#the arena scene is going to be so much more emotional it seems…

[sejjiplinth]

“you’re my friend. he doesn’t need to pay me to help you.” / “you’re the only reason i’ve lasted this long, coriolanus. i need to stop causing you trouble.”

[taegularities]

colour me in: translucent | jjk (m)

Summary: And whenever the world seems to fall apart and your thoughts cast a shadow over your heart, he rushes to lift you to your feet. Conjoining your hearts and souls, again and again and again.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating; some healthy angst, so much fluff, smut ➳ warnings: y’all. So. Much. Fluff, talk about stars, talk about his hometown, mention of a wedding 😁, 1 nara mention, a guest appearance!!, and another guest appearance…, daddy issues mention, oc has a tummy ache :(, banter, conversation with her mom, badass oc, their friends <3, moving and work stress, overworking, kook panics in this one, oc does too, tears and tears and tea–, abandonment issues, overthinking!!!, they communicate too late bc they’re scared, pregnancy scare, mention of throwing up, kissing and hand holding <3, petnames, insecurities/slight envy; explicit sexual content: diving right into the smut as the chapter starts 🤭, tie around oc’s neck ha ha, oral (f. receiving) (over panties and without 🥲), fingering, brief masturbation (m.), making out, jk takes the backseat and oc drives for a while <3, bit of choking, they’re half clothed for a bit, tiddie and butt love, tears, flirting, big dick jk, soft dom jk, emotions omg 😷, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, squirting, he unloads in her mouth 😄, and yeah, maybe more but i forgot – lmk if you notice smth! also… THE 👏 EN 👏 DING 🚨🚨🚨 ➳ word count: 35.8k 💀  ➳ a/n: here it is… after a long ass fight with tumblr and my tears, it’s here! i don’t have much to say this time except that this chapter means the world to me. and i hope you love it just as much. shoutout to @missgeniality for betaing parts of this and helping me with difficult scenes, i truly struggled!! <3 if you guys enjoy this one, let me know and don’t be shy to reach out!! love you and let’s dive in 🥺 ➳ listen to: say you won't let go by james arthur | full collaborative playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs | DC SERVER

The whispers cease the moment your door closes.

The whispers of the world, of all traffic, of all passersby, of all echoes. And those in your head, susurrating since you left the glass building and its conference hall.

They dim the moment you drop your palm off the door; your heart is still a nervous mess as you take your shoes off, watch him take his shoes off. He places them neatly in the shoe cabinet, jacket hung on one of the coat hooks.

Right here, you’re surrounded by a tranquil, quiet dome. Not as subdued as the emotions the outer world elicits; just an arena that feels perpetually warm, sepia and still.

And amidst that warmth, there’s yearning. You feel it in every nerve of your body, burning through your limbs. Stunning sentiments pull at your soul, making it heavy; and your heart floats, perpetually above the clouds.

As he rubs his cheek with a soft hand — you know, because you were holding it just two minutes ago, clutching it in the car for dear life —, you take a step forward, your mouth open, but not quite capable of saying all that’s weighing on your tongue.

They’re good things; amazing things. And he hasn’t yet gathered all his thoughts either to truly voice what he’s been hiding since you left the chaos. Only opting for the living room, painfully slowly, as if he’s waiting to face you again.

And maybe… maybe he really is. And maybe he doesn’t need to talk at all.

Because he stops the moment you speak, tenderly calling, “Jungkook.”

It’s all he needs. Combined with the lightest touch to his elbow, a hint of your voice is all he needs. He wants to keep hearing his name. Again and again and again. And today, announcing it to the world, you promised that you’ll be doing just that.

Shit. What have you done to his heart? He wants to ask questions that neither of you has an answer to; or, not one that can be verbalised. One that could explain this euphoria.

So he doesn’t say anything at all.

Instead, he stumbles as he turns back to you again, taking a deep breath before his head tilts. The unbounded amount of want is swimming in his tired eyes, and you barely manage a hushed, “Should we—” before his fingers flutter and he—

Dashes straight toward you. One large step, both hands jacking up to take your face captive. He raises your head, eyes closing, mouth parting an inch before it’s locked with yours.

If he hadn’t started, you would have.

The same thumb always caressing your skin pulls your lower lip down. An unfaltering habit, tender whenever he spirals. You trip backwards, with him in tow, immediately gripping his arms with a wild, accelerating heartbeat.

Your soul was already awake, lit up from today’s events; but he dunks it in a brighter shine — and now it flushes pink.

For a while, your kiss’ sounds are all that echo off the wall, mixing with your sighs. He starts gently, head angled, diving deeper.

Every now and then, he tugs at your lip ever-so-slightly, teeth and tongue dragging over it. The wet muscle is soft against yours, and you let your touch drop down to his waist to hold him closer.

But there’s not that much time to dissolve into him right here, against your entrance door, because Jungkook backs away before you can bid your sanity adieu. Maybe that’s for later.

Maybe you need to be okay with his breath grazing your skin for now, for the words he murmurs so close to your lips, “You’re crazy for this. Absolutely crazy.”

You are. Both okay with this, and incredibly crazy.

There’s never been more certainty in your actions or your intentions than whatever you do with him. For him — if that deems you crazy, then you absolutely are.

Heated from the kiss, Jungkook steps away, but not without entangling your fingers with his. On the way to the bedroom, you ignore everything that doesn’t entail him.

Like, the humming of the fridge. Or the sound of the traffic outside, audible through the tilted window. And the buzzing of your phone; it’s been doing that for a while now.

Of course it is.

But you don’t hesitate to deposit it on your bedside table mere seconds later; you barely manage to put it there, nearly watching it slide down as Jungkook pulls you back. You clash against his body, and the tongue once again mingling with yours only enhances your disorientation.

God, you’re a lost cause. Nothing else to expect with his palm holding your jaw, arm slung around you, kissing you senseless.

Time slows down; the sensation turns electric. His motions are rhythmic, fingers brushing your neck. And despite the bitterness he must have felt at the conference, he tastes so , so sweet.

Heady desire growing, you grip the back of his head, pushing it closer. You’re insatiable. Yearning for more of his damp, soft lips, hysterical when he lets out a craving, small moan.

“Do you have any idea,” he starts, giving your neck no more than a handful of teasing pecks, “what that did to me?”

He moves back until you plummet into the mattress; your eyes follow when he leans in and falls to his knees. Placing a hand at the nape of your neck, tenderly moving your face a bit closer to his.

“Without a warning, too,” he continues, “what, were you planning to drive me mad for so long?”

Not the angry kind of mad. His smile and the fondness in his eyes reveal that much. No — the mad that a lover is.

“Did it work?” you ask, and he flashes his teeth, beloved crinkles around his eyes.

“Did it? What do you think?” He kisses your nose; then, the apple of your cheek. “You didn’t notice any of it today? Or any other time before that?”

“I wanted to… I want everyone to know. I was going to tell you when you came home, but… I wanted to say it in front of everybody. That,” you touch the collar of his blazer, rubbing it between your fingertips, “I’m done with their games. I don’t care anymore, Jungkook.”

“I know… You don’t care.” His hand leaves the nape of your neck, caressing your face. “But you care about me, yes? You care so much.”

It’s not really a question. It’s a statement, a reassurance to himself. A mantra, as if he needs to repeat it and let it reverberate in his mind until he’s grasped its meaning.

“I do,” you whisper, peeling the blazer off his shoulder by only a few inches, “and I want to stay. Can I… just stay here?”

“You’re crazy,” he echoes once more, emphasising his words with a shake of his head, “to think I’ll let you go again. You’ll see.”

Although he still establishes a brief, temporary distance between the two of you right after; you’re reluctant to stop feeling his warmth when he stands. He towers over you, and you muster utmost courage to not faint.

Because the sight is one to behold.

How he removes the blazer in a swift movement, discarding it on top of the table at the wall. He rolls up the sleeve of his shirt, but only one side, glancing at you throughout the ordeal.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask.

“Why is your mouth open like that?”

“Do this exactly in front of a mirror, and… and you’ll know why.”

He smirks. “Right. And stare at yourself in the mirror for longer than a second, and you’ll know why, too.”

God, this guy…

And he actually doesn’t stop.

His pupils keep wandering; to your eyes, to your lips, to your heaving chest. To how you close your legs when he loosens his tie with tattooed fingers, lettered knuckles on full display. He opens a single button of his dress shirt; enough to reveal a patch of golden skin.

The tie dangles off his neck, doing wonders to your mind, and you resist the urge to grab it and pull him down to you. But you don’t need to; you only get to cherish the sight for another second.

Because right after, he pulls it over his head, baring the highly kissable mole on his neck before—

“What are you doing?” you wonder, eyes wide, and probably filled with anticipation as he puts the tie around your neck. “I’m…”

“Looks a lot better on you.”

One more shake of his head. You subtly catch a jerk behind his pants, and your gaze drops instantly. Behind the dark slacks, he’s already waiting for you, and the thought leaves you frothing at the mouth.

“You’re not looking bad yourself…” you say, drifting off, barely looking into his face as your hand reaches out. “May I?”

“What, baby?”

“Just…” 

You move forward, a palm to his thigh, and close your eyes before placing a kiss to the growing bulge. It twitches under your lips, and you drag your mouth lightly over his dick’s outline.

“Should’ve known,” Jungkook breathes, affected straight away, “but somehow, this is worse than your hand.”

“Really?”

He clicks his tongue when you do it again, unfazed by the layer between you as you give his clothed cock an open-mouthed kiss. Two of his fingers settle underneath your chin, and he raises your head in order to meet your gaze.

Then, he pushes you back a little, within a second back to one knee; then the other. He cocks an eyebrow as if to reprimand you, but then gulps down a chuckle as he says, “Really. But wait a bit more.”

You need to wait, because he prioritises your pleasure. One demand you’re ready to give into.

So, so prepared, when he asks politely, “Open your slacks?” You do. The way he drags his hands over your thigh and up to your hips, starting to discard your pants, is arguably less polite. “Here we go. Raise your ass.”

You help him out as best as you can. But he attaches his lips to your naked thigh the moment it comes into view, scattering kisses over your hot skin as he casts it off of you entirely.

You raise your feet a bit above the ground, and he uses the moment to separate your legs. Doesn’t even bother taking off your panties first; casually making himself at home between your limbs.

Light-headed, you open your eyelids halfway to glance at the blurry ceiling light; you never noticed when you closed them. Maybe when the sweetness spread over your thighs’ skin.

Maybe he’s as dizzy as you — only, when your whirling stare descends to his face, he’s smirking. And for a second, you don’t understand why. Puzzled, you keep looking, observing the tempting lick over his lips; the deep exhale; the barely-there blinking.

And then he says, “Never thought about it. But you should wear light-coloured panties more often.”

“…Why?”

But you soon get why.

Because you feel the arousal behind the fabric. How it glues your pussy to it, the damp spot probably growing. It’s visible — that’s what he’s liking so much.

He can see all of the desire you harbour for him, showcased so blatantly. And despite the embarrassment, watching his face flush in that rosy dust boosts your ego, too.

Your face burns.

“You’ve been like that for…” he starts, shrugging his shoulders in curiosity, “how long now?”

“Long enough. And I dare you to do something about it.”

Because fuck, he talks too much. In hindsight, only really when you need him to shut up; deliberately.

“Oh god,” he exclaims, dramatic as ever; as he raises a hand, you nearly think he’ll place it on his chest for further effect, but he only touches your knee, “now if you’re daring me, I’ll have to.”

“Mhm. I’m sure you’re not a sore lo—”

“Yeah, yeah.”

It’s a rude interruption, and the sudden push of his fingertip against your clit is ruder. It’s a momentary touch, fleeting, as opposed to the slow and calculated way that he buries his face in your panties. Eyes glued to yours for a moment.

And then…

Then, you relish the first taste of Heaven — as does he, you suppose.

Because the satisfied sigh is outrageous, hot against your covered folds. He licks over the damp stain, only the tip of his tongue; thoroughly salivated, because you feel the wetness seeping through the clothing.

There’s no moment between the start of his action and your immediate, ”Fuck.”

And to him, your reaction sets just the tone for a woozy night to come. He nods between your legs, gelled back strands tickling, hums so sweetly. You adjust on your seat, though the subtle change affects nothing; only drives you wilder as you shift deeper into his face.

His tongue is painting circles over your clit. Drawing out sensations, and you don’t understand how… there’s underwear between him and you. A barrier, aching to be removed, so how is he doing this, howishedoingit—

“No! Oh god—”

You can’t decipher why you voiced the rejection; you don’t want him to leave. Frustrated when he does, mouth open, waiting for you to speak up until you do, “Sorry. Sorry, I don’t fucking know…”

“Babe…” He shakes his head… He’s doing so much of this today. But one of the loose strands keeps moving so gorgeously over his forehead, so if it was up to you, he could keep doing it. “Don’t scare me like that.”

“Sorry…”

“Nah.” He says it when you press your lips together, hot and bothered as he licks another stripe along your cunt. “Didn’t mean it that way. Open that pretty mouth. Do scream, yeah?”

You could melt into the ground. Or into the sheets; he always knows what to say. No matter what the situation. A verbal monster once, a graceful poet another time.

They say, get you a man who can do both. But he can do all million things known to humankind and the book of romance.

His mouth works deeper into where you ache. Tongue action expanded, he returns to the panties, seeking one of your nether lips to tease it, pull at it. He’s ruining your garment, making it stick to your pussy.

Pries your legs open when he comes back to the clit, and then drops down to the overflowing sex again. The sensual gestures are toying with your nerves, and you still can’t figure out how. Leaves you waiting, yearning, craving the lack of a blockade in between.

And once the uncomfortable, wet cotton of your panties rubs against the inside of your folds, you finally speak up, “Why are you—”

“Sorry,” he interjects, aware of his bestiality. You see it in his stupid wicked smile. “I know. This is just…” Big eyes stare back down, albeit hazier than before; his finger touches the drenched patch for a second. “So good to look at.”

“You’re the worst.”

“Of course.”

Shit, he’s so cheeky. If you had the strength, you’d wipe that bubbly smile off his face; not good for your heart. Would smooch it away. But fret not — you’ll get your chance, too.

For now, you need to grant him this win. Not least of all, because it feels so good for you, too.

So you don’t defy him when he suddenly moves in more. Hooks a finger into your panties and slides them aside, letting them snap back against the juncture between your pussy and leg. And then, you guess the actual fun starts.

Because he throws one carnal look at you before his arms wander under your legs. You can barely gather your thoughts before he digs in again, properly this time. Lips directly attaching to your skin, he starts diligent work on soiling your body.

And god, does he do it well…

So experienced. Aware. Studied you and your body well enough — because the agonisingly slow tease isn’t random. He knows how much you hate it; knows how much you love it.

How it builds anticipation, and how it grows your desire.

He’s a little fuck, but maybe that’s why he never fails to break you this hard. You know he’s enjoying this — delighted when your eyebrows furrow, close to weeping as he breathes against your pussy.

Even though a man starved, he takes his time. For a second. Then another. And then parts your folds with his fingers, whispering, “Would you say that’s better?”

Like he’s at some meeting. Goddamn.

You blink, responding, “I don’t know. Better than the panties, worse than…” His finger slips in mid-speech, just halfway through when you manage a breathy, “this.”

“I… Shit, you’re… hot as fuck.”

Right.

Even you’re turned on by how your head tips back again, eyes rolling inward when he diminishes the distance and kisses your cunt. Nobody else is going to raise your confidence like he does.

“Mmmh,” he voices as the make out session intensifies, smacking noises sounding from below. He lifts his lips by a mere inch, only to mumble, “So hot. So fucking good.”

And that’s it — back to business.

“Nnnghkook…”

The arms he dropped under your legs sling around them, hooking in, and somehow, he’s able to reach to your back like that. Raises your legs in the process, pulling you in. Deeper in your heat, big button nose against your pelvis.

Your right hand attempts to grip his hair before you threaten to fall backwards, failing miserably. You immediately place both your palms back on the bed, because you doubt you can trust that damned left arm to hold you upright — quivering like this.

The tip of your tongue touches the arch of your upper lip, and then you tilt your head, warning him, “Fuck… if you don’t fuck my brains out today, Jungkook…”

Brains? Plural? Acting as though even one’s present in your head right now.

Jungkook chuckles, licking you dry; the little sound combined with the sinful ordeal is a delightful one. Contrary, but gifting the moment some reality. Some tenderness. You’re having fun.

He stops to throw the escaping strands back again — all in vain, of course — and brings his hand to your ass, moving you over the bed until you’re off the edge. You yelp, close to falling, but he holds you carefully.

Ass half dangling, he throws your legs over broad shoulders, kissing your thigh before he promises, “Don’t worry at all. Won’t leave a single thought in either of our heads.”

You wince when he bites the flesh of your leg, and then proceeds to advance his soft lips to the tender ache. He collects saliva on his tongue, probably ready to dive in again; moves in at least, tickling your pelvis with his breath.

His nose takes a deep breath, inhaling you, dizzy from your scent. And his thumb — it floats over your clit, preparing for more insanity. But when the position elicits some discomfort, you say, “Put me on the bed. Can I… bed properly.”

Fragments of sentences. They make him smile.

“Sure,” he says rather calmly; you’re anything but.

It’s not normal. Watching a guy like Jeon Jungkook push his hair back with his jaw on full display; tongue darting out.

He signals his approval once more as he pats your thigh, and you make quick work at weakly turning around and crawling onto the bed. You’re still trembling as you get on all fours, very conscious of what you’re doing.

Casually, you say, “I’ll get the lube, too.”

Of course you know what might follow. What will follow. He never stops raving, daydreaming, bragging about your ass — walking past you in the kitchen, just to grapple a handful and to innocently claim, “What? I love your butt.”

But before he strikes this time, you’re only barely able to grab the lube out of the drawer, placing it next to the pillow instead of handing it back to him. Because… because before you know it—

There’s already a finger to your pussy.

“Shit,” you curse, “you and your impatience.”

“Do you want me to wait?” he asks, as purely as the butt-love-statements as his touch retracts. Mellow voice; only a flutter of his lashes is missing, really. “I can wait.”

No, he can’t. Liar.

“No,” you repeat, readily letting your upper body fall. You bring your fingertips back to your ass, tracing it down until met with your arousal. “Don’t do this to me now.”

You know his answer before he utters it, “Don’t you do this to me now.” You hear a click of his tongue; a poised beam plays around your lips. “Alright. But.”

He snatches your legs from under your body until you’re flat on your tummy; you grunt just a bit. Not expecting the soft, little, “Do tell me if I do too much.”

As if…

He knows his limits. But the constant, caring pleads still always grip your heart; so you nod.

“Okay.”

Simultaneous with a fond slap, that word is the last verbal sign of his presence that you receive for a while. Whatever follows is a pure testing of limitations; of jumbling up your senses.

Because the moment Jungkook lifts your ass to his face, his tongue is already out. Experimental at first, of course, patient. He takes a second for languid kisses and soft necking, fingers exploring the inside of your thigh as if to soothe your restlessness.

And it helps. Your limbs shake a bit less, your mind focused on where his touches go. Fingertips near your folds. Lips kissing around your pussy. Then, repeating the same brush of his hands as before, but on your other leg, moving inward. 

Despite the first taste he already got, he’s suddenly changed his tactic; and you’re greedy. Mewling in tiny, quiet sounds, barely realising that they’re coming out of you. You repeat his name over and over, but it never quite tumbles out in its entirety.

So you keep it at moaning, eyes closed, so infinitely relaxed.

He moves back, gently asking, “All good?”

“So far… do more, please.”

It’s what he always waits for. You know. Jungkook has a fetish for your pleas, and the tiniest fragment of your beseeching voice is usually enough for him.

Like now.

Encouraged, he pushes your shirt up to your tits, halting right under them. He touches your naked stomach, brushing your belly button, grazing a palm over your lower back and straight to your ass.

The tongue ghosting around your sex finally dares a step forward. Gets a little taste of what’s to come. Circles around your folds, then to your nub; spit gathered on the tip, never too hard, oh-so-mildly — and maybe that’s what makes it even worse.

The lack of any force. How pleasant it feels. And you let him know — respond with a desperate, unheard sound, goosebumps sprawling over your skin.

Jungkook discerns it as a signal to go on; to do more. His nose buries between your ass, pushing his tongue in a little further, alternating between licking and kissing and collecting spit. Your lust shoots to the sky; you twist and move, but he holds you in place with a single hand.

And when he disappears, you regret it immediately. You hear him say, “Hey, hey… Don’t you want me to fuck your brains out, sweetheart? Isn’t that what you said?”

“Mmhyes, yes, please.”

“…Then stop moving.” His nails are harsh against your waist, and you whimper. “The more you behave now,” he leaves a kiss on your butt, loosening his grip around your waist, “the harder I’ll go later.”

“…Okay. Okay. I’m sorry.”

He chuckles. What an ass; leaving you physically and mentally covetting, and then enjoying your reactions.

“Are you okay with this?” he asks, biting a little, stroking your hips, holding onto your ass cheeks.

“Mhm.” It’s all you can voice at this point. You don’t have any power over your body; can’t lift it off the mattress. “Love it.”

“Perfect.”

And then, everything seems to happen faster.

Arousal and orgasm have already built from his advances, and he gives you the rest when he starts drawing circles around your pussy again. Heightens your senses, slurps and drinks you up. Every single time it feels like he’s learned something new; you swoon at the attention to detail.

What might he be looking like right now?

Perhaps he’s biting his lip. Maybe his eyebrows are furrowed, usually tell-tale signs of either him enjoying his meal or him enjoying his meal.

“Shit,” you mumble, but you don’t think he hears it — too busy sucking at your folds, adding a finger to the mix.

Sometimes, the licks are generous, wide-tongued; sometimes, he focuses on each part individually. The insides, the clit; how you sound, how you wind.

There’s truly an utter craze you feel for this man; no matter which hazy or soft or delicate situation, he fits you like a missing puzzle piece. Like a match made in Heaven. Knows what he’s doing.

Because he knows you. Because he studies you. Observes you.

Sex is only one instance of his attentiveness.

And perhaps that’s the whipped thought that pushes you over the edge eventually. Maybe that’s why the moment passes so quickly and explosions blind you all of a sudden. Why your face glows so hot, sweat collecting over your upper lip.

It must be.

Because as he stimulates you for another minute, your sensitive cunt submits, the knot in your lower stomach unwinding. He unties it fully, eliciting a stirring feeling that makes your pussy flutter.

“Holy shit…”

You only register your voice when the peeping in your ear stops. Your voice is still damped, the world around you vanishing a bit; except for him. Always except for him.

And.

You also notice that your fingers are hurting. Did you dig them into the sheets too hard? Tug too hard? You don’t know… but their pads are almost numb.

Jungkook’s mouth is still there, though lighter now, and his finger is slightly slapping your cunt, encouraging you to keep letting go. Catching you on his tongue.

And then… it’s over. You remain quiet.

You’ll be a mess for the foreseeable future; or at least, the upcoming one or two minutes. Your back and neck are already covered in a sheen of sweat; it’s so unbearably hot, as opposed to the recklessly approaching cold outside.

Remaining like this, you let him kiss your body through your orgasm, delicately soothing the pain his fingers caused across your ass. Hovering above the small of your back, he asks, “Can you move?”

“Not yet. But…” You scan the spot next to the pillow until you find the lube, throwing it back to him at last. “I can watch.”

No objection. So you turn around.

When you finally meet his gaze again, having started missing it, he’s already unbuckling his pants. Right there, towering above you, looking directly at you. Jaw chiselled, lips swollen.

You decide to spur him on; bring the tie between your covered tits before gentle fingers grasp them deftly. Rolling your digits around their outline before squeezing them. There’s an instant reaction: The hard bite of his lip, the rushed discarding of his clothes.

And fuck, he’s beautiful. So pretty how he despairs bit by bit, only letting his pants make it to his knees before his cock has sprung out. A true monster, bloodshot like this, further growing as it twitches and jerks… blue veins wanting to be licked.

But it’s lube-day, and neither of you can wait.

So you let him make a fist around his thickness, stroking it and momentarily letting out a groan. His chest seems to deflate, shoulders dropping as he jerks himself off once more, squirts some lube into his palm, and returns to his intentions.

“Good,” you praise, watching his cheeks grow rosier, “wish you could go all out.”

“I can’t.”

You know. You know, because he’s storing all his patience for what’s to come. With and for you.

Breath stagnating, you watch a drop of sweat trail down between his tanned pecs and then into his shirt; fabric sticking to his skin. He doesn’t notice it, dazy as hell, wiping his tip clear of the precum. Every damn time you’re in disbelief when his cock grows in size, firmer and rock hard.

So many veins adorning it as it rises to his belly button; you’re sure you’ll feel them against your walls, too. You get on wobbly knees, hair already a mess, both of you still in your soaked white dress shirts.

Jungkook’s mane is falling apart much as yours, messier now, but soaking him in so much more sex appeal. There are no boundaries to his beauty; it transcends your understanding.

Enough of watching, you mentally capitulate a minute later. Too many moans and clipped vocals fill the room, whiny once, deep later; so you float up once your body allows, targeting his cock straight-forwardly.

You only deliver one surprise kiss, helping him out as you drag your tongue along the tiny slit. He reacts, caught off guard, voicing, “Oh—”

But against his possible expectations, you don’t continue. Instead, you drag your hand along his cock only twice — up and down, feeling the smooth skin, the slippery lube, the hardness underneath.

And then, you order, “Sit. Please.”

“What?”

“Here,” you point to the headboard, on your knees, kissing his sides and up his chest until you reach the open button. “Sit down for me.”

He pauses. Waits for a moment, touching your cheek when your face aligns with his. And when you keep your begging, soft gaze intact, he huffs out a broken laugh, and states, “Not sure if I can trust you to not kill me. But…” A kiss to your left eyebrow. “Anything for you.”

And whatever happens next, passes by fast.

How he obliges, dick dangling in front of his body, waiting for ruin. How he hisses a little when the sweat-drenched back touches the cold headboard. And how you adjust your body, soon sitting in reverse, facing the closet.

Floating over his cock, straddling him, spreading your pussy with your fingers. He stutters behind you, grasping for words, but silences when you move and wiggle your ass a little, only dropping a few inches until your cock can prod your entrance.

And that’s all you do. Multiple times. Practising restraint, focusing on the closet, blinking rapidly. Perhaps you’re more patient this time, because from behind, you hear another sharp hiss, and then a somewhat agitated, but endlessly turned on, “The hell are you doing to me?”

“Nothing,” you promise; the jest costs you all your energy, “what are you talking about?”

“You’re so funny, aren’t you?”

His words are accentuated by sudden grabs of your ass. One or two pinches. You should’ve known. But despite his impatience, he never forces you down onto his cock. Lets you do.

“I’m not trying to be,” you argue, aligning yourself with him gradually. Preparing yourself mentally and physically. Leaking to no end. “You’re just delusional.”

“Must be. Too good to be real.”

If you had it in you, you’d laugh. But the approaching sins and the image of his affected expressions fog your brain. Your body burns, your lower tummy tenses; your muscles feel heavy as you loom over him, and you only endure another moment.

Because soon enough, your thirst overpowers every other thought; the weight of your desire drags your body down, thankful that he’s keeping his cock upright. And then, just like that… so easily, no resistance detected, you slide down.

His tip splits you open first, eliciting an immediate sensation. New every freaking time; like the craze he fucks your mind into space with wipes your memory each time.

“Hnnngh, this is just…”

Whatever it is, there’s no word yet invented for it. So you give up right away, squinting your eye shut until you see dots and forms, breath stuck in your throat. The lack of regular inhales muddles your mind, and you feel further heat rise to your cheeks.

“Go— slow,” he pants behind you.

Of course he’s not all the way in yet. No matter how much it feels like it; you could keep going and going. Hard and monstrous, burying inside you, no end in sight.

The filling feeling catches you off guard each time; the way he leaves no room inside, causing butterflies in your stomach, wandering straight to your pussy. A ridiculously perfect phenomenon, like a key to its lock.

God. You’re overspilling.

As soon as he’s bottomed out, you relish the feeling of his skin against your ass for a moment, registering how his fingers sneak to your flesh slowly. And then, you angle your body forward, clutching the sheets before you start moving.

You keep your pace slow. Put all your intention on delicate motions, all the way up with a whimper, and then slamming back down with a gasp. The farther you go, the wetter you get. Until you’ve probably left a shimmering liquid all over his cock, gliding too damn easily.

“That’s… that’s new,” Jungkook mutters. At least that’s what you think you hear. “Gotta do it again.”

And you’re not even done with this time. But you understand — oh, you fucking understand. There’s something about not yet seeing his face but imagining all of it. How fucked out he must look. How red the apples of his cheeks must be. How sweaty his hairline is.

You grip the sheets tighter, legs closer to his, head between your shoulders. All you manage between the heavy breathing is a high-pitched, ”Jungkook—”

“Yes. Yeah, baby. This is…”

“I know. I know, keep talking.”

Which is an unfair command. He can think as much as you; you can barely comprehend letters, even less put them into actual words. But somehow, he still mutters whatever nonsense he can think of.

“Gotta do it again,” he repeats as you fasten your pace.

“Why always play such an angel, huh?” he asks as you moan and whine.

“When you’re a… a fucking demon. Literally,” he declares when you blow out breaths, letting out a crying sound.

He feels glorious inside you. Solid and gorgeous. He holds your ass cheeks in a tight grip, the strength nearly bruising when you let a hand wander back between your legs, grazing his firm balls.

When you turn around to check briefly, slowing your motions, he looks up, meets your eyes. Apparently, he wasn’t gazing at you directly at all; and you imagine there wasn’t much to see other than a bouncing mane anyway.

What he’s actually so distracted by must be…

“How’s it… it look?” you ask, circling your hips, feeling every vein, as predicted.

“It looks…”

Must be art.

Combined with his love for your ass, he must be enjoying the view; at least judging from the constant kneading and spreading. Allowing a direct, front-seat show of his cock appearing out of you, disappearing inside of you.

Glistening. Sucking him in. It must…

“Looks so fuck—ing insane from where I sit.”

The swear word is interrupted by a millisecond, breathy as hell. Allows a glimpse into how delirious he might already be, possibly faring worse than you. Impatient, seeking more.

And you do know your Jeon Jungkook well.

Because not even another breath later, his body that slid down halfway, bolts up. You feel the shift clearly; it pulls you backwards along with him. Only, you realise the movement isn’t the only source straightening you so fast.

First and foremost, it’s the freaking hand. Covered in letters and more ink, tugging at the dangling tie and following it up to the slowly unravelling knot before… abruptly snaking around your neck. Fingers right under your jaw, lifting your head.

He tugs you in until your back collides with his chest, and to your chagrin, you notice that neither of you has gotten rid of those stupid dress shirts. You won’t be able to wear them again without drifting to this memory…

Sleeve open, he wraps his arm around your body, just under your tits, and whispers, “Why… drive me mad like this?”

“H–huh?”

“So far away. Weren’t you ffffu—” The messy zero you’re drawing with your hips interrupts his string of thoughts, and he spends a second finding it again before he finishes, “Weren’t you far away long enough?”

Shit…

This isn’t just an affair. This isn’t temporary. Your brain still can’t quite understand that you’ve actually occupied this man’s heart.

That your gestures and touches aren’t a fleeting dream, but blissfully real. That you’re his, and that he’s yours.

He’s right. You were far away for too long.

So you sneak your arm back, around the back of his neck and pull him closer by his hair. His lips brush your cheek and then retreat to your ear. Nibbling for a moment. Kissing it.

You don’t know what to focus on — on the way his teeth light up your nerves, or the way his hand moves down your shirt and bra, and up your body. Soon taking your tits captive, squeezing hard, pinching your nipples.

“Move a bit,” he orders, though you don’t really have to.

His hand remains on your neck, so he pulls you forward; guess he’s sick of the shirt, too.

“You too,” you murmur.

“Yes. Patience, love.”

No. Fuck no.

Is it the nickname or his actions that empty your head this time? You don’t know. But you react.

Moaning, but it soon transitions into a yelp when he jerks up suddenly, balls deep. Your voice breaks, and you’re breathless; grateful when he unbuttons your shirt, dragging it down your shoulders.

Helping him however you can, you pull at the clothing almost aggressively, over your hand until it’s stuck there. Sporting a shirt paw, you hear Jungkook laugh behind you, peppering more kisses to your shoulder as he says, “Ah… take it easy. You’re with me tonight.”

One quick pause, and then, “You’re always with me. No rush anymore, okay? Yeah, baby?”

He aids you out of the shirt and tie with tender pecks. Thoroughly affected when you only nod so softly, eyebrows kissing. He unclasps your bra swiftly, breathing against your neck as he bares your body once and for all, putting the garment aside.

And then his forefinger moves along your neck again, only barely touching over your vocal cords; feeling your gulp before he journeys further down, back to your tits. Probably leaving scars; his nails are reckless today.

“Wanted to see those pretty tits so bad,” he says, though he doesn’t halt here — tiptoes south to your pelvis, and then to your clit. “Been thinking about this all day.”

Really? 

So each of these touches consume his thoughts every damn moment of the day, too?

“You wanna see them… properly?” you wonder. You haven’t moved in a bit, lost in him, mentally tracing the lines he draws on your body. “‘Cause I wanna see you.”

“Mmmmhm. Doesn’t sound too bad.”

“Then I’ll…”

You don’t speak further; busy with your further advances. Your pussy feels lonely the moment you let him slip out. You’re terribly wobbly on your knees, your thighs visibly shaking as you turn around.

Jungkook holds a hand towards you, a safety net in case you tip over. He holds your wrist gently as you move over the mattress; never more than now are you glad that his isn’t as soft as yours back at the house.

Keeping your balance, you straddle him again, back in a similar position, albeit finally facing him now. And your eyes roll back just the moment he fills you up again.

Your legs are exhausted; the moment you start moving, you barely make it far enough, and Jungkook notices immediately, whispering, “My baby tired?”

And when you nod, he holds you tight, wrapping you in his arms, and—

“Hold– hold onto me, okay?”

You do. And then — he thrusts up once.

When your head falls, his eyelids drop a little, nose touching your jaw as he says, “I could fuck you all goddamn day.”

“Do it… you can now.” His head descends to your chest, mouth open. You’re not sure what you’re opting for, but you still call his name, “Kook…”

Repeatedly lunging in, he collects the words he needs to say, so irresistibly frenzied when he vows, “I’m yours. Okay? And… I need you to stay. Am yours, baby.”

Out of nowhere — or maybe not. Maybe these very sentiments were swimming in his eyes all the time; you could just not see them yet.

Lips a hair width apart, you opt for one single kiss, only a ghost touch. You tell him, “Promised the world. Will promise it to you… too.”

“Good.” His nails scrape your back, and you tug at his hair. A moan tumbles out of him, transforming into words as he holds your body in place, pumping into you, “Fuck, you– feel so good. Just you. So, so good.”

“Ngh, I—”

“I know, I can… can’t breathe, either.”

He kisses your shoulder, the skin flaming under his mouth. Although late, you imitate his prior gesture, peeling off his intruding shirt as smoothly and fast as you possibly can. It’s been a wall between you for too long now; you need to see those pretty tits, too.

And once the buttons open and the shirt flies, you finally bask in the toned beauty. Soaked chest, brawny, chocolate chip nipples as hard as yours. Soon pressing into you, lips thirsting for you, slamming against your mouth.

The fever rises, the temperature akin to lava. Your sounds are desperate and wanting, and you hold onto him for dear life. And before you know it, you’re not claiming your throne anymore.

Suddenly, you find yourself floating for a moment, and then sinking into the mattress, and then curling your hands into fists and him slamming into you harder, deeper, all the way in...

Fuck.

Towering over you, he spreads your legs wide, temptingly licking his thumb before it presses down onto your swollen clit. One jab. A second. Another and another and another.

“Yes. Yes, please—” you beg and yell, letting him pound you into oblivion.

The first hint of stars already grace the darkness behind your eyelids, but then Jungkook starts delivering rapid, light slaps to your nub. He’s chasing your high as much as you are; you know. The chaos unfolding doesn’t hold him back from observing your reactions.

Only focusing on his own end of pleasure when you’re done.

Tears gather at the corners of your eyes, and you cling to his arms, his hands pushing into your waist. And it takes just a moment longer. And another second. Several more shoves, the curve of his cock dragging along your walls and your sensitive spot.

Thoroughly drenched, both of you, as he drives all of him into you. Parting your legs whenever they attempt to shut again. And the universe finally expands, a million celestial bodies dying and imploding, much like you and…

Suddenly, you’re off the cliff.

Falling into a deep ocean. Or the vast night sky. You don’t know — you don’t feel real.

All you know is that your thighs and ass are wet. That you ruined yet another sheet. That Jungkook is out of breath, fucking you through your high, ensuring that you come back to him only bit by bit, so, so slowly.

Gentler now, you feel his body subside, down to you. His skin is glowing with sweat when your eyes crack open just a slit, though they instantly drop close again when he kisses you once more.

He does it only softly this time, as if he’s trying it out. Gauging your reaction. And you do reciprocate the touch, even if weakly. You’re still too gone to look at him properly, but that doesn’t deter him from casting another spell in your heart.

Because his words reach every fibre of you. Butterflies swarm your stomach as he says, “I still can't believe that you’re staying. You did this… you fucking did this—”

“Why not? Wh–why can’t you believe it?”

“Because you’re staying with me. You stayed with me. And…”

Somewhere, it stings. That he’s surprised by constant company. By someone not leaving… by someone worth all his affection glueing themselves to him. And yet, you understand.

That’s a pain the two of you share.

He stares through your gaze, as if he’s frisking for something specific. With each passing moment, it’s like he’s realising something new, yet unable to really verbalise it.

Like something’s burning on his tongue.

But all he does whisper is, “How do I ever stay away from you now, huh?”

“Don’t.” You touch his face, and he doesn’t waste a second to lean into your touch, kissing your palm. “Please just don’t.”

“Won’t be able to… And it sucks that—”

He frees your face from your stick hair strands, still moving inside you. His own tresses hang into your forehead; his thumb touches your lower lip.

“That I can’t be with you every damn second of the day. I mean…” He leans in. Pecks your eyelids; your heart bursts. “What if I can’t move an inch from you?”

You keep staring. Unable to answer. Keep looking and drinking in every emotion laid bare in his confessions. Your misty mind feels calm; not as heavy as hours ago.

And you’re woozy; so indescribably giddy when he adds, “You… you mean so much to me.”

Damn. Damndamndamn.

And you’re fucking obsessed with him. Want his kiss on you all the time; words tattooed on your brain, etched into your soul.

“Jungkook.”

“Huh— yeah?”

“Can you…” You gulp, drooling at the thought, and then spitting it out at once, “Finish in my mouth.”

“Shit,” he exclaims, though the word is more a maniac laugh than anything else, “you know exactly you— you can’t say this to me.”

You know. Because any image of his cock ramming your throat empties his head.

Once more, he mumbles, ”Damn it,” before he’s picking up on pace. You move your hands over his broad shoulders, soon curling your fingers in to hold tight — it’s what the situation suddenly requires. Because gradually, his hips slam into you faster.

The dull sound of his thighs meeting yours repeatedly is lewd, volume increasing when he starts jackhammering into you. Your rhythmic, breathless cries become irregular and broken, turning into screams, and you feel a droplet escaping the corner of your eye.

Throat dry and jaw aching from the parted mouth, you keen from the sensitive feeling inside. You’re so full. So invigorated. Holding onto him tight, so you don’t crumble.

And just as you yell out a dozen curses, Jungkook, voice raised, states, “Fuck, fuuuck, gonna come, babe, f— open your mouth—”

You do. Instantly, tongue out, choking because it’s so much harder to breathe like that. Jungkook trembles over you, lips wet; his arms threaten to give out, letting his body nearly collapse on you, but just a moment before he does, he pulls out.

Hurrying, his knees dig closer to you, cock and ass right above your face as he holds the length between strong fingers. Secured in his palm, he strokes himself over you, glancing into your hungry eyes.

“Pretty girl,” his other digits raise your head by your chin, and his body is swinging, unstable; shoulders high. “My sweet baby… You can’t just…”

Pinching your chin fondly, he digs his cock into your mouth, still pumping the base and touching his balls. You raise your head to not suffocate in the process, and he lets your chin go to grip your hair, lifting you halfway just in time before—

His load finally spills. All of it. So much of it. Hot and sticky, thick as the ropes shoot straight into your throat. You nearly gag, keeping yourself together, swallowing diligently as he empties his balls.

There’s fucking buckets of it, shit…

You close your eyes, focusing on breathing, and once he’s done, you close your lips around his cock. Still hard, although slowly softening, you lick the remnants of his arousal and whatever’s left of you. The tastes mingle, and your head spins…

And then, he pulls back. You’re beaten, gulping, smacking away the saltiness.

Still overwhelmed from the taste, you let your head fall back onto the pillow; but your fingers still seek his touch. The mattress next to you flattens again as his knees retract, and soon enough, laying down beside you.

Both of you are too done in to speak, even less to move. So you let a few minutes pass. Then, you find his fingers, entangling them with yours; waiting a bit more.

And only when your heart rate calms a bit, you stir, hearing him suggest, “Quick shower?”

You smile. The kisses aren’t over yet.

For a while longer, the profuse heat lingers.

The radiator is off, and some of the windows were open when you came home. And despite choosing to stay bare after the shower for some more, you don’t register any of the cold yet; you’re sheltered, safe and so, so warm.

Jungkook’s fingers keep trailing up and down way after you’re done, lips planting generous kisses to your scalp and face. He paves his way to the corner of your mouth and then up to your eyebrows; and when he reaches your nose again, you lift your head abruptly.

Chasing his kiss, even if for just a second, a hand on his cheek and shoulders rising. Occasional giggles and smiles, tickles and pinches keep you busy temporarily; you don’t know how much time passes, nor do you care.

You only snap out of your daydreams when his kisses gain on urgency, tongue diligent. A palm creeps dangerously close to your ass, threatening to slink to your beaten sex.

But your reaction is quicker than his sly attempt, and you say, “Wait— no. Can’t do it again.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Of course.” Damn his shoulder shrug. You tap his pelvis before you wrap a leg around his waist, teasing, “I didn’t feel the twitch at all.”

He shakes his head. “No, you didn’t. But it’s not my fault that you’re so stubbornly sexy.”

“Stubbo—” You giggle mid-sentence, imitating the shake of his head. “I hope you know I’d let you tie me down and do whatever the fuck—”

“My god. Stop saying it like that.”

“—but my body won’t let me yet. I also still stink.”

“Stink?” He shifts dramatically, burying his nose between your tits. His voice is muffled when he asks, “Do you?”

“Stop. You’re so weird,” you scold, but the word is drenched in laughter; you forcefully lift his head again. “We still need to change the sheets and the shower was quick. Do I not?”

“You kinda do. Like cherry blossoms.”

“Shut up.”

“What? Sue me for telling the truth. My girlfriend smells like cherry blossoms.”

Oh… oh?

Wait.

Your mouth shuts tight.

Did he…

The beam that spreads on your face is almost embarrassing; surprise, joy and affection conjoin, your guts twisting. You take a breath. Feel the sparkles in your own damn eyes; tender gaze directed at him.

And the freaking flutter in your heart; the temperature in your cheeks. Do these things ever stop?

The words sink in slowly; and Jungkook takes the time to ask, “What?”

“You… you haven’t called me that yet, have you?”

He’s perplexed. Guess even to him, it was a Freudian slip, because his eyes are wider than ever. He waits, thinks for a moment; then admits, “Uhm. No. I don’t think so.”

“Well, I… like the sound of it.”

“It’s… it’s true. You’re my girlfriend, aren’t you?” His eyes smile before he does; unrestrained devotion in them. “My baby?”

He says it so innocently, so sweetly that you can’t help but coo. Teasingly, you pat his cheek, telling him, “I mean I hope I am. Considering I’m moving in with you.”

“Yes. You are. Of course you are.” 

“…Girlfriend.” Sheepishly, much like a teenage girl, you keep your twinkle intact, still feeling the lasting gleam on your face. You must be reminiscent of the sun and the moon. Emboldened, you start, “Then… boyfriend. Can I ask you something?”

The term elicits similar glee in him, teeth out, grin bright. He waits wordlessly with sparkling eyes, and you touch his lip, asking, “How do you feel right now? About all that?”

“I feel… I’m in disbelief. You’re moving in with me and just. Somehow, even saying it feels surreal.” He sighs, searching for words. “I’m in disbelief and crazy for you. That’s all I know.”

Falling deeper and without an end is possible. Jungkook has taught you that; still does.

“…I was so scared you wouldn’t like me doing this,” you confess.

“What? Saying yes to being with me all the time? Sounds horrible.” He laughs. “I’m happy. And I’m happy that you’re happy, too. Okay?”

“I wasn’t for a while, you know? You make me feel good. Take me by my word and give yourself credit for it.” He needs to. He might have doubted his role in everyone else’s life so far, but his value to you needs to be clear at all times. “Not just now, Kook, but, you always make me feel good. I hope you know that.”

“I do. This time, I do…” Content, you smile; until he stalls for dramatic effect, mouth open to indicate something to come. Your beam expands to exhilarated laughter when he squeezes your ass again, adding with another snicker, “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t make my favourite munchkin feel good?”

“…There’s more than one?!”

Hmm…

That’s what you’d been yearning for all this time.

Because there’s something so vulnerable about your elation; the enlivened titter. About your newfound feelings. About these very first phases of a sensitive relationship. Something serene.

And the meaning behind your words keeps changing with him; carries much more weight, and makes you feel so much lighter. As if levitating on cotton clouds.

Girlfriend. Boyfriend.

Peace reigns supreme and for a while you’re hopeful enough to doubt anything could disrupt it. Even the world is quiet when you look out the window.

September isn’t yet harsh enough to cover all above pitch black, but it’s still dark grey and drab. The sky still somewhat illuminates the unruffled room through the tilted window.

But just when tranquillity reaches its peak, your phone vibrates on the bedside table; you flinch.

The screen’s shine overshadows the faded monochrome of the world. It’s unwelcome, intruding — and once you lean over, holding the blanket over your chest, you realise that the message is just as unsought.

Mom [7:12PM]: We need to talk. Mom [7:12PM]: I’m still at Charmante for another hour and a half.

…At this time?

Did you leave her this desperate?

“What is it?” a dulcet voice asks from behind.

You hear the bed creak a little, his body cold without yours. Despising the distance, he puts a gentle hand to your shoulder, planting a kiss right next to it; when you lack his desired reaction, he asks again, “Everything okay?”

“Hm?” You barely tilt your head, eyes still glued to the words that you’ve already internalised. You cover his hand with yours. “Yeah. Just. Look.”

You hold the phone into his face; the penetrant white floodlights his skin. The warm gold shines in the glow, his lips drier than before. They move as he reads, and then, they close, giving way to a hum.

The initial silence suggests that he might be thinking the same as you — to bail. To shut the phone again, slide it to the edge of the bedside table and drop back against his chest, above his heart.

But you should know Jungkook better; he won’t discourage a familial reunion, praying for a better outcome than he ever had. He’s always spoken for your relationship with them — thinking back, he has never truly badmouthed your mother.

So you’re not too surprised when he hands you the phone back, careful to not turn your mother’s two marks blue, and suggests, “Maybe you should go.”

You sigh. You don’t want to. It’s too early for confrontation; time hasn’t passed, and the issue hasn’t yet marinated. Then again, the problem might only grow if you postpone this.

But your heart is biased, angry, refusing to oblige to her demands one more time. So you ask for yet another confirmation, “Right now? But I…”

You turn back to him, shaking your head slowly, troubled. He props his head up, eyes staring down to you as you lay flat on your back, hands folded under your breasts.

“Give yourself closure, babe.”

“I got closure.”

“No,” he strikes back, fingers lifting to your jawline. He touches it lightly, brushing it delicately, “Actual closure. To finish this. And she deserves it, too, you know? She’s still waiting there, angel.”

“Jungkook, you…” You click your tongue, gaze swerving to the unlit ceiling light and then back to him. “You’re too good.”

“I’m sorry.”

You smile, and he throws a palpitation-inducing twinkle back. You know he’s right — it must have been a shock for her after all. More or less double-crossed by her own daughter, humiliated in a public setting — her brain must be frying.

Reluctantly, you stretch your arm to the side, tapping for your phone, and roll your eyes at Jungkook playfully when you open the message to type back. His body floats down, lips planting a barely-there kiss to your collarbone.

You [7:14PM]: I’ll be there in half an hour.

“Alright then…”

Your body lifts off the mattress with the idlest of movements. The afterglow might die once you’re there, but you guess you need the confrontation–fight? Argument?—to ensure more, blissful nights.

This time, you don’t bother with your clothing as much as you did when you prepared for the press conference. You slip into the first best jeans you find, throwing a cosy pullover over your torso.

Busy with the rush, you don’t notice that Jungkook isn’t standing behind you in his usual grey joggers but in jeans, too. He’s fiddling with your car keys, stuffing his wallet into a pocket, and you stare wide-eyed, waiting for an explanation.

And once your digging stare pierces through him, he reciprocates it with similar confusion, half his hand still in the pocket as he inquires, “What?”

“What are you doing?” you ask, gesturing up and down his body.

“What do you mean?”

The back and forth of questions leaves you further bewildered, and you step closer, softly snatching the keys out of his fingers as you say, “Babe… It won’t take long.”

You don’t think he quite understands — it seems that to him, it was a given this entire time that he’d accompany you to your work building. But when it seeps through, his expression changes, more relaxed.

His head tilts, blinking slowly as he assures, “I won’t let you go alone.”

“Kook—”

“It’s honestly not a big deal. You said it won’t take long, so I’ll wait outside.” He shrugs, forefinger at the nape of his neck, scratching. “Plus, I’ll just get bored here alone.”

A warm flutter engulfs your heart. You wonder how couples spend days, months, years together without burning up every moment during their togetherness. Because you don’t think you’ll ever get over the fire he sets ablaze in your lungs — how does one get accustomed to affection like this?

You don’t know.

Maybe you don’t need to know.

Not more than what his eyes say, at least.

“What did you do all the time I wasn’t here?”

His grin is playful, but there’s tender truth in his words, “Something any guy waiting for you would do,” big brown irides meet yours, fingers fiddling, “counted the seconds until I could see you again.”

Your laugh is sudden before you ask, “Is that a quote from SpongeBob?”

And the joy holds on as you leave the apartment and rush down the flight of stairs. The short comedic journey to your car is distracting — most of reality only dawns on you when you step into the car.

Reminiscent of the last time the two of you drove over to a confrontation — just a little after his vacation; just a bit before the heartbreak.

The streets are quieter and emptier at this hour, the repose enhanced by the gentle drizzle. It’s significantly darker than when you arrived home, though it hasn’t been too long since you drove this exact way in the opposite direction. Two hours?

Maybe it’s the cloudy, almost black sky, accompanied by the hushed sound of the rain that’s amplifying your fears. Because the calming ambience from a minute ago worries you the closer you get — this once, you’d rather bask in sunshine and daydreams.

But no.

Hope is on your side; you’re done worrying, right?

As you sit up straight in your seat, Jungkook glances from you from the driver’s seat, eyes shooting to and fro between you and the street. His lips part as he operates the wheel with one hand, using the other to wrap around your fingers.

“Don’t be nervous,” he says, squeezing once before he lets go, brushing over the back of your hand and gripping the wheel again, “there’s just so much she can say. You made a decision as a full adult and she’ll have to accept it.”

“Yeah.” You follow the streetlamps and their warm radiance, redirecting your focus on the next as you pass each. “I hope so.”

The ride home was different; you were filled to the brim with energy and adrenaline. Your legs were putty, so he insisted for you to freeze on the passenger’s seat, reluctant to hand you the keys to drive.

You were waiting for the streets to end, to shut his door behind you, and to breathe and sigh through a sleepless night with him. The anticipation, combined with the aftermath of the press conference made you restless — you wouldn’t stop gnawing on your thumb.

And he didn’t interrupt your thoughts, let you flick through them until he finally looked at you at a traffic light. Raising the back of his digits to your cheek, assuring, “It’s okay, angel.”

Maybe the breathy tone and the hundred promises wrapped into one reassurance prompted your reaction at his place at all.

Jungkook turns into your work street, and you hold your breath. Your heart knocks violently against your ribcage, disabling a proper thread of thoughts. Which is a shame, because you really wanted to draw a collection of snappy remarks you could retort in there.

Instead, you merely look at the entrance far at the end of the street, unmoving as Jungkook moves into a parking lot and kills the engine. You blink; then blink some more. The gulp, you think, is audible in the small space of the car.

“Do you want me to come with you?” he asks.

“No… I don’t think she’d want that.”

“Okay,” he murmurs, leaning forward to pinch your chin between two fingers. He moves your head toward him, eyes a liquid, wavy ocean at night. Affectionate. “She’s your mom. Despite everything, I know she loves you.”

“I don’t know…”

“She does. I saw it the night I picked you up and I saw it Monday morning, too. So.” The head tilt, the soft curve of his eyebrows, the care in his pupils — they’re a healing bandage around your heart. “Don’t be scared.”

He leans over the centre console armrest, still holding your face in his grasp, and presses his lips just barely, sweetly to your wrinkled forehead. You think the muscles react immediately, temples relaxing.

For a second, he lingers, and then he pulls back a fraction, looking at you from an inch-wide distance, and whispers, “Don’t be. I’ll be here all the time.”

Right — armour-clad, like a knight. You finally nod, a weight dropping off your heart. You cement his smile deeper into your mind; a coping strategy in case things escalate in there.

Once more, you squint at the entrance doors, though barely visible from here. Hand on the handle, you say, “If I’m not out in twenty minutes, call the police.”

Jungkook tsks, eyes rolling with badly hidden amusement, ordering, “Just go. Will be here.”

Yes. Breathe.

He’ll be right here when you come back. And it’ll all be over then.

The building feels sinister, empty like this. Nothing of the busy and lively mood remains; the lack of the chatter and footsteps drenches the entrance hall in gloom.

It reminds you of horror movie locations; you can’t help but hesitate as you walk in.

Especially today, the silence is unbearably odd; the press isn’t lurking anymore, isn’t swarming you anymore. You don’t want to imagine how hard it must’ve been to convince the reporters to finally leave.

You sigh…

In less than a day, they’ll have today’s highlights printed in newspapers and posted; feasting. Big, bold headlines will narrate the words you uttered; of course they will. With your family relishing a local celebrity status, the media would be damned if it didn’t make any profit out of you.

For the first time, however… you don’t care. You inhale.

And as you walk past the glass walls and up the stairs, clutching your work keys, you don’t feel the overwhelming urge to run away from this place anymore.

You’ve liked your job since you started, no doubt, despite your initial worries and fears. But the thought of losing against the world, or of losing him terrified you. Maybe you were too naive to fight those who wished you harm mere months ago, freshly out of college.

But now that you realise that you won’t be roaming these hallways in a couple weeks, that you have dropped the mic in a way they won’t be able to pick it up to hurt you again, you feel relieved. 

Feel a sense of responsibility. Like an adult.

Okay.

She told you she’d wait in an unoccupied office on the first floor — you usually frequent it with Zara, sifting through theories and changes. You wonder why your mother didn’t settle on her own office — then again, you imagine it must hurt to suffer defeat in the very room where she’s supposed to reign.

As you reach the room, your fist lifts to the door. Though you soon realise that it might be entirely unnecessary, judging the slight gap and the soft noise from within. So you gently push the ajar door open, met with a tired figure behind an imposing desk.

She’s lost in thought, but as you enter, her gaze slowly ascends, her posture reclining. And you see it immediately.

The usually cold eyes, now brimming with disappointment and sorrow.

Her eyes flit, as you assume unintentionally, into a corner. She dodges a simple greeting when you mumble a timid, “Hi,” and you drop the formalities right away. Don’t even attempt to sit — stand there, towering in front of her, not intending to stay long anyway.

And it seems her thoughts and intentions align, because she refuses to beat around the bush, a weary voice asking, “Why did you do that?”

“Mmh… You’re asking like I shouldn’t have.”

“Because you shouldn’t have.” Typical. Her point of view will always be her only truth. You listen on, but can’t help but tense. “Your father and I built this for you, and we intended to forward it to you. You know that.”

You don’t like that tone; you never have. It always ran over your spine as a shiver, weakening your knees. Even today, you’re conditioned to buckle just a bit. You exhale.

“Mom, have you ever heard yourself speak? You’ve never even remotely tried giving me anything else that way,” you complain, leaning to clutch the chair with one hand, the other gesturing around the room. “You built this stupid empire for yourself and kept it intact for me, so I can continue your work.”

You huff out a mocking breath, shaking your head just a little. “You never even asked me. You just told me to do it all.”

Her voice is sharper when she responds, “We didn’t hand it to you to make you suffer, for god’s sake.” She’s irritated, eyebrows deeply furrowed. “Christ, you were supposed to have a good future.”

“Yes, and I will! I’m happier than I have been all summer. Do you even have any idea what happened during that time?!”

You pause. She doesn’t answer, clearly sorting out a hundred answers.

Because a lot happened — most of it a direct effect of her or the media’s bullshit. Of course she won’t be able to pick out just one single thing.

So you explain, “Did you even understand that Jungkook broke up with me because of the thing you pulled with that dumb journalist?” You spit the word like a curse, grimacing. “And that he avoided me because he thought he was ruining me?”

You try to make it sound as ridiculous as you can muster, wondering if the realisation is dawning on her. 

“Did you even notice how I didn’t come out of my room for da—”

“Just why,” she interrupts, eyes shutting tight in disbelief and agitation, palms toward the ceiling, “would you jeopardise your life and emotions because of him?”

Jeopardise. Holy fuck.

She has a whack understanding of villainhood.

“Because he’s important to me! You can’t even imagine how hurtful it is to only be talking about work to you. You never ask me if I eat or sleep enough. You didn’t even give me a graduation present. He did! But you wouldn’t know!”

You think back to the lamp in your room, the one she has never seen — remember the dark ceiling, the aurora and stars projected to it. The touches that followed.

“He’s unbelievably important to me, Mom. Okay?”

“You’ve been with him for just a while.”

You grit your teeth. It’s like talking to a wall; a daycare child would catch the sentiment better than her.

“Yeah,” you say, scoffing, “and it makes me embarrassed for you, because I’ve known you my entire life and you never cared this much. Like, fuck, even Dad did.”

Her jaw clenches as you swear, nostrils close to flaring as you concede more pain, “Jungkook actually makes me feel human.” There’s a sting in your eyes. You blink it away. “I’ve been feeling like a person, which just… made me understand that—”

You gulp, your throat tied and your head heavier now. You wait, shrugging. Then—

“That I can receive affection, too.”

Your friends are your first memory of care; barring them, you only had a faint idea of what devotion entailed. Learning what it means to be genuinely important to someone had been on your bucket list — this year, you ticked it off.

“I just hate that he had to glue me together first for me to understand.”

Because she broke you first. The contrast couldn’t be more crystal clear.

She doesn’t dig your monologue. Her countenance fills with different shades of ridicule and embarrassment, shreds of anger thrown into the mix. Filed nails tap against an open folder, the other hand rubbing her forehead.

“You sound ridiculous,” she derides, “you can’t throw your future away because of love. It won’t pay your bills.”

“I’m gonna be a manager, though. I’ll pay my fucking bills. And Jungkook is working his way up, too.” Your latter statement gains a sceptical stare, followed by a skyrocketing eyebrow. It satisfies you. “He is. He’s getting his own part at an exhibition. We’ll be fine.”

She frowns, mouth already agape as she psyches herself up for another answer, and you already roll your eyes, prepared to interrupt.

“You—”

“You were so grateful last weekend,” you argue.

“Because you almost killed yourself!”

“No! If you’re so worried, then call! You could’ve called and asked where I was like mothers do. Made sure I was well and not drunk out of my mind!”

“Stop it,” she stands, her voice as damaging as a serrated knife. You flinch as she charges for you, and you breathe out, ready for a slap — but her body halts in front of yours. “How do you expect to run from this just by switching to another company? Novaura’s still mine, too.”

No…

You hold your breath. Straighten your back, hands sweaty as your nails dig in. She’s been predictable half her life; not always quite vile. But you know what she’ll say next, and you know it’ll be the most odious thing she’s ever uttered.

“And I could keep you here if I wanted to. They’d throw you out if I told them, too.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, and you blink, scorning, “You’re serious?”

A breath of laughter escapes your chest, and you shake your head in disbelief. You��re done.

You press your lips into a thin line before smacking them, nodding in faux agreement before you say, “Okay. Go ahead. But if you do, I won’t shut up this time. Today, I was being nice. I praised you, and none of my nice talk was actually deserved.”

Choosing your words carefully, you pronounce every syllable as if explaining molecular biology. She listens, not spitting an answer immediately.

So you challenge further, “You want to throw me out? Do it. It’s your reputation. I didn’t say anything wrong at the conference today, because it’s my right to choose the career I want. You’d be abandoning your own daughter if you pulled this through.”

You have her attention. Her lips stay sealed.

“And when they ask me,” you continue, eyes now fiery; you’re so done. So, so done. “I will let them know that you did it out of spite. Try finding an excuse why you did when we’re there. I won’t be at any disadvantage.”

You press into your palms one more time, relaxing your jaw, and opt to turn and walk away. Hurling one more glare towards her, you spit, “I have a degree, just a reminder.”

And that should be it.

Pride unfurls across your chest, warm in your stomach as you take long strides out of her office. You hear the quiet call of your name, suddenly desperate. But now that you’ve said your part of the truth, you don’t turn around anymore.

Only shut the door behind you hard; shutting all she’d hoped for with it.

Despite the satisfaction still bubbling in your stomach, you can’t shake the clump in your throat and the anxiety in your heart. The post-fight adrenaline pumps through your veins, and your fingers shake.

There’s discomfort in deserting your own mother; the irrational fears were to be expected. You didn’t do anything wrong, you know, you know. But your organ still thumps like drums, and you lift a hand to your chest. A vain attempt to calm your breathing.

And then… something miraculous happens.

The brisky gust of the evening brushes your cheeks; the bright lights of the city contribute to your sudden peace. They’re a reminder that the world is far wider than this damn building. Than her.

But more than anything, your worries dissipate when the strolling figure grows in your sight. As you walk the short distance to your car, you feel your heart lighten — your forehead and temples relax.

He has his hands on his waist, chin slightly raised as if watching the stars that hide in the city sky anyway. His steps are small, and his eyebrows calm. He looks serene.

And once his hands slide into his open jacket’s pockets, he looks down the street again, surprised when you’re mere steps apart.

“Ah,” he voices, one palm already out as he stretches it toward you, “barely fifteen minutes. I was about to come in.”

Deep sigh in, you let his arm pull you in his embrace, swiftly wrapped around your torso. He smells like fresh clothes, after-rain, and vibrant, like the lights in the sky.

Your arms sling around his body with an urgency, and you muffle your voice against his chest as you ask, “Already?”

“Already?” he repeats, though dragging the word more than you did. His arm squeezes you once as his other hand escapes his pocket, too, stroking your head. “Those weren’t days? I swear I felt myself ageing in there.”

Your fist thumps against his chest lightly, and you giggle against his sweater. “Don’t be so dramatic.” Eyes slowly unfocusing, you rub the zipper teeth of his jacket between your fingers, softly mumbling, “Thank you for being here. You’re the best.”

You feel a movement over your head; he’s lowering his chin to your hair, still caressing your head as if lulling you into sleep. And it’s working — you feel drowsier by the second.

But then, his chest rumbles as he hums, cautious as he asks, “Are you okay?”

Are you?

You’re about to start a new life where you desire, with whom you desire. Finding permanent residency in his presence the way he finds it in your thoughts.

A few more steps, and you can make yourself home. Not in those rooms, but in him. Because that’s what he is.

A blanket, a radiator, the comforting voice that soothes and heals. Worshipping you within the same four walls every single day.

You’re not just okay — you’re craving.

Leaving his warmth and scent, you lean back and look at him. His eyes are as big as you’re used to, awaiting an answer, genuinely curious. Your heart threatens to burst; the sting is painfully sweet.

“Yeah,” you answer, touching the purple sweater, “I promise I am.”

Because. Because that’s all you ever wanted.

It’s over. You’re going home — you are home.

You can’t remember whether it was your fingers clawing into Jungkook’s shirt or his hand brushing through your hair that kept you in the sheets twenty minutes longer than anticipated.

The plan was to snooze once and get into a routine with divided work. One prepares breakfast, the other makes the bed and cleans up before leaving the apartment.

But it seems that so far, your routine has consisted of lazy mornings. Tired hums. Quiet, hushed and slightly hoarse good mornings and entangled limbs.

You pressed between his shoulder blades as he strokes your head, planting kisses on your temple and your forehead.

“Slept well?” he asked today. Another peck in between. Then, drowsy and sighing, “Is the mattress okay, by the way? I like the firmer ones better since they’re good for your back, but I know you had a softer one, so if you need…”

“No, not at all,” you promised, warm and safe under the covers. “This is perfect.”

No… the softness wasn’t needed. Your muscles were so relaxed, you were sinking into the bed anyway. Sleeping a dent into it. At peace as his nails gently scraped over your scalp, massaging and caressing.

He could’ve lulled you into sleep like that; and his voice served as soft, white background noise. The words he used. The honey sweet tone. The past tense in what you had, and what you have now.

If you hadn’t been so lethargic, you would’ve floated through your chores. But when the clock ticked too dangerously fast and brought your working hours sickeningly close, you decided to eat out instead.

You always fool around at breakfast too much — stretching it longer than it needs to be. A café was, surprisingly, the smarter, more time-efficient option.

And a great opportunity and excuse to explore the places near you. Jungkook promised there was an amazing bakery nearby, and you trudged along, tummy rumbling, now that you weren’t in bed with him and satiated anymore.

“You’re sure you’ll be at home by the evening?”

You gather the remaining crumbs of your pastry with the pad of your thumb, waiting for Jungkook to slurp the last of his coffee. He nods, soon answering, “Mhm. I won’t be at work for long. Might come home before you do, actually.”

“Okay,” you suckle at your thumb, shoulders relaxing as you stare at the drizzle outside. The day started out grey. “And then tomorrow, I’ll be off work by the afternoon, so I should be able to bring more things over from the house.”

Tired from the morning, your eyes remain on the customers trudging in and out of the café. They shake the water drops off their umbrellas, or sigh at the prospect of stepping out into the rain again. 

Their expressions aren’t quite dispirited, but… perhaps a little dim.

You raise a side of your lips in empathy, and then continue, “And then on Saturday, I’m getting the truck to the house, for the rest of my stuff.”

“Babe,” Jungkook interrupts, pausing to smack the coffee’s taste away. His hand slides over the table, wrapping his fingers around three of yours. “Let me come with you tomorrow. You’re already doing too much.”

“Absolutely not. I won’t drag you there unless I absolutely have to. Besides,” your voice is soft when you lean forward, raising your entangled digits to your lower lip. “You’ve been busy plenty, too.”

And it’s true.

He’s been taking care of the apartment and cooking dinner these days. Organising documents with you, so you have whatever needed to change your address and whatnot. Doing small purchases for the household and vacating some of the closet to make place for your stuff.

Two weeks have passed since the press conference — and Jungkook has been a pillar of strength and sanity as much as you have been his. You communicate each night, regulating finances, dividing roles and sharing comfort.

You don’t think you’ve ever witnessed or felt a relationship as symbiotic as this one… and you’re just starting out.

His thumb brushes over your fingers, still reassuring you, much as you expected, “I honestly don’t mind.”

“It’s okay,” you argue, “we still have a lot more to do. Save your energy for that. I’d still love these deco vines for the living room, remember? Let’s get them together.”

Your words are breathy, as if you’re being reborn. A breeze of refreshment — and he feels it, too. There’s something about the thought of simplicity livening up your bustling days.

Mundane tasks, like shopping for casual things together.

Groceries. Decoration. Plants.

With all the planning of switching work and homes, the two of you have been incredibly breathless. You even told him about a meeting at your new place today, a discussion about trivial matters, general know-how and preparation you need to do.

The sliver of stress is visible in your eyes — you’ll be seeing the other managers today. And you’re nervous about it, unsure what vibe the meeting might set.

But despite the stress, you’ve been as bright as Venus in the night sky. He understands. If anyone does, then him.

Because the idea of strolling through Ikea's tableware department is balm to his mind. Your laughter sounding through its hallways, half your body leaning over the shopping cart, because you surely seem like the type to do so.

His voice is as gentle as the mizzle outside when he promises, “We’ll get anything you want.”

“Really?” Your smile is radiant, cheeks glowing as you press the lightest kiss to one of his knuckles. “Sounds good to me.” 

Time passing has always been a bummer. Despite the quiet noise in the café, the clock ticks as if in a deafening volume, a reminder that you need to let this hand go soon.

Sometimes, you do worry. About the attachment, and the healthy obsession with him. And on the other side, about every moment he worships you, and every second he misses you.

How there’s discomfort in being apart, even if for mere hours. Maybe that’s why he holds you so tight at night. Or why you’re constantly itching to get home.

Perhaps there’s a lingering fear that your time separated brought, a sneaking anxiety of being dragged apart again.

Yet, instead of dwelling in improbable what-ifs, you breathe in the air of the room, direct your senses away from the clock and toward the increasing patter of rain against the window panes. 

You squeeze the fingers around you harder, delving into one last soft conversation as you ask, “You’re at lunch with Joon later, right?”

“Yeah, he promised me burgers today.”

“What for again?”

“Because I’m his favourite staff member?” Jungkook lifts your hand to your mouth when you open it, shushing you with your own fingers. “Don’t say it. I am his favourite staff member.”

“‘Kay. Understandable.”

“You know…” He shrugs his shoulder nonchalantly, but the soft drop of his gaze, fingers fiddling and toying with yours betrays him. He’s still so delicate around you. “If you want, you can join.”

“Oh. Mmmh,” you think for a moment, but then click your tongue, insisting, “it’d be weird, I think. Dunno if he’d want it.”

“I would want it.”

He always does.

Yearning. Obsession. A humane way of falling in love.

You feel like a person. No matter how odd the phrase might sound in your head, the painful truth behind it is undeniable. You feel like a person.

“Okay,” you reply, slowly reclaiming your hand, reluctantly preparing to leave. “I’ll see if I find time and energy during my lunch break.” You halt, unblinking, before you look back at him with squinting, uncertain eyes. “Totes Bag Street, was it?”

The sudden, choking laugh erupting out of Jungkook is a surprise. If his coffee cup wasn’t empty yet, he’d still be sipping, probably ruining the white, silky shirt you’re sporting today.

You actually mean it, don’t you?

His trademark laugh is high-pitched, melodious, though a little more controlled in the public space, but the flashing of his teeth and his dimples implies genuine joy.

You already know: the lighthearted banter has become a hallmark of your connection. Doesn’t get old. Heartwarming — albeit right now, very confusing to you.

So you cock an eyebrow, questioning, “What?”

“Babe,” he simply mutters, hands coming together in a mock prayer. “Shit, you’re so fucking cute.”

He lowers his head between his shoulders, torso shaking, and you pull his palms apart again to dig with another, ”Hey. What?”

“Boats Track Street. Not Totes Bag Street,” he corrects, endeared by your wide eyes. The back of two of his fingers grazes your temple, and then down your face, before playfully pinching your chin. “You’re so cute. And a dummy. I mean it.”

“You’re a dummy,” you reply, forcing your face back and out of his grip. “Besides, that’s a pretty stupid name.”

“To be fair… I agree.”

A hesitant smile spreading on your face, your gaze wanders to the clock at the opposite wall again. The beam drops a little, giving way to a small sigh.

“It’s okay. I’ll probably be busy anyway… will join you guys another time.” You shove the chair back, getting off with a fatigued groan and a hand rubbing your tummy. “And I feel a bit weird today, too. Shouldn’t have eaten before bed because I’m feeling the effects right now.”

“Ahhh, I told you. No worries. I’ll make you something light tonight. And some peppermint tea.” His hands wave you goodbye, making a begone motion. “Go for now. The longer you stay, the worse the next hours will be for me.”

“Dork. You must survive.”

You huff, eyes rolling at the dramatics, and push your bag behind your body before you lean into him. A hand on his cheek, you watch his eyes close, setting your lips onto his.

The two-second long goodbye peck remains just that before his fingers, pushing against the nape of your neck, tug you in again.

Against your lips, he mutters, “Eat, okay? Call if your stomach bothers you. Anytime. And don’t be nervous. You’ll have fun.”

And before you can answer, he kisses you again.

Once, and then twice more. Your guts somersault, even when he finally lets you go. Your lungs feel dry all of a sudden.

All you have left in you is to nod. For your wobbly legs to step away. Looking back a few more times until the door opens, the bell chiming, your transparent flower umbrella spreading over your head.

Jungkook watches as your careful steps wander away, your head never lowered like every other passerby’s. They’re hiding from the rain, but you’re staring up, observing the movement of the clouds before your focus falls on the road — and a minute later, you disappear out of his sight.

His chest and muscles relax, a quiet laughter still tumbling out as he repeats, “Totes Bag Street.”

The sky may be colourless. The people might look into the world dimly.

But despite the rain tapping against the window, no inch of you is painted in a dismal, drab grey. You’re the brilliant, gleaming sun.

The location of your new job isn’t as fancy as the area around Charmante. The building certainly isn’t made of reflecting glass throughout.

There’s wood and actual walls; not every door opens with a chip, but a key, and the luxuries are limited. Compared to your old building, this one is humble, but it still oozes wealth and success — guess that’s what a subsidiary looks like.

The meeting room for today is somewhere on the third floor. Your mind races as you fix your clothes in the elevator, throwing regular glances into the mirror to guarantee that your hair sits as perfectly as three seconds prior.

You breathe deeply, exhale through a rounded mouth. Whether it’s this meeting or something you ate, your stomach does not feel great.

As the nerves start kicking in, you think of Jungkook’s hand in yours and the everlasting smile. You use him as your safe place; close your eyes for those few seconds that the elevator floats up.

And it works. Feels like an oasis, calm and lovely.

That is, until the bell pings, forcing your eyes open. You stare up at the number, nearly stepping out until you realise that — you’re not on the third, but on the second floor. Were you supposed to halt here?

No. And there’s nobody outside, waiting.

Until, someone is.

Rushed steps move to the elevator, a nice but stressed voice urging, “Ah! Keep the doors open, I’m coming!”

Strange. Oddly familiar voice.

You can’t say why, but you already prepare a polite smile, trying not to let the ticking seconds stress you out. Rationally, you know you’re not late, but the time passing messes with your nerves.

And it seems it doesn’t get better when the figure finally rushes in, pressing the already lit number 3 before he says, “Good. Just in time.” Looks back at you, delighted as if he expected you somewhere around, and adds, “Ah! Hello!

It takes a moment. Then another.

One more until you figure out who he is, why you feel like hurling and how maybe, just maybe, he might be heading to the same room as you — as another new manager of Novaura.

You blow a raspberry at the boxes in your backseat. 

Deciding to at least take your favourite box up with you, you leave the rest here for now; you don’t want to bug Jungkook yet. You can heave it all upstairs on the weekend, in peace.

It’s only moderately heavy — but with both your hands busy, the task is a hassle. You secure it under your arm as you close the door of your vehicle with your hip, clutching the phone previously tucked between your cheek and shoulder.

You straighten your head, reflexively looking up to Jungkook’s apartment window. To your apartment window. Doesn’t quite roll off the tongue just yet.

Somehow managing to open the entrance door, you sigh into the phone, giving Taehyung a relieved, “I’m finally back home.”

“Mmmh,” Taehyung voices, and you imagine his full lips in a line, tiny nods serious, “how’s it feel? Knowing that this is where you’re gonna be for the foreseeable future?”

“It feels… quiet.”

“What, he bore you to death like that?”

You giggle, taking deep breaths as you ascend the staircase; though slightly irritated by the slowly and constantly slipping box. You heave it back up.

“Absolutely. You’ve no idea, really.”

Taehyung laughs, but your joke doesn’t stick for long. You feel bad immediately — even in a playful tone, your heart knows nothing for Jungkook but praise. You guess that’s how kindness affects people.

And your brain stays mean, prolonging your pout — because it conjures pictures of a crooked smile, wrinkles around tender eyes, a tilted head as shoulders rise when the laughter reaches its peak…

A sting jabs your chest.

The longing is unbearable, and you’re barely another level from the apartment. He’s waiting for you on the other side of that flat’s door, and you know his pupils will widen in his dark brown eyes the moment they fall on you.

“No, that feels horrible to say,” you correct, shaking your head. You pause in the middle of the staircase for a moment, gaze fixated on a dirty spot before you shake your head once more. “You know Jungkook. If he’s not joy personified, then I don’t know.”

And it’s true — despite his own demons, you don’t think you’ve ever seen anyone spread this much comfort.

“I just meant that my mind’s been quiet. And a lot more peaceful. Not a hundred worries whirling around anymore,” you tell him, your steps upward slower now.

“Just ninety-nine, huh?”

You smile. “Maybe. But he’s not one of them.”

Dull background noise interrupts your thoughts; Taehyung doesn’t respond to you, but reprimands Yoongi in a distant mumble. He’s been doing it since he called, covering his phone to argue with his friend.

Apparently, Yoongi had been with him for hours before you picked up Taehyung’s call; they’ve been settling the rest of the arrangements, scurrying through paperwork. The apartment you considered is entirely their adventure now, but you aided in anything they needed.

Which basically just meant clearing things with the landlord and then answering his new tenant’s million questions. 

As in — how were you thinking of decorating it? Why were you going to take it? Did you calculate monthly costs including rent, water and gas? You didn’t mind, because Yoongi might be one of the most polite people you have ever met.

But it seems he’s reluctant to return to his dorm’s lonely walls, too.

Because Taehyung values alone-time, and Yoongi hasn’t granted it for hours. You feel kinda bad for Yoongi. And while the younger man attempts his hardest to maintain the gentle tone, you hear the exhaustion in his voice.

“I’ll drive you home after this, ‘kay?” he tells Yoongi; you snicker at the groan that returns. “You got this, bro.” Attention back to you, a murmur of your name. “Anyway. Everything should be good now.”

“I’m glad. That was… quite something.”

A euphemism, really. The handful of visits weren’t fun; not to mention the stuff you had to get over with for your own move. And then all those calls. You needed minutes upon minutes of preparation for each of them. One hell of a businesswoman, you are.

“No, say it as it is. ‘Cause it knocked me the fuck out. You guys really had to drag me into this.”

You feel guilty about making Taehyung your spokesman here; but as an already residing individual of the building, he was a great support in this matter. 

“We— love you,” you tell him, inhaling deeply between your words. You rub the dirt off your soles on the welcoming mat and hold the box tight, not opening the door yet. “Tell your forehead to feel kissed.”

“Nah. You’re gonna upset Eun.”

“Why? Eun and I are more in love then the two of you might ever be. She’ll choose my side.”

“Ha. Fair. Whatever.” His voice doesn’t carry an ounce of solemnity. Once again, you imagine him pulling a face, waving your statement off. “Enjoy your life. Your voice has been echo-y forever. Also, don’t forget to talk to Jungkook about what we discussed.”

Ah… yeah. There’s more than just one thing you need to clear, actually.

“Aye, aye, Captain,” you confirm, though arguing, “I’m surprised you haven’t done it yet.”

“You do it. I know he’ll like hearing it from you better.” He pauses to answer his friend; you don’t even know what he said. “Okay. I’ll go grappling with Yoongi then.”

“Good luck.”

“Buy me sushi.”

One last laugh before you cut the call.

The clicking sound of your keys turning in the lock is music to your ears and balm to your feet. You skip the threshold with a relieved release of air; the apartment smells like diffusers, so warm compared to the declining temperatures outside.

You don’t hear a movement until you get to your knees, seating the box next to the shoe cabinet. As you start working on your jacket, you register a shuffle from the living room, but no voice — Jungkook said he’d be home before you. Perhaps he’s painting; or gaming.

A short text message during lunch assured him he could start dinner without you; deep down, however, you understood he wouldn’t listen anyway. And the obvious lack of aromatic scents wafting from the living room proves it.

You don’t enjoy eating alone — and he knows.

Clearing your throat, you announce your arrival, bent as you take your shoes off and rub your aching heels for a moment. You wish you could float. Offer them reprieve.

Stumbling in the anteroom, you wait for a greeting, but it seems he didn’t hear or notice you. You lick your lips, standing straight, and then speak into the hallway—

“I swear I don’t have a foot fetish,” a short pause — nothing, “but can you massage my feet again today?” You wait. Not a word comes back. So you joke, “Actually, just massage my whole body? I don’t mind. Need some hands-on relaxation.”

Subjectively, you think you’re hilarious. You giggle on your way to the living room, cheerful despite the jam-packed day — but your laughter ebbs down soon. Because he’s standing in the middle of the room, lips pressed into a tiny smile, head lowered, hands in his pockets.

And right in front of him, a timid woman in a coat. Blinking at you.

Your eyes dodge her gaze immediately. It’s an impolite reflex, heart pounding as you watch Jungkook’s hand lift to his forehead, hiding behind his bangs as he rubs. When he looks at you again, there’s an equal amount of worry and amusement in his expression.

“Shit,” you mumble, another mishap, and you continue cursing internally. Stupid, stupid, stupid. And then, “I’m sorry.”

She looks like him. Same sweet aura, short hair, big eyes.

Her right digits are wrapped around the fingers of her other hand, mouth shut tight, though smiling. She knows less what to say than you, and the moment stretches and stretches and does not end and—

“Hi,” you finally murmur, bowing slightly before you cringe. Too much? Not enough? You clear your throat again, and then introduce yourself quietly. “You must be Mrs. Jeon. I… I didn’t know you’d be here or I would’ve come earlier! I’m very sorry.”

Are you rambling?

How horrid. You’d feel so uncomfortable if you were her.

Only, she barely showcases any sign of displeasure or irritation. Despite striking you as an introvert, her movements soon prove confidence — the type to know what she’s saying or doing, but in a humble and gentle way.

She unfolds her fingers and lets them dangle, soon moving up to clutch the strap of her bag. Looking between Jungkook and you once, she raises her eyebrows and shakes her head, as if to promise that there’s no reason for any tension.

You sigh when she speaks, “Oh, it’s alright. I didn’t stay long and I need to go in a minute anyway.”

“Oh?”

“I was going to leave ages ago, but,” she points to her son with rolling eyes, and the man in question shrugs in faux guilt before she speaks on, “that one wanted me to see you for at least a second. I wanted to meet you properly… prepare dinner and all, but. It’s still nice to meet you.”

Her eyes are kind, taking you in; if you could guess, you’d say she’s… excited. Urging to finally speak to her son’s girlfriend.

She moves a teeny tiny bit, as if opting to offer her palm to you, or to— maybe hug you? But maybe she realises the timing, or sees your terrified expression, because she holds back for now politely.

“I see. It’s wonderful to meet you, too.” Incredible how you spoke about initiatives just this morning, rambling in the office until someone had to interrupt you for their own turn. Now, you can’t get a word out. “But, I… I am still sorry I barged in so rudely.”

She grimaces, moving closer to you with a waving motion, “You didn’t barge into your own apartment. It’s all good.”

Jungkook doesn’t interrupt much; doesn’t interfere with his own jests and statements. They mirror each other so much, though. In the way they smile, and in the way they talk.

Even the manner in which she places her hand on your arm, reassuring you, delivers the same warmth. You tense for a moment, not quite expecting the touch; but it’s motherly. Soft. 

A new emotion floods your heart, but you can’t decode it. Too many thoughts streaming in, brain working overtime to come up with a full sentence without stuttering, without those dumb hesitation markers that your studies taught you to avoid.

And maybe you’ve succeeded — only, the clump in your throat, accompanied by a strange twist in your stomach builds a barrier now.

Her touch feels… good.

“Do you… would you like to sit?” you ask, voice softer by an infinite amount. “I have a variety of tea here, and you could choose one. If you…”

You want to talk. About whatever. Not the slip occurring a couple minutes ago; maybe you just finally want to know who made Jungkook the man he is today. It wasn’t necessarily his father, was he?

Somewhere, this incessant, constant comfort derived from. But.

“I’d like nothing more than that,” she admits, “but I have massage therapy in a bit, and should get going. An adult’s back.” You laugh, and she gestures towards you with an open palm. “Oh, don’t you work in an office? Take care of yourself, too.”

“Not just an office, Mom,” Jungkook interrupts, inching closer until next to you and rubbing your back, proud, “she’s a manager. She walks around a lot, so the problem are,” he nods toward your feet, “these.”

True. Just today alone, your heels made it feel like you ran a marathon. Learning about each corner and wandering around that building drained you.

“Ah… I thought so,” she says.

You blink in faint confusion until you realise. Jungkook lets out a breathy laugh, brief but telling, and his mother smiles in awkward amusement. Hell.

Your blood shoots back into your face, warming it thoroughly, and just before you can opt for another apology, she says, “You have him to take care of you. Make him spoil you! You do, don’t you?”

Her voice changes the moment she faces her son, a little strict but all in good fun; her eyes squint and he exclaims, “I do!” the moment you defend, “Oh, he does! He definitely does.”

She seems to like this. There’s a sparkle in her eyes, similar to the one you already know; perhaps she’s just as endeared as mothers–usually?–get, realising their children are happy and settling.

“We take care of each other,” you tell her then, and she responds with a content nod.

“Good. It’d be a shame if not. Taught him how to treat people.”

“He knows for sure, ma’am. I don’t think you’ll ever need to worry about that.”

You’re careful with your gestures, your smiles, your movements. Even though she’s made clear as day that she’s not to fear, you still shift your entire focus on the delivery of your words.

If you weren’t, you’d be more lax. Looking through the room, exchanging glances with Jungkook. If you weren’t so distracted, you’d notice that he’s playing with the ends of your hair.

And you’d see the way he looks at you.

With those barely blinking, calm eyes. An ocean of fondness in them, a light, lost smile around his face. As though you’re soothing him, pumping oxygen into his lungs.

You don’t see any of it; but his mother does. And you register the drift of her pupils, the minimal upward movement in her eyebrows as she shoots a glance at him — then back at you.

But when you follow her gaze to him, he’s already snapped out of it, clearing his throat.

“You should go before you’re late,” Jungkook reminds her, removing his hand from your hair, “I’ll go spoil her as you taught me, Mama.”

“You better. Pressure’s on.”

He smirks, lopsided as he slings an arm around her shoulder. She’s so much smaller than him. “Tell Dad Hi from me.”

A slight drop of his lips. He doesn’t look at her but the ground. Tell-tale signs of a distant ache, hidden behind an attempt to find a cure.

The sting is palpable, right in the middle of your heart, but it dissipates bit by bit as he smiles at you again. Genuine once more, back to where he was only five seconds ago.

You nod at her, one last, non-verbal confirmation that you feel cosy here. There’s something inarguably sweet in her instant care. How she instantly roots for your happiness. How she’s pouring all her empathy into you with a single look.

A stare that usually understands someone else’s pain; and then hopes for eternal peace for them.

She doesn’t even know you — does she? You wonder if he ever did speak about you.

“Okay then. Tell me if you need anything,” she says it to Jungkook, but promptly turns to you, promising you, “you can, too. Of course.”

“I will. Thank you so much.”

Purse lifted further up her shoulder, she starts a move toward the exit, already starting to wave you goodbye before she suddenly stops. Looks at you, and blurts, “Oh, and— has he uhhh…?”

She starts the sentence with hesitation, ending it with uncertainty and a look over her shoulder. You follow her eyes, barely catching him throwing a warning sign. His eyes are ripped open, head delivering tiny shakes, but he returns to normal the moment he catches you staring.

Okay. Something happened there that you’re not part of.

But that you’re supposed to be part of? You don’t know.

You’re curious, though. Already aware of what you’ll be pestering him with tonight.

She shuts up, letting out a short, tiny breath. Her small, sweet fingers curl just once before she releases them again, and she flattens her coat, nodding.

“I’ll leave you two alone then,” she declares.

“You should stay for dinner next time, though!” you offer.

“Of course. I’m eating with my husband after the appointment, so he’ll probably already be waiting, but. Next time for sure. And you should come, too, someday.”

Right. 

It doesn’t stop. It’s permanently odd hearing someone talking about that man other than Jungkook. Shouldn’t be, because she’s the closest and dearest individual to him, sharing a home and marital bed. But…

It’s like people don’t quite feel real from stories until one actually faces them. His mom’s subtle, harmless words about her husband make him feel realer, and Jungkook’s issues with them.

But most of all you wonder — why has he never visited here? You wish he had. You wish he would sometimes. But she didn’t even suggest bringing him with her next time. Or how his father would be delighted about a visit, too.

It doesn’t seem to faze Jungkook. Or maybe it does, but he doesn’t let it show. Or — worse. Has he gotten used to it? His father’s absence, or the term that defines their relationship.

Because he nods, a soft smile as a son usually throws at his mother. Casual but loving. He says, “Won’t keep you here then.”

Jungkook kisses her head at the door, and she stuffs her hands in her coat, politely bidding you goodbye.

You watch as she approaches the staircase, still waving when she turns around one more time. You sigh in relief — she was friendly. No panic. You didn’t fuck up entirely.

And despite the last moments of gloom that the mention of her husband evoked, you hear Jungkook’s chuckle resonate once the door finally closes. His steps move toward the living room, his shoulders shaking.

You nearly slide down the closed door as you watch him, head falling back before he falls into a wholehearted laugh. You imagine deep, multiple crinkles around his eyes, mouth wide in joy.

Eyebrows kissing, you follow him inside, nearly bumping against him when you realise he’s standing in the middle of the room, body still shaking from the chortle. He’s facing the ground, and you hit his arm from the back.

“Shut up,” you only order, opting to walk away.

But he turns to you, a hand around your elbow; he can barely breathe when he assures, “Okay. Okay, I’ll stop. Sorry, I just—” He sniffles as you look at him, sulking and trying his gloating not to make you laugh, too. “What were you doing?”

“That’s not funny!”

“I’m not trying to be funny! I’m serious.”

Which he clearly isn’t. The smile is too infuriatingly wide, and the tug at your arm too affectionate. He’s amused and you hate–love?–that you are, too. You keep the act of agitation intact for another moment.

But pieces of you break, your heart a melting mess when you watch his eyes nearly close, nose scrunched up. His shoulders rise — they always do whenever his laughter increases, bunny teeth protruding and the mole under his mouth a magnet to your lips.

And when he raises his hands to your face, cradling it, and speaks, you lose it entirely.

“What were you even saying, munchkin, huh? You’re such a little idiot, you know?” he playfully scolds, squishing your cheeks; peppering kisses on your skin and your lips; barely allowing you a moment to talk.

“And you’re—” you say between tiny kisses, distracted by the childlike, muah-ish sound effects that accompany his pecks, “so mean.”

“And you are the sweetest thing to exist.” The lovingly aggressive touch vanishes from your cheek to be replaced by sudden pinches; your protests are high-pitched, and unfortunately, enhance his statement. “Okay, okay. Come on.”

He flicks your chin as if to provoke you further, but dodges all your teeny tiny rage to come when he moves past your body. Warning abandoned, his fingers tweak your ass as he targets the kitchen, and you yelp, instantly slapping a hand over your butt.

“Freshen up and let’s get to dinner. And hurry. Gotta give you hands-on relaxation later.”

“You’re the worst, I mean it.”

But his evil snicker isn’t.

He might make your hackles rise, and test your patience the way he used to so long ago. Back when you’d seek him out in a miniscule dorm room, eyebrows furrowed just to see him a bit longer after class.

You’re always baffled how your foundation still stands; after all the shattering and agony and stings that fractured your heart. Only now, you’ll be surrounded by the bicker every hour of the day.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Living through an odd day at work, driving around town and embarrassing yourself in front of your boyfriend’s mother makes one dizzyingly hungry, you realised. Stress didn’t let you eat properly today.

Even now, there’s something you need to reveal to him — but the moment you sit down to eat and crack the first joke, you don’t have the heart to. And then, combined with the rush still lingering from the awkward, wholesome interaction before, and the shift in mood, you soon do the worst:

Forget about the issue.

Your eyes meet the bottom of your bowl sooner than preferred, your stomach still seemingly as empty as before. Whatever magic Jungkook seasoned the dish with, you want him to sprinkle it on your tastebuds every day.

Jungkook is sipping on his water when you suddenly look up and place a hand on his bicep, shaking him for attention. A guilty Oh slips out of you as you watch droplets roll down his chin, and he tries not to choke as he puts the glass back on the table.

“Babe—”

“I’m sorry!” you exclaim, thumb wiping at the fluid dampening his chin. “Just. Can we have more? That helped with that sickness all day, and… I’m still hungry.”

Along with the lack of appetite, you assumed the stress and the constant overworking dragged the feeling of illness and stomach ache throughout the day, too. Jungkook keeps warning you about burnouts — doing a thousand things at once, you’ve been thoroughly burdened.

But honestly. Maybe it was just hunger for a real meal.

“Oh? I'm so glad it helped then! And sure,” he responds. “Go ahead, there’s enough for like four people.”

You blink. “And you?” He shakes his head, patting his full tummy, attempting another try at drinking. You argue, “I’m not eating alone, though!”

“Angel, I’ve had like two portions. I'll be full until next dinner.”

“Lame!” You shift on the couch, half of your ass holding you onto it, “And if we found ways to burn it off?”

“…Ah?”

“I mean… You like working out. So just work me out.”

“Shut up. You’re impossible.”

You’ve long given up — you’re not an ass. You would never force him to eat or not to eat, unless he hasn’t in hours. But you also need a foolproof way of amusing him.

Which, despite his very unimpressed expression, you know you did. His lips still twitch.

Sombre, his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek before he shakes his head. You pat his strong thighs, standing from the couch with a hungry groan.

“Fine. I’ll go heat up some for myself then,” you announce, but Jungkook’s shrill alarm bells ring immediately, his body jumping off his seat.

“Not the microwave.”

“Jungkook—”

“Not! The microwave. Just toss it in the pan and heat it up there.”

You tiptoe to the kitchen just a little faster, playful as he hurries after you. You spend your seconds explaining why the microwave won’t explode; how tickling you won’t change anything; how you’ll break something if he doesn’t stop.

But most of all, you spend your seconds allowing him to chase away all sorrows you carried for so goddamn long.

Shut up. You’re impossible.

His prior agitation truly wasn’t one at all.

Because despite your obvious jests, the calories lost on the couch rob you of all sanity at last. A hand in your hair, a body pushing yours down, free fingers roaming your sides and your legs, and lips never separating from yours.

He doesn’t strip you off a single piece of clothing. Doesn’t dig a hand underneath your shirt, focused on how your mouth feels, how his name rolling off your tongue sounds.

The eyes he stares into are vivid and bright, and he uses up all his power to not let them kill him. Your body wraps around his like the most tender of all embraces; he doesn’t need you bare for it, no matter how blank the thought leaves his mind.

Only needs the proximity. The tongue touching his, the nails testing his shirt’s quality.

You miss most of the movie that he suggested, eating each other up, a fist around the hem of his shirt until he nearly falls off the couch and wakes you from your dream. You giggle and joke, spending the second half of the film yawning, sipping the peppermint tea. 

Jungkook uses the quiet time for whispered conversations; massages your feet as you pleaded for, repeatedly asking for your comfort.

The moments aren’t anything big, in theory. You’re not in a fantasy novel, not throwing a ring into a volcano. You’re mortal and here, surrounded by humane domesticity and drowning in casual conversations.

Yet — even though you’re not living through spectacular adventures, you’re breathing through special moments nevertheless. Because not a single second spent with him feels mundane, after all.

Sometime as the ending nears, you let your legs fall, pulled close to Jungkook by your hip. You don’t quite understand when or how he does it, but miraculously, you land half on his lap, ass barely on the couch and cheek pressed to his temple.

Jungkook pushes a hand against your thigh, heaving you up further and moving you until you’re comfortable. There’s a light groan, followed by a feathery kiss to your jaw; and you wrap an arm around his shoulder to hold on, shifting even closer.

Your touchy warmth isn’t new to Jungkook; but it seems that the changes in your lives made your inhibitions disperse. Like you broke the bars trapping you so far.

Because the increasing clinginess feels carefree; you don’t overthink your movements tonight. Even before, there was lightness in your interactions; how you’d breathe in his presence, compared to when the world intruded.

The difference was still never quite veiled.

He saw it when he called from so far away all those weeks ago, staring at the distress in your face through a device — versus when he returned to your world.

Or just recently, when you stood on that tiny stage, talking down to reporters — as opposed to when you whispered for him to get you home.

Your shoulders always dropped in relief the moment you stood in his soothing radius. And yet—

There was quiet discomfort in your eyes. And today — today he doesn’t see that usual steam frying your brain. Your smile isn’t burdened; you’re weightless, like you’re breathing.

Overwhelmed and endeared, Jungkook gulps. The pricking needle rods his heart, simultaneously flicking the wounds. He could cry.

He watches you busy your fingers with his shirt, unable to put his thoughts into a coherent string of sentences; so he only says, “You’re so cosy today.”

“Hm? I’m always cosy.”

“Mmmh… a bit more tonight.”

Your forefinger traces the outline of his pecs over his shirt, and you nod with a hum before you declare, “That’s because I’m trying to establish a healthy balance.”

“A healthy balance? How so?”

“I need to be nice, because you’re not.”

His eyes follow your finger’s slow movements, so his voice is soft, barely concerned. But his brain can’t quite compute as he asks, “I’m not nice?”

“You’ve always been mean, actually.”

He laughs. Taps your thigh rhythmically, close to your butt. “How am I mean to you?”

“Like,” you press your palm flat in the middle of his chest, looking at him. There’s a crease between your eyebrows, the slightest hint of a pout on your lips. “You ass could’ve answered when I came home. You didn’t say anything! Or did you really not hear me?”

Oh.

Ogling into your anticipating, subtly piqued eyes, he suppresses a laugh. His lips form a thin line, but the glow in his dark eyes betrays him. Your hand lifts a little, ready to spank his pecs, but you close the gap again as you grant him another chance.

“Hey, if you tell me you didn’t hear, I’ll let it slide.”

You’re well aware Jungkook graduated as the best of his year in Teasing You, and holds the degree proudly to your face every day — but you also know he’s honest.

So you’re not surprised when he admits, eyes mischievous, “I heard you.” Your slow blinking, the scolding gaze are hilarious to him; he looks unspeakably pleased. “I wanted to see what you’d do.”

Now you do slap his tits.

“And you didn’t expect me to say that shit?!” you reprimand. He wraps his arms around you, his laughter a deep, genuine emergence from his chest. “I’m an idiot, in case you didn’t know.”

“Of course. I do know,” he suddenly deadpans. Wow. That couldn’t have come any more naturally. “I know you well, baby.”

“And yet…”

He waves your concerns off, hand soon returning to your back to pull you closer. “She’s chill. I knew you were gonna amuse her right away.”

“Oh god. You planned this… Wait. You didn’t shush her when you heard the door open, right?”

He doesn’t answer. Just keeps looking at you. And then… is he…

Is he zoning out?

“Jungkook,” you call again.

“Hm?” He stares at you beguiled, as if utterly distracted by whatever. “Sorry. Can’t hear you—”

“You so can. We’re alone and I’m speaking loud and cl—”

“Nah, you’re just so pretty. I can barely focus.”

“I hate you.”

But you don’t.

He doesn’t need to spell his intentions out for you to understand. He might be testing your patience, but there’s a hidden meaning in his words that he can’t hide as well as he intends to after all.

Because you know he just wanted you to be yourself instead of playing a different role; just like he has never pretended in front of your parents. He knows you’d try extra hard for him — but he needed you to come in and receive affection as the person that you already are.

Guess whatever you blurted was the first impression he wanted to leave of you.

“So,” you start after a moment, back to tapping his chest, “do you think I did amuse her?”

“Oh, she loved it.” Of course she did. You could see the Jeon-esque endearment in her eyes the moment you stepped into the living room. Humbles you. “She’s gonna adore you, too.”

“Ah. Like you adore me.”

Jungkook’s response arrives in the form of a long, semi-damp kiss, delivered to the corner of your mouth. You grimace, torso moving backwards at his gentle force. He adds another Mmmhhh to the gesture until you’re nearly falling off his lap, pushing him away again with a giggly, “Stop!”

He leans back with a content sigh, eliminating more of the distance between you until his head almost rests against your chest. But when you speak again, he looks up into your face.

“Hey. Your mom was saying something as she was leaving. What was it again?”

“Uhh…”

His pupils roll up in thought, one shoulder already rising to shrug, but then it drops again before he voices, “Oh… Yeah…” A break in thought; then, “I figured you’d be busy with everything going on, so I was being reluctant about asking. Didn’t wanna put you in a difficult position.”

You wait. He speaks on, “But my cousin’s getting married next month, and I’m invited.”

There’s a beat of a pause, and you anticipate, already sensing a presentiment before he spits it out—

“And you are, too.”

Hold on.

Weddings. More often than not, weddings happen in big places, filled with a great number of guests. Of friends. And… of family members.

If what he’s suggesting isn’t a hallucination, it means that’d be how you’d step into the battlefield. Attempting your best to be yourself, to charm his family with whatever strategy.

Is he thinking of the same thing?

Because you’re speechless.

You close the mouth you only now notice stood agape, trying not to show the bubbling exhilaration too blatantly. That’d be your first joyful event together.

Oh god.

You might squeal; faint of nervousness. If you could, you’d press your fists to your lips and stomp your feet and twirl your hair and—

“Wait… You want me to go to a wedding with you?” you finally ask instead, keeping your voice in a normal pitch.

“Only if you feel like it.”

“And… and you?” you inquire, wide eyes looking into his wider ones. He’s nervous, too. “Do you want me to?”

“I… yeah. I do. I really, really don’t want to go without you, actually.”

Shit.

“Where is the wedding?”

“Yeah, see, that’s why I was afraid to ask. You’re so busy and your job’s so new. But we’d—” He hesitates, as if scared of rejection. Clicks his tongue, evaluating his words. “The thing is that we’d have to drive all the way down. It’s back at home.”

You need a moment. Back at home; you’re home. Meaning, it’s not here.

Meaning, it’s in his hometown. Meaning, you wouldn’t just meet his family, but walk through a place of memories and deeply rooted, nostalgic affection, too.

Which is… such a huge fucking thing.

Especially for a girlfriend.

Eun always says it doesn’t do bringing a girlfriend or boyfriend to big events such as birthday parties or weddings. It’s disadvantageous for the pictures, she claims. Who knows how the future might play out?

But Jungkook isn’t concerned with these issues. Jungkook wants you all the way down there, lurking on streets with him that he grew up on; tripped on; played on.

These are places with core remembrances. So easily expanded when more are added to them in later years; and so easily shattered when hearts break.

But a heart breaking is not an option, is it? Not anymore.

“You’re… taking me to your hometown?” you ask. You immediately realise the choice of words, and don’t hesitate as you add, “I mean. You’d be taking me home. You’d like to—”

“Is that—” he interrupts, suddenly unsure, “bad? Did it change your mind? You don’t have to, I promise.”

“No. I actually might cry.”

His expression momentarily softens, a big, clear Awwwh written in it. Gentle fingers brush your hair back, observing the vulnerability in your eyes. But shit, you mean it.

You could cry.

Because you talked about this so long ago.

Back when he was miles away, yet so deeply settled in your heart. Sneaking his way into your head, eating you up inside. When he broke off a piece of you and took it with him as he left, no relief for weeks on end.

And when he came back, he promised he’d take you with him one day.

Is that it? Is that now?

“Fuck,” you curse under a quiet laugh, confused by the burning in your eyes.

Jungkook’s hand brushes over your cheek, eyebrows slightly cocked. He might not have expected you to react with such… emotion. You hadn’t either.

“Hey,” his voice soothes, “don’t cry. It’ll be good. And if it’s not, or if you don’t want to, we can just stay here and never go again.”

You’re gonna sob. How did you deserve him?

Of course you want to go. Of course you’d make the best of it. No fibre in you wants to reject his offer.

In fact, you’re already daydreaming. Because…

How’s it gonna be? Will you see more stars there? Will his family like you? His Dad like you? And what are weddings with boyfriends like? Will you be seeing him in every flower in the hall, in every kiss the couple shares?

“No,” you say, “I’ll go. I will go because you’re too obsessed with me to leave without me.”

Jungkook chuckles immediately, but not speaking before rolling his eyes, “And you’re a brat.”

You wait a moment, smiling in unison with him, and then ask, “Honestly, I… I’d love to. Can I just still ask…” You’re curious; but you also want to keep feeling that warmth. More tranquillity from his words. “Why would you not go without me?”

He doesn’t stall.

“Because it’s such a big event, and… so far away. I don’t want to leave you here. And the thought of being at the most lovey-dovey place without my favourite person sucks.”

You’ll freaking screech.

“Jungkook!”

Half of the name is muffled when your lips drop to the crook of his neck, back uncomfortably arching and face heating up. Your ass threatens to fall back on the couch, legs still over his, and he hugs you close as he snickers again.

He shakes your body gently, trying to lift your face. Calling your name when your breath tickles his skin, asking, “Are we embarrassed?”

“No.”

But when you look at him again, your smile is wide enough to freeze your muscles in place. He shakes his head, flooded with aching joy, and makes sure again, “So you want to go, yeah? Don’t need time to think or something? It’s okay if you do.”

“As if. I really wanna go. I’m gonna make this,” you touch his collarbones, then your own, “work.”

He smiles. Grants you a short break to organise your thoughts. And while what you query next shouldn’t come as a surprise, it does introduce a delighted shift in mood.

“What am I gonna wear?”

Jungkook puffs out a breath.

You don’t notice; your focus drifts, directed to the carpet. You mentally scurry your closet, quietly trying to recall appropriate attire for weddings. Which is odd, because you should have the entire catalogue of your and every other place cemented in your mind.

“What do I wear?” you repeat, back to looking at him, barely allowing him a moment to think. “And don’t say anything would look good on me. Serious answers only.”

“You know a question like this prompts nothing but unserious answers from m—”

“Kook—”

“Okay. I mean, you have such pretty dresses. Lemme just choose one and we’re supplied.”

It’s an easy idea; fair enough. Only, you’re barely listening, earning a side-eye from Jungkook when you say, “I should buy a new one.”

Which still doesn’t deter him, though. “Cool. I’ll go with you then.”

“Or will I seem overdressed?”

“It’s a wedding, baby. Overdress like hell.”

“And… if I’m underdressed?”

“You’re still gonna be the hottest around!” he exclaims, and you flinch just a little. He’s not truly agitated, but there’s playful frustration in his voice, a grin around his lips. “Don’t worry about the dress, okay? It won’t stay on you anyway.”

Jungkook expects you to react with similar scolding, using it to hide how timidly flattered you actually are. But you’re too fired up, restless in his grip as your voice grows shriller, “I’m so. Fuck, I’m so excited!”

“I am, too. But…”

His palm moves up and down your back, one eye squinting shut as you start swaying a bit, pumped with serotonin. Like a thrilled child. You’re so…

He lowers his gaze; you might just see the heart eyes otherwise.

“Okay, hey,” he tries again, calming you as his fingers grasp your wrist. “Should we go to bed for now, though?”

You wait with your answer, relaxing your body. Stopping your elevated sounds, you draw the deepest breath in history, and then breathe out a whispery, “Yeah.”

“Yeah. Good. Oh.”

“Hm?”

“You haven’t actually been to the bedroom yet, right?”

“Oh…”

True. Since you came home, you only conversed with his mother, then rushed to take a shower as she left, still filled with prickling and nervous emotions. And then you hurried back to him, starving, eating, watching TV.

And now you’re here.

Was something different about the bedroom, though? You don’t think so.

“You’re right,” you tell him, “no, not really. Just to shower. Why?”

“Just…”

“…What?”

“Okay. Hold onto me.”

“Hold ont— oh, f—”

You gasp for air when two strong arms replace his soft hands, settling under your kneepits and around your back. He shifts dangerously on the couch, moving forward before he starts to lift with a self-motivating grunt.

“And— off we go.”

You sling your arms around his neck immediately, hiding, letting out a panicked, ”Be careful, I’m sli—”

“All good. Relax.” His arms wrap more properly around your limbs, and you dare to listen. Allowing your legs to dangle, you let him carry you calmly, breathing air through O-shaped lips. “Good girl. I won't just let you fall.”

“You better not.”

“No. Just wait.”

He looks at you with a comical grin, throwing a kiss into the air and down to you. Using your feet to kick the door open, he halts at the threshold; for a second, he looks… up.

And just when he finally enters the room, you quietly follow his gaze. The question as to what to wait for gets stuck in your throat when you realise what it is he needed you to see.

Holy shit.

the chapter isn't over yet – much to go!! tumblr just doesn't allow more than 1k blocks/paragraphs. apologies for the scrolling, but i promise it's worth it :'D here's the rest! <3

[antianakin]

Anidala and the possibility of Love Bombing

I’ve recently been introduced to the concept of love bombing, a form of emotional abuse that can be experienced in any stage of a relationship but often occurs in the earliest stages and often used by those with narcissistic traits or PD, and I think this might have occurred in the earliest stages of Padme and Anakin’s relationship and continued into the later stages.

To start I would like to say that I am working from an understanding of love bombing based on reading a few articles and learning about one specific case IRL, but applying signs of love bombing to Padme and Anakin’s relationship (mostly focusing on AOTC, because I haven’t rewatched TCW in a while and don’t know which episodes most of the examples that come to mind are from), this is what I’ve come up with.

1.Excessive and overwhelming attention and compliments.

Anakin pretty much showers her with this throughout AOTC, regardless of her boundaries and discomfort.

2. Excessive following of your whereabouts.

As Padme’s bodyguard in AOTC, Anakin has constant access to Padme’s location and her as an individual, which means he can continue putting forward advances regardless of whether she says no or not throughout the early stages of their relationship. Later, although I doubt it was intentionally on his part, he removes her from any authority she had over him by taking him with her to Tatooine and Geonosis, which prevents her from any option of using her position to override his advances and enforce her boundaries.

3. Ignoring your boundaries.

Anakin repeatedly ignores Padme telling him she’s uncomfortable and displaying discomfort at his advances in AOTC. He later disregards her commitment to her work as a senator in TCW.

4. (I’m going to put a bunch together for this one) Intense declarations of love, the giving of extravagant and unnecessary gifts, and emphasising that your relationship is ‘special’.

When they are going into the Geonosis arena, (although Padme initiates it and is the one actively declaring love in this scene) Anakin uses the opportunity to emphasise their relationship as special, saying: “You love me?! I thought we decided not to fall in love. That we would be forced to live a lie. That it would destroy our lives…”.

Which follows on from Anakin’s own declaration of love earlier in the movie, which would be nothing if not overwhelming to be on the receiving end: “From the moment I met you, all those years ago, a day hasn’t gone by when I haven’t thought of you. And now that I’m close to you again, I’m in agony. The closer I get to you, the worse it gets. The thought of not being with you makes my stomach turn over – my mouth goes dry. I feel dizzy. I can’t breathe. I’m haunted by the kiss you should never have given me. My heart is beating, hoping that kiss will not become a scar. You are in my very soul, tormenting me. What can I do? I will do anything you ask… If you are suffering as much as I am, tell me.”

This kind of long-winded declaration is (from my understanding) actually characteristic of love bombing, although IRL, it takes the form of texts and emails.

In TCW “Hostage Crisis”, he gives Padme his lightsaber, which could be considered an extravagant and unnecessary gift, he does this in order to resolve a disagreement (in which it really seems like he is trying to guilt her into behaving how he wants her to) and essentially declare that his love is more important to him than anything else and that their relationship is so special to him that he’d put his life in her hands.

5. Pressure to commit to a relationship.

Although I don’t think we know if getting married was a mutual decision or not, they did so after an incredibly short time after their reunion and I don’t believe that onset war is a truly justifiable enough reason for such a commitment after such a short period of time. Also, Anakin’s behaviour towards Padme throughout the entirety of AOTC could be considered this.

6. A bizarrely intense and fast paced relationship.

They knew each other for what, a week or two, or less, before getting married? In addition to the multiple love confessions, I think this applies.

7. (Again, a bunch) Being intensely clingy, wanting to know everything about you immediately and telling you their personal details too quickly, and wanting constant validation.

I think the love confession under 4 applies and he arguably ends up oversharing regarding how he views his relationship with Obi-Wan, beginning by praising him before saying: “In some ways- a lot of ways- I’m really ahead of him. I’m ready for the trials, but he feels that I’m too unpredictable. He won’t let me move on.” and “He’s overly critical. He never listens. He- He doesn’t understand. It’s not fair!” Throughout this, I think his tone grows rather petulant and he seems to be looking for Padme’s validation of this view. Immediately afterwards he disregards Padme’s request that he not look at her in a way that she says makes her uncomfortable.

8. The love bomber lashing out when criticised and not taking responsibilities for previous relationships.

A platonic example: After Shmi’s death, Padme witness’ Anakin lashing out in response to his perception that: “It’s all Obi-Wan’s fault! He’s jealous! He’s holding me back!”, which builds on his earlier conversation with Padme, and is followed by the rather terrifying declaration of committing mass murder. I wouldn’t be entirely surprised if the idea of criticising Anakin got linked to the idea of extreme violence for Padme, even if subconsciously. But, back to the point, Anakin places all the blame on Obi-Wan, refusing to acknowledge any fault of his own in the process.

9. Saying the “right things”.

Not a perfect example of this, but in TCW “Hostage Crisis” Anakin resolves a disagreement over Padme prioritising her work by leading her through a specific thought process:

Padme: “Hey, I’m supposed to be on a meditative retreat. We should go away together. I know a place far away from here where no one would recognize us. Yeah, it’ll be like we’re actually husband and wife instead of senator and Jedi.”

Padme: “I–I can’t, Ani.”

Anakin: “What do you mean, you can’t? Oh, it’s only two weeks. We’ll be back before anyone even notices we’re gone.”

Padme: “I have to bring this bill before the senate. It’s important.”

Anakin: “Uh-huh. More important than the way you feel about me?”

Padme: “Not more important, but important. The work I do–the work we both do is in the service of the Republic, to protect those who would otherwise be powerless to protect themselves.”

Anakin: “Of course. But those are ideals. Isn’t our love more important to you?”

Padme: “But I-”

Anakin: “No. No, but. To me, there’s nothing more important than the way I feel about you. Nothing.”

Padme: “Anakin, don’t be so-”

Anakin: “Oh, you don’t believe me.”

Padme: “I didn’t say I-”

Anakin: “I’ll prove it. Just watch. [Pulls out his lightsaber] When I finished constructing my lightsaber, Obi-Wan said to me, “Anakin, this weapon is your life.” This weapon is my life.”

Padme: “No, Anakin, I can’t. A Jedi lightsaber is- Wow, it’s heavier than I thought.”

Anakin: “It’s yours. Believe me now?”

Padme: “If all you, want to do is make fun of me, I think you should just go.”

Anakin: “That’s not what I want. Not at all.”

Then they kiss.

This strikes me as an incredibly manipulative conversation, in which Anakin is aiming to behave in a way that ultimately controls Padme’s reactions throughout the conversation and is both unrealistic and ultimately hollow (Anakin will need to take his lightsaber back, and the gifting of it proves to be detrimental to the later situation).

10. Showing extreme jealousy when you’re with someone else.

The Clovis situation.

I’m not trying to disregard Padme’s agency in the relationship, she does seem to reciprocate to some extent, but I’m just wondering how much of that agency is actually hers.

I’d like to know your thoughts on this if you’re willing to slog through all of this, it sort of got away from me.

@nyx987

I’m really hesitant to apply specific terms like this to characters in Star Wars, I’ve seen certain terms get thrown about in fandom specifically around Anakin and his behavior and the ways that those discussions can get really gnarly. I am not a psychiatrist, I’ve never studied psychology by any stretch of the imagination, so I’m not inclined to apply things like this to Star Wars unless it was specifically discussed in text or by someone like Lucas as something he had in mind when writing it (for example, the idea of attachment and the way Lucas specifically uses it and how THAT applies to Padme and Anakin’s relationship).

When I discuss this relationship and the reasons I think it’s bad, I try to go for things like “unhealthy” that are a bit more vague and don’t necessarily refer to a specific diagnosis. I talk about how selfishness and greed come up in the relationship because those are words Lucas used to describe Anakin. I talk sometimes about how sexism impacts the relationship both from a meta standpoint (everything in AOTC relies on the trope of “when a woman says no she actually means yes”) and an in-universe standpoint (Anakin demanding obedience from Padme as his wife seems relatively intentional as something the audience is intended to view as BAD).

I have used the term abusive before, but I have also seen people push back on that (up until he’s literally choking her, obviously), so I’m trying to stay away from that one these days. I’d maintain that it is a fundamentally dysfunctional and unhealthy relationship for BOTH of them, I think they’re BOTH making selfish choices here and that this relationship brings out the worst of both of them, but that’s as far as I’m currently comfortable taking it.

So, I dunno, MAYBE Anakin is an example of love bombing, but I can hardly consider myself any kind of expert or authority on the subject enough to say one way or the other.

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

Candy Coated [Chapter Eight] The Calm Before the Storm [Buddha]

A/n: I apologize for taking so long to get this chapter out. The next one is going to start the beginning of Ragnarok. So please enjoy.

Also, the art above was drawn by the talented @rain-in-the-clouds. Thank you, hun. Stay tuned for this scene later.

Warning(s): anxiety, female reader (can be read as GN), teasing, realization.

Taglist:

@useless-potatho , @tojibreedingme , @quinloki , @yingxian, @2lottie2, @lunas-nova , @anduinandwrathionlover, @tiredfairy, @the-queen-of-sorrows , @alientee, @lawlietliet, @hanaibea, @69your-best-night-mare69

The time is nigh. 

Ragnarok draws near and you are not hardly ready to witness the bloodshed that will come with it. How is a human meant to take on a God? The thought plagues you well into the evening, so much so that you chose to remain in your room.

This marks the final day of your residence in Saṃsāra, the Realm of the Gods, and the gospel truth is you do not want to leave. It isn't fair. How can Yue-Lao tether you to a God and then take him away from you, as if he means nothing? He does and you–

An embarrassed heat spreads across your face as you realize just how much Buddha means to you.

"You have every right to be mad…but you aren't the only one. I'm sure Bu-chan was just as upset as you and she isn't even a human. Leave this to her and focus on us," he had told you.

It must have been then, through the irritation and the bafflement, in his arms, when you knew. Perhaps it had been sooner, but you were too fixated on the effects of the tether to notice. Or too oblivious.

But what did he mean? Why did Buddha tell you to focus on the two of you?  

You honestly don't know but with Ragnarok coming, the feelings are there, albeit too late you fear. Why does this happen? Why do humans realize too late how they feel about someone who has been nothing but kind to them? 

With a deep sigh, you set out an outfit on your coffee table. It will be the one you wear tomorrow to the arena. You consider wearing your human clothes, the ones you died in, but opt not to. It's silly, but you don't want to draw more attention to the fact you are a human tethered to Buddha.

But perhaps that's what I want the Gods to see. 

Your head is a labyrinth. Needing a moment to breathe, you leave the room and head outside. The sky is so clear today. It's ironic considering how bleak you feel. 

For the next hour, you wander around the abandoned village, doing the best you can to entertain your thoughts and relax. It seems to work, however, anxiety clings to you like a monster, whispering in your ear and reminding you that tomorrow is the tournament. 

You head toward the river in hopes to rest your legs but as you approach, you see Buddha sitting near the bank. An air of calmness washes over you as you stare at him, putting to rest your thoughts. Had you looked at the red cords around your ankles, you would have seen that he was nearby. Your face heats up and though you consider turning around, you opt not to.

"May I join you?"

Buddha peeks over his shoulder and grins; a lollipop rests in the space between his cheek and teeth. 

"If you want." 

You do. Sitting by his side, you notice a package on his lap, but you don't ask about it, turning your eyes to the river. Sadness washes over you as you stare at the clear water. This will be the last time you see it, you are sure. 

"There is a lot on your mind," Buddha remarks. 

You hum in agreement knowing that he can feel your emotions via the tether, both good and bad. That means he probably already knows what you mean to him.

"I'm not ready for tomorrow, but I know that it can't be prevented. And then I–"

Pausing a moment, you take an uneasy breath.

"I don't want to leave this place. I want to stay with you."

Turning your eyes to him to gauge his expression, you jerk in fear as an uneaten lollipop appears in your line of sight. Your cheeks heat up as he laughs at your response.

He didn't have to scare me like that. 

You take the lollipop from him, spinning it between your fingers. 

"Then stay with me," Buddha states. "You can reach enlightenment with me if that's what you want."

It's not that easy. The humans would have to win for you to stay with him. Or else you will face extinction. Hesitantly linking your arm with his, you lean against his shoulder. Your body and mind feel so rested like this. If only it could last. 

"I'm not sure why, but I feel calm around you. Like my worries are gone."

"It isn't the tether making you feel that way, nor me," Buddha mentions with a smile. 

You raise a confused brow. If not influenced by him, then who. You've been a nervous wreck all morning and now there is nothing. 

"Who–"

"I'm not telling," Buddha teased, removing his lollipop to poke his tongue out. 

You huff in response. Sometimes he can be childish. Releasing his arm, you snag the candy from him.

"Then I'll just have to borrow this."

With a cheeky grin, you lift the candy to your mouth, giving it a lick. The wide-eyed expression on his face makes you laugh. 

"Greed is a root evil, you know," Buddha states. 

"I never said I wouldn't give it back," you retort, holding the candy out to him.

Instead of grabbing it with his hand, he leans forward and takes the candy into his mouth. Your face heats up. Somehow it feels like your attempt to tease him backfired. Buddha laughs in response and reaches into his lap for the package, offering it over. 

"This is for you. I was holding onto it."

For me?

You open it, stunned to see an outfit inside. It's modern, a bit like the one you died in, but on the upper left chest area is a stencil of Usa-chan, the rabbit with the eye patch that is on the front of Buddha's shirt.

"You had this made for me? When?" 

"Before we attended the council meeting," Buddha answers.

He's thoughtful. This, along with the other clothes, is more than you could have ever asked for.

This made up my mind. 

"I'll wear it tomorrow. Thank you, Shaka."

You want the Gods to see you dressed as a human. If you could do more, you would. Though, it does make you wonder if Buddha wants to see humans live too. He once was one, before he attained enlightenment.

Lifting on your knees, you lean forward and kiss his cheek. 

"Even though it has no purpose, as far as we know, I've rather enjoyed being tethered to you."

Buddha turns his eyes to you and grins. He doesn't comment, but you can sense that he feels the same. For the first time today, you are hopeful for the future, for your afterlife at your soulmate's side. 

Leaning your head against his shoulder, you take a deep and relaxed breath. A moment later, you feel Buddha's cheek rest against your head.

"I do too, you know, want you to stay here," he utters.

Your face heats up. It makes you happy to hear that you aren't the only one. 

I don't care if we ever find Yue-Lao. I want to stay here. I want to be with Shaka. The tether means nothing. 

Or so you think. 

Unbeknownst to you, however, the Chinese God of Marriage and Love was not one to play tricks. His set futures were never unplanned. However, as a favor to a certain someone, he made an exception. 

The tether between God and mortal was simply a tool in someone else's plan.   

[dreamescapeswriting]

I’ve Been Waiting For You ~ MYG

⤜WORD COUNT: 1.6K

⤜ PAIRING: Yoongi x Fem!Reader

⤜GENRE: pregnancy trope, pregnancy announcement, reader is famous, use of song “i’ve been waiting for you” mamma mia 2/ABBA, soft, sweet, cute moments together

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - January 2023

⤜MASTERLIST

They say that pregnancy heightens all of your emotions and that couldn't have been more true than right now. While those around you all worked on what was about to happen you felt as though you were going to vomit all over the place - and it wasn't the morning sickness making you feel that way. Yoongi had told you if you weren’t ready then the two of you could always postpone doing this announcement but it was now or never. The fact of the matter was, you were getting too big to keep it a secret much longer and if you didn’t do the reveal tonight sooner or later someone was going to start asking questions.

“You’re sure about this?” Yoongi questioned, his hands landing on your waist as his thumb began to rub in small circles, the action was enough to calm your mind full of racing thoughts and worries that you were experiencing just for a few seconds.

“It’s now or never,” You breathed out, you still weren’t exactly 100% sure about this, in fact, the one thing you were certain about in all of this was that people were going to be conflicted about the pregnancy. While some were going to adore the fact that you and Yoongi were expecting you knew that many others weren’t going to have the same mindset about it all. Maybe even get angry at you for "taking away their boy".

“Say the word and we’ll run away to the mountains,” There was a tremor in Yoongi’s voice which put your mind at ease to know that your husband was also nervous about the whole ordeal. The last thing either of you wanted was your fanbases to attack the other, or either of you for that matter.

“Stage is ready,” A stagehand said before you could reassure your husband about this, you nodded and smiled over at the red-headed stagehand who was quick to run back into their position. Holding onto Yoongi’s hand with one hand and your bump with the other you took in one long calming breath, holding it for just a few seconds before letting it go and letting your mind relax. Nothing was going to change the fact that you loved Yoongi and this baby with all of your heart, body and soul, that was what you had to keep reminding yourself. No matter what, this was what mattered most.

Once Yoongi let go of your waist the dress you were wearing flowed down your body, masking the bump beneath the flowy blue fabric so no one would be able to tell you were pregnant right up until the perfect moment. 

“Knock 'em dead,” Yoongi winked at you as he slipped his hand into yours, giving it a small encouraging squeeze as you walked together toward the left side of the stage. The arena was packed full of screaming fans of yours, not to mention some of ARMY were visiting too as they always did in case Yoongi came out for a surprise performance - which he was of course...only they didn't know it. 

The first four songs had gone by without a hitch, you started with some of your more popular songs that didn’t require a lot of jumping and dancing around on the stage, you mostly stuck to the ones that you needed to stand still for.

“For this song, I wanted to do a cover piece. It’s a song I haven’t been able to get out of my head lately,” You spoke into your microphone as stagehands began to bring out a mic stand for you to use, you nodded and thanked them quietly as you gauged around the room to see what people thought for now. They seemed pretty happy so far with everything that was happening so you let out a relaxed breath,

“Three two one…” You whispered as the chords to “I’ve been waiting for you” began to play on the piano, Yoongi sitting soundly behind it as he played happily to himself. This was something the two of you had been working on behind the scenes, something you thought might bring a little more joy with the news of your expected baby. 

“I...I have known love before, I thought it would no more. Take on a new direction,” Your eyes locked with Yoongi’s behind the piano as you sang out the words perfectly, fans began to call out your name and Yoongi’s as they noticed who was playing.

“Still, strange as it seems to be, it’s truly new to me. That affection,” As you sang the line you slowly turned out to look at your fans, some of them were already crying and swaying side to side in time with the music while others were recording the events. 

You had no doubt that some were already beginning to piece together the clues about this performance.

It was an entire surprise from the start, it wasn’t a concert just a small get-together in a small arena that would hold 500 fans and the whole thing was being streamed for free online so everyone had a chance to see. Internet sleuths were already connecting dots before the announcement of your concert since you’d dropped off the face of the planet for the last 6 months. 

As the chords and your voice continued the worries you’d been having dissolved away as you focused on the lyrics, none of them more true since you were so excited to start this new chapter with Yoongi and your child. The song progressed and it seemed many people in the audience were noticing that you weren’t covering the ABBA version of the song but the Mamma Mia one. Screaming erupted louder than before and you smirked over at Yoongi.

“I’ll carry you all the way. And you’ll choose the day when you’re prepared to greet me.” You held out the notes, a little shakier than you would have liked but you smiled down at the crowd, placing the mic into the holder.

“I’ll be a good mum, I swear. You’ll see how much I care. When you meet me,” A simple tug on your gown around your waist and your bump was on display for all the see, you could have sworn you’d never heard such loud screams at once of your concerts before. The song continued as fireworks began to pop all around the stage, behind Yoongi a small video began to play on the big screen.

Videos of you surprising Yoongi with your pregnancy tests, quickly sliding to videos of your ultrasounds and doctors appointments right up until the latest addition of your home movie which was Yoongi attempting to build the crib. He was sat on the floor surrounded by different parts glasses pushed up to his nose with a deep frown embedded on his forehead. 

“I’ve been waiting for you,” You sang out the last words, your voice completely cracking as you began to break down into happy tears on the stage. Yoongi was quick to come out from the piano and hold you while soft music played in the background, backing tracks filling the stage so it wasn't a completely awkward silence.

“As you can probably guess by now, we’re expecting,” Yoongi chuckled into your mic as you sobbed into his chest not caring if you stained his white shirt with makeup, you were just allowing yourself to feel vulnerable in front of everyone.

A string of congratulations erupted through the arena as you were slowly calmed down from your bundle of tears, laughing softly as you looked out at some of the fans that were crying along with you. 

After the announcement, you and Yoongi did a couple of your songs together before calling it a night and ending the concert with a massive thank you to those who were with you and supported you.

“I told you that it would be fine,” Yoongi whispered as the two of you cuddled together on the sofa - you were tucked between his legs, his hands were resting on your bump while your head was resting on his chest. All that could be heard were screaming fans and the cleaning crew outside of the doors, you couldn’t have been happier with how the evening had gone.

“I distinctly remember you telling me we could cancel if I was too worried,” You poked his sides making him shiver and shake from side to side while holding you, he let out a small whine. That was true but he had his reasons for it, he never wanted this to have bad repercussions to all of this.

“I couldn’t help it. I was scared about people reacting poorly to it all,” He admitted to you, your hand gently resting atop of his as you gently run your thumb along his knuckles enjoying the way your hand felt against his. There was nothing more perfect than this moment you had together, complete silence as you relaxed with each other, enjoying the comfort of one another.

“It’s done now, all we have to do is relax and welcome our little one into the world.” You reminded him, gently rubbing his hands over your bump until you felt a kick and you let out a small grunt at the sensation, 

“Going to be a footballer,” Yoongi smirked, tapping where the baby had kicked trying to get another kick out of the little one while you pouted at him. While Yoongi enjoyed the fact that his baby was active inside of you, it didn't help with your constant needing to pee or being unable to get comfortable so you let him have a little fun for a while before stopping. 

Tagline: @millenniumspec @chiisaiblog @rjsmochii @tinyoonsblog @sw33tnight @taestannie @cherrybubblesandvodka @army24--7 @acciocriativity @mitzwinchester @heyjiminnie @kimahnjung98 @halesandy @jin-from-the-block @aerastus @namjooningelsewhere @ratherbfangirling @psychosupernatural @lyoongx @periandernyx @laylasbunbunny @royallyjjk @critssq​ @pearlygraysky​ @lenfilms​ @btsiguess-kpop​ @meowmeowisdaname​ @imafivestarkpopstan​

[hockeyboysimagines]

All good boys go to Heaven, but Bad Boys bring Heaven to you.

Deleted Scenes

If you haven’t read the full story, please do before you read this otherwise it won’t make any sense! Reasons for exclusion are in Pink.

Thanks for reading!!

*These are in no particular order*

There’s no real reason this wasn’t included. But basically I had too much material and this felt like I was just harping on Hallie being upset but not upset about Matthew being a dumbass. So it didn’t seem like it was needed.

“Don’t.” Hallie said from behind a menu.

“What?”

“You know what.” She peered over the top to find Carly staring pointedly at her.

“I didn’t say-“

“You didn’t have to. I know what your thinking.”

“What are you psychic now?”

“No your just incredibly transparent is all. I’m not talking about this.”

“Well. I am.” Carly set her menu down and leaned forward “I’m not saying you should or shouldn’t go out with him, but I think you should just talk to him.”

“About?”

“The other night.”

“That’s done and over with and besides I really don’t care.”

“If you didn’t care you wouldn’t have gotten so upset.”

Hallie was quiet.

She did care. Sure he’d hurt her feelings by doing what he did with Allie, but the real reason she’d left the bar and cried in the shower was because it hurt to know that he could so easily do that when he was angry at her instead of trying to fix it.

It was partially her fault, and she could recognize it now even if she couldn’t say it out loud, but she thought maybe she meant a little more to him than that.

But as usual she was wrong.

And any trust she had in him went out the window.

“Can we just drop it? I don’t wanna think About it anymore okay? I was drunk and emotional and I’m never going to let it happen again.”

*********

This just didn’t fit anywhere really, plus again like some of my other stories I had too much material and this didn’t fit in any of the other ones either. I didn’t want to bring Johnny into any of their drama either.

“What’s your problem.” Hallie asked Matthew as he strolled ahead of her. Usually he walked with her after games no matter the result, but tonight all she’d gotten was a dirty look and he’d been ignoring her since.

“No problem.” He said curtly still not looking at her.

“Yeah I’m not buying it. So what’s your-“

“You and Johnny looked pretty cozy in the lounge.” He finally said. His voice was clouded with disdain.

Hallie frowned “What? What are you talking about?”

“Don’t give the act Hallie okay?”

“First of all, Johnny is my friend. My friend that YOU introduced me to. And second all of there was nothing ‘cozy’.” She said air quoting “about it. He was trying-“

“I don’t care okay. I’m tired and I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“You brought it up, and we’re talking about it.”

“We’re not. And if you think we are then you can find your own way home.”

Without another word she turned on her heel and walked back inside the arena, presumably to call an Uber or find Carly who was still inside.

He was so mad he didn’t even try to chase her, instead chucking his bag in the car and angrily starting it before backing out of the spot and exiting the garage. He drove for a while, angry thoughts clouding his brain.

He’d seen her smiling at Johnny, laughing at what was probably a dumb joke that wasn’t even funny. How could she? Why would she? Didn’t she know how he felt about her? Didn’t she care?

But as he turned onto a backroad he realized that she didn’t know how he felt because he didn’t tell her. In fact she probably had no idea. And he really couldn’t blame her. He’d acted like an asshole since he met her. Flirting with girls, drunk calling her in the middle of the night to come get him. Why would she care after all that?

And yet, here she was being so easily convinced by one of teammates to give him another chance. And he was accusing her of messing around, when he had no right to even do that at all.

“Fuck.” He sighed as he pulled a U-turn and headed back towards her apartment. He was, once again, swallowing his pride and apologizing, which is something he was going more of now than ever before.

He hoped she was home as he pulled up next to her car and got out. He glanced up at her window, and saw a faint light coming through the curtain. As he made his way up the steps he felt like each of his legs weighed 100 pounds. He hated that he upset her, and that he was again having to apologize for it.

He reached her door and knocked three times. When there was no answer he knocked harder and called out “Hallie?”

“Go away.”

He sighed and leaned his head against the door “I’m sorry okay? Can we talk?”

“No.”

He knocked again, and then again, and then the knock became a loud bang and she was forced to open the door.

“Are you trying to get me evicted?” She seethed at him. She looked annoyed but she didn’t look angry, which was good because had she been angry there would have been no talking to her.

“If it means you have to come out and talk to me then yes. Can I come in?”

“No you can say what you have to out here.”

He sighed and braced a hand on the doorframe “Look I didn’t mean what I sa-“

“That’s a lie. I didn’t realize I wasn’t allowed to have friends.”

“No I just-“

“I don’t wanna hear it.” She snapped “Johnny was trying to talk me out of never speaking to you again, and you say some shit like that to me? I’m done with this.” She made a move to shut the door but he stopped her and took a step inside.

“Get out-“

“No. I’m not getting out. Look.” He huffed “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just get so crazy when it comes to you. And yeah I’m a total fucking idiot I get it. I’m sorry for what I said, you know I didn’t mean it.”

“It doesn’t matter if you meant it. You said it. That’s what matters. I mean…” she trailed off, and he saw her lip tremble and her eyes get glassy “Do you really think that of me? That I would do something like that?”

“No Hal of course I don’t. I was just being stupid okay? I think your amazing.”

She didn’t look convinced, but stood there arms folded until he said softly “I’m sorry.”

She looked like she wanted to hit him, and he would have deserved it if she had, but instead she simply said “Okay.”

“So…can we hug it out-just a little bit?” He asked opening his arms with a small smile.

“Don’t push your luck-oof.”

“Get over here!” He cut her off, sweeping her into a tight embrace, and knocking her glasses off her nose in the process. He sighed contentedly and closed his eyes, resting his chin on the top of her head.

“Love you Hal.”

“Yeah…I love you too.”

*************

I kind of just wrote this part because it came to me but then I didn’t really have anywhere to put it so I never added it. I wish I had though.

Hallie jumped when the bathroom door banged open, and wiped the shampoo from her eyes.

“Carly?”

“No it’s me.”

“Matty get out!” She screeched, hands flying to cover all her important parts.

“It’s not like you have anything I haven’t seen and besides this is my bathroom .” She heard some fumbling around and the sink turn on momentarily before she peeked around the curtain.

He was standing, shirtless wearing only boxers, hair everywhere while he brushed his teeth. He turned and smiled at her.

“Morning sunshine!” He said. He acted cool about it but he could just faintly see the outline of her body behind the curtain and the boxers he was wearing became acutely uncomfortable.

“Can’t you brush your teeth in the other bathroom?”

“How would I brush my teeth if all my stuff is in here?”

“You could take it and leave.”

“Nah. I like this sink better. And besides Noah and Carly are both in there which means I’m not getting within 10 feet of that door.”

She frowned and slowly moved back behind the curtain. He was quiet for a few seconds before he spit and do spoke again.

“So what’s your plans for the day?”

“Matthew I’m not having a conversation with you while-“

“Me? Nothing much. Lets get lunch later yeah?”

She held back a small laugh and turned it into a cough but heard it anyways “Okay fine we’ll go to lunch. Are you done brushing your teeth?”

She poked her head out to find his toothbrush gone but his face covered in shaving cream now. He turned to her and smiled, razor in his hand.

“Well isn’t this just so domestic.”

***********

I didn’t want to include any kind of details about what happened after the sex in the cabin because I didn’t wanna drag that scene out. I probably should have included this but again, I had too much material.

Hallie woke up the next morning and realized to her horror she was asleep next to Matthew, very few items of clothing between them.

Had she done the unthinkable?

Had she had sex with Matthew?

In cabin with all their friends?

Was she high?

The answer to all of those questions was yes, even maybe the last one. There was no other logical or acceptable answer other than she was high on some serious shit for her to do what she did.

She closed her eyes and let out a long breath, panic bubbling up in the form of bile. She very slowly but effectively inched out from under him without waking him, and painstakingly cracked the door barely wide enough for her to slip through. The house was quiet, which meant no one was up yet and she bolted to her room, closing the door behind her as a tear slipped over her lower eyelid. And then a laugh. And then more tears.

And then she wiped them away because she heard a door open somewhere in the cabin and knew that their friends would be waking up soon. She wasn’t sure how cool she could play it, especially in front of Carly.

She would definitely know something was up. She took a deep breath and stood, changing before she slowly exited her room, peering into the hallways. She didn’t see anyone, and turned to quietly close her door. When she turned back around, Matthew had materialized from nowhere and she jumped.

“Jesus!” She clutched at her heart and looked up at him.

“Where’d you go this morning?” He asked quietly. He looked a little hurt, and Hallie immediately felt bad.

“I just-I went to my room.”

“Why?” When she didn’t answer he spoke again “You regret it don’t you?” He looked crestfallen and Hallie could have started crying right there just looking at his face.

She lifted a hand up to his chest, placing it over his heart “No. of course I don’t. I just don’t feel like it’s anyone’s business what happened last night. At least not right now. I just wanted to keep it between us. That’s all.”

He smiled at her, placing his hand over hers “Last night was amazing. And I-“ but he stopped and cleared his throat “I just want to make sure you felt that way too.”

“It was. But let’s talk about this some other time okay? When it’s just us.”

“Okay.” He smiled and glanced over his should before he leaned down and gave her the sweetest of kisses that made her weak in the knees.

“Come on.” He said “Let’s start breakfast.”

************

This is part of the drive to the cabin, but I didn’t feel like it was significant to the story so it got cut.

“I’m glad this is funny to you.”

“It’s hilarious.”

She and Matthew had been stuck in traffic for almost 45 minutes and she was getting more annoyed with him as the time went on. She wasn’t sure if it was because she was in love with him or wanted to kill him but either way, it was grinding on her nerves and they were practically raw by now.

If she was being honest she was upset more because she didn’t believe him about what had happened the other night. She wanted to, but she didn’t trust him. Although it felt great to be around him again, her guard was up.

“Hallie listen. About-“

“Don’t. Don’t ruin this. We’re having a nice time together, we don’t have to talk about it anymore.”

He looked a little troubled but nodded “Okay. I am sorry though, for what it’s worth.”

“It’s worth a lot. Thank you.”

***********

I had a whole sequence where they had a big fight after the sex in the cabin and they split up but then I felt like since they spent most of the first chapter arguing, that they deserved to be happy and blissed out for a while. So I took it out.

“You know what I think? I think your afraid.”

She glared at him, eyebrows furrowing “Oh yeah? Of what?”

“I think your afraid of the way I make you feel.”

She swallowed and opened her mouth to speak “How you make me feel? You make me feel like I’m losing my fucking mind!” She screamed hands flying up.

“You know what I mean. You can act like you don’t have feelings for me, like this is just about sex but you know that’s a lie.”

“Oh please.”

“Yeah oh please is right. I’m done with this. I can’t take this back and forth anymore. Do you fucking want me or not? It is not that difficult to decide. But I am done with this happening between us. I can’t do it anymore. It’s fucking killing me Hallie. Please.” He sounded desperate as he stood there in her kitchen, eyes pleading with her.

When she didn’t speak he turned and walked angrily towards the door.

“Wait.” He paused, hand on the doorknob and half turned. She was still in the same spot but her hands were down by her sides now.

“Fine.” She said quietly “I’m afraid. I’m terrified.”

His hand fell from the door “But why?”

“Do you really need to ask that question? You know why.”

“I’m not that guy anymore Hallie and you know it. I mean I’m really trying here, and I’ve never done that for anyone before. I mean can you not see that? Can you not see that I want to be with you?”

She sighed and nodded, eyes closing “I know. And I’m sorry. I’m just so-“

“Scared? I know.” He reached for her, pulling her into a long hug “But please just give me a chance. Trust me. Or at least try. Can you do that?”

She nodded against his chest “I can.”

************

I just didn’t want this part. That’s why it wasn’t included.

Hallie bounced off the sofa when she heard a knock at her door and pulled it open, expecting Matthew.

“Hey you-“ but she came face to face with Carly instead, who looked at her confused.

“Excited to see me?” Carly asked.

“Oh Uhm hey what’s up?”

“I was in the neighborhood and I left my bag and jacket here last week so I figured I’d come pick it up.”

“Oh yeah definitely.” Her eyes swiveled over Carly’s shoulder just in time to see Matthew himself turn the corner and freeze when he saw Carly.

“Uh why don’t you come in quick? I’ll grab your stuff.”

She gave him a look and he quickly disappeared back from wherever he came from. She found her jacket, chatted with Carly for a minute and then walked her out the door, hoping to god Matthew had parked around the corner instead of in the lot. She watched Carly leave, holding her breath until she was gone from the parking lot, before she texted him.

Coast is clear

He came in a a few minutes later, looking grim.

“Damn that was close.” He said pulling her in by the waist.

“I know I thought we were caught.” He kissed her deeply, lips moving against hers feverishly.

“Mmmmmm. I missed you today. Coach was riding me at practice and it wasn’t like I could tell him I was slow because I spent all night riding you.”

“Matthew!” She gasped, as his hands drifted under her shirt, brushing against the underwire of her bra.

“What?”

“How’d you like to get back on?”

He pulled back to look at her “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

*************

I forgot I even wrote this part, because it wasn’t saved on the original document.

“Where are we going?” Noah asked as he sat in the passenger seat of the Audi.

“The grocery store, and then I need to get new socks.” Matthew leaned back to get his sunglasses from the backseat when he spotted something.

A pair of pink, lacey underwear that belonged to Hallie were lodged between Noah’s seat and the center consul. He swallowed and glanced at Noah, who seemed not to notice, and very slowly plucked them out and dropped them on the floor of the back, before swatting them under Noah’s seat.

He smirked a little, remembering her frantically searching under the seat just that morning when he met her before she had to work.

While sneaking around wasn’t really practical, it was totally hot. But they had gotten careless. Lost underwear, almost getting caught by Carly. Last week they’d been in the shower together while Noah was knocking on her door, to drop off clothing Carly had for Hallie. He supposed they could only keep this going for so long, but he would as long as she’d allow it.

“What are you doing?” Noah asked beginning to turn to him.

“Nothing nosey, Jesus.”

*********

That’s all! I hope you enjoyed this! Let me know what you guys think!

🤍🤍🤍

[footy-fictionist]

Injury prone part 2 - Nico Schlotterbeck

Pairing: Nico Schlotterbeck x female reader

Warnings: Nico's injury for the Bayern game, it's emotional, there is some anxiousness/fear, Nico is being a bit of an ass, hurt, but also fluff, bit of ignoring, shower scene but nothing sexual, google translated German

Word count: 1421 Note: As always, English is not my first language. I don't know anyone personally, this is completely fictional. Let me know if there are any mistakes. I love this one really. Please do not copy or publish my work, reblogging is fine!

She’s scared. It’s plain and simple. She feels like they rushed him, that he rushed himself to be ready for the game against Dortmund. Thigh injuries always take a while to recover from, but Nico was back within a week and half. She knows that it won’t end well, she can feel it. But he didn’t want to listen to her. He feels like he is ready or he wants to be ready. The game against Bayern is important and there is no way he wants to miss it. They have talked about it, but it only ended up being an argument. They even argued just before he left for Munich and still, she’s decided to be in the stands.

It starts off well in the first 10 minutes and then everything seems to go wrong. It makes her more anxious and worried for Nico. He’ll want to give more everytime they concede a goal. And her fears become reality around the 40 minute mark. Nico sits on the ground with a defeated look on his face. She knows it’s his thigh, there isn’t anything else that could go wrong so quickly. The medical team approaches and as they have a look at his thigh, Nico leans back and covers his face with his hands. And they both know it’s over, not just for the game but for a few more weeks as well.

They wrap his thigh, but there is no way he can continue the game. As he’s subbed off, she has tears in her eyes. She knew it was more than likely that it would happen, but that doesn’t make the pain she feels for him any less. He walks into the tunnels of the Allianz Arena and she hates that she can’t go there as easily as she could at the Westfalen stadium. She heads down to the dressing rooms during halftime. But when she gets there, they tell her that he doesn’t want to see anyone, not even her. The bit where he apparently told them specifically not to let her in, breaks her heart. As if she’d ever tell him ‘I told you so’ when he gets an injury like this. As if she wouldn’t support him through anything.

She goes back to her seat in the stands and watches the rest of the game. But nothing really registers. As the game ends, she sees a showered Nico walk onto the field with the rest of the team to thank the fans. He sees her in her seat still, but the second they make eye contact, he looks away again. It causes her eyes to fill up with tears. She grabs her bag and leaves the stadium, not even bothering to try and get to the changing rooms again. He clearly didn’t want to see her or talk to her. She drives to her hotel, since there is no way she’s driving home for 6 hours when it’s 8 pm. It’s almost midnight when she gets a text, saying he won’t be coming to her hotel room tonight. It’s safe to say she cried herself to sleep that night. 

The next day, she drives home. When she gets home she doesn’t really feel like doing much. It’s a sunday anyways, so she changes into comfortable clothes and just lays in bed. She thinks over what she could have done differently, the tears starting up again. If it’s the argument about him playing, then she won’t know how to fix that. She just told him her opinion and it showed her worry for him. She can’t just change those feelings. Eventually she gets up to make some food, not even bothering to fix her appearance. She can feel how tight her face is because of the dried tears, but she can’t be bothered to fix it. She just makes it to the kitchen when she hears the front door open and close. 

She hears a bag drop to the floor, but she doesn’t make a move to walk to the front door. She hears Nico call her name whilst she grabs a drink from the fridge. She again chooses not to respond, even if that makes her feel bad. She’s not in the mood for another argument, especially not after crying half the night and just now. She’s so caught up in her thoughts that she doesn’t hear Nico approach her. She’s dressed in one of his shirts and some shorts, it’s clear she hasn’t done much during the day and yet she’s the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. 

She turns a bit, still unaware that Nico is behind her, when he sees the remnants of tears on her cheeks. And he knows it’s his fault, he was ashamed of not listening to her about his injury and then making it worse. Now he’s ashamed of the way he didn’t even dare to go to her. He should have known that she’d be more worried than anything else. He’s going to fix it. He slowly walks up to her and she turns when he’s 2 steps away from her. She jumps a little, not having expected him. He steps closer and puts his hands on her cheeks, softly caressing over the dried tears with his thumbs. She leans into the hold of his hands and then a sob escapes her.

Nico doesn’t hesitate to wrap her in his arms. Her arms wrap around his waist whilst fisting his shirt. Sobs wrack through her and Nico can’t stop shushing her and pressing kisses to her temple and cheeks. 

“Es tut mir leid, meine Liebe. I should’ve come to you. I was ashamed, you were right and I didn’t listen to you. Now I’ve only made the injury worse.”

“Nein, es tut mir leid. For the arguments before the game. Clearly I didn’t show you how much I care and that you don’t have to feel ashamed around me.” 

Nico only pulls her closer as they talk it out. He doesn’t feel like letting her go. Everything is catching up with him. The arguments, his injury, the pain he’s caused her, as well as himself. A weight lifts off of both their chests as they talk it out. Once everything has been said, Nico buries his face in her hair, whilst her face is buried in his chest. He’s quite comfortable, standing there with her, when she pulls away. He’s confused when she takes his arm and pulls him with her slowly. They reach the bathroom and he knows immediately what she wants. It’s nothing sexual, on the contrary, the shower is the place she feels comfortable. 

They both undress and she turns on the shower. She still holds his hand, not letting go of him for a second. Once the water has warmed up they step under the shower. He pulls her close to him as she wraps her arms back around his waist. He presses soft kisses to her forehead, whilst she caresses his back. They just stand there for a while, appreciating each other’s presence. They wash each other's hair, making sure the other feels loved and cared for. Before getting out, they share a few soft kisses. 

After they step out, they dry off, helping each other with the parts that are harder to dry on their own. They change into comfortable clothes and she is the one that climbs into bed first. She opens her arms and he immediately climbs into bed with her. He lays on top of her as she runs her hand through his short hair. He completely relaxes and that’s when he really feels the throb in his thigh. She sees his face scrunch up a bit and she immediately moves so she can lift his leg up a bit with hers. It helps alleviate the throb in his leg and he lets out a sigh in relief. He presses a kiss to her collarbone in appreciation.

“I’ll take care of you, always.”

It makes him a little emotional. He knows that he can always count on her and he feels stupid for his actions from before. It’s like she can read his thoughts, as she presses butterfly kisses all over his face and neck. She makes him forget all about it, just by showing him how much she loves him and how she will always support him. No matter how stupid his decisions might be at times. She loves him unconditionally, the same way he loves her.

Es tut mir leid, meine liebe: I am sorry, my love Nein, es tut mir leid: No, I am sorry

[bohemian-nights]

Young Snow is definitely in my opinion still a budding psychopath (and narcissist) but isn’t completely unredeemable. It’d take a lot of self work for him to be a quote on quote “good person.” Especially since a lot of his actions (befriending sejanus and lucy) were rooted in the fact that it would bring him more power. Which is why I really liked the bit where Dean Highbottom tells him how convenient it is that he doesn’t have to choose between winning the money and saving Lucy (choosing between power or love). It also makes the scene where Sejanus dies even worse. Because in the books you get the feeling that Snow couldn’t care less about Sejanus. Whereas in the movie you can tell he cares about him. He snitches on him to Dr. Gaul but as he’s being executed Snow cries, showing he still has a bit of humanity and emotion in him. All in all he’s a really fascinating character in the way that he’s truly willing to do whatever it takes to remain in power (poisoning himself in order to poison others, killing children, and selling people into lives of forced prostitution) and that’s something that’s rare in a book. There’s no overly tragic backstory to somehow excuse his behavior, nor is there anyone forcing him into situations he’d rather not be in.

Full disclosure, outside of a couple of quotes I have not read any of the Hunger Games books so I can't comment on Snow's book characterization.

Although, I have heard that young book!Snow is a little bit more malicious than young movie!Snow(particularly with the Sejanus situation).

That being said I'm a firm believer that evil isn't born it’s made. Under different circumstances, Snow could’ve been better(if his grandmother wasn’t constantly reminding him that he had to live up to his father's name, and social pressure, or if Dr. Gual hadn’t taken him under her wing).

However, yeah he had free will. He chose to put his ambitions first over love, friendship, and even family(what he would later do to Tigris after everything she did for him was so messed up).

Ultimately Snow loves power more than anything else. He loved Lucy Gray IMO, just not as much as he wanted to be someone. In the movie, he did like having Sejanus as a friend just not as much as he liked getting back on top.

That line Highbottom says to him is brilliant. Snow does seem to only care about people as long as they are useful to him and then promptly discards them. Which was his downfall.

That and his obsessive nature, but the obsession drives his want for power. It was fun to see the makings of the villain we see in the main series. He really is a fascinating magnetic character that you can get sucked into.

Lol, I can’t take credit for this, but @nettlesdefensesquad said Coriolanus Snow was a twisted version of Daemon Targaryen. If Young!Snow chose love (like Daemon did with Nettles) instead of ambition that’s who he’d be, but if that had happened the Hunger Games would’ve looked different/maybe would’ve ceased to exist.

Analysis aside, Lucy Gray is better than me. I’m not going to lie, I’d probably miss all of the warning signs and be like Yes Daddy to whatever Young!Snow said. I mean look at him:

He’d have me hook, line, and sinker. I'm not even ashamed to admit it. For that reason, I probably wouldn’t survive the games(well I would if I was useful to him) or him, but it would be fun while it lasted🤣

Not the games. The games would not be fun. I would be absolutely petrified the entire time I'm in the arena, but the rest would be bliss☺️

[cogbreath]

hi so its farquaad apologism time. in a way. anyway i wanna talk about how hes kind of like, actually really smart and cunning? heres what im thinking about currently. its the fact that really, he didnt have to work with shrek at all. but he was smart enough to recognize it was the best idea to try and do that after he beat up all his knights. he could have easily had shrek killed and could have sent his knights to try (and fail) to rescue fiona. but he actively chose not to because he recognized the potential in the situation. if you notice, everyone is shocked he chose to do that. because yknow. shrek is an ogre, a fairytale creature, the thing hes trying to get rid of. but he is able to easily set all that aside because he realises getting shrek to do his work for him is the best plan. What also is interesting to me is also the way he is very much calm when things dont go to plan. or at the very least, he doesnt freak out. not like how he did at the wedding. even when his own knights getting beat up, at most he facepalms about it. and then he easily picks the situation up and flips it in his favor. that is some stone cold shit yknow? which makes the whole wedding scene so curious to me. the way he becomes so...outwardly frantic, and desperate. like he genuinely snapped there. thats not the usual for him ive gathered. usually his negative emotions seem to be expressed in a more cold calculating way.

i also find the wedding scene really curious because i feel like there could have been some ways that he could have flipped that shit or something. but something abt that whole ordeal made him lose control that was a desperate struggle. maybe it was the humiliation factor? but again, having all your knights beaten to a pulp like that is also humiliating.

i wonder if the whole time we are sort of watching him progressively have his patience and will chipped away at?

gingy not cooperating -> the mirrors comment about him not being a king -> the arena scene -> the interruption of the wedding -> having his bride to be leave him for another man at the altar in front of everyone in his kingdom.

or rather maybe those last two things were really just hit so deep with him that he became blind and desperate and frantic to control the situation to the point it cost him his life :(

[pommmec]

FFXVI

I just finished playing FFXVI. I've kept a twitter thread on non spoiler thoughts here but this post is strictly on SPOILERS so be warned!!

vvvv Read more for my thoughts on FF16 vvvvv

First thing I want to state is that I played this with Japanese voices! I plan on watching lets plays of it which usually have it in English. I will do an update or a separate post once I've seen a full playthrough just to compare.

Combat I never played DMC5 so I don't know how that plays. I've played this without any of the accessibility accessories since I wanted to have a challenge. Its definitely not as hard or frustrating as Dark Souls. Even after playing probably 60+ hours I still find the dodge timing hard. Fighting giant beasts was the most frustrating. It was hard for me to get hits in. The gameplay does remind me alot of ff14 since there's your combos and cooldowns so I often spam buttons. Commanding Torgal does remind me of Nier Automata with commanding the pod but I didn't use Torgal as much as I probably should. It was hard to pick which eikon skills to keep. I mostly kept the high attack ones to spam when staggered. I really like the Bahamut laser beam since it does huge damage. I really like the look of Odin's but it was hard to use.

The Eikon fights were mostly cinematic which is fine. The arenas were quite busy and even busier with the spell effects lol Its very Kaiju battle or even Attack on Titan like. I didn't ever die during them. But as regular Clive I did die a handful of times and luckily the game is nice enough to have checkpoints and give you full inventory of potions. I died more times in Hunts than msq boss fights. I played Octopath 2 a couple months ago which is a turn based game. There's a secret boss that took me over an hour to fight it so I appreciate that FF16 doesn't make me do that, but it is also much easier in comparison. I did find the final boss fights underwhelming, but it does have some annoying af moves that I have no idea how to avoid getting hit by. The fight with Titan is my favorite just for the song and how neat it all was!

STORY Its was quite a ride, but it hasn't moved me as much as FF14 did. The sidequests got me more than the msq. Mostly since they're chains and you spend a lot more time with these characters than the enemy dominants themselves. I like the sidequests ladies more than Jill. I wish they didn't have her get captured multiple times lol I thought she was going to die to give Clive her Shiva powers but seems like you can just give it to him. Jill is an ok character. I wish they did a bit more with her but she ended up having to stay behind. There was a scene or two where she watches instead of helping that bothered me more than it should lol

Having Clive take up Cid's name surprised me. And to have some of the folks in the hideaway call him that too took me a bit to get use to. I did not expect Cid to die so soon or at all. And to have the hideaway destroyed gave me FF14 waking sands vibes.

Dion being gay and having a kissing scene surprised me and wish they do this in FF14! I'm glad they did an obvious gay couple with no stereotyping in a mainline FF game. I did not expect him to last as long as he did since the others died so quick. Quite a tragic character too. I was hoping he'd make it.

I love uncle Byron! What a great character and unexpected comedy relief lol I loved him almost immediately and also feared for his life. So I was very relived that not a single hair in his body was harmed in this game!

I'm glad Joshua is alive! I had a feeling since he seemed too important to just be a memory. Though I don't understand who the hooded figure is in the flashback that Clive saw. Also don't understand why he avoided Clive till the fight with Bahamut. Idk what he sounds like in eng yet but his jp voice is really nice. I was worried he was going to die again and it did upset me when it did happen. For Clive to have all his memories of him flash before his eyes was emotional. And for him to get resurrected and write a book called Final Fantasy in the post credits pleased me.

They did the Sephiroth route with the main antagonist, Ultima. Where they appear throughout the story to mess with you. I thought there might be a surprise never-heard-of last boss but no its all Ultima. I didn't find them to be the most interesting villain since its another alien god being. I did like the argument at the end that they're just the same as human.

Clive is a good boy! Judging by the subtitles eng Clive seems to have a different vibe than jp Clive. Jp Clive's voice has that smooth, kind, and strong quality. He's very much like a wol who chooses the good guy choice. I didn't expect him to die. To have the red star fade and Torgal crying does seem to confirm that he's gone. Definitely not the happiest ending. Idk if the Blight is still a problem lol

With the logo having both Phoenix and Ifrit the story is definitely about the brothers. It seems to come full circle with the beginning having them fight each other and in the end they're one. Joshua dies in the beginning, Clive dies at the end. Makes me wish there were more brotherly moments between them than the sidequest.

Overall I enjoyed FF16! I don't think I'd rate it higher than FF14 or FF7 but its definitely an improvement from FF15. While FF15 did make me cry a lot more than FF16 did, the eye candy that is Clive is really what sells the game to me lol

There was no Cactuar or tonberries! :(

Also the vibrations on the PS5 is rather neat. I've kept it on just because I've heard people say how good it is. The vibrations are happening most of the time in cutscenes but sometimes I don't notice it at all. Its not at all like previous controllers where it rumbles and be annoying. I usually turn it off but I think I wont do that for the PS5 controller.

[heir-less]

Valentine Low was in some show and said as long as Megan has breath in her body, Harry and the kids wouldn’t leave the states. Are squaddies being dramatic in saying they want her dead fr? Cuz I gotta admit phrasing it like that is so insane??? unless Like part of me is convinced they want her dead but I don’t want to fall into the whole tinhat arena.

I'm going to use this anon to ramble about my general feelings about Mr. Low in general since I've been getting a lot asks about him.

Yeah, Valentine Low is a freak and I'm intentionally avoiding speaking about him and his awful book because there's really no point. The only people who believe or care about anything he has are the sorts of people who will uncritically believe anything about Meghan and Harry without nuance.

I believe 100% that Low has a direct line with the folks at Kensington Palace and is invested in being William's mouthpiece. His reporting is so emotionally driven and biased that he might as well just be speaking his personal opinion rather than reporting on the "hard truths" he claims to care about so much. Everything he says, he prefaces it with how "heartbroken" he is for William and how much William tried to fix things, and how William is not to blame for anything because Harry wouldn't trust him. It's totally one-sided and emotional.

So, anon, when he says stuff like "Harry and the kids won't leave" it's part of this general emotional appeal that he does where he claims to care so much for the broken relationship between the brothers and whatnot. At the same time, however, he will go out of his way to contradict Meghan's own trauma by painting her as a villain, a bully, someone who should have endlessly suffered and in fact deserved to suffer because of her inherent incompatibility with the monarchy. It's completely dehumanizing and gross.

However, I think there's a key difference between him and someone like Camilla Tomeiny. While both do appeal to emotions, Valentine seems more interested in defending the actual institution. This is why he's more concerned with the courtiers and what happens "behind the scenes". His main claim is that the courtiers tried to accommodate Meghan and Harry but were forced out. A lot of his anti-Meghan smears are rooted in her alleged mistreatment of staff and disrespect for the firm. This is why I don't think he hates Meghan for personal reasons, he's not pumping out weekly articles picking her apart, I think he simply views her as a threat to the institution he wants to uphold.

[darkx-the-dragon-kn1ght]

Pokémon Reborn Screenshot Let's Play: Chapter 22

Hello again, dear readers! I'm really happy with how timely I was able to get this chapter done and up- though, it could have been sooner if it wasn't for some other factor- a factor I’ve been dealing with from the beginning, in fact. Time for some behind-the-scenes info!

See, Tumblr has this limit on how many images one can upload on posts per day. I don't know the exact amount, but I've been able to estimate it’s enough to allow me to create drafts of seven full “parts” of these chapters (for reference, each individual Tumblr post can have a maximum of 30 images). So, because of that limitation, I have to stagger draft creation over the course of days, because no chapter has had less than seven parts since Chapter 1. 

This might seem superfluous to explain, but I've been using Tumblr for years now, and I didn't know any of this until I started this Let's Play, so I'll bet there are others out there who don't know either. So yeah, it's easy to work around, but it's still kinda annoying- making the post drafts at the end is the easy part, I'd have chapters up much faster if it wasn't for that Tumblr quirk.

Anyways, with that peek behind the curtain out of the way, back to the video game! I'm not really sure what to expect from this next session, honestly? Stuff happened last time, sure, but I don't have many ideas of where we go from here. Let me recap what happened last time to give you a better understanding:

Training in North Obsidia Ward, Xera joins the Magma Gang, led by a young man named Maxwell and the rivals to Lapis Ward’s Aqua Gang. 

In order to truly put Aqua Gang in their place, Maxwell organizes a raid on the house of Ms. Craudburry, a vicious old woman and one of the richest women in Lapis Ward. However, the Aqua Gang also attacks the house, leading to the two groups fighting.

With Xera’s help, the Magma Gang defeats the Aqua Gang and gets away with a Pokémon owned by Ms. Craudburry. The Pokémon in question is a Buizel, which Maxwell allows Xera to keep; she names it Rapids. From here, the Magma Gang plans to lay low for the time being to determine their next move.

After some more training, Xera makes her way through the Lapis Ward Gym to Shelly’s arena. There, Shelly tells Xera about why she wanted to become a Gym Leader to begin with: to be like her older brother, a certain Bug-specialist Gym Leader from Johto who doesn’t quite give her the time of day.

After hearing Shelly’s story, the challenge truly begins- Xera’s first Double Battle Gym fight in Reborn.

After many trials and tribulations, Xera manages to win out against Shelly and earns herself the Cocoon Badge, as well as the ability to use the TMX for Rock Smash that she received from Victoria.

Xera returns to Shelly’s room after the match, finding Victoria attempting to teach Cal about meditation. Shortly after, Dr. Connal arrives for the scheduled check-up for Shelly.

At first, the examination is going well, until Shelly begins speaking about how she and Cal became friends; apparently, he joined the Reborn League because of his own brother, like Shelly did. This prompts Connal to remark upon Cal’s past as a Gym Leader, and a certain embarrassing incident that caused him to resign.

Cal becomes increasingly angered by Connal’s questioning and bringing up his past, culminating in him physically lashing out at Shelly when she tries to calm him down. Horrified at himself, Cal quickly leaves, with Connal sending Victoria and Xera out as well shortly after.

Outside, Cal expresses to Victoria the remorse he feels for what he did to Shelly, believing it best if he simply went away. Believing this wouldn’t help anybody, Victoria offers him an alternative: train at Apophyll Academy in order to better control his emotions. Despite some reservations and self-loathing, Cal accepts, and he and Victoria depart for the Academy.

Cain, having watched the scene between Cal and Victoria from the side of the Gym, emerges to speak with Xera. He asks her for a battle so he can better prepare to challenge Shelly’s Gym himself.

So…yeah. We have our third Gym Badge now, we've dealt with the immediate PULSE threats, Borealis is…yeah, Victoria is freed, and now Shelly is doing sorta better. There's still the matter of Heather, but besides that, I'm not sure what'll happen next or even where the next Gym is gonna be. I guess we'll see once we get this chapter started and defeat Cain.

*CW: child abuse, drug mention

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5*

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8*

Part 9*

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14

Part 15

Part 16

Part 17

Part 18

Part 19

Part 20

[leeminkifanblr]

Arena(may '24) Full Interview

(google translate)

Have you been hiking hard lately? You also visited Mount Kinabalu in Malaysia. I also went hiking when I was in my 20s. But I didn't think it was fun at the time. I didn’t even feel the need to exercise. The actor was also stubborn about whether his natural body suited him rather than artificially increasing his muscles. Then, last year, I went to the mountains with my friends, and it didn't feel the same as I used to.

The mountains won't change, so the people will probably change. This time I went to Bukhansan Mountain, and although it wasn't anything special, it felt like an adventure. When I got to the top, I felt refreshed. It feels different from just sweating, being out of breath, and feeling rewarded. Now I often go to the mountains alone.

Are there any mountains you plan to climb this year? Even if it’s not this year, there is a mountain I definitely want to visit at least once. Kilimanjaro and Everest. I have no desire to climb to the top. I just want to go to that mountain.

Even though it was 11 years ago, I still watch <Temperature of Love> whenever I want to forget it. Are there any differences you feel when comparing then and now? I don't know if it's better or worse, but I think I treat acting as a job now more than I did back then.

I must have already been an actor for nearly 10 years back then, but it seems different now. Should I call it a goal rather than a job? 'I need to change myself a little more. Something raw that I don’t even know has to come out. At that time, I felt pressure to create something new with this role. Nowadays, there are quite a lot of characters that have been played in that way. Let's collect those characters in their own rooms and take them out whenever we need them.

It will definitely be helpful when preparing for a new character. Yes. When you take on a new role, first think about two things. Does this guy look like someone you played before? Then, first, bring out the characteristics of the character you played and apply them. At the same time, be careful not to repeat it.

I thought that if Yeom Chang-hee from <My Liberation Journal> were to date, she would be exactly like Lee Dong-hee from <Temperature of Love>. In fact, when filming <My Liberation Journal>, the director and writer asked, 'I hope Chang-hee is in a similar emotional state to Dong-hee in <Temperature of Love>.' There are definitely some similarities between Changhee and Donghee. Usually men. He's definitely someone we'd like to see around us.

In that respect, was it easier for you to play Yeom Chang-hee? That wasn't necessarily true. A lot of time has passed, and I have also changed since I played Dong-hee. I went to the filming set prepared in my own way for the Changhee I think of now, and even had to re-film one scene.

Did you hear from the director about the reason for reshooting? When I saw it, I thought, ‘This is Changhee-like enough.’ But the director said he wanted Changhee to be more humane. If she is immature, she is also immature. I wish she were just a young office worker living in Sanpo. The character you are currently playing, Changhee, also has appearances in <Beauty Inside> and <Because This is My First Life>. I can feel the depth of my heart so much. Even if my true feelings are deep, I hope they are not revealed on the outside. Changhee is not someone who pretends to have deep feelings on the outside. You said that.

As you said, Yeom Chang-hee is a guy you would see on the street right now. Is acting like that technically more difficult? Technically, all roles are difficult. However, it wasn’t difficult to write emotions during <Temperature of Entertainment>. I've never been in a relationship like Dong-hee, fighting with her girlfriend as stubbornly as I did. But I’ve experienced those feelings with my friends too. I think this is a common feeling in our human lives. I haven't had the same experience, but it was a completely understandable feeling.

There may have been times when it was behavior that I understood but could not agree with.

There was that part too. When filming <Temperature of Love>, I asked the director. “Isn’t this guy trash? Anyway, I don’t think it would go this far, right?” I said, “It’s because you didn’t do that, they say there are people like this.” “Why are you driving Donghee like this?” I asked back. I was only looking at the situation from my role. When I thought about it carefully, I thought, ‘This movie will be viewed through Young-i’s emotions rather than Dong-hee’s.’ So, I understood it. Regardless of my thoughts, it is important to act in accordance with the direction the work wants to show.

I don’t think actors will cry after watching their scenes. Do you ever cry while reading a script? I don't often cry. There are times when I feel sad and upset.

Are there any works like that? There were also <Beauty Inside> and <Because This is My First Life>. In works where human emotions are intertwined and intersect, there are moments that make you cry. If I get emotional while reading a script, I don't look at it much after that. The more you read the script, the better, but I think that if you keep watching those scenes, your emotions will wear out. I thought it would be very disappointing if I went to the scene with worn out emotions.

It is important to use emotions sparingly. that's right. If I read the script and think, ‘This place must be sad,’ I save it and look at it right before filming.

You played the role of detective Cha Yeon-ho in the upcoming drama <Crash>. He also played detective ‘Jang-yeol Moon’ in his previous drama <Hip-Hope>. He must have felt that much pressure to show a new acting style.

Although the occupation is the same, the two characters have completely different personalities, so I had no worries. There were difficulties. When I first received the <Crash> script, I was filming another project. The role didn't really catch my eye. Surprisingly, I read the script for <Crash> two days after the original filming ended, and it started to click. Playing a character is ultimately about meeting people. I think I can act immersed when I put my mind fully into one aspect.

While playing Cha Yeon-ho, was there a point where you thought, ‘I wish I looked like this kind of person?’ Yeonho is a detective, but he's a nerd. He searched for the image that comes to mind when he thinks ‘nerd.’ Then he read an article and the conclusion was this. The essence of nerdiness lies in its harmlessness. When we say ‘nerd me’, we use ‘mi’. In fact, revealing too much of his personality would actually cause harm, but then Cha Yeon-ho should be a harmless person. I started working on the character focusing on that.

Are there actually any similarities between Cha Yeon-ho and his natural counterpart Lee Min-ki?

I often get asked which of the characters I've played has the most similar personality. Whenever that happens, I tell them about my most recent role, whether it was before or now. However, the degree of resemblance is becoming less and less. In the past, when a work was finished, the residue left behind by that role was really big. As the characters I play accumulate, the impact gradually decreases.

Although you have been acting for nearly 20 years, I heard that you never decided from the beginning, ‘I want to become an actor.’ So, when is the moment when you think, ‘Ah, I did a good job becoming an actor’? I think it's these days. As I began to fully accept acting as a career, I realized, ‘It’s a good thing I became an actor.’ Even when I was 30, I wondered, ‘Could this be my career?’ Even though I’ve already been acting for nearly 10 years. Now, I am grateful that I have the roots to say to myself, ‘Being an actor is my profession.’

I was already an actor for 10 years 10 years ago, so why didn't I think of that back then? I was anxious. It's still the same now, but I don't know how long I can act. For each piece, I ask myself, ‘Can I do it? 'Isn't this a role I haven't played?' Because my thoughts were ahead of the curve. At the same time, I thought, ‘What kind of actor am I if I can’t even play this role? Then I will end here. So, I thought, ‘Let’s do it without any regrets.’ Thanks to that, my filmography has become relatively diverse. I may have played the role better than other actors, but I didn't let go of the work for quite a long time. Based on the work I have accumulated so far, I can call myself an actor. As I developed this mindset, I began to like my work more.

I have participated in many works so far, but I think there is one that was a turning point in my acting career. The first is <Taereung Athletes’ Village>. Until then, I thought, ‘I’m on TV. 'How did I end up on TV?' If that was my intention, from <Taereung Athletes’ Village>, I thought, ‘I need to act, not just appear on TV.’ The second is <Monster>. Because I experienced, ‘I can play this role.’ Have I expanded the limits of how I see myself as an actor? This is a work that made me think that I could now cast myself in unfamiliar roles. If someone sees my potential and entrusts me with it, I have the courage to give it a try rather than doubting it.

Do you have a favorite line of yours? This is a line that appeared in <Temperature of Love>. It wasn't originally in the script, but the director wrote it on the day of filming. I said, “Hey! “It is liberation!” There is a scene where he just screams. Actually, Donghee at that time, Changhee in <My Liberation Journal> a long time later, and even me now know that there is no liberation. (Laughs) There is no real liberation, but everyone keeps doing something to feel a sense of liberation even for a moment. Then, once liberation comes, people want stability again. Ultimately, stability is a feeling that must be contained somewhere to be felt. Then I want to be liberated again. The cycle just keeps repeating itself. Now that I am being interviewed, that line comes to mind.

Just like when a relationship ends, you may feel like you learn something every time you finish a work. Yes. There are times when I say, ‘I learned a lot from this work.’ There are times when you give comfort to others by doing things that Lee Min-ki, a natural person, would not have done. Even if it's acting. There are definitely things I learn when I try to approach characters who are better than me as a person.

Have you ever actually had a moment where you thought, ‘I’ve grown up’? When I was filming the drama <Dalja's Spring>, my sister who appeared with me suddenly said that. "Come on? “Why have you become so mannered?” I asked what he meant and he said I was holding the door open. “Don’t I usually do this?” I asked, “Where do you find something like that?” He said. I also heard that actors need to be good at meeting their roles. (Laughs)

There is a question I always ask people who are good at acting. How can I become good at acting? I don't know either. Isn't it the last thing I do to compromise with myself? At that time, I think I will be able to get closer to my role.

I think he would be a good actor if he could play both really nasty people and really evil people. In that respect, I think Lee Min-ki is a good actor. What kind of actor do you think is a ‘good actor’? An actor who is not uncomfortable in any work. That happens sometimes. He's really good at acting, but that person is especially visible in the work. There are times when that feels uncomfortable. I think a good actor is an actor who acts like someone who 'would just be there' no matter what role he appears in or in any work.

When I looked at your filmography, I saw that you had all leading roles except for special appearances. It seems like you may have some burdens or concerns as a result. First of all, as a lead actor, it would be nice to be able to create a friendly atmosphere on set. No one can know the final result, but as someone whose name is on the credits, I feel a sense of responsibility for the work to do well. When I was young, I think I had more fear than responsibility. 'I? 'The main character?' That way.

Responsibility and fear are different.

So when I was first offered the lead role, I said no. As I said before, I had a lot of thoughts about what kind of acting I was doing. The company representative said that at that time. “Like you said, what kind of actor are you anyway? If you try it this time and it doesn't work, you can just don't do it. If you are not prepared to be an actor anyway, why are you greedy for more? “Everyone is saying that they will trust you and make you the main character, but you should just believe in it and give it a try.” That's how I started, but as I worked on the project again, the moment came when I had to do well, so I was afraid again. Now, it's natural that I have to do well, and although I don't know, I have a sense of responsibility that I hope the results will lead in a good direction.

I think there are acting that I can do well right now and acting that I would like to try in the future. Actually, every role is a challenge. It's a challenge to play the role of a detective again after the role of a detective. Can I play the detective completely differently than last time? I'm not someone else? I think about it and try new things. Of course, when it comes to roles you haven’t played before, you might think, ‘Can I do this too? I challenge myself by saying, ‘Let’s give it a try.’ However, there are roles where you say, ‘I really can’t do this.’

Q: Can I ask what that role for you is? A: There are a few. If I had to name just one thing, it would be a dancing role. I tried dancing once, but it really didn't work out. Usually, ‘You really just need to grind the bones. There is nothing that cannot be done. Me? You make up your mind that you'll just live at a dance academy whether it's for six months or a year. But you can't really dance. (Laughs)

Q: Everyone wants to be a successful person. By my standards, the actor is also a successful person. Are there any criteria for success? A: Tilda Swinton once said this in an interview. She said, 'I think success is when you don't have to leave yourself out the door. Feeling like you can take care of yourself. You are successful when you don't have to cover yourself or disguise yourself as someone else.' Each person has an innate tendency. Every time you encounter someone or society with different tendencies, you will feel resistance. Because we will all endure it and try to become good people. If you are someone who can reveal yourself as you are without putting on a disguise every time that happens, you will be a successful person. I wish I could do that too.

What kind of person do you want to be in the future? I want to be a normal person who pays the price. My age passes in my own time, but the price of age is something that society demands. Ultimately, I want to become an actor and person who plays roles appropriate to my age.

A passage from a book that Lee Min-ki read and took notes on

"The Reality Bubble", Jiya Tong : 'I thought about how strange it was to think that one could own something like a baobab tree. I can own a life that will live 2000 years longer than me? Compared to the baobab, I am nothing more than a mayfly. At that moment, the idea that a tree like this could be mine seemed truly absurd.'

"The Power of the Dog", Don Winslow : 'The real problem is finding a way to live decently in an unprincipled world. 'This damn war.'

"A Thousand Blues", Cheon Seon-ran : 'Frustration, trials, sadness, all the words you know were all a thousand blues.'

"The Invisible Man" , Seong Seok-je : ‘Dying is never easy. Living is rather easy. I've never given up.'

"The Good Earth", Pearl Buck : 'I thought about how faithful she had been to him. There, without her, he cried alone against the scorched wall.'

CREDIT INFO

Editor: Hyunwook Joo

Photography: Youngjun Kim

Stylist: Nam Joo-hee, Jeong Ki-bin (Zeros & Ones)

Hair:Jeong Seon-i

Make-up: Eunjoo Oh

[existentialmagazine]

Review: The four piece Camens are back with yet another anthemic indie-rock hit ‘Cynical’, delivering an arena-filling explosion of sound

The four-piece Camens have been redefining indie-rock ever since stepping foot on the scene in 2017, delivering hit after hit with singles ‘Poltergeist’, ‘I Concede To Worrying’, ‘Jacket Weather’ and ‘On The Walk From The Picturehouse.’ As they keep pushing out new anthemic eruptions of energy, their latest single ‘Cynical’ fits right into the mix, a new flavour of never-ending contagious sound.

Everything about ‘Cynical’ is loud, in-your-face and brutally honest, an explosion of bottled-up emotions that have beyond reached their limits, a patchwork of everything from longing to a broken heart while never quite knowing where they stand in the middle of an emotional hurricane. Their staple dripping charisma is an apparent contrast to this pain right from pressing play though, flowing around a vibrant electric guitar riff, bass twangs, thumping drums and their vocalist’s powerful performance doused in a light raspy undertone, smothering these uncertain feelings in a groove that makes you want to let it go and sing along.

This thunderous performance does nothing but grow the longer you listen, evolving in confidence before slamming an absolute blaze of ferocity your way in the form of one emotionally-infused chorus ignition. Pushing their vocalist into a more harshly sung higher range, this outburst is complemented by frenzied drums and vigorous guitar strums, losing sight of the verses’ optimistic intricate layers of colour and instead boldly bearing the most unfiltered of thoughts. Let free with shredded guitar, momentum building drum pauses and gravelly pushed vocals, ‘Cynical’ is finally audacious enough to speak freely, rejoicing in coming clean without a front to hide all their boiling fears.

Though sonically Camens always know how to keep it outrageously bombastic, their lyrics bring it back to their heart and soul as per usual, pouring meaning behind every impassioned line sung. Caught up in the changed behaviours of a partner, ‘Cynical’ seems to be anxiously lingering on smaller details with an internal sense of dread, connoting their lover’s differing actions to a change of heart: ‘side by side we’ll sit in silence, all night long. If you’ve got something to say, just say it, these awkward silences just won’t do.’ With a title that’s self-aware of their distrusting nature, ‘Cynical’ cannot help but feel absolutely torn in two, witnessing the loss of safety and ease in their relationship through a newfound lack of conversing. Now stuck in a normality that’s nothing more than silence, awkwardness and growing distance, this single is always second-guessing between the love in their heart or the building evidence in their head, remembering past experiences that have simmered the same ways.

Continuing ‘if you’ve got somebody else just tell me, if you’re in love with somebody who thinks that love seems a lot like it’s not the grown up thing to do’ , Camens jump right to the worst-case-scenario of it all. As they’re left on the brink after a trail of smaller discrepancies, their cynical mindset can’t help but assume the worst, still traumatised by lovers that have been and gone. There’s so much residual fear too, containing all of these doubts far out of reach from their partner, avoiding an acknowledgement perhaps due to the lack of preparation they to be told it’s indisputably true. That’s not to say their assumptions are far off, in some ways deep-down knowing they’re right, and yet still hoping for it to all be an unfruitful suspicion as they lay out their cards and analyse it once and for all.

Though penned as more of a typical breakup song derived from a love fizzled out, the beauty of ‘Cynical’ is that it connotes so much more than that. As Camens look to explore a slow drifting apart on sofas and at dinner tables, they also portray so much multifaceted potential for it to be more as ‘Cynical’ finds itself relating just as much to anyone with engrained insecurites that leaves them second guessing, shining a light on picking apart the fine print and assuming the worst even when a relationship is nowhere near rocky waters.

Whether you’re hear to loudly sing-along post-breakup or just always feeling that lack of security in your own, you’ll find a sense of comfort in the absolute banger that is ‘Cynical’, that you can listen to for yourself here!

Written by: Tatiana Whybrow

Photo Credits: Unknown

// This coverage was supported and created via Musosoup, #SustainableCurator.

[gffa]

OKAY, I WILL DO MY BEST HERE, but it’s one of those cases where there’s A LOT of information and NOT A LOT of information at the same time!  We have a bunch of details and some good general ideas, but it’s not like it was a set-in-stone process, so there’s plenty of wiggle room if you want it. The Inquisitorius was started in 19 BBY, the same year as the fall of the Republic and the genocide of the Jedi, but seems to have been officially started after the Purge happened.  Sidious had been planning something like the  Inquisitorius for a long time, but this specific version of them wasn’t necessarily always the only version in development. The Inquisitors are all fallen Jedi, presumably ones that were captured by the Empire and tortured into becoming dark siders.  Several of them have mentioned that they were former Jedi, but the only one we’ve seen the process of is Trilla Suduri, who we saw being tortured for a very long time in Jedi: Fallen Order.  (Link of the relevant scenes here.  Warning:  It can be a bit of a tough watch, Trilla is physically tortured and some of it you see from her perspective, as the electricity is jolted into her body, which can be kinda disturbing.)  So, in theory, it’s possible that some of them fell on their own and agreed to join, but the one explicit example we have is where she was tortured into it and, while Cal is walking around their fortress, he talks about how multiple Jedi were broken there. (For another example, Prosset Dibs is a Jedi we saw falling to the dark in the Mace Windu: Jedi of the Republic comic, so he may have willingly joined or he may have healed while he was working in the Jedi Archives but not all the way and still had to be tortured into joining.) The Inquisitors are under the direct supervision of Darth Vader (after he’d discovered the program, he was put in charge of it), who trains them incredibly harshly--in Darth Vader: Dark Lord of the Sith, he’s shown cutting an arm off one of them and basically telling them to suck it up and keep fighting, to remember what loss feels like.

Sometimes they’d work with Darth Vader (the Grand Inquisitor went to the Jedi Temple in 19 BBY with Vader, where they confronted Jocasta Nu, the Ninth Sister went with Vader on a mission to investigate a possible Jedi sighting on Cabarria, Vader took them with when he went to kill Eeth Koth and kidnap his baby daughter, Vader had them with when he went to Mon Cala to confront Lee-Char, etc.), sometimes they operated separately from each other (all the times in Rebels or Jedi: Fallen Order that Kanan, Ezra, or Cal faced them when Vader wasn’t around, etc.), probably based on whatever Vader felt like or whatever Sidious felt like on a given day. The Inquisitorius as a group seem to have some degree of command over Purge Troopers, as they would often be seen leading a group of them (this happened often in Jedi: Fallen Order especially) and they could commandeer military assets (or probably civilian assets as well) if they needed to, so they had a certain amount of leeway when it came to their missions--so long as they didn’t piss off Vader or Sidious. Their main goals were to hunt down any Force-sensitives in the galaxy, whether newly discovered Force-sensitive children, former Jedi (whether they had left the Jedi Order or were Jedi in hiding, it didn’t matter), or even Force-sensitive adults who had never been trained by the Jedi.  They would turn them if they could, but otherwise it was to kill anyone who might possibly be a Force-related threat of any kind.  (What this means for planets like the Bardottens, they’ve never said.) They were greatly successful at their missions, so they wound up killing a great number of Jedi who had made it into hiding, along with Darth Vader being one of the biggest reasons the Jedi were mostly entirely gone by the time of the OT, which was helped along by Vader training the Jedi style out of them.  Part of why he was so harsh to them (including cutting off limbs, etc.) was to force them to be more aggressive and less defensive, to be sharp and quick and fast to overpower Jedi, who were used to a different type of fight. They still had unique talents (as all Force-sensitives are not the same), like Ninth Sister had a great talent for reading emotions (including Vader’s, where she could sense how much he wanted to die),

As well as they weren’t actually Sith.  Only Sidious, Vader, and Maul were Sith, the Inquisitors were dark siders or fallen Jedi or possibly a category unto themselves. They have some sort of headquarters, as seen in Darth Vader: Dark Lord of the Sith, where Vader is seen training them in issue #6 (same scene as above where he cuts off their hands or lightsabers their eye out), which is labelled as being on Coruscant, somewhere in The Works in the Industrial District:

There’s a training arena we see there and at least some sort of communication/strategy rooms that Vader and the Grand Inquisitor walk off into, while they discuss the other Inquisitors. Which means it’s a pretty big complex/building, but (according to Wookieepedia and I’ll trust them on this, instead of digging out my copies of the Complete Vehicles and Complete Locations book), it was a building of Sidious’ that he used as a hideout during the Clone Wars. To what extent Vader and the Inquisitorius took it over (whether they just had a few rooms or the entire skyscraper), I don’t think we know?

Later, in issue #20, we see there’s some sort of break room that Vader storms in on, when he returns to Coruscant, that the Inquisitors were sitting around and hanging out in:

From there, it would be reasonable to extrapolate that this was a base for their operations, the place they returned to after they came back from wherever they’d been sent, possibly even this is where they slept and ate and were sheltered in between missions.  But that’s just reasonable conjecture, not hard canon! There is also Fortress Inquisitorius from Jedi: Fallen Order and it’s primary use was that it was where they took the Jedi they were torturing into becoming Inquisitors.  I wouldn’t say it’s an academy, per se, but it was a place that they likely used as a headquarters. In issue #20 of Darth Vader: Dark Lord of the Sith, two of the Inquisitors rebel against Vader and he winds up chasing them down and cutting a huge swath of destruction in his path (LOL @ ANAKIN), which Sidious is not exactly pleased about.  He says that he’s going to move the Inquisitorious off Coruscant to another world so this won’t happen again:

The comic was written in 2018 and Jedi: Fallen Order came out about 11 months later in 2019, so the above isn’t necessarily directly referring to that the Inquisitorious were moved to Fortress Inquisitorious on the moon Nur, but it’s also a very reasonable (and probably likely) assumption. We don’t have an exact timeline for when this issue takes place, but it’s minimum three years after Revenge of the Sith (the Mon Cala arc earlier in the comic is set three years post-ROTS), so probably around 15 or 14 BBY.   However, Trilla seems to have been kidnapped much closer to Order 66, so it’s likely that Fortress Inquisitorius existed long before Order 66 happened, it was used to torture Jedi once their genocide happened, but it wasn’t the Inquisitor’s HQ until several years later. We don’t see a lot of Fortress Inquisitorious, the limited amount of areas you can play through it in Jedi: Fallen Order don’t tell you a ton about what goes on there, but it’s a pretty huge underwater skyscraper sized building and you do see several prison cells and at least one training dojo.

The galaxy at large didn’t know about Fortress Inquisitorious on the water moon of Nur or even the majority of the Empire itself didn’t know about it, it was a heavily kept secret. This is where Trilla and the other Jedi were taken, tortured, and forced into becoming Inquisitors and it’s likely that’s where the Inquisitors were based after the shitshow on Coruscant.  It’s a big enough building that it’s likely to have pretty much whatever kind of stuff your clubhouse needs for the Inquisitors!  But we don’t have much hard canon about it, no. As for the Inquisitors themselves, they’re complicated--some of them seemed almost loyal to each other, they would work together at times or even seem to avenge each other, but other times they would sneer at each other or mock each other, it seemed like they had a lot of shifting dynamics and probably a lot of it was fear at trying to survive being around Darth Vader. We don’t know for sure how many there specifically are or if, when one of them dies, they’re replaced by another, but it seems like there were at least twelve Inquisitors and we’ve never seen them be replaced, which I think implies that they were only ever meant to be a temporary measure and would be disposed of, as soon as Sidious knew all the Jedi were dead for sure/he could raise a new group of Force-sensitive children from birth. ANYWAY YOU SEE WHAT I MEAN:  LOTS OF INFO BUT NOT A LOT OF INFO.  😂

[subdee]

I really like your post about tsubone and illumi’s needle, it gave a lot of insight. I don’t know how much of this comes from the manga and what they manufactured for the anime, but to me it’s always seemed like Silva let Illumi control Killua chiefly to make sure he wouldn’t free Alluka. Idk, maybe he’s stricter in the manga but in the anime Silva lets him leave home for two years to train at heavens arena, and ultimately lets gon take him away from home. Now that I’m thinking about it though he might’ve been playing the long game and thought it would benefit to give Killua some pieces of freedom.

Hey thanks for the ask! It's been a while since I've gotten one but I enjoy answering them :D

Actually the (2011) anime and the manga are pretty similar, so it's not really any different in the manga... Silva seems lenient, and Killua seems to resent him less - in the beginning - than he resents his mom, who's smothering and emotional, or Illumi, who's controlling and (literally) manipulative.

But it's really playing the long game, right? Even when it comes to Alluka, Killua at first thinks his dad's position is reasonable... Illumi wants to kill her, he's the unreasonable one. But his dad just "freaks out" at her power because it's dangerous and he doesn't want the family to get hurt:

But the truth about Silva is that he's just as bad as the rest of them... he's just as manipulative as the rest of them, he's just better at it. Everything that happened to Killua happened because he decided it. He just gets the other members of the family - like Kikyo, Illumi and Milluki - to do his dirty work for him, so he can seem more reasonable and Killua won't hate him.

And that's how it works in a hierarchy, right? The head bully never gets their hands dirty directly. They just subtly encourage others. It's hard for Killua to think as badly of his father as he thinks of his mother, because in the family hierarchy, Silva has more power than she does. That's why he can badmouth his mom and Miluki - or literally attack them when he runs away from home - but it's a different story with his dad, whom Killua has only ever seen treated with respect by everyone else around him, as the head of the family.

Anyway, he eventually realizes that Silva is also a bully... here's the scene:

I think it's a big character growth moment for him to realize this, because Silva is subtle. That's my personal opinion, though, it's not really that clear (in the manga or anime), and you have to read between the lines.

BTW, a lot of fans think - and this was in @thehuntyhunties post here too - that the reason Silva/Kikyo are lenient with Killua is because they know they fucked up with their first two kids. It's kind of a Goldilocks and the Three Bears situation, they were too strict with Illumi - so he only understands "love" as an attempt to control and manipulate another person - and too lenient with Miluki, so he never developed the discipline he'd need to be a top-ranked assassin. With Killua, they try to strike a balance, and that means giving Killua more freedom than Illumi, but still monitoring him extremely closely.

Here's the scene in the manga when Silva lets Killua leave with Gon, by the way:

And then when Kikyo complains that Killua is "at the most crucial stage of his development as the next head of the family" and how could Silva just allow him to go, he says this:

It's like... DUN DUN DUN, right? Clear foreshadowing that Silva has an ulterior motive, he's not just letting Killua go because Killua asked nicely.

What I personally think is that an open conflict with Killua here would be counterproductive, Killua would just resent his family's control that much more... and maybe resent his dad, in particular. He's an a "crucial stage" in his development - the teenage rebellion stage - he'd rebel more if Silva kept him at home by force. They can't force him to be the next head of the family, not without breaking him like the broke Illumi.

And while I personally don't think Togashi had planned everything with the needle training, and Alluka's character, etc, yet at this point, we're still supposed to realize that something is up when Silva lets him go... that Silva is plotting something, he's setting Killua up. The general fan theory is he was expecting to Killua to betray Gon, and feel terrible about it, and come home.

So yeah, basically what you said... the long game XD.

EDIT: Important tags from @autumnxsunflower: