but there’s no taking it back...”

Kim Hongjoong was fickle as a wayward breeze where the matters of the heart were concerned. It was easier for him to let people love him, feel the adoration for him rolling off people’s eyes and bodies than be the person to love freely. Love was vulnerability to him, but gods, did he make vulnerability look gorgeous. 

Maybe the very reason he began to love you at first was because you didn’t care for his perfection.

His words still echoed in your ears sometimes, especially in nights that were woefully sober or afternoons that were hopelessly unproductive. There had been a time when the only things you remembered of the honeyed rasp was from your best dreams, promising you forever in every day- 

Not anymore. All you remembered now was the way he had sounded that night, alcohol and regret mixing badly in his veins, voice rough and stilted and broken as he asked you for forgiveness, for space in your heart despite his mistakes.

 “I gave everything to you and this is what you turn around and do…”

You wish you’d never driven to him after his teary confessions, hoping against hope he was pranking you and had only drunk too much to cater to common sense. You wish you hadn’t walked yourself to his best friends’ night club and have to witness the look of pity Seonghwa and San cast upon before handing Hongjoong over to you. 

You wish you hadn’t put yourself through the utterly tragic ordeal of picking up after him. Especially now, that you know how the future would look after that night. 

The memories steeled your voice through the smooth notes, the music rising and falling as the backing track began to build. You’d struggled to record this section of the song- your breath always seemed to catch and hold when you sang the words, your chest feeling too heavy, tongue too leaden to mouth the next lines. But today, the tune was like second nature to your lips, the sentiment almost easy to express. 

Surely he was watching now, wherever he was, the lyrics’ meaning sinking into his skin with every word. Some tiny, savage part of your brain hoped he felt the same cold terror and sense of unfairness you felt all this while- you hoped he would drown in it until it consumed him, soul and all. 

 “Did she have it all, all that you wanted for you to go and break your promise?”

He’d crawled into your bed with you that night, holding you closer than he had ever held you in 3 years. Soothed your tears of pure disappointment and cried way too many of his own, your shoulders shuddering as you pulled each other closer. Murmured apologies a million times, over and over again against your skin as he curled his body around yours, until you fell into a restless sleep. 

You still remember the time-dampened images of the nightmare you had that night, the shadows laughing at you for being an inadequate girlfriend, an unfit person, that he probably cheated because you weren’t doing enough for him. You’d awoken a mere couple of hours after the both of you had nodded off, Hongjoong’s grip on your body still tight despite his state of slumber. 

Was he worried you’d wake up and walk away?

He would find you in your kitchen in his old shirt when he woke up anyway, tired eyes and tired limbs and enough coffee for 2 in the French press. 

 “I wanna know, every secret you’ve been hiding…I wanna know just how long have you've been lying…”

A mistake, he’d called it. One-off error in judgement, a single moment in time he had chosen not to listen to his better sensibilities. It had happened once, entirely because of his lapse in judgement, he said. It would never happen again; he swore to you. Promised to you with your hands in his, earnestness in his gaze that you had never been subjected to until now- then again, he’d never given you reason to mistrust him until now. 

You’d asked for a promise from Hongjoong that day- a no-closed-doors policy on your relationship. It should’ve been a no-brainer as far as you were concerned, but it seemed that people like Hongjoong needed the reminder that not all people lived the way they did. That love wasn’t reckless free fall to everybody, a spark that burns fast and bright and fizzles out just as quick. 

 “I wanna know, does she fuck you like I did…I wanna know, and will she love you like I did…”

You wish you’d been less mature about the whole affair. 

Singing the words aloud only made you wish you’d thrown the words at him the first time it happened, instead of now, behind the safety of two screens and physical distance. You should’ve allowed yourself the sheer meltdown that the situation warranted, allowed the rage to take over your system even if it was for those few unfiltered seconds.

Hongjoong’s actions hadn’t deserved the maturity you afforded them. But you couldn’t blame yourself- in those fleeting moments, the primary emotions you had felt was that of inadequacy. You should’ve trusted yourself more.

 “Boy this ain’t how it’s supposed to be...Dancing between someones else’s sheets…”

After the burning hurt from the fiasco died down, it felt like Hongjoong had taken it upon himself to prove to you how special, how important, how absolutely irreplaceable you were to him. In the haze of it all, you ended up loving it. 

The once almost stoic man was now making an effort to be more to you, less of the disappointment he had caused you. He made an effort to talk to you, open up about his frayed relationship with love – hesitant at first and then naturally. 

I care about you. I love you; he’d murmured to the ceiling one night. You were silent, body resting against his as he arranged the sheets higher around your bodies. I wanted to know what we’d be like together and I haven’t regretted a second of it. I can’t imagine my days without you around.  A soft kiss planted against your hairline that you returned against the crook of his neck as sleep claimed you.

 “I can’t believe this is really happening, your guilty conscience is going to be the death of me..”

The next few months were a daily reminder of how much Kim Hongjoong had come to know you over the years of your relationship. Your favourite flowers turned up like clockwork at your desk every Tuesday, accompanying a note in his quick, scratchy handwriting – a new tradition of mid-week dates at experimental restaurants with oddly planned menus. Voice notes of his raspy morning voice sending you sweet affirmations that rung in your ears late into the afternoon. 

Even the way he touched you felt softer, more… reverent. Like he’d had a taste of what he stood to lose and never wanted to think of it again. As each day passed, you found yourself resting easy, basking in the attention and adoration and soft romance of it all.

Looking back on it, you should’ve known. What was it they say about a cheat?

They expect you to be loyal to them despite their faithlessness.

 “You got so caught up in the moment...But she’ll only love you when she’s lonely…”  

The second time it happened, the only thing your heart felt was a wildfire doused in rage and an almost crippling sense of treachery. A fellow artist in the same recording company as you had slipped into the studio late one night, just as you were packing up to head home. She’d pulled you to the couch on the side, holding your hands in hers as she hesitated before asking her questions- Are you sure your boyfriend is faithful? He keeps leaving the club I perform at with other girls?

Your fingers curled tightly around the mic, trying your hardest not to let your other hand clench the fabric covering your legs. You would give the world neither the privilege nor the misfortune of knowing how much truth this song really held. The world didn’t- no, Hongjoong didn’t deserve it. Not anymore.

 “This ain’t a game you better tell me where you're at, No boy, you fucked up and there’s no taking it back..”

You’d dropped by Hongjoong’s apartment that night, hands shaking in your coat pockets and head spinning from the rush of emotions. You had a spare key, and it was only a matter of dropping him a quick text before letting yourself in. Betrayal? Rage? Frustration? Disappointment? It was the disgusting cocktail in the pit of your stomach that led you to snoop through his phone while he was in the shower-

You wish you hadn’t but oh, you’d be damned if you weren’t glad you had.

He’d brought girls to his apartment at the end of so-called club hopping nights with Seonghwa. Every Friday. Ever since he’d made his ‘promise’ to you.

Every single Friday.

He’d bedded some random chick from the clubs and then turned up at your doorstep every weekend like nothing had ever happened.

Every. Single. Friday.

 “I gave everything to you …and this is what you turn around and do..”

You remember slipping out of Hongjoong’s apartment as quickly as you had turned up, faking an emergency at the studio to dash out the front door. Stubbornly holding your tears at bay as you drove back to your own neighbourhood, out of the car and into your apartment. Collapsing on your couch in a daze just as the breakdown began.

You still don’t know if the tears you shed that night were of anger or sadness- with the urge to destroy everything Hongjoong stood for, the only thing you wanted to do was never see him again.

For a second, you were transported back to that disaster of a night, the studio melting away into the familiar walls of your apartment, closing in on you as the despair and bottomless rage set in. There was an edge to your voice as you sang now, more angry than sad like before. Was he listening? Was he able to hear your farewell in the lyrics?

Was he panicking that you found out? Or worse, did he not care at all?

 “Did she have it all, all that you wanted for you to go and break your promise?”

The next morning, you’d woken up with puffy eyes and a heavy heart, but with one clear motive seared into your mind- revenge.

You’d allowed him into your heart, let him build a home there for years and years. You had loved him every way you knew how to- broken at first, unconditionally later. You’d given him trust, a currency you were known to be stingy with- and he turns around and does this to you.

Maybe that was childish of you; maybe a more mature person would’ve broken it off that day, wallowed in heartbreak and made efforts to move on. But no, not you.

If Hongjoong had found it acceptable to take girls home while being in a relationship with you, he would definitely find it acceptable if you aired some of his dirty laundry yourself.

 “I wanna know every secret you’ve been hiding…I wanna know just how long have you been lying..”

Chris had been concerned when you walked into the studio, looking almost entirely functional and not worse for wear at all.

It made sense, your best friend’s worry. It had only been 3 days since…since the incident and besides an update message, you had burrowed yourself at home and entirely unreachable. But here you were today, sheets of paper filled with your scrawl covering the table in front of you- lyrics.

Read them, you’d muttered, shoving the pages towards him- your hands shook slightly, the first crack in your façade. They’re a bit of a mess, but they mostly make sense.

Only you would remember being drunk off your mind on whiskey and later, wine the whole time. Alternating between feverish writing and heartbroken sobbing. Pretending to be completely fine to Hongjoong, telling him to not ‘interrupt your creative process’. Staring out into the starrless night skies and wishing that one day soon, Hongjoong would feel the hell you were feeling now. One day, you would look a camera in the eye and sing these lyrics out loud, for the world to hear, for him to hear. And you’ll be damned if that day, Kim Hongjoong didn’t get his final taste of who he’d just lost.

 “I wanna know…does she fuck you like I did, I wanna know,  will she love you like I did..”

Getting the right feel to the lyrics while recording the song had been all too easy, waving off Hongjoong’s curiosity about your newest project easier so.

It was a surprise for him, you would smile, dropping fleeting kisses against his cheekbones and jaw just the way he liked. He always smiled and dragged your mouth to his own, letting his smile slide against your own, murmuring that he was going to follow you into the studio to take a peek for curiosity’s sake. 

Talk often fizzled out at that point, because god, it was so difficult to stay away from each other’s bodies and out of each other’s arms after the long days of being your own people, strong and resourceful and adult and independent. It was easier to let your muscle memories take over, touch and sense and feel every single wretched thing that Hongjoong was so capable of making you feel.  

 “She won't do you like me, she won't love you like me, baby…she won't touch you like me, she won't love you like me, baby…”

You would be lying if you said you didn’t get a wild sense of pleasure singing those lines, your eyes not leaving the camera pointed at you. Was it revenge well served? A broken heart being healed?

Over the weeks of preparing for the song, you’d realized how true those words were. The burning sense of betrayal and hurt hadn’t faded in the least- you still woke up every morning feeling lesser than, but never again. Never would you let anybody feel like this again.

Nobody would love Hongjoong like you could. It was about time he realized that. Pity, though, that you wouldn’t be around to witness it. 

“She won't love you like, she won't love you like me.”

The music fizzled out into silence, the producers counting down as you stayed still- 3,2,1 cut! In pursuit of the feeling of reckless freedom, Hongjoong had lost the one person he claimed made him feel like he belonged. How unfortunate for him, you mused, as the studio erupted in claps, the producers grinning widely and everybody smiling at each other. In the middle of the chaos, the door swung open- His eyes were wide, short blonde hair a windswept mess against his forehead, the single stalk of your favourite flower hanging limp in his hands. Surely there were paint marks on his cuffs, and the tiny earring would jingle prettily when he moved, but as his gaze met your dead ones, you could only think one thing-

She won't love you like, she won't love you like me.

Thank you for reading! Do let me know what you think~ xoxo, Elliana.

Network Tag: @kpopscape​

[nat-20s]

#10?

prompt 10- recognizing the other's voice in a crowded room

so uhh u didn't specify this being a pairing, and it ended up jonmartin lol

this is like? an au where one of the domains of the lonely (and also maybe stranger) plays off the specific loneliness that comes with parties. u kno the one, where you have fun for about an hour and then realize that you're fundamentally isolated and you need a breather?

anyway

~*~

Upon opening his eyes, he is not where he last remembers being. He is not sure how long his disorientation will last, but considering he's standing up right, at the edge of a crowded ballroom, he suspects it may be the entire time that he's here.

He had fallen asleep on the couch, the TV blaring away on a program he didn't know any of the details of. It hadn't mattered what was playing, as long as it had some of the natural rise and fall of other people speaking. He had been severely mising that lately, those gentle rhythms of conversation, and trying to listen to an audiobook while staring at his bedroom's popcorn ceiling just wasn't cutting it. So, TV dreaming it was.

Oh, that could be what was going on. An elaborate dream, constructed from the sound of a scenario he hadn't paid any attention to. He didn't think he'd fallen asleep watching anything to spark this kind of dreamscape, but that didn't mean much. It'd be oddly lucid, for a dream. And oddly sharp. His dreams, much like his memories, were always somewhat clouded over, and never as colorful as reality. Even his grayest waking days, of which there were many, had colors more distinct than what appeared in his mind's eye.

Simple test: he could never read or write in dreams. The words always swirled and distorted, and he somehow lost all manual dexterity. He needed a book, or a pencil, or both. He began to wander the ballroom, and abruptly realized that this was a masquerade, everyone wearing elaborate costumes with animal shaped masks. Did he fit in? Did he belong? He hoped he wasn't in what he fell asleep in, the worn hoodie and sweatpants barely worth making a grocery run in. The outside world wasn't supposed to see him looking comfortable, but presentable. He liked to think that if he left the apartment appearing at least somewhat put together, maybe people would believe that extended to other areas of his life. That it would be easier to ignore the increasingly dark circles under his eyes, that his nice sweater had been getting gradually looser as the tool of everything literally wore him down.

Small mercy, he wasn't like that now. A glance down showed that he was, like the rest of the guests? Captors? dressed to the nines. He has a suspicion that his own elaborate outfit, dark blues with gold and pearl embroidery, was a part of it. It was not a mercy to blend in here, it was a design element. Standing out would result in being noticed, being noticed meant being seen as an individual, and they can't have that.

It is with that line of thinking that he suddenly becomes aware of the weight of the mask on his face, the restriction of his sight through eyeholes. Looking into a teapot that's been polished to a mirrored shine, he see that he bears the incredibly crafted face of a field mouse. It would almost be plain, if it didn't have matching embroidery to his coat.

Fitting, he thought. It made him look smaller than he was, and he had so often wished to go unnoticed. A fly would've also worked, but he imagines it would be rather hard to make that into a suitably beautiful mask. Either way, he was level with the rest of the crowd. Even believing it to be part of the trick, even knowing that the masquerade was meant to make you false, there was some level of comfort to it. He was not going to be seen here. Instead someone more handsome, more charming, more even with his peers was allowed to take his place, as false as they were. Best of all, that's what all of them would be doing here, the whole appeal of a masquerade in leaving behind the person you loathe most and can never be free from.

Seems lonesome, for a party. So structured around the theater of it all. You can connect with countless people, and you don't get to actually connect with any of them at all.

Oh.

Oh, now this made all made sense. Crave interaction, and get a warped version of it.

He could see the napkins, emblazoned with a name that he didn't recognize, presumably the host, and, in much smaller font, the company name. Every one of them was consistent.

Easy enough to receive the message. This wasn't a dream. This was a punishment.

Hmm. Well, no, punishment might be the wrong term. Punishment implied that it was a consequence, a direct cause and effect of doing something wrong, by someone's definitions of "wrong". No this was. Torture is too strong of a word, and again, has the problem of making this seem willful. Deliberate. And maybe it was, but more likely, whatever this was had just sort of happened. A cruelty that comes with being in the universe they all happen to occupy.

This wasn't a dream. This was a consequence.

He doesn't know how to get out of here. He can't see any doors, and exits. The only approximation of one is some giant frosted glass that seem like they might lead to a balcony. They're only on the other end of the ballroom, but that lengths feels impenetrable, like it spans for miles and miles of harsh terrain.

There's a few options available to him.

One: Try to fall asleep, and see if he can get back to where he started. Lowest effort option, but he's pretty sure he hasn't been this fully awake in months. Maybe years. Something about the environment makes it feel as though electricity sparks throughout his entire body. It's an interesting sensation, certainly, akin to anxiety taken to an extreme degree, yet it's not particularly conducive to sleeping.

Two: Make a break for it. He doesn't know if there's anywhere to make a break for, but he also isn't sure how high up this place is. Maybe the balcony is a viable option for escape. Or maybe he'll find a door that had previously been hidden from him. Hell, maybe he won't fully escape, but he'll find somewhere quieter at the very least. Somewhere that he doesn't leave him so thoroughly dazed. This is probably the best option, even account for the wall of people surrounding him. But.

Option Three: Join the Dance.

Inadvisable. Foolish, really. The best outcome is..what? Is there a best outcome? Worst outcome is he's dancing forever, until his feet wear down to stubs of bone, until he dies, until he cant remember anything but the dance. Never a connection with any dancer, all of them, eventually, a blur of activity and nothing more.

Yet, it's what he's going to do. He's not the most curious person he knows, that honor goes to a man that he's been in love with for years, but can't grasp any of the details of while he's here. That can't be good. What was his name?

Anyway. He's not the most curious, but he's hardly immune to a detrimental sense of interest. He wants to know what the dance is like. He wants to see the intricate costumes of the others stuck here, and see if there's anything behind the masks. He knows it will, inevitably, leave him lonelier. He knows, inevitably, that he does not care. At least this version of loneliness is more interesting than sitting in his flat, wondering whether having thin enough walls to hear the echo of his neighbors' voices would make things better or worse. So, when someone approaches, adorned in a shrew mask, hand outstretched to pull him into the fervor, he accepts.

The dancer is competent. Neither of them steps on the others foot, and he lets himself be led. Even better, the dancer is willing to talk. A man named Tom, his voice cheerful even as he confirms that he doesn't know how he came here either. Tom shrugs when he asks if this bothers him, saying if you're going to end up somewhere mysteriously, gliding across a ballroom with a handsome stranger is hardly the worst place to be.

It takes a second for him to register the fact that Tom's flirting. It makes him laugh, and it feels wrong in his throat. The sound is unfamiliar, almost belonging to someone else, but it's brief enough not to hurt. He'll grieve all the time he's lost later, for now, he says, "How would you know if I'm handsome with this mask? Or are you just making a flattering guess?"

Tom opens his mouth to answer, a grin on his features that suggest something playful and wry is about to come out, but then the song ends. They both know, somehow, that the brief rapport they've gotten to enjoy has come to an end. They swap partners, and as much has he would like a second dance, when Tom gets swept into the throng, he knows he won't be seeing him again.

The next dancer is at a higher skill level at him, which results in nerves encroaching on what limited ability he has. Perhaps the peacock mask should've been a tip off. He doesn't speak to them, more focused on trying to keep up. He doesn't regret that they'll only have one dance, but he is slightly remiss that his own costume doesn't have feathers after watching the way they move.

The dancer after that catches him for a slow dance. Her name is Shelia, and he's never seen such a dazzling smile. He tells her as such, and she tells him that she would tell him the same, but she hasn't actually seen his own, yet. He makes an attempt, and she tells him, "Oh honey, you're waiting for someone here, aren't you?"

When he states his confusion, that nobody comes to mind, or at least, that nobody is going to come, she shakes her head. Apparently, she can always tell when her dance partners have somewhere else to be, and she doesn't resent it, but it does mean she's not going to give him her number for after the night ends. He's amazed she believes this night will end, but it's a sentiment that seems far too rude to voice out loud.

He also knows that he doesn't have somewhere else to be. If he did, he would've never joined in.

The music continues, and so does he. He tries to get names, tries to get connections. He flirts with Mark, and Nadia, and Jamie. Those people are his favorite during the dances, but losing the also feels the most acute. Robert is his least favorite, even more so than the peacock, for how incredibly small the fox makes him feel. Nothing is even said, it's just the entirety of body language screams that Robert doesn't think he belongs here, that he's not worthy of the clothes he's wearing or the hall he's haunting. Ironically, he's right. He doesn't belong here. These clothes, these people, are not his. Only Robert is quite so skilled at making that seem like a bad thing.

About ten dances in, long past the point he should be winded, he realizes two things. One, there's no pain in his feet, no heaviness to his breathing, confirming once again that no aspect of this environment is natural. Two, is that he's actually had a path. Sometime in the spins and leads and follows, he had been making his way towards the center of the floor. He denies the next partner, likely the worst of a faux paus in this environment, but he needs a moment to stop. Taking in the scene, he has yet to find the source of the music, but he has found the host of this party.

There's nothing to physically show that he's the host. His costume isn't particularly ostentatious, at least not compared to the rest of them. He's not surrounded by a horde of people clamoring for his attention. He doesn't glow or sparkle or have a spotlight on him. The only reveal of his status is the fact that the second he looks at the man in the owl mask, fear floods through him.

Now he needs to run. He needs to leave, he needs to get out, he can't let the man in the owl mask see him, let alone approach him. Pushing his way through the crowd is a bad idea, will bring too much attention to himself. However, he's not in a state to think about that sort of thing, panic gripping his actions. As he shoves his way past one person, he swears ten more people tke their place, and he, oh so close to despair, is unable to tell if there's any actual distance being put between him and the owl masked man.

As he's about to start biting, clawing, screaming his way out any way he can, he hears something that makes him stop.

"Let him go, or I will make you let him go."

The statement is cold, filled with vitrol and determination. It should only make him more afraid. But as he turns around, he sees someone he never expected to be here, someone who has come here anyway. In an all black outfit, the man's face is covered with that of a cat's, but he has not a single ounce of doubt as to who it is. And he's facing off against the owl man, the absolute fool. He's facing off against the owl man, and Martin knows that it's on his own account. What the hell? He can't...he doesn't know what's going to happen to him, what exactly the owl man is going to do, but he can't let Jon get hurt. Begging his voice to pierce through the pandemonium of people and noise, he calls out, "JON!"

Jon finds him in an instant, eyes locking. They only have a second before the crowd pushes in, before the owl man reaches out, wing-like cape ready to wrap Jon up and snatch him away. Jon simply calls out, "Balcony!" before he's once again out of sight. Martin wants to go towards him, wants to follow the instinct to try and protect the one he loves, but going forward is impossible.

The tempo and volume of the music has swollen, and he's surrounded by hands reaching out, trying to pull him in. One of those hands, much to his surprise, belongs to Tom. He stares, uncomprehendingly, and Tom shoves his hand out even further in an act of urgency. He has to participate to make progress.

He holds on tight, all the basic skill of their first dance lost. It doesn't matter, as long as Martin participates, he is rewarded. When the next song begins to play, Tom strengthens his grip, and they manage to prevent the switch. In a manner of minutes, or perhaps hours, they make their way to the edge of the crowd. Martin can see those beautiful frosted doors only about 10 meters away, mostly unobstructed, and releases Tom from their dance. "Thank you. I seriously didn't think..just, thank you."

Tom gives him a nod, his expression much more solemn than it had been during their initial meeting. "After our first dance, I remembered my kids. A daughter and son. If they're out there, wherever out there is, I need to get back to them. If you can get yourself out, maybe there's hope for the rest of us, yeah? I think you might be a tipping point."

Martin had no idea if that was true. Sounded a bit too..center of the story for him. The hero, the chosen one, he was never going to fufill those roles. But. But he doesn't know what a denial would serve, and if he can go through those doors, who knows? "Yeah...yeah, maybe. I'll certainly try."

Tom clasps one of Martin's hands between both of his own, and with a quick shake, tells him, "That's all I ask."

In a blink, Tom has once again been swallowed by the fray, and Martin strides to his goal. He catches glimpses of the owl man out of the corner of his eye. Despite the sight making his heart race, the owl man never makes it to him, almost as if the dancers had forcibly blocked his path. Fascinating, isn't it, how a crowd can turn against someone in a matter of moments. Fascinating, isn't it, how a crowd can decide to help someone in the same span of time.

As Martin stands in front of the exit to the balcony, he has to take a breath. This could be a trick. A trap. A cruelty. If it is, he'll deal with it. If not, well.

Well.

The doors are heavy, but he's still able to push them aside. The sight outside is incredible. The stars are dazzling, brilliant, and numerous, resembling themilky way that Martin has only ever seen in pictures.

It's wrong. It's obviously wrong. Martin's never been anywhere remote enough to escape the effects of light pollution, and he's pretty sure a brightly lit manor isn't the exception to that rule. Yet, that's not what's bothering him about it. He can't quite articulate why, but the sky in general should be..different. Worse, maybe. Greener?

Jon is staring up into the night sky with a fascination that confirms Martin's suspicion. After he takes a step towards him, Jon turns towards him, and a smile appears that knocks the breath right out of Martin. When has Jon ever smiled at him like that? It doesn't make sense, feels like another trick of the party, but Martin decides he doesn't care, he'll enjoy it while it lasts. "I have to say, this is definitely one of the nicer looking domains we've wandered through. Always a plus when we end up somewhere without any bloodstains."

That's not... "Huh?"

With an aftertaste of a laugh and a shrug of his shoulders, Jon tells him, "Just that, for as much as I despise the loneliness, it does at least have cleanliness going for it."

He knows of the fears, at least, but the way that Jon is talking about them doesn't make sense. He's going to ask about it, try to get some clarification, but then Jon takes off his mask. There's more grey at the temples than he remembers, more eyes than the average person, and he's stunningly beautiful. Martin's always found Jon rather good looking, even when he didn't particularly like Jon himself (god, what a fool he was. Maybe what a fool they both were). Combined with the softness in the line of his mouth, the adoration in his eyes, it leaves Martin breathless, speechless, thoughtless. Feet moving of their own accord, he drifts closer to Jon. Once he's standing in front of him, Jon reaches up, then pauses, as if asking for permission. Half in a daze, Martin nods, then leans down. Ever so gently, Jon lifts Martin's mask off. The pinpoints of contact between his face and Jon's fingers almost burn, and he realizes that despite the electrified sensation under his skin, he's been cold this entire time. Mask fully off, Jon beams at him, and lets out a quiet, "There you are."

It's too much. It's the tipping point for him to go from enamoured back to properly baffled. "Jon, I don't..what are you doing here?"

Jon smile drops, and Martin almost wants to take it back. Almost, because he needs answers, because if this is a dream, if this is a nightmare, it's more wicked than he could've ever expected. Being stuck forever in a dance with only partners whose greatest talents were being alone in a crowd is one thing, but having a..a false Jon, one that regarded him with...that acted like...that felt anything close to the same as Martin was so..exacting. When it got taken away, when the illusion shattered, it would hurt. It's already hurting, anticipation of the wound causing a phantom pain. Jon's brows are furrowed, and at least that is familiar, expected. "I..thought you would want to leave. I came to get you out."

"I do," did he?, "but that still..that's not the why? Why would you come for me?"

"Because I love you? I know I'm not much for the swashbuckling hero role, bit I figured that would make me rather uniquely qualified."

Martin sucks in a breath through his nose and his eyes go wide. Ability to read be damned, this is a dream, and mean one at that. He's going to wake up, and he's going to remember, and he's going to be as alone as he's always been. "Since when? You're not..I think we've just started being friends, and it's not even, fuck, we're not even that close! And even if..if things were in development, which they aren't, you're supposed to be in America right now. Or, no, wait you're in a coma, or maybe..no, that's not-"

Martin's spiralling is abruptly cut off by Jon taking his hands. Looking at his face, he finds Jon staring back, his eyes, his two eyes, are searching him, and Martin realizes he might not be the only one that's lost right now. "Martin...what's the last thing you remember?"

A mostly empty flat, the delightful mix of insomnia and exhaustion, and the TV with the volume turned down low enough to not bother anyone but himself. The context around that scene is a bit fuzzier. "I..was at my place. It was..I dunno, it was boring."

"Anything else. Do you remember Jane Prentiss?"

"Of course I remember Jane Prentiss. Not likely to ever forget the worst two weeks of my life."

"What about Scotland?"

Scotland? "I'm mean, I've never been, but I, uh, am aware of the concept."

Except that wasn't quite true, was it? He had been to Scotland, and Jon had been there, but when? Why? What had they..

Jon's frown deepens. "Martin, do you trust me?"

He did. Despite everything, or maybe because of an everything he couldn't quite access, he really, really did. His response of "Yes" is more of a breath than a word, but Jon understands nonetheless. Jon reaches up, places his hands on the sides of Martin's face, and tells him, "Close your eyes."

Martin does as told, and Jon brings their foreheads together, an approximation of a kiss. There's a buzzing at the base of his skull, not painful, but not particularly pleasant, either. As Jon leans back and he opens his eyes, the sky is wrong, but it is the wrong that he has become increasingly accustomed to.

He remembers.

Jon hasn't fully released him yet, asking still ever so gently, "Back with me?"

Martin nods, and Jon drops his hands. Immediately, Martin grabs one of them with his own, because while it may be the apocalypse, at least he can do that as freely as he likes. "Yeah, yeah, I'm good, " he looks down, and sighs, "Eugh. Do miss the clean clothes though."

Jon gives a hint of a smile, and as he begins to move forward. "Now you understand my point about the lonely having a tidiness to it."

"If it's all the same to you, I think I'll take grime over memory loss any day."

"Next domain is a corruption one, so we'll see how much that holds true."

"Of course it is."

They walk in silence for a few moments until Martin gives Jon's hand a quick squeeze. "Hey Jon?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you for getting me out."

Jon replies, "Of course," as an easy statement of fact, and Martin believes it. He has to add, "And I love you too."

The responding smile he gets from Jon makes him think he might be one of the few people in existence to feel lucky after the end of the world.

[potteresque-ire]

But yibo does have instagram acc right? He doesn’t use it often sure but he has one.

This response is connected to this one. 

*Nods*. You're correct, anon, that Instagram account has been associated with Dd ~ however, if asked, I'd hesitate to call it a personal account. 

(Under the cut: in which I may be sharing a little about my gut feeling... which is, officially, formally, for the record, on paper, etc etc., wrong.)

I’d hesitate to call Dd’s IG a personal account, in a way that I probably wouldn't have hesitated a few years ago, before the trend of the current Chinese administration towards re-tightening its hold on personal liberties has become painfully, frightfully clear (here’s the very latest example). If asked and pressed to answer, I'd say Dd’s IG account is maintained by his management.  I'd say, it's an official, "work" account.

But, you may say.... but but but but but....

And yes, Anon, I understand the sentiments, the ????? behind the buts. But for me to tell you anything else, especially in a public space like here, would be irresponsible. I can tell you if this is my own IG account, if, after an assessment of my own risk, I decide it’s all right to let you know that I scale the Great Firewall, and have an account on a banned social media site. But that account isn’t mine. It’s associated with someone who’s very high profile in China, who’s surrounded by anti’s waiting for him to make a mistake everyday, and who’s likely under scrutiny by the government for being the top idol of the country. As a fan, the least I can do is to not make trouble for him.

Oh, you may say then, you mean I shouldn’t have asked. You mean I’m a horrible fan who doesn’t have Gg and Dd’s interest at heart, who’s trying to make trouble ....

No! I’d say then. Nononononononono....

You see, I’m horrible too. I would’ve asked too. This, and many things. I—

How can I better explain myself?

Let’s ... let’s try this. Let’s introduce an example from outside Gg and Dd’s circle first. I find it a little easier to think when my favourites are not involved.

Brief background: at the very beginning of the 2019 Hong Kong protest, a man committed suicide to express support for the cause of the protest and frustration towards the HK government.

Here’s the story, the example: a singer-actress from Hong Kong, who had, for several years already, based her career in China, placed a black R.I.P. banner on her IG account. She was careful about not being explicit about its political nature ~ she didn’t add any text in the post, didn’t specify who that banner was for. 

And IG, by then, was already a blocked website in China. In the perfectly law-abiding world, Hong Kongers—who were outside the Firewall—could see that post, but mainland Chinese could not.

But Chinese netizens—specifically, her antis, the “Little Pinks” (fervent fans of the Chinese government)—saw the IG post and went after her, the same way antis went after Dd for the Nike endorsement a few months ago. They claimed the singer-actress was pro-Hong Kong Independence ~ even though the demands of the protest had nothing to do with that. 

You see, pro-HK Independence, ie, pro-“dividing the country”, was (is) regarded as among the worst crimes one can commit in the eyes of the  Chinese government and its nationalistic followers; it was (is) also the catch-all crime for anyone in Hong Kong (or Taiwan) who said (say) things that displease the Chinese government, and the most convenient accusation one could (can) place on a hated Hong Konger / Taiwanese’s head. An accusation of pro-HK (or Taiwan) Independence amounts to an accusation of treason, and if the accusation stuck ~ even if it would’ve been unsubstantiated ~ not only would that have been the end of the singer-actress’s career in China, she’d also have had to shoulder the loss for the sponsors of her ongoing projects due to her alleged political stance ~ an astronomical sum amounting to millions of dollars.

Hours later, the singer-actress deleted the R.I.P. banner. That wasn’t enough. Two weeks later, she claimed her IG account had been hacked, and suspended. 

i.e. The R.I.P banner had not been her doing.

This is the end of this little story. My questions for you, Anon, are these ~

1) Do you feel the singer-actress’ IG account had actually been hacked? “Feel”, as in, gut-feeling “feel”?

2) If your answer to 1) is “no”, can you think of a better solution for her? One that would’ve worked as quickly, if gracelessly—the solution had got to be quick, given the lightning speed internet rumours are made and spread, the equally quick rate the axe from the Chinese government could fall, the singer-actress already being at the crosshairs of the incredibly loud rage of an internet mob?

3) Regardless of your answer to 1), if someone ask you whether the singer-actress account has been hacked, what would you say to them? What would you say if you were the singer-actress’ fan in China?

After you’ve thought about your answers, Anon, I'd like to invite you to extend your thought processes, your sentiments from them to ... the second example, and we’ll hit close to home this time — the last we heard of Gg’s IG account from an official channel. Please note: this is a very different situation, does NOT involve the same politics as the last one. The connection between the two examples is for us, as spectators: how we may organise our thoughts through situations similar to these.

(And if you follow c-ent, follow Chinese news, there will be situations similar to these.) (Lots of situations.) 

On 2020/03/04, Gg’s management account on Weibo posted this message. This is the message that all Gg fans may wish to remember, whenever rumours of his new overseas China social media accounts surface:

March 4th, 2020 02:08

Gg’s overseas social media account cannot be logged in properly. Any changes performed were neither by Gg nor his team members. All activities that will follow have no relations with Gg. 

Please do not commit rights violation! Please do not make up rumours!

What change on Gg’s IG account did the post imply hadn’t been performed by Gg or his team members? 

It was a simple, harmless one: the user profile had been changed to all black, from its original Buya duck cartoon.

Following the singer-actress example, I’ll present, next, what anti’s had already said about this change before this Weibo post. They had said, the black user pic was Gg’s veiled (snide) response to the onslaught of slander against him online, despite his unwillingness to actually say a word and calm things down. They had said, this was Gg’s way of making his fans feel awful, and lend more support to him in their sympathy ~ a concept well-known to Chinese fandoms as 虐粉. They had said, that Gg was breaking the law by scaling the Firewall.

The Weibo post above has remained the only response Gg had made about his overseas social media accounts up till today (2021/07/09), since the latter’s alleged hacking.

More than a year later, Anon, we do know of one thing, at least, that had happened the day before the publication of this Weibo post, on March 3rd, 2020. Do you recall this artwork posted on Gg’s Oasis account earlier this year, on March 3rd, 2021? The title of the artwork was 想念 “Missing (someone)”. The drawing was done in a single line, of an old man holding the hand of a child in the reflection, and the child, now grown, being alone with flowers and the red balloon the old man had gifted them. 

The date on that artwork was a year ago, the same day the user pic of Gg’s IG account had changed to black, the day before the Weibo post above.

And here’s a random piece of cultural trivia I’m sharing from ... my gut-feeling, because that piece of artwork gutted me when it was posted (it was my favourite of all Gg’s published artwork): black is the colour of mourning in Chinese customs. If you see a Chinese pin a piece of black cloth on their sleeve, or on the chest pocket, for example, someone in their direct-line of family has passed away. 

Grandpa, for example.

Now, Anon, do you think you can re-apply questions 1) to 3) from the first example to this one, with the appropriate cut-and-pastes? Again, I can’t offer explicit answers. The answer to 1), in particular; I italicised “feel” in that question as I’d like to emphasise on it meaning gut-feeling—gut-feeling that’s very personal, that’s very instinctive ...

That often defies what we’re told, what we know we should believe in our heads. 

And my gut feeling ... has had its stubborn ideas about both examples. I’m telling you, telling everyone who’s reading this post about it for once, because I’d like to acknowledge its presence, confess that I’m a “horrible” fan too who often has questions that “good” fans shouldn’t ask. I’m telling because I don’t like to state things as if I don’t have doubts, when I do have doubts. Because there have already been too many stories from China where someone is forced to part with something that is a part of them—an online or RL identity, a livelihood, etc etc—under the pressure of the internet mob, who cyberbully in the name of laws they don’t follow themselves (how do they know what’s on the IG accounts if they haven’t looked?), of patriotism, of “proper values”. Because while I know to echo the official statements of the bullied, to shut down the whispers of doubt among fellow fans is the way to protect the bullied (and those at risk of being bullied), I also know this approach tends to let the cyberbullies off the hook—the hackers become the focus, the bad people.

And so, just this time, I’m sharing, confessing, writing up this little (well, not little anymore...) blurb about my gut feeling, even though my gut feeling is officially, formally, for the record, on paper, etc etc., wrong. 

(What is correct — once again, see Gg’s management’s Weibo post above).

Do you understand what I mean, Anon? 

And since my gut feeling is officially, formally, for the record, on paper, etc etc., wrong, if you ask me explicitly ~ and since you’re not the first person who’ve asked, I'll say here too, that to everyone who may ask in the future, that the following shall always be my answers. It shall be, because, as I said in the beginning of this post, that for me to put in words anything else would be irresponsible. 

My answer shall be: Gg doesn’t have a personal IG account ~ Gg’s management’s post above didn’t specify since when they had lost control of their overseas social media accounts, so I’d assume they had never had control. My answer shall be: Dd doesn’t have a personal IG account. My answer shall be: in 2021, that no Chinese citizens has a personal IG account, has a personal overseas social media account in the list of blocked websites, unless they tell you they do, or confirm they do in some official capacity. 

If you say to me, that makes no sense, I’ll whisper, yeah, I know. 

If you say, you’re being paranoid, I’ll whisper, yeah, that too. 

If you—oh, not *you*, Anon, but a meaner someone says to me, haven’t you checked out these Gg and Dd accounts before? You’re so two-faced! You’re such a hypocrite! I’ll whisper with a (fake) little laugh, yeah, guilty as charged... 

But, I’ll whisper then, if this issue ever becomes the knife of their anti’s, I’ll know, at least, that this knife didn’t come from me.

(One day, I shall explain why, being a Hong Konger post 2019, I am—I have to be—super-sensitive about the knives I can deliver, the knives that can be delivered to me. How this super-sensitivity, this paranoia, has and will colour every one of my posts ...)

[jayeray-hq]

How He Shows You Affection: Ushijima Wakatoshi

This is a another repost to get this one to show up in the tags! Thank you to everyone who found it through the masterlist! You all are amazing! Notes: 72

Post Time Skip/Manga Ending Spoilers!

Warnings: None all fluff!

How He Shows You Affection Masterlist - Character Masterlist

He Does Little Things to Make Life Easier for You

            You woke up feeling a bit groggy, unsure just how or when exactly you’d fallen asleep. However, once you’d gotten your bearings a bit you quietly cursed yourself for allowing to happen, glancing at your phone and wincing as you registered what time it was. You’d had a lot to get done today and now more than half the day was gone. You’d only meant to sit down for a second and rest your eyes as you waited for the dishwasher to finish, but you must’ve accidentally dozed off.

In hindsight it probably wasn’t that surprising you’d fallen asleep. It had been a really long week at work, you’d been putting in extra hours, and had come home almost every night exhausted. It meant you’d been putting off your chores, all of which you’d meant to do today, on your only day off. The laundry in particular had been incredibly important as your clean clothes situation had become rather dire, but you’d fallen asleep before you could get to it.

            Even worse you’d wanted to get it done early because your boyfriend was going to be home later, and you desperately wanted to be able to spend your evening relaxing with him. Unfortunately, it looked like that wasn’t going to be happening now.

            Heaving a sigh, you stood, figuring there was no use crying over spilled milk, and that you might as well get to work. Especially if you wanted to have that nice dinner done you’d planned for when Ushijima got home. Only to pause in surprise as something fell away from your shoulders.

            You stooped and picked the familiar fabric off the ground, and immediately recognized it as your boyfriend’s Adlers jacket, the same one he’d worn out of the house that morning which meant…

            “Wakatoshi?” you asked curiously, as you cradled the jacket to your chest.

            “I’m here,” the low deep rumble of your boyfriend’s voice was both familiar and incredibly soothing, and you couldn’t help the smile that broke over your face at the sight of him, clearly recently showered, dressed in sweats and a t-shirt.

            “You’re home early,” you told him crossing the room eagerly to wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his strong, warm chest.

            “Coach let us go early,” he explained accepting your embrace with ease and folding you into his arms.

            “Did you have a good practice?” you asked, slowly pulling away from him after taking a few minutes to just soak up his warmth and presence.

            “It was adequate,” he told you, which you assumed meant yes, his eyes fond as his large hands lingered gently on your hips, not letting you pull away entirely just yet.

            “I was just going to start dinner for us,” you informed him with a smile, “Just let me finish up a few things and I’ll get right to it.”

            “Is there anything I can do?” he asked gently.

            “No, no I’ve got this,” you assured him firmly. After all the two of you usually split chores fairly evenly, and he’d already done his, it wouldn’t be fair to ask him to do yours as well.

            However, when you went to check your hamper, all your clothes were gone, and a quick peek showed that there were loads of laundry in both the washer and the dryer, both running. The bathroom was also cleaner than you remembered it being that morning, and the dishwasher had been emptied, the dishes put away.

            Your heart melted as you realized your boyfriend had apparently taken it upon himself to do it for you, and when you returned to the kitchen and found him quietly pulling out some of the things you’d need to make dinner you couldn’t help yourself diving back into his arms.

            “Is everything all right?” he asked, clearly a little concerned.

            “It’s perfect,” you assured him affectionately, feeling like a weight had lifted you’re your shoulders, “Thank you.”

            “You’re welcome,” he told you pressing his cheek to your hair and cradling you close, making you sigh contentedly. You really did have the best boyfriend.

 He Makes Time For You

            Despite your feelings you’d managed to keep your perfect customer service smile pasted to your face throughout the party, nursing a glass of wine you hadn’t even bothered to touch, but held on to, to keep anyone from trying to get you another drink. It had been a rather horrid night, and you definitely didn’t want to be here, especially since, for the first time in a long time you’d had to come alone.

            Normally at these mandatory office parties you at least had your boyfriend with you. Ushijima, with his strong, calm presence and a stoicism and intimidating mien that managed to keep all but the most determined or familiar away from you, was a blessing at times like this. Unfortunately, he’d had a game, which while fairly close by was still over an hour away, and he wouldn’t be back until later that night.

            You honestly missed him dreadfully. Just his reassuring presence always helped to take the edge off your anxiety at times like these. Still he had his job, one that he truly loved with all his being and you’d never want to take him away from it, especially not for something as silly as an office party.

            Still you couldn’t help your grimace as one of your male coworkers, who’d been giving you the eye all night, and who regularly stood just a little too close, and lingered by your desk just a little too long slowly approached you. You braced yourself, fully ready to face the unpleasant conversation and hopefully send him on his way politely.

            However less than a few feet away from you his eyes suddenly darted to something behind you, and he quickly made a beeline around, clearly pretending he’d never been heading in your direction in the first place. You frowned in confusion, but were quickly jolted out of it, by the feeling of a large, warm hand on the small of your back.

            You turned, a frown on your face, ready to tell off whichever jerk dared put his hands on you, that you had a boyfriend and to leave you alone, only to find your boyfriend there looking down at you with a soft look on his face.

            “Wakatoshi?” you asked a little disbelieving, blinking several times to ensure he wasn’t an illusion of some kind, dreamt up by your wishes for his presence, but no he was still there, his hand warm and grounding, “What are you doing here?”

            “I always come to your office parties,” he told you a slightly puzzled frown on his lips.

            “I know,” you assured him an amused smile tugging your lips, “But didn’t you have a game?”

            “It’s finished,” he affirmed, then added unnecessarily, “We won.”

            “I know,” you told him with an amused smile, “I watched what I could of the game before coming. You managed to finish before I had to leave. I sent you a text.”

            “I saw,” he assured you a fond smile tugging slightly at the corners of his mouth, his eyes soft, “Thank you.”

            “You’re welcome,” you told him a bit bemused, “But that still doesn’t explain how you’re here. The game was over an hour away.”

            “I left right after,” he explained casually.

            “Wakatoshi you didn’t have to,” you exclaimed startled, especially since you knew leaving right after meant he’d skipped the victory celebrations with his team and gotten a cab back instead of taking the team bus.

            “I wanted to,” he stated firmly, in a way that left no room for arguments, “I never miss your office parties.”

            The sentiment behind the words honestly made your heart melt. Ushijima wasn’t the best with expressing his feelings verbally, but at times like this, when he even cut his volleyball activities short you could almost palpably feel how much he loved you, to put you over his favorite activity, even if it was only a little bit, it honestly meant the world to you.

            “Thank you for being here,” you told him, figuring there really was no other response, at least none that would be appropriate in this setting, though you made a note to show him how much you appreciated it when you got home.

            “Of course,” he answered firmly, as if there had never been any doubt, as if there was nowhere in the world he’d rather be then right by your side.

 He Buys Little Things That Remind Him of You

            “Oh Ushiwaka whatcha lookin’ at?” Tendou asked curiously peering over his friend’s shoulder so he could see the display that the large former Ace of Shiratorizawa was studying so intently. His lips quirked in amusement as he saw what had captured the stoic man’s attention, a rather adorable display of plush toys

            “Are you expecting?” he asked eagerly.

            “I’m not expecting anything,” Ushijima told him a slight frown on his face, clearly perplexed by the question.

            “No, no, no I mean is your girlfriend expecting?” he tried again shifting eagerly from foot to foot.

            “No, she never expects anything,” his friend and former captain told him completely honestly, his face softening at the mere mention of his beloved who was back home in Japan while he and his team were in France for a game, “But these are very cute.”

            “They are,” Tendou agreed nodding sagely, he never would’ve expected the man to be so sentimental and to think such things about toys like that, but well, you learned something new everyday.

            “She is also very cute,” Ushiwaka murmured more to himself than to Tendou, before nodding firmly and making his way into the store, clearly intent on buying one for his girlfriend, leaving a dumbstruck Tendou behind wondering if he should stop him or not but in the end decided to let the man make his own mistakes.

            Several days later, back in Japan you opened another package from your boyfriend and stared at its contents, more than a little dumbfounded. These little gifts from Ushijima had been arriving nearly every day since he left, nothing too big or expensive, mostly small interesting things that he claimed in his daily chats ‘reminded him of you.’

            However staring at this latest gift you had to wonder if maybe he was trying to send you a message of some sort. After all was there any other reason to have sent you what was admittedly, a rather adorable plush baby toy, with a tag in the ear whose French you’d painstakingly translated into “congratulations it’s a boy!”

            It left you rather dumbfounded, however, luckily you didn’t need to ask more than why he’d bought it for you for him to explain, and you never had to tell him that he’d given you a baby toy of all things. However, the small gift did find its way into your daughter’s crib several years down the line, so it certainly never went to waste.

[theresnosafeharbor4myships]

Ichabbie ways of saying ‘I love you’

“Our fates are intertwined now. Running away isn't going to change that.”

“I do take comfort knowing that this strange road we find ourselves on can only be traveled together.”

“So if she dies in the dream...”  "She dies. Period."  "I see." *Ichabod marches over and drinks a concoction.  "Crane!"  ....  "What are you thinking?"  "Well, i'm coming with you now, so no point in discussing it."

“Believe me when I say that you belong in Sleepy Hollow. In the here and now.”

“You are home, Crane.”

“I look forward to you expanding my horizons further.”

“You know how important Crane is.”   “To you?”  “Yeah, to me.”

“Through these centuries, against the impossibility that we would find each other, we did. And I am most grateful for it.”

“Perhaps it would be easier if you left.”  “There's no way. Too many people I never got a chance to say goodbye to. You are not gonna be one of them.”

“You were right. There's always another way.”

“Next time listen to me, okay? I can't go through that again.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I feel pretty alone sometimes too.”  “Perhaps this is the sacrifice that witnesses must carry. all we really get is one another.”

“Your company holds the greatest value to me.”

*lifts glass in a toast* “To family.”  “To finding family.”

“If using this map meant betraying your trust, that's something I cannot do.”  *burns the map  “For the world. For our friendship. You and I will choose our own destiny. We have free will. I choose to forge my fate with you.”

“When I remembered you, I saw this world for what it truly is.”

“I swear to you, for as long as I can draw breath--”  “Our work is not done. You will come back for me. That I know.”  *precious Ichabbie hug  “Remember our bond. I'll come back for you.”

“I just...I don't think I would've made it without you, Crane.”  “Nor I you, Lieutenant.”

“I promise you: I will return for you!”

*precious Ichabbie hug  “Crane! You're alive.”  “We are survivors, you and I.”

“Maybe you don't come back.”  “And leave you here? No. Lieutenant, I do not accept good-bye.”  “...we're fighting a war, crane. Coming back for me is a risk I cannot let you take.”  “The Bible foretells two witnesses. You and I must remain together if there is any hope of victory. The only risk, Lieutenant, is in leaving you behind.”  “No matter what I say, you're coming back, aren't you?”  “I made a promise.”

“Hold fast, Abigail Mills. I'm on my way.”

“You never did tell me the full extent of your ordeal in that place.”  “Truth is, it got to me. Everywhere I went, I felt it slowly clawing at my mind, my soul. You know what the worst part was? Seeing you.”  “Must be why you beheaded me.”  “That demon version of you appeared just when that place was about to break me. I'd never been so happy to see anyone in my life.”

“That's what scares me. My faith in you is my greatest weakness.”  “That's what they want you to believe.”

“The only ones we can count on now are each other.”

“What matters now more than ever is that you and I stay true. Trust is the only currency with any value. All other forms are too easily counterfeited.”

“...but hear me, Grace Abigail Mills: it is not our fate for one of us to bury the other. We shall be victorious or defeated together.”

“I will be with you at every moment.”

“Our duty must be to one another before anything or anyone.”

“Of course I'm coming with you!”

“Be careful.”  “You too.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. It is thru your eyes that I see myself most clearly.”

“I swear to you, his sacrifice will not be in vain.”

“No matter what obstacles we face, no matter how many disagreements we have, our bond cannot be broken.”

“Even in times of great peril, we could always rely on one another.”

“I'm glad I'm not in this alone.”  “I echo that sentiment, Lieutenant.”

“We're partners. More than that, we're friends.”

“You knew I'd not survive without you.”

“No matter what the course of fate, and no matter how I get there, I look forward to experiencing your America. It will be a pleasure to make your acquaintance all over again, Miss Mills.”

“You know, Crane, you don't need some stone tablet to justify your place in the world. You belong here just as much as anyone else.”

“You were wrong when you said that Henry and Katrina's death meant that you were alone. You may not have family, but you are not alone.”

“Of course having you by my side is the greatest boon.”

“After you passed out, she showed up.”  “Pandora? Did she harm you?”

“I'm most grateful, Lieutenant, that you and I have found one another once again.”

“We are a partnership of opposites, yet our affinity for one another bears the ripest of fruit.”

“You noted that I've been off my game of late. When I pledged my allegiance to this country in 1776, I had a very clear vision of what my future would hold. Nowhere in that vision did I imagine waking in the 21st century, and yet,,,more and more, I feel this desire to acculturate. But the idea of losing the archives, of losing my fight for citizenship for a country that I, in part, founded, the idea of losing you...to some wretched federal promotion to...I don't know, Dallas or Los Angeles or... Sometimes it seems as though the unbeatable enemy is the 21st century.”  “Yeah, but the thing is, Crane, Joe, me, Jenny, we are the 21st century. And every day, we take you a step further in that direction. That is the unbeatable enemy beating itself. And we ain't goin' nowhere.”

“I'd like to think you and I have developed, over the years, Lieutenant.”

“With all respect to my fellow compatriot, Major Revere, your spirit and mine is made of far heartier stock. Hence our most impressive roster of victories. Tis because we care. Come what may.”

“You ready to fight some bad guys, Crane?”  “Indeed.”  “My man.”

“If the Lieutenant were here, she would say something tough yet encouraging. Of which I would wholeheartedly concur. She is very good at that.”

“This particular (monster) feeds off for desperation. The locator spell I cast must have brought it to the area. And it focused on me because of my... emotional state [from missing Abbie].”

“I have worked and fought alongside many people in my time. It was only recently that I truly understood what a partner is. What it means to have someone who makes you more than you are simply by being by your side. Truly your better half.”

“I will never cease my efforts to find the Lieutenant.”

“Our shared connection as witnesses means I am the Lieutenant's best chance.”

“Tis a relief to find you hale and hearty, Lieutenant. I knew you were alive.”

“Thank you, Crane, for never giving up on me.”

“I meant what I said before: you're always here. With me. Ever since we first met. There's no explaining it. Two people could not be any more different. But we work things out. Together.”

“Stay with me, Crane.”

“[He's] not alone. Not ever!”

“In the darkness. Lost. I heard your voice. I followed it.”  “We made it.”

“You were my Wilson.”

“In all candor, Lieutenant, whilst you were away, I spent every waking hour endeavoring to bring you home. All other responsibilities fell by the wayside.”

“I'm trying really hard.”  “And you will succeed. Just as you were by my side when I returned to Sleepy Hollow, so I shall be by yours.”

[Jenny to Crane] “You seem happier.”  “Yes, I admit I do feel rather suffonsified. And your sister's mood appears to have taken a significant upturn of late.”

“I knew Crane was out there looking for me. I held on to that.”

“The supernatural has given you a lot of good too. It led you to Crane.”

“Lieutenant--”  “Oh. Yes. I'm scared out of my mind of seeing that place again, and no, I'm not letting you go without me. Whatever you do, I do. That's the deal.”  “Truth bomb if I ever heard one.”

“I prefer to focus on what we have, and I have a partner of the highest caliber.”  “Better than Betsy Ross?”  “Well, she was occasionally rather pushy. Prone to talking with a mouth full of food.”  “George Washington?”  “Well, now there was a great man. But a great man with legendary halitosis.”  “I really beat those guys?”  “Oh...handily.”  “You...never waiver in your faith. In what we do. In me. And you know how rare that is, don’t you?”  “When it concerns you and me, Lieutenant, there is no greater certainty.”

“I'm really going back there.”  “Only this time you're not alone.”

[homeformyheart]

no feelings - mason x f!detective (twc)

author’s note: my original intention was to do a post-bakery, heartbreak moment for mason and I started this before the demo updated, but needed to change it since and hopefully it still works. I have no idea if I’ll do a part 2, my original plans don’t spark joy atm, and I was tired of seeing this in my WIPs xD. very minor book 3 spoilers (allusions but no specific mentions). enjoy! *thank you @silma-words for giving this a read-through all those months ago when i was stuck and to @narrativefoiltrope for the parentheses suggestion!

copyright: all characters, except my oc detective, are owned by mishka jenkins @seraphinitegames. series/pairing: the wayhaven chronicles – mason x f!detective (ria knight) rating/warnings: 16+; swearing, angst word count: 1.7k summary: ria wants to end things with mason before she catches feelings for someone who won’t return them. mason isn’t sure what he wants but knows he doesn’t want to give up what they have.

no feelings

mason just stared at the door to ria’s office, the shades obscuring the sight of her but he could still hear the sound of her heartbeat. solid and steady, like her.

he didn’t know why he said what he did. he just knew that she was hurt, even though she pretended not to be. and even though he wanted to talk to her, he didn’t know what he wanted to say.

it didn’t matter though, seeing as how she didn’t seem like she wanted to talk to him anytime soon.

but he couldn’t bring himself to walk away.

he knocked, hesitantly. once. twice.

“come in,” a voice called out, loud to his senses, vibrating ever so slightly.

he opened the door and paused in the doorway, eyes searching hers for permission.

her head rose from where it had been resting on her arms, fists clenching once she noticed him. she lowered her hands to her lap, but mason had no doubt that her knuckles were white.

“what do you want?” she asked, her features stitching together a mask of indifference.

but he could see the truth in her light blue eyes. it was his special skill after all, being able to read people and get the truth from them.

a skill he tried to avoid using with ria as much as possible for some reason.

when did that happen?

even now, as he was holding her gaze, he knew he wasn’t trying to read her. but he could still sense that something was off. and he wanted, no needed, to figure out what it was.

the silence between them grew as ria’s gaze shifted. she looked expectantly at him. “well? if you don’t have anything new to report on the case, you should leave. i have a lot of work to do.”

he shook his head, a force of habit. he really didn’t know what to say.

she glanced away, eyes flitting across the posters and papers pinned to the wall next to her desk, but mason could see the gears turning in her mind. when she turned back to look at him, the pain from before was replaced by a newfound intensity that slammed into him and sent a prickly, but still pleasant, tingle across his chest and down his arms.

a knowing smirk tugged at the corner of her lips as her eyes appraised him, and not unlike the first time they flirted, the motion sent something warm and soothing down south. as her eyes met his again, the warmth turned into a simmering heat and he took a step forward, her darkened irises drawing him in.

he raised an eyebrow at her. while he was no stranger to the constant attraction between them, which pushed and pulled like the tides but always met each other at dusk and dawn, it didn’t seem like the time.

for once, he wanted to talk.

“look, about what i said before,” he started, folding his arms across his chest.

ria made her way around her desk until she was standing in front of him. “you were right. you made it clear that you were only interested in fun, and i agreed,” she shrugged, tapping her fingers lightly on his chest.

his brow furrowed. while he did say something to that affect, it wasn’t what he wanted.

“that’s all this is and all it’s going to be, so i’ll see you later at my apartment?” ria asked pointedly, her lip curling into a smirk.

a frustrated rumble crouched low in the back of his throat. “i never said that this is all it’s going to be,” he snapped, flinching at the volume of his own voice.

ria didn’t move a muscle. her light blue eyes had darkened to a cloudy grey, only a few shades lighter than his own.

“you didn’t have to, sunshine. i’m saying it. so am i seeing you later or not?” she asked, the glare on her face reminding him of the daggers she had hidden under her jacket sleeves.

an uncomfortable itch started in his belly and he subconsciously scratched at the fabric of his shirt, blunt nails digging in harder before he realized the itch was under his skin.

and it was spreading. traveling up toward his chest and out before making its way down his arms. leaving behind a tiny, circular weight in his stomach that he didn’t care for.

he could recognize it for what it was, a form of conflict. swirling counter-clockwise as a hurricane does when it approaches shore. but he didn’t understand why it was there.

what he did understand is that if she wanted to see him, he wanted to see her.

he gave her a slow nod. “i’ll see you later,” he said, hesitating for a brief second with his hand on the doorknob.

he glanced back at her and said softly, “sweetheart.”

~ against her better judgment, ria met mason’s gaze before he left, the murmured pet name on his lips seeming to glide through the air and hit her in the chest. her body slumped back against the desk as he left, energy draining out of her and leaving behind the tempestuous grey look now seared in her mind. his words left an uncomfortable lump in her throat, and she hoped no one else came into her office.

she looked at the clock, a feeble attempt to fast-forward to the end of the day, only for her shoulders to sag at the realization that she basically still had eight hours to go. despite the tension in their earlier conversation and the uncomfortable moments they’ve had since breakfast, ria wasn’t mad at mason.

even though she had stormed out while trying to blink back tears and then he stormed away from her after finding out about bobby, she didn’t blame him.

no, the only person she was fucking pissed off at was herself.

it wasn’t supposed to get this far.

she wasn’t good with feelings. it was always easier to push away any uncomfortable thoughts or emotions by keeping her body physically distracted, preferably with either a partner in the gym or a partner in her bed.

learning how to box and working her way through all the various martial art forms gave her focus after quitting ballet.

(though it did little to quell the feelings of inadequacy caused by things completely out of her control.)

teaching herself how to use knives and rook’s family dagger was a welcome distraction after she was forced to abandon her aspirations to join the army.

(though digging through rook’s old stuff in the attic in desperate protest – to find anything that would tell her he would’ve supported her – only drowned her in the loss.)

flirting and sleeping with every person who showed interest in her and seemed even an inch better than bobby fucking marks.

(though every little fling, whether a one-night stand or a string of awkward first dates, only added supporting evidence to the story she told herself that no one would stick around for her.)

and it was supposed to be the same with mason.

no strings. no baggage. no goddamn feelings.

ria gripped the edge of her desk with her hands until her knuckles turned white. she already broke her first rule of dating: don’t catch feelings.

you can’t get hurt if there aren’t feelings involved, she reminded herself of the mantra that got her out of several attempts at relationships after breaking up with bobby.

but she could still implement her second rule.

~ instead of heading back to the warehouse right away, mason wandered toward the trees bordering the station that offered a shady respite from the scorching sun against his sensitive skin.

the heat was only going to get worse, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave just yet. even in the dark shade of the trees around him, the sun burned against his skin almost as if it were bare. he winced, not even wanting to think about how much worse it might feel if he wasn’t at least wearing a long-sleeved shirt.

they still needed to work together.

he pushed the seemingly random thought out of his mind as quickly as it had appeared, his body reacting viscerally in disagreement to the sentiment.

this wasn’t about maintaining a working relationship with ria.

this was bigger than that.

at least, he assumed, though he wasn’t exactly sure why.

he lit a cigarette, trying to distract from how his shirt is quickly becoming an incubator for the heat. smoke curled upward as he leaned his head back against the trunk of a tree.

he was always in it for the fun. it made traveling around and the downtime between missions more bearable.

he didn’t really care for hobbies and interests the way nate and felix did. and he could only take a beating from adam every so often.

having fun, especially with humans – who were so easy to rile up and even easier to read – made the endless time pass in a way that felt normal. for him anyway.

learning all the different ways he could elicit sounds from them. figuring out how quickly he could make them peak. knowing exactly what to do to leave them wanting more.

he took a long drag of the cigarette, closing his eyes and wishing the burn in his lungs would linger a little longer. it numbed the burn on the outside of his body.

but no feelings. that always took the fun out of things.

that was the rule.

and ria was fun, there was no denying that. maybe even the most fun he’s had in a very long time.

she knew his rule. hell, it was her rule too.

it was the perfect situation for him.

maybe he didn’t want to lose out on such an ideal situation. or mess up the team dynamic.

he dumped the cigarette butt onto the floor and put out the embers with his shoe.

whatever it was, he knew he wasn’t ready for things with her to end.

* * * * * taglist: @kelseaaa; @kat-tia801; @anotherbeingsworld; @babycracker; @writer-ish; @gloynporslen; @sosolenoo; @alyssalauren; @wayhavenots; @pearlsandsteel; @gingerbreton; @takemyopenheart; @mevnraels;

[peterprkrsbtch]

sapphire - part 2

Peter Parker x reader

A/n: Part 1 is up on my page! There’s a couple flashbacks in this one so I put the dates before so it doesn’t get confusing. If you enjoy this one, like or reblog to share! I already wrote part 3 and it’s my favorite one yet so that’ll def be up soon :)

tag- @juliannaamonroe​

Warnings: swearing, make out, violence

(September 1)

We’re one minute away. Come out hoe!

You smile as you read the text, glancing at yourself in the mirror again, nerves and excitement ablaze in your stomach. You’d been planning for this day since last winter, and now it was finally here. You adjust your carefully styled hair and double check that the natural makeup you applied was sitting on your skin correctly.

Of course it was. That goddamn injection sometimes made you feel like a vampire out of twilight and sometimes you still got surprised when you saw your own face while passing a mirror or a particularly reflective window. You smooth down the ruffles of your short black skirt and tug the top of your tank top down so a bit more of your curves show.

You put on your white sneakers and tug your shirt back up to cover your chest again. We’ll have to work up to that, I guess. A long honk sounds from outside your apartment building and you curse as you scramble to grab your backpack and phone before running down and out the front steps.

“Awwww,” You say sweetly at the sight of the two girls who had become your best friends. “That’s the shirt you were wearing when we met, Ally.” You jokingly brush away a tear, pretending to be ultra touched.

“Best damn day of my life.” Ally says from her spot in the drivers seat, laughing at your dramatics. She may be joking around, but her sentiment makes your heart clench. This year really was going to be different.

***

(July 3)

You quickly realized you needed to find some Midtown friends if your plan for senior year was going to work. If you dared to show up looking, well, like you do, completely alone and friendless, you might become even more of an outcast than you were before. The first month of summer had been the least lonely time of your year so far, thanks to a certain Spiderman.

The two of you spent most of your nights together, flying through the city, fighting crime together, and talking. The “slow” nights that used to fill you with boredom quickly became your favorite when he was involved. The sound of his laugh and the jokes he makes during fights quickly became the highlight of your days.

But you couldn’t let yourself get too distracted by him. After all, neither of you knew what the other looked like. The only other boy you’d ever found remotely cute (other than celebrities) was nerdy Peter Parker from your high school. He wasn’t your usual type and he seemed to be just as shy as you were, so you had little (zero) hope that it would ever lead to anything more than a smile during the hallway if you accidentally made eye contact.

Sorry Spiderman, but no way in hell are you gonna make me lose my focus. The loneliness you had felt through the last three years of high school was too much. Your plan had to work. So that night as the two of you patrolled together, you softly mentioned that you were going to a pool party tomorrow and wouldn’t be able to meet.

He seemed a bit disappointed, but you brushed it off, trying to remember the names of the girls at your school who seemed nice. Peter, however, couldn’t focus on anything other than the fact that you had told him where you would be tomorrow. There was only so many pool parties in a city like New York.

You tried not to think about who was under the Spiderman mask out of respect and, to be honest, it seemed like a pointless endeavor. Peter was not the same. No matter how tired he was from patrol, he always had time to lay awake before he fell asleep and picture what you would look like under the mask.

There wasn’t very many people who understood Peter’s secret life. None, actually, until you. Maybe that was why he was so intrigued by you, because you were so similar, but in his heart he knew that wasn’t it. He liked you. And he hated himself for it. But once you mentioned the pool party, he made sure to take one long last glance at the color of your hair before you two said goodbye. Just in case he happened to see that same hair tomorrow.

(July 4)

You were so, so nervous. Your closet of exclusively sweats and hoodies was trashed as Part 1 of your plan, much to your mother’s happiness. She had always been honest about her hatred of your junior year clothes and was extremely excited to purchase everything you needed. As distant as she was, you had to give her a little credit.

Although you’d been wearing the new clothes for the past month, this was the first time you were doing it so publicly. Your denim shorts exposed miles of smooth leg, and you’d decided to wear a red tube top in honor of the holiday-not to mention it really showed off your curves. You’d meticulously done your hair and makeup like you’d been practicing the past month and prayed that somebody would talk to you today.

You’d seen the flyer for the Fourth of July party on Instagram, which had been step 2. Unfortunately, you had two followers. Your mom and her boyfriend. Step 2 is a work in progress.

One long walk later, and you’re in front of the address. You swear you could explode of nerves right there, but instead you take a deep breath and force your legs to carry you inside the house and towards the people out by the pool.

Your eyes are so focused on your destination, the glass sliding door, that you barely notice when you bump shoulders with someone, causing you to drop your phone.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” You say, reaching down to grab your phone.

“Oh my god, stop. That was totally my fault.” You stand back up to see the girl who was speaking, and you recognize her immediately. Her name is Ally, and she’s a part of the most popular group at school. Despite her long black hair and sweet smile, you haven’t heard many good things about her. Not the type of person you were looking for.

“Do you go to Midtown? I don’t think I’ve seen you around.” Ally says, making no move to walk away from the conversation.

“Yeah, actually. My name is Y/n?” You don’t miss the way her eyebrows raise and her eyes widen with confusion and shock. You’re embarrassed now, realizing maybe you weren’t as invisible as you’d thought. In an effort to explain away the last few years, “My dad left a couple years ago and it was pretty hard on me, but I’m all better now.” You flash the most dazzling smile you can manage and hope she accepts it.

“No way, mine did too!” She gasps as she grabs your hands. You feel a small pang of guilt at that. It was a lie, you had no idea who your dad was and frankly, you didn’t think your mom knew either.

The conversation starts to flow between you and Ally easily as you make your way out to the pool. “This is my best friend Betty.” Ally introduces you to the sweet-as-pie girl and the three of you quickly fall into a conversation like you’d known each other forever. A few of their guy friends tried to come up and talk to you, but she just waved them away. “Leave us alone, we just met our new best friend.”

You felt bad for judging Ally so harshly earlier, blindly trusting the stupid rumors you’d heard about her. Popular or not, the three of you got along better than any of the other friends you’d tried to make throughout your life. They do briefly make fun of your instagram before forcing you to take and post pictures with the two of them by the pool. They both tag your account.

Peter didn’t seem to share the good luck you did. He’d dragged Ned to 6 different pool parties across the city and saw no one who looked like Sapphire. Disappointed, he spent the night patrolling alone and dodging fireworks.

***

(September 1)

Since that day, you’d become a trio with Ally and Betty. The day after the pool party you’d woken up to nearly 1,000 followers on your instagram. Everyone from Midtown who never gave you a second look when you had your hood shoved over your head now wanted to be your friend.

The three of you spent the rest of your summer days together, and you fit into the popular friend group better than you could have imagined. Maybe you watched too many teen movies, but you expected them to be mean. The only mean one was Flash, and even he was basically harmless. You’d given up Saturday night patrols with Spiderman for a weekly girls night with your new best friends. You thought having new friends and a bustling social life would’ve made it easier to forget about Spiderman, but somehow he seeped into every area of your life.

That damn laugh. As Ally and Betty sing along to the radio loudly, you bite your lip to stop a dumb smile from rising to your lips. God, just thinking about him made you flustered. As Ally drives into the school parking lot, nerves bubble in your stomach.

As if you aren’t stressed enough, your brain decides this is the perfect moment to remind you of the one night this summer you and Spiderman haven’t talked about since.

*** (August 14)

The two of you were sprawled out on a gravel rooftop next to each other. Not the most comfortable of relaxing spots, but you’d both grown tired of flying around under the summer heat with no hint of trouble for miles.

“This sucks.” Spiderman huffs out.

“Rude.” You reply quickly, even though you know he isn’t talking about you.

“Oh, no,” He immediately sits up. “I didn’t mean you suck, I just meant, you know, because there’s not much going on right now and it’s hot and-” He sees your cheeky smile and stops himself with a laugh. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s cute.” You bite your lip. The fuck did I just say? Before you can begin to explain, he jumps to his feet.

“Spidey sense, let’s go!” You jump up too and follow after him as he jumps off the building. Thank god. I’ve never been so grateful that someone’s in trouble. The fight was tough, even with the both of you. These men had strange guns that keep firing at you and Spiderman even though you’d tried multiple times to crush them with your powers.

“The guns are magic-proof! I can’t destroy them!” You yell over to Spiderman as you take down one of the men in between punches.

Somehow, two men get ahold of their guns and corner you. Just as you start levitating to fly over them, a web shoots from somewhere behind them and the men and their guns are yanked away. Spiderman wastes no time and you swear he seems angry with the two men as he webs them to the wall next to their friends before picking up the guns and violently smashing them on the ground.

You’re still frozen in shock, watching him. When he seems to be satisfied with the broken pile of guns on the floor, he runs back over to you. “I’m so sorry, I know we promised-” You finally break out of whatever trance you were in to place a finger over his lips, casting a disgusted glance towards the men staring at you from their webbed cocoons.

“Not here.” You say quietly, and fly the two of you quickly up to the roof. He blinks for a second, his head spinning from the speed. You rarely use your full speed, especially with him, but you had to get out of there. “Okay, go ahead.” You say after a second of silence.

“I’m so sorry, I know we agreed not to get in each other’s way, and I know you can handle yourself, probably better than I can. Hold on, I didn’t mean I handle you. That sounded weird. Anyways, I just got so angry when I saw those men pointing their guns at you I had to-” He’s talking about the agreement you two had made when you first started working together. You both obviously were skilled, so you agreed that you wouldn’t interrupt each other’s fights unless asked.

“Spidey, I really don’t care you interrupted. It was hot.” JESUS CHRIST NOT AGAIN. You immediately winced and slap a hand over your mouth. “Oh my god I did NOT mean to say that I’m so sorry.”

Your rambling is cut off as Spiderman’s hand travels up to the bottom of his mask and you think your eyes might fall out of your head with how wide they become as he begins to pull it up, revealing the soft pale skin of his neck.

His jaw, chin, and then lips become visible as he lets the mask rest on his nose. The 0.5 seconds that have passed since you stopped talking feel like an eternity until he suddenly leans forward, crashing his lips into yours. Spiderman is an amazing kisser, you decide, as you gently kiss him back.

WHAT AM I DOING? Your mind is going haywire but instead of stopping, you deepen the kiss and nearly smile when he lets out a low moan. Everything you’ve told yourself about focus and distractions flies out the window when his gloved hands clutch your waist and pull you closer to him than you thought possible.

It feels like it’s only been a second when he pulls away, but your eyes flicker to his swollen lips and you know it must have been longer. You smile as you stare at his lips, only inches from yours, but as your gaze moves to the rest of his exposed skin the smile drops slowly.

Your rational mind comes back. It’s easy to forget when you’re with him that you’ve only known each other a couple months. How could you do this? Your first time making out with a boy, and he doesn’t even know your name.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” You whisper as he starts to say something.  “Sorry, what were you going to say?” He blinks slowly and takes a deep breath before stepping away from you.

“Nevermind. See you tomorrow.” And he swings away from you. You silently curse yourself for being such a big mouth, wanting to know what he would have said. You can’t help the small voice in the back of your head, telling you that you made the wrong decision.

You raise your hand to run your fingers along your tingling lips before flying home as fast as you can.

***

(September 1)

You wince at the painful memory before reminding yourself everything was back to normal the next day and neither of you mentioned it again. You still weren’t sure if that was good or bad. You force all thoughts of Spiderman out of your brain and even give Ally an encouraging cheer when she successfully parks on her first try.

You don’t remember Midtown having so many fucking students last year, but maybe it was because they were all staring at you. Any confidence you’d had as you opened Ally’s car door had disappeared as everyone around you turned to gawk. The bright smile you’d pasted on a second ago quickly fell and you glanced at Ally nervously.

“Come on, girls!” She says enthusiastically, grabbing an arm from you and Betty as she breaks the brief moment of awkward silence. God bless you Ally. As the three of you hoist your bags over your shoulders and make your way into the school, you mouth a quick thank you her way, hoping she can see your genuine appreciation. She smiles at you. “I’m happy we’re going into this year as three instead of two.”

Betty leans forward to smile at you. “Me too, y/n. I’m really happy you’re here.”  You smile back brightly. There really was no one as sweet as Betty.

“You won’t be so happy I’m here when I talk your ear off during class.” The three of you continue laughing and joking your way down the hall to stop at your lockers.

“Oh my god, is that Y/n?” Ned interrupts Peter’s latest ramble about his night with Sapphire. Usually, he really did listen. Ned was fully invested in the superhero love story, as he called it, unfolding. But the sight of a girl notorious for hiding in her own baggy clothes across the hall in a miniskirt and tank top was more important.

“Y/n?” Peter asks, confused why Ned wasn’t paying attention. But when he turned around to see what Ned was staring at, he understood. He’d seen you around school the past three years, but never like this.

You looked like a fucking model. And everyone in the hall couldn’t help but stare. “Holy shit.”

“Right, dude?” Ned breathes out, the two of them shamelessly staring. “Why didn’t that happen to me over summer? Oh my god, of course she’s friends with Betty.”

Peter laughs as his best friend goes on about “two pretty best friends” but he can’t take his eyes off of you. The light in your eyes as you joke with your friends, making them double over in laughter, feels strangely familiar. Or maybe that’s wishful thinking on his part because you’re extremely pretty.

He watches in surprise as you and Ally walk up to the AP Chem classroom, waving goodbye to Betty sadly as she heads off to English. You turn to walk into the classroom after Ally, but you pause and look back down the hallway-right at him. Instead of yelling at him for being a creep like he expected, you smile at him widely before heading into the class. He exhales deeply and glances down at his schedule quickly, a smile appearing. AP Chem.

Of course his thoughts are still consumed by Sapphire, but it was hard to ignore you especially after seeing his name on the seating chart next to yours in the back row. Plus, Sapphire was the one who’d shot him down after he finally tried to make a move after catching onto the hints he thought she’d been dropping.

He felt bad for thinking that about her, he didn’t blame her at all. He knew there was a million reasons they shouldn’t be together-and he didn’t want to know specifics on why he wasn’t good enough. Sapphire hadn’t brought up that night since, and he was fine to pretend it never happened.

You were already in your seat at the lab table, but Ally was still standing next to you waving her hands wildly as you two spoke. He doesn’t want to interrupt so he freezes in place, unsure of whether or not to go sit down. He’d thought you were cute, and a little shy like him in freshman and sophomore year and he remembered the many times he would look at you from across the room like he is now.

His eyes had been quick to find you whenever you two were in the same room ever since the first day of school freshman year when you smiled at him in the hall. Even last year, when all he saw of you was a curled up lump at your desk or a sliver of hair peeking out from behind your hood he still noticed you.

Luckily for him, the bell rings and he slides into his seat just as the teacher begins speaking. “Hi, Peter.” You lean over to him, your shoulders nearly touching, and whisper so the teacher doesn’t hear. “I’m y/n.” You smile warmly as his cheeks and ears turn light pink.

“You don’t have to introduce yourself. We’ve gone to school together since we were 6?” Now it’s your turn to be embarrassed and you purse your lips together.

“No, I know, just-” Peter notices you seem a bit frustrated as you glance around the room and then lean even closer to him. “Everybody thinks I’m new.” You nervously mess with your bracelet.

“You do look a bit different.” He points out and you raise your eyebrows before sighing slowly and shrugging.

“I was just sick of feeling invisible, you know. Not because I care what anyone here thinks. Last year was just, really, really lonely.” Peter watches you intently as you speak, hanging onto your every word.

Your confession made him sad. If only he’d been brave enough to ask if you were okay. You pause for a second and meet his eyes. Any other guy in this school would’ve laughed at you by now. You gesture to your outfit and nervously adjust your skirt. “I’m also not a superficial person. It wasn’t about changing how I looked, I just needed the confidence to put myself out there.” You pause and nod towards Ally with a smile. Peter glances over to Ally and sees her blow you a kiss, which you catch across the room with a giggle.

I miss you! She mouths with a dramatic frown and this time Peter laughs quietly with you. “I thought she was a bitch before I met her.” He looks at you with surprise to find you smiling at him. “But,” you hold up a finger for dramatic effect, “because I put myself out there, I met my best friends. A lot of people around here judge on appearances. I’m not like that anymore.” You say with confidence.

“That’s really cool of you.” Peter whispers back, and the sound sends an involuntary shiver down your spine. He’s so close to you and the feelings you thought you left behind two years ago don’t seem so left behind as you stare into his warm eyes. “For the record, I’d be your friend no matter what you look like.”

Peter has only been this nervous a couple times before in his life, and he can’t help but feel like he’s betraying Sapphire with the way he’s thinking about you. He watches as you smile warmly at his words and extend your hand towards his.

“Friends? Even though I'm so much uglier now?” You pout your bottom lip out, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. He nearly laughs out loud and has to remind himself you’re still in class. “I know guys go wild for the homeless man sweatpants look.” You’re both trying to hold back your laughter, shaking silently in the back of the class as he raises his hand and grabs yours.

“Friends.” Peter isn’t sure why he keeps going, but he does. “And just so you know, you were never ugly. I don’t know why you tried so hard to hide yourself last year, but even then,” the words leaving his mouth sound confident but Peter takes a deep breath before looking up from his lap to meet your eyes. Your wide eyes and surprised smile give him just the confidence he needs to finish. “You could never be ugly.” Peter can hear his heart beating.

You blink at him. This boy could not be real. Here he was, basically implying that the one thing you had wanted all along, for somebody to notice you, was true. Not only was it true, but it was Peter fucking Parker telling you this. Despite everything that had changed you in the past year, the giddy feeling in your bones brought you back to sophomore year and pining over Peter.

“Really?” Your smile spreads and he seems to let out a deep breath of relief.

“Yeah.” He smiles back at you until your sweet moment is interrupted by a fat ass syllabus dropping onto the lab table in front of you.

“Fuck,” you whisper. “This class is gonna be so much homework.” You turn the page so Peter can briefly see the list of projects alone, and it’s enough to make him cringe.

Something about the way the whispers travel back and forth between you all class makes you realize you hadn’t fallen into a friendship this easily, even with Ally. Even with Spiderman, your brain points out.

A red and blue suit swings into your mind and you are hit with a wave of guilt. Not two hours ago I was thinking about my make out with Spiderman, and now I’m comparing him to Peter? 

You have all but one class together, and you can’t help but glance in Peter’s direction any chance you get. The only time you don’t see him is at lunch, even though you look all around the lunch room for him or the boy he’d been standing with this morning. You thought it would be too creepy to ask him where he’d been.

Finally, the last bell of the day rang, and you were sure if you didn’t have superpowers you would’ve been exhausted. School is kinda draining when you actually acknowledge people. Ally and Betty share your complaints about being tired on your drive home, all three of you agreeing you need naps. You kiss them both on the cheek and wave goodbye before heading up to your room.

Forget what I said about having superpowers. I’m fucking tired. You lay down on your bed, groaning into the pillow at the thought of having to patrol tonight. You sat up abruptly. You’d never dreaded patrol, it was always the thing you looked forward to. You glance towards the suit in your closet and sigh.

It’s not patrol I’m nervous about. It’s him. You feel incredibly guilty about today. I’m not a two timer. If I want to like Peter, I have to talk to Spiderman about that kiss first. You start to make your way over to the closet before another wave of exhaustion hits, sending you straight back to your bed.

After a nap. Then we’ll talk.