#and one of them is like 25k darkness???? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

taegularities · 9 months

Text

colour me in: seven | jjk (m)

Summary: At first, it's an argument that causes the unwanted, childish distance between Jungkook and you. And then… open blazers and a lip ring.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: est. rel.; fluff, smut ➳ warnings: an argument, cute couple-y things but also they're dorks n cringe sometimes, seven jk (incl the promo pics, laundromat hoodie bf koo, and drenched in the rain koo!!), fighting over food, they're a bit mean to each other, but they adore each other too, brief mention of a rough childhood, sexual tension, taeun being everything, kissing, dumb jokes, period and pms mention!!, a photoshoot!, subtle hints to the future of the main story :'); explicit sexual content: ahh.. making out, dirty talk, oral (f. & m. receiving), brief spanking, face-fcking, light choking, sweet and rough sex, dom jk, big dick jk, whipped simp jk, petnames, multiple orgasms, sex on the couch n on the floor? :'), he loves her a$$ and tiddies, multiple positions, cockwarming!!, mention of aftercare... the ending lol :D ➳ word count: 25k lmfaoo it's oneshot sized yall 😁 ➳ a/n: hi!! welcome back!! this is part of my series colour me in, but you can read it as a standalone-oneshot!! tysm for supporting me and encouraging me, guys, it means so so much. this is also unbeta'd, so pls go easy on me LOL. and since this was a piece of worrrrk.. come and talk to me about it, it makes my day fr fr <33 ➳ listen to: seven by jungkook | full collaborative playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

In hindsight, your argument was blissfully domestic after all. In hindsight, maybe even comedic.

You’ve seen these things on TV and read about them in novels; didn’t experience them growing up because your parents didn’t really fight over such harmless matters. They never needed to lift a finger in their ultramodern kitchen, filled with up-to-the-minute equipment to fill their table.

But Jungkook and you don’t rely on such luxuries. You do things for yourself. So, such a couple-y, casual life leads to couple-y, casual arguments. Requires it. Fighting is healthy; entangles two souls some more.

Which is exactly where you are now. Exactly what you’ve become: A true unit. Quarrelling over trivial, everyday things.

Just to end up folded in half, holding onto the very last of your sanity, biting back more inappropriate screams.

In regards of making up, you’re perhaps not that casual. Because he’s a relentless, brutal beast.

Wrecking you right where everything began.

Monday

The end of the day begins with a giant hole in the middle of your thoughts.

Your previously whirring brain tossed away all thoughts of advertisements and seasonal launches, vacant and dark until your senses shut down everything that wasn’t vital to survival.

Like the lights of the evening as your car passed the streetlamps. The tired faces on the pedestrian zone, the odd wrinkles in your skirt, or the scent wafting from the kitchen when you step out of your heels.

Your mind operates on reflexes and automatic movements; the ball of your palm rubs against your eyelid, realising too late that you’re probably smearing your eyeliner.

A sense of reality only truly returns when you hear a familiar voice call out your name, muffled through the walls between you.

You exit the bedroom with fingers scratching the nape of your neck, tiny steps floating over the floor and past the living room. On the coffee table, you register one or two dishes. Rice, too. Smells so good, but…

As you reach him in the kitchen, you halt at the threshold, eyes scurrying to the few pots and ladles in the sink. He’s diligent and fast; cleans up when dinner simmers. Minimal work left after the meal.

For a moment, you take in the cleanliness of the kitchen, and when your eyes move up to the man himself, you beam.

He’s wearing an apron – baby blue with little flowers and rainbows imprinted on it. His mom bequeathed him with one of her old ones, and he’s been boasting about it ever since.

You saw one with astronauts, moons and telescopes once; you might purchase it for him at some point, not least of all because it includes all the things the two of you love.

A tattooed hand pushes back his mane, messy and pointing in all directions the way it does after his showers. His fingers card through the fine tresses two more times before he turns towards you — an immediate smile, similar to yours, spreads across his face.

The tiny little dimples over the corners of his mouth distract you for a second until you see his hand at waist level, beckoning you into the kitchen and a greeting, sweet embrace.

Compared to the cold outside, his oversized, full-sleeve, white shirt offers a familiar warmth. He always smells the same, musky and fresh; not like cherry blossoms at all, but he reminds you of their softness.

Mixed with the scent of tonight’s meal, you inhale it all, wrapping your arms around him as your eyes close in exhaustion. If he wasn’t swaying you in his hold, you’d probably fall asleep, right there against his chest.

A kiss to your temple, and he asks, “Hungry?”

You’re not sure. You cuddle into the apron and whatever’s visible of his shirt, and mumble against him, “Not too much… to be honest, I was gonna shower and sleep.”

“Oh?” he wonders immediately, traces of disappointment in his voice. “But I made this for you.”

You smile again. “You did?”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll eat, don’t you worry.” You take a deep breath, and then lift your head off his chest without letting go. “In all honesty. I saw the food outside and thought you had it delivered.”

“So you were gonna waste something you thought was restaurant food?”

You laugh. You’re sure you could see his rosy pout even if you weren’t looking straight at him.

“No. It just looks very good… I would’ve heated it up tomorrow. But since yours was a one-person-effort,” you pat his back in pride, watching as strands of his bangs fall back into his eyes, “we shall eat.”

“And it comes from the heart, too.”

“Right. It comes from the heart, too.”

You rub his back once, soon backing away. There isn’t much to do for you anymore, but you still grab a couple napkins, chopsticks and spoons as he carries some water into the living room.

The couch feels soft, true Heaven, when you sink into it. Your heartbeat slows down, your mind at ease; when you tilt your head, your neck cracks.

But clinking your glasses of water with someone who cherishes you enough to step back and forth in a kitchen for hours… It's a comfort that’s incredibly close to a peaceful night’s sleep.

And it’s worth the effort, too. Despite the conversation and your complaints about work, you can’t help but compliment dinner every other moment. Possibly another endearing habit you picked up from him.

But you slow down when fatigue returns bit by bit, your eye twitching when you feel a well-known tickling in it.

You’re careful of potential spices when you lift your thumb and rub your eye with the back of it, fighting the itch. For a moment, you stop chewing, and Jungkook only lifts his gaze to you when the movement against your eye continues, circling motions.

“Hey,” he says, grasping your wrist, pulling it down slowly, “that’s bad for the cornea.”

“Yeah, I mean. It’s not like my cornea's been nice to me, either.”

You resume chewing, swallowing the mushy remnants of the rice. Your attention falls back to the bowl of food, and your chopsticks aimlessly poke around for a second before he asks, “Why? You okay?”

“Mhm,” you say, nodding gently. “It’s just,” you point to your eyes, chopsticks dangerously close to your face, “that eye thing. It might be an infection or something. It’s so bad today that it’s hurting my head.”

You’ve complained about the issue a couple times — back when it was just an itch, you assumed it was the dusty town, perhaps even sleep deprivation. But the itch has transformed into a relentless pain, moving up your temples and across your forehead.

“Again, yeah?” Jungkook asks, following with a tender gesture of tucking your hair back. The pad of his thumb brushes over your eyebrow. “I’ll massage your head before we go to sleep.”

You sigh in relief, tired eyelids shutting briefly as you claim, “You’re the fucking best, you know?”

“Yeah.” He delivers a nonchalant, drama-esque shrug of his shoulder. Unmistakable smirk. “I guess I do know.”

The giggles from when you started dating still remain. You remember annoying the hell out of your friends back then, high school butterflies visible through your stomachs and in your bright grins.

Jungkook’s ears would redden, a smile even in your eyes. You can imagine how irritating the honeymoon phase felt to them — not that the two of you ever snapped out of it.

Even now, you’re drowning in it.

Well, until you’re not.

Because the moment he slings his arm around you, leaning back, his plate and bowl empty, you move forwards. Place your own dishes onto the table, cuddling further into him.

Only, he seems to interpret it differently.

“Aren’t you eating anymore?”

Not the message you intended to deliver. But perhaps… he’s not wrong after all.

Because…

While the evening ended on a gentle note, much needed, you’re done with today by now. Craving a warm bed, strong arms around you. A sweet, soft sleep.

And the meal is worth a thousand culinary stars, but your appetite keeps dwindling, and hadn’t he put so much effort and affection into all this, you would’ve probably headed straight to bed.

So you answer truthfully, “I can’t eat more…”

“Hmm.” He briefly points to your portion. “You just ate half of it.”

Brief silence. It must’ve gotten late, because among the quieter traffic on the main road afar, you hear a couple nightlife bugs chirping, too.

You look between the bowl and him slowly, blinking, unsure what to say. The arm around your shoulder doesn’t match his tone, so it feels a little awkward now.

You mutter, “I’m sorry.”

Because should you force yourself to scarf all of this down now, you probably won’t be able to sleep.

But Jungkook’s hums and insecure voice are making you feel bad — you know he doesn’t mean to. It’s the puppy-doe nature, a combination of forlorn, soft eyes and pouty words.

“Ah… It’ll go bad by tomorrow, but…” he starts, but you cut in—

“Fridge?”

An immediate shake of his head, a click of his tongue. “Not with that one. I mean, we could, but it’s gonna be all dry and unpalatable in the morning, y’know?”

You don’t fully have a right to be annoyed. Neither of you does. But the day’s been irksome, work a mess, paper sheets flying around — on top of that, you finished your blister pack of birth control last Friday.

The period, probably approaching tomorrow and meddling with your busy schedule, is already putting you in a sour mood.

So the current lack of a solution doesn’t help your drooping eyelids and still partly tumultuous mind.

You push yourself forward on the couch, sighing before you suggest, “Okay. Then I’ll eat.”

“Woah,” he immediately voices, dropping his arm. He attempts to pull the bowl out of your reach, but you grip it tight, swallowing a small bite of rice. “I’m not forcing you to.”

“Yeah, but still.”

Another sigh of frustration falls out of you, your full stomach crying, but you pull the bowl to you, another bite ready between your chopsticks. But a moment later, Jungkook pushes your hand down again, every rice corn falling back to its prior place, fortunately never leaving the bowl.

Unbelieving, you shoot an aghast glare at him, to which he responds, “Don’t force it. Seriously.”

A rice corn still sticks to your lower lip, and you pull it in with the tip of your tongue. You place the warm meal back onto the table, half turning to Jungkook, voicing an irritated, “Dude!”

“You don’t have to,” he assures, but he looks clearly offended. Looks away, rubs his thigh, eyeing every object on the table before he adds quieter than before, “You know… That’s happened a couple times in the last few weeks.”

“…What did?”

“I’d cook for you and you wouldn’t finish it.”

“Babe… The last few weeks have been tiring.”

“I know,” his voice grows higher at the end of the syllable, but then calms again after a sigh. “But we refrigerated a lot of stuff, some of which I shared with Joon or Tae the next day. Or threw away.”

“Nah.” The ridiculing smirk you respond with isn’t intentional. You drop it right away, but still shake your head in disbelief, defending, “You know I eat up most of the time, especially when you cook. Just today, I can’t do more than this, okay?”

He gulps. Two fingers scratch his ear, eyes once again skimming over empty plates or remnant-filled bowls. He drops his digits back to his thighs, rubbing once more, and then puffs out a breath between rounded lips before he comes to a stand.

And then, all he does is nod; shooting a simple, “Alright.”

His tone is stern. You recognise the expression — his eyes still big, but different now. Usually filled with warm sparkles, they look pissed now. Not because of his dropping lids or the missing crinkles.

Jungkook doesn’t need to move a lot of muscles to look angry; the lack of the glimmer is just enough.

His lips are shut, not parted as they usually are when he focuses on something like his art or cooking or cleaning up. He’s exhaling and inhaling deeply through his nose, hands working on the dishes, but the fall and rise of his chest…

“You’re mad,” you conclude.

He looks back at you, the corners of his mouth never moving. His tone remains flat as he tries to convince you, “No. All good.”

Straightening his back, he attempts to walk away, hiding away in the kitchen until you’ve fallen asleep. He and you don’t argue too much — the little, couple-y, casual fights aren’t quite fights at all.

But they do end with a short distance until one is ready to approach the other and communicate again. A good strategy to cool your minds. You wouldn’t wanna discuss such a thing right away.

This time, however, you don’t want him to leave.

You pull him back again, holding onto the cotton shirt, and he protests with a loud call of your name and furrowed eyebrows as you insist, “No, you are mad.”

Your hand pushes against the couch, your body lifting, and you look him in the eye with a frustrated crease between your eyebrows. “Kook, I just am not capable of finishing it right now. You’re making a bigger deal out of it than you sho—”

“Yeah. Okay,” he interrupts, feigning acceptance and understanding, “it’s fine.” You scoff; sometimes, he’s truly as moody as you. “Things are different here, it’s fine.”

…What?

The sentence nearly comes out as a whisper as he finally starts walking away, and you only register it when he’s halfway out of the room. He balances the dishes in both hands, and you follow him to the kitchen.

Ask, “What’s different? Where’s here?”

“I work, too, you know? I get tired, too.”

“Jungkook,” you try again, slamming the hand against the counter; the sound’s muffled by a bright green cleaning cloth. “What are you talking about, things are different here?”

“Just.” He doesn’t seem to wanna talk. Carefully, he places the empty stuff in the wash basin, working on finding containers to dump the leftovers in them. “I get tired from working in the city, too, but I guess I grew up differently.”

…Huh.

You wait.

Let him collect his thoughts until he tells you, “In the countryside, you work for food, so you get used to finishing dinner. I know people around here rely on supermarkets, and honestly, I do, too,” his shoulders rise as he shovels the tofu dish into a box, “and I guess that’s why it makes sense why it’s easier for you to leave leftovers.”

Wow. Some statements in this world you live in are genuinely unfair.

You understood each of his words and lectures perfectly, but you still voice a little, “Huh?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re not being serious.”

“Maybe.”

You blink. Then blink a couple times more. Observe as he closes the boxes and puts them in the fridge with a sigh. And you feel bad, you swear, you do. But that unnecessary turn of events…

“So what, you mean we don’t work for our food, right?” you counter, a hand on your waist. “We might do less physical labour, so that must mean we don’t appreciate what we get, yeah?”

Damn. And what if there’s more to that? What if—

“Or do you think it’s because I’ve always had enough money to not worry?”

Okay. Perhaps a long shot. He didn’t say it, but what if that’s exactly what his thought process was, too?

Your inner panic, invisible on the outside, grows when he doesn’t answer, lips firmly locked as if they didn’t just spew some crisp bullshit. You fold your arms, sucking air through your nose, and then demand, “Apologise.”

And when his eyes lift to yours, you freeze. God, they’re deadly. And his ingenuine laugh even more so as he throws back, “No, you apologise. Especially for assuming things I neither said nor thought of.”

“You were rude. I’m asking you nicely to take it back.”

“As nicely as I cooked for you. World’s in balance again, I guess!”

He throws his hands up, staring at you until he’s passed you by, eyes rolling. His nonchalant, idle movements rile you up more, and you can’t help but participate further in that odd exchange.

“You douchebag,” you call out, shutting the bedroom door as you reach inside, “I’m not a snob. I’d always finish my stuff, you can even ask the cook in my old house. He loved me because I wasn’t a picky eat—”

“Listen,” he interjects again, “I know. It's fine. I’ll sleep,” he points to the bed, “because this tired me out. Just drop it.”

“So you can drop it as you please?”

“Nah, just asking you to rest,” the first word comes out louder than he anticipated, his shrug vexed and vexing. He clears his throat. “And I’m sure you’re tired of this, too.”

You groan.

“And if I want to—”

“It’ll just escalat—”

“Dude, I—”

And once more, he showcases his annoyance when he glares at you from the other side of the bed, shutting you up, blanket already lifted. You anticipate another rude remark, a way of justification or to blurt something he doesn’t mean.

But despite his recent idiocy, you don’t deem him an asshole. Not to you, at least. Which proves right as he takes a breather, one knee hitting the mattress as he finally states—

“Let’s sleep over it, okay?”

The tone still isn’t as peaceful as it could be; you know it’s a tactic to dodge a fight. You might not be on your best domestic side tomorrow yet. But his question is final and his gaze even stricter.

So you reluctantly sigh, eyes still fiery as you breathe, “Fine.”

But it’s not fine. And the turbulent week ahead, filled with chaos for you and peak comedy to others, might just be about to prove it to you.

Tuesday

You chew on your bites until the taste turns bland.

Still distracted from last night’s exchange, you barely register the tart spicy quality of your dinner; a shame because this restaurant is your favourite place to frequent with friends.

Today, you’re toying with your cutlery, catching a glimpse of your grim reflection in the spoon every now and then. Whenever Jungkook’s elbow touches yours, your heart skips a bit, bleeding as much as your eyes want to water.

With how he’s smiling at your friends, appetite never faltering, you could burst into tears — because somewhere inside, you miss him despite the constant proximity.

Perhaps he does, too.

Because you notice when he drifts closer on purpose, casually putting his hand over yours. Seemingly lost in conversations, he rubs his thumb against the soft back of your hand; but when you look at him, you can’t muster a smile just yet.

It’s your ego, your stubbornness. Pieces of you want to stay pissed. You keep your cool, but try to avert your eyes whenever possible.

And when you, obstinate as last night, pull your hand from under his, you register the defeated sigh.

But instead of starting a new topic, he retracts his fingers, putting his arm on his table as he busies his other digits with his meal. When you dare a glance, the pretty curves of his blooming lips tug upwards, listening to Taehyung’s story.

Either hiding the discomfort between you or not feeling it.

Odd, because he’s your constant centre of attention.

“Yeah, I mean. Every job is stressful, you know? But it’s wholesome, too,” Taehyung narrates. You blink the silent pining away, and focus. “Like, one of my patients is an elderly man, a lot weaker than his wife. And she always comes with him, every single time.”

“She just waits for him the entire time?” Jungkook asks.

Next to Taehyung, Eun nods; she’s probably heard the story before.

“I mean, she entertains us, is more like it,” Taehyung explains. “He’s been getting geriatric physiotherapy to regain some strength, so he needs all the motivation he can get. And those two are such… dorks. They bicker all the time.”

You smile. Reminds you of when Jungkook and you first met. Persistent, pointless rivalry.

Perhaps Eun hasn’t heard all of this after all. Because as she cuts her dinner, she asks before stuffing her mouth with a bite, “How so?”

“Like. She’ll tell him to not be a baby and take that last step during gait training.”

From your right, Jungkook’s laugh reverberates like a melody from above, sickeningly sweet and amused. “Sounds like me and you at the gym, doesn’t it?”

Taehyung rolls his eyes, flicking away stray hair with his forefinger, “Yeah, only because you can lift weights that’d break my arms.”

Another chuckle from the side. Even you smile a little.

Your man is strong, alright — and you’ve always admired it, experienced it a couple dozen times.

You’ve yet to see him work out at a proper gym; the home workout sessions barely count.

Ugh. The violent heartbeat beneath your chest picks up on pace again, and you take a deep breath to calm it just a little.

“Anyway,” Taehyung continues, “then she’ll tease him how the neighbour downstairs has much more flexible legs than he does and he’ll argue how she should��ve married him… and then she tells him that she would’ve if she didn’t love his old ass so much.”

When you giggle, covering your chewing mouth behind your hand, he adds, “I swear! It’s the most standard old couple banter if I’ve ever seen one. Thought that stuff only happens on TV.”

Eun, still busy with the remnants of her meal, doesn’t look up but asks, “So they joke around like that? They don’t get mad at each other or anything?”

“They act like they do. Not a sliver of jealousy or anger in them, though. Insane… and adorable. I guess when you’re married long enough, that’s how relationships turn out. And they should, too, you know?”

Hmm…

You side-eye Jungkook for just a moment, but don’t say anything.

You don’t know what’s written in your future. No clue whether he’s a permanent presence in it, a firm part of your fate or not; you strongly hope for an eternity.

You want to picture him and you grey and old. Wrinkled hands, adorned with blue veins holding each other. Weak smiles and crinkles around his eyes, hidden behind glasses, ever-present.

If he’s your future, you hope to laugh about such fights one day. Hope to let people wonder whether you’re actually furious with each other, veiling unbridled affection behind snarky remarks.

Just… right now, you can’t laugh about it just yet. You still feel oddly offended by his words last night, and it doesn’t help when tonight seems to drift towards a similar ending.

Because as you ask for the bill at the end, Jungkook still pays. You don’t think about it too hard, letting him do, staying seated to finish your drinks.

But your exhaustion reaches a new, entirely unnecessary peak when he starts cracking his fingers. On any other day, you’d put a hand over his, reminding him not to and move on.

Today, you’re in a bad mood, and your demands come out accordingly piqued.

“Stop it.”

“Hm?” he voices, looking at you, the warm light of the restaurant reflecting in his dark brown eyes.

“This,” you point to his fingers, “stop that.”

“Why?”

“Because you know it makes me cringe. A bit annoying.”

Eun, still unaware of the tension between him and you, shrugs her shoulders, “I know that irks a lot of people, but I don’t think it’s that bad.”

“Because you do it, too,” Taehyung complains; she mocks him with a sly smirk and a quiet, Yeah, yeah. He adds, “I can’t stand it, either.”

You lift an open palm towards him, nodding, “So you understand.”

“I’ve seen you do it, too,” Eun argues with a light push against his shoulder, “multiple times!”

“But not as often as you. You start and do not stop.”

You immediately agree, “He’s just like that, too!”

To which Jungkook interjects, his voice still calm; but you still hear the growing aggravation in his voice when he starts, “Honestly, I—”

“He actually has a couple habits that are just—”

You blow a raspberry.

Your interruption triggers Jungkook. And your words, admittedly not quite the sweetest, don’t sit well with him, either, because a moment later, he’s leaning forwards again. Looking at you directly before he continues his irritating bone-cracking.

You grit your teeth and repeat, “Stop that.”

“What?” he shoots back. You flinch. “A habit you despise so much, yeah? I don’t get the same intense reaction when I do something nice for you.”

So untrue.

Fucking hell. He’s talking about yesterday again.

You exhale through your nose, possibly resembling a bull ready to attack; Taehyung and Eun shrink in front of you, grimacing at each other. You’d laugh if it wasn’t you trapped in that exasperating back and forth of exchanges.

“Oops,” Eun whispers, yet overshadowed by your words as you defend, “That’s not true.”

“Maybe,” Jungkook says, shrugging a shoulder with an outrageous smirk, “but you never get that angry when I crack them at home.”

“I just don’t say it.”

“Oh? What else do you not say, hm?”

Taehyung dares an attempt, “Guys.”

But you’re too heated, a little stupid, very ridiculous as you spit, “Like, how irritating it is that you smack your lips every other second.”

Jungkook puffs out a breath. Looks to the side, straight into Eun’s direction who sinks a little more. He curls his lower lip in, running his tongue over it, jaw clenched and sharp. If you weren’t so focused on your temper, you’d find it scorching hot.

In a harmless little fight, you’d keep annoying him until he lost it eventually, mounting you and shutting you up in the very tempting Jungkook-esque way he knows.

But not here, not right now.

Instead, he fucks you up further as he sneers, “Right.”

“Or,” you continue, “that you don’t clean up your working space after painting.”

“What?” He furrows his thick eyebrows, ignoring Taehyung’s call of Jungkook’s name. “I mean. You have all your documents scattered on the desk. I might need it, too, y’know?”

“Why don’t you say it then?” you ask, tilting your head with one cocked eyebrow of yours.

“‘Cause I wanna let you work? ‘Cause it’s important for me that you’re able to focus?” He looks away again, tutting; his shoulder moves with his deriding laugh as he mumbles, “The fuck, really.”

Somewhere inside, you feel bad. You know his words are true. But you can’t tell him yet; so you just glare at him.

As silence finally falls upon you, Eun moves towards the table again, glancing between the two of you as she wonders, “What’s wrong with you guys?”

Everything.

“Nothing,” you say.

“…You wanna go?”

You wait. Jungkook doesn’t answer. Looks to the ground. When you don’t respond either, his eyes lift to yours, still big but not as enthusiastic as usual. Intimidating even.

You stay still, so he only voices, “Uh-huh.”

And the couple, enduring your awkward moment, lets you go gladly. You pack up, finishing your drink, and when you leave your table, you notice just how many people were staring at you.

Still are.

You really embarrassed yourself in front of a crowd, huh?

As the daughter of rich parents, owning a huge ass clothing brand, this isn’t something you should’ve done. But you pray and hope that you won’t wake up to a headline, or that journalists won’t interpret your little feud as a reason to break up or some nonsense like that.

Trouble in Heaven, they’d call it. Predictable little cockroaches.

You trudge past the customers with a deep breath in; Jungkook doesn’t seem to care much, because he walks ahead, hands in the pockets of his linen cotton slacks. Doesn’t look around.

Only bids Taehyung and Eun goodbye; tells you to buckle up when the two of you get in your car; curses once or twice when he misses the green light by a second.

And when you’re at home, sighing as the night approaches its end, you shake your head. Unbelievable whatever transpired back at that place. And you thought you were warming up to each other again.

Guess it’s your fault this time.

Which is why you hum when he calls your name, watching you put on your nightwear; bed ready while you still need to take off your makeup.

His question baffles you; more so with the slightly irate tone.

“Will you still give me a good night’s kiss or?”

You roll your eyes. Don’t say anything; grab your skincare products before you get to work.

He sighs once more; you see the shake of his head before you disappear into the bathroom, hear him say, “Whatever.”

But when you come out with a light rosy scent on your skin and jump under your blanket, you still shift towards his slowly drifting body. His arm under his head, eyes closed, lower lip pouting that you target carefully and—

Press the lightest kiss against.

Immediately, you turn around. Imitate his position.

He doesn’t reach out to you as he usually does, pulling you into his arms. But you still feel the petal-soft brush of tender fingers against your arm before the touch retracts again — and eventually, you fall asleep.

WEDNESDAY

The only reason Jungkook accompanied you to the laundromat is because your clothes gathered into a huge mountain. Neglecting your responsibilities at home, you brought two bags, and he insisted on helping you out.

It's late afternoon. Work tired you out, dinner is still pending; you don’t want to be here. And the place is empty; a yawning void. Just you, alone with your tank-top and grey-blue zip up hoodie clad, messy-haired boyfriend.

The retro plastic laundromat seats tired him out, so he’s standing at the far back. His eyes follow the tossing and turning of the clothes in the washing machine, and sometimes, they trail back to you.

And you — you’re sitting in a corner, arms folded, still uncertain whether you should wait for an apology or opt for one yourself.

The distance is childish. You’re way more mature than that.

But your fight is childish, too, and you guess sometimes, even healthy couples fall back into kindergarten routines.

Once the clothes are done and dry, the journey back home approaching, he helps you out. Tramps to you, mutters a little, “Gimme. I’ll take this.”

The bag strap drags his hoodie off his shoulder a little, revealing the flowery tattoo. He doesn’t fix it; lost in thoughts and silent until home. As if he wants to say something, but doesn’t.

In the apartment, he asks, “Dinner or takeout?”

And you, learning and indisputably craving his affection in any shape or form, answer, “We can make dinner.”

“I’ll do it. Get some rest.”

You sigh in relief. There’s solace in your gratitude — today was arduous, much like the preceding days of this week. You bide your time until he’s done, and then help him set the table and clean the kitchen.

The evening passes without any hostility, but ends without many gestures of fondness, too.

THURSDAY

“You don’t need to come, too. I bet you’ve other stuff to do.”

Jungkook adjusts to your steps. He snatched a jacket way too insufficient for the frosty weather, but he won’t hurry if you don’t. Doesn’t stray from your side.

So you walk faster. Then he does, too.

He rubs his nose, shrugs a shoulder and responds, “I’ve nothing much to do today, really.”

“Yeah, but,” you pull at the sleeves of his jacket, urging him to rush through the wind, “you’ll get bored. And I’m a big girl.”

“I know that. But it’ll be fine. Wanna make sure you’re okay, too.”

He nudges your elbow. You can’t pinpoint whether he’s daring an attempt to set things right or is genuinely concerned. Or both. In some way, the tension between you lingers, and you can’t shake off the awkward feeling just yet.

So you only nod, holding off an answer for a moment. Staring ahead, you listen to the soft sounds of the city, blinded by headlights soon passing you by. A bit longer and the first snow will fall.

The consoling feeling of winter days draws closer, feels warm despite the frigid wind. Hot chocolatesque. There’s just something about wool shawls and warm jackets and old, animated Christmas movies.

One thing you miss about living in your parents’ big, fancy house in your very old neighbourhood is the chimney. The soft yellow and orange of the crackling fire, melting the cold over your skin.

Sometimes you’d sit on the fleecy white carpet, protected by a thick, warm turtleneck sweater, watching the dancing flames.

You wonder again — if Jungkook and you are truly written in the stars as one, will you move into a bigger place one day? Save money and expand the comfort of the current apartment, investing in even more soothing walls with a couple little additions.

Not the lush, exaggerated luxury you grew up with. Not necessarily anything snobby.

But casual, domestic things, like a fire side you can sit in front of, drinking tea, slow dancing and giggling in the dark. Lit by the chimney fire; familiarity.

You sigh.

“It’s been long since I went to the dentist, too,” Jungkook then says, and you hum. That’s sudden.

“You should go then.”

“Yeah,” he says, eyes darting from your face to your hands. You unintentionally bury them in the pockets of your jacket the moment he reaches out for you; and when he understands that you didn’t notice, he curls his fingers into fists. “Maybe I can get an appointment now? Do they take walk-ins?”

You furrow your eyebrows. “I don’t know.” Then, upon realisation, you laugh a little and say, “I’m not going to the dentist.”

“What?”

“What?” You stare back with eyes as big as his. “Optometrist, Koo.”

His raised eyelids are nothing new. He’s attentive when it comes to you; recognises, notices and remembers every little thing. But you guess he truly has been tired, too.

And you feel bad for not considering it as much as he considered it. The reason he cooked for you in the first place, right?

You press your lips into a line, stare down to a puddle on the ground; an aftermath of the rain.

“Oh,” he makes, “why did I think we were going to— Sorry. My bad.”

In actuality, you did wonder if he knew. He didn’t ask questions when you told him you were leaving; simply announced he was going with. You were pulling socks over your ankles as his rushing form scurried across the room.

You guessed he’d figured it out. But the fact that he was ready to accompany you without a certain clue where you were heading makes you a little giddy.

Clearing your throat, you clarify, “No worries. It’s about that pain in my eyes. Remember?”

You wouldn’t be mad if he didn’t. Preceding your fight by perhaps a couple minutes, you don’t think the tiny statement still holds any relevance to him anymore.

Right?

Wrong.

“Yeah,” he answers, “yeah, of course. You thought it was an infection.”

“Mhm,” you hum, ignoring the butterfly wing slamming against your insides, “I’m so sure it’s an infection.” You click your tongue. “Itch first, and now it gives me migraines.”

“Yeah, you told me… But. It’s nothing serious, I just know.”

You look at his sculpted side profile.

You know him. Jungkook doesn’t actually know, of course — that’s not why he’s saying that he does.

But because hope is better than pure uncertainty; and he likes trying to manifest. He believes in little miracles like this. Knocks on wood a lot, tries not to voice potential disasters in case they might actually roll around.

So you take the reassurance. Walk to the clinic in silence. Attempt more small talk in the waiting room until they drench your corneas in those odd, blinding eye drops, dilating your pupils.

The brief, quick tests follow; the assistant is young and gentle, and you try your best to be a good patient. She seems to enjoy your temporarily formal behaviour, perfected in the years you grew to be a reputable heir.

You drop it once you’re in the waiting room again, awaiting the final consultation and results.

Jungkook is a restless companion. No matter how irritating, you’re used to the constant swaying and the movements of his legs. One might think he is anxious for you, eyes locking on the head doc’s office door every now and then.

Yet, he wonders, “Are you nervous?”

“Nervous?” you repeat, breathing out a tiny, amused laugh. “Nah. He’s really nice. And it’s just some eye stuff.”

“Well, eyes are important.”

The words come out quickly, but the last syllable dies gradually.

You smile.

Jungkook sometimes reminisces about a time when he’d hide from relatives or eat lunch at the back of class back in elementary school. He tires out the term introvertness, and you repeatedly retort with a certain ambivertness.

At times, he’s loud, flirty, annoying and confident — gives you a hard time believing that he ever averted a girl’s gaze or hid behind his cousins.

But then… there are moments when you see it.

Like now.

The puffy cheeks, the youthful pout, the big, big eyes flashing to the ground. Unsure what to say, unsure what you’re thinking of him.

Until he gulps, keeping his voice quiet and low as he continues, “Have you ever had a private optometrist?”

Huh. Not a question you expected. You guess starting the week with a discussion about wealth makes him think of such things these days.

“Yeah,” you say, shifting in your seat. You can still not see him clearly; his features are blurry, and you squint. “When I was younger. Big, bright places and top notch equipment.”

“Why did you stop?”

“I mean… It's not like usually used equipment, like here, is any worse than theirs. Also, same reason as why I went to a public college. Normalcy, I guess.”

“Odd.”

“…Why?”

“Because,” he draws a sharp breath, staring ahead. “Despite all the normalcy, you’re as extraordinary as can get. Money or not.”

A heartbeat passes. Among the sounds of the quiet chatter around you and the ads in the TV at lowest volume, your breath mingles with the hushed noises like a whisper.

His slowly blinking eyes are genuine, your reflection in his dark brown orbs clear. White dots sparkle like constellations in the sky, bright and plenty. It’s nice that they remind you of the sentimentality in his heart after every single serious or dumb, big or small fight.

For a moment, you keep looking. Your fingers twitch, urging to reach out, but as they start moving off your knee, you hear a call of your name.

Jungkook leans back, clearing his throat, smiles at you as you get to your feet and meet the doctor’s stare, kindly gesturing inside the examination room.

A couple more tests, a friendly conversation, more orders from his side before he gives you a diagnosis and a prescription.

And when you head out, Jungkook’s still sitting right where you left him. One leg restless again, leaning forwards, arms on his thighs and hands intertwined. His head is hanging between his shoulders; even from afar, you see his lashes move, eyes slowly blinking.

You can’t quite explain it, but you love this point of view — when you can see his parted lips, the lower one pillowy, partly hidden behind his button nose. Cheeks round. You truly do love this watching-from-above-angle.

Even though it clearly suggests he’s bored out of his mind. Beyond done with this place, but still here, waiting for you.

You clutch the strap of your bag again, sighing, and then move towards him with light steps. The back of your fingers reaches out then, brushing against his temple a tiny moment before he detects your shoes and looks up.

“Oh. That was fast,” he says; his eyes are drooping. He had a long morning in the attic. “What did he say?”

He gets off the seat, moving his stiff neck and cracking it a little, hand flashing up to his shoulder. You explain, “I need eye drops. Two to three times a day.”

“Ah. Then we could get them right now.”

You nod, allowing a little smile, telling him as you head out, “My eyes are okay, though. Somehow, my vision has improved, too.”

Jungkook’s lips form an excited Oh, but when he sees your expression, he says, “But you seem bummed about it.”

Ah. Well.

You feel ungrateful thinking that way, but…

“In some way?” you admit. “I’d rather have an infection that can be fixed with antibiotics and won’t come back so easily instead of… you know. Having to constantly rely on eye drops. It just sounds so permanent.”

Another deep sigh; you’re exhausted as well. “And I’ll have to remember to use them.”

“Hmm,” he voices, holding the door open for you. He zips his jacket close as you step out; an immediate breath cloud forming when he exhales. “Set an alarm, yeah?”

“Yeah. Just knowing myself…”

“I’ll remind you then.”

The suggestion is immediate, albeit accompanied by a seemingly nonchalant shrug of his shoulder; jacket’s sleeves adorably pulled over his hands.

“Once in the morning. You set an alarm for lunch and then I remind you again when you take your birth control pill at night. Yeah?”

The bitter feeling of the fight vanishes a little; you try to ignore the residual awkwardness, apologies probably still due. But right now, your conversation follows a different path, so you settle on a soft, little, “Thank you, Kook.”

He always does that. Remind you of your meds.

Your vitamins, your pills, that one nose spray hydrating your nose flora to prevent your mucosa from drying out or whatever your ENT doc told you. He did last night, too.

He always does — even if it means forgetting about his own responsibilities.

You blink a couple times, rubbing your eyelids before you admit, “Still hurts. Can barely see… and the streetlamps are so bright?”

“Lemme look.”

He stops in his tracks and you follow; his hand catches your wrist, pulling your fingers away from your eyes, and you turn to him slowly. You’re still attempting to clear your vision, so he orders, “Stop blinking.”

And once you do, he moves in. Takes your face in his already warm hands, staring, squinting, humming. He looks focused, and you raise your eyebrows, waiting for a conclusion until he finally mutters, “Damn.”

“What?”

He seems impressed. Looks a bit longer. You repeat, “What? Are they red? Swollen or something?”

“Nah,” he lets your face go, already stepping back as if dodging your proximity. “But,” he starts; you stare like a puppy, only breaking when he adds, “they’re pretty as fuck.”

Your playful punch rises as if on instinct.

One part of your relationship that never changed was your bicker, starting with annoyance and morphing into frisky, flirty remarks. You consider it the foundation of what makes the two of you a unit.

You grit your teeth, but can’t bite back the smile.

“Dude,” you scold, and he covers his arm instinctively, evading the punch looming over him.

But you don’t deliver it after all, dropping your hand, shaking your head instead. You say, “If you hadn’t helped me survive today, I’d—”

You steer towards him, attempting another scare, and he plays along with a flinch just before he starts laughing again. Hums and nods emphasise his words when he agrees, “You survived like a true champ. A big girl, you said, right?”

“Sure am.”

“Mhm. …My big girl?”

“Gross. Shut up.”

The atmosphere will stay odd for a while. That’s okay, you guess. At least it allows for a bit of amusement, hard to hide as you smile a little, bite your lip.

You lower your head, veiling your beam behind your hair, but you know he sees. Matches your smile — perhaps even a bit brighter than your own.

FRIDAY

The fast approaching weekend usually eases a week’s tension. But considering the mounting workload you tackled today and the endless Saturday you’ll be dealing with very soon, your muscles don’t relax just yet.

Imprisoned behind the bars of work, your thoughts circle around the schedule for tomorrow. In that sense, you come home late and can’t quite bother with the stress that spread throughout the first half of the week.

Jungkook already scarfed down tonight’s dinner, comfortably laying in bed and balancing the laptop on his stomach. From the sound of it, he’s watching videos of various genres.

Sitting on the living room couch and indulging in a short story for just a bit, you hear the enthusiastic voices of chefs rattling down recipes every now and then. It’s a hobby of his, but you can’t help but feel bad.

He studies those YouTube videos to improve his cooking skills, and you, ungratefully, leave the rest of his effort in the goddamn fridge. You sigh.

If you had the energy and will to talk it out, you’d do it now. You couldn’t all day.

He was still asleep when you left, and after work, you went to a brief dinner with a coworker to dash through details for tomorrow. Looking at the plan, you hope for at least a sliver of fun amidst the photoshoot chaos.

When you returned home, Jungkook was gaming right where you’re sitting now. You showered, only to find him back in the bedroom, with his eyes glued to said laptop. And now, as you approach the bed to end the night, he walks past you with falling eyelids.

He rubs them with the back of his tattooed hand, a tired pout on his face contradicting the seemingly badass image that the ink usually gives him. Hard shell, soft core and all.

“Be right ba—,” Jungkook’s hazy voice informs, last syllable broken by a yawn. “Go to bed, okay?”

His palm moves across your upper arm as he passes you by, and you nod, steering towards the inviting, warm mattress. Its surface melts with your body when you drop. God, you’re exhausted; can barely think.

You don’t think it’ll take you particularly long to drift away; and just when your consciousness slips, you feel an arm around you.

A soft hug, enveloping you. He drops his face to yours, lips gently pressing against your cheek for a moment before he adjusts the blanket over the two of you.

A current of warmth courses through your veins, and you draw a deep, long breath of affection when he cuddles into you. He must be thinking you’re asleep but slowly falling out of dreams, because he pulls you in and rubs your arm.

An effective tactic he usually wields to help you fall asleep.

He puts a leg gently over yours, his body so close to yours that you feel bits of the combustion of your heart.

Because…

Despite your stupid feud, you’re kind of happy that he’s joined you under the thin blanket, pressing more featherlight kisses against your scalp. Sighs against it.

And you can’t withhold the smile when he brushes over your clothed tummy and whispers, “My feisty little girl.”

SATURDAY

You remember to unclench your jaw.

The stress hardens your muscles. Your limbs are stiff, eyes unblinking until they dry out. Fingers wrapped around your phone, you hold the device firmly, shutting out the telling vibrations of notifications.

This cannot be.

There are a hundred fires burning around you. Erupted chaos causes panic, and in the middle of it are you, clueless and vexed beyond measure.

It’s one thing cancelling a shoot a couple days before it takes place — and another thing to call sick at the very last moment. You didn’t think the model would ditch you like this… but now that he has, you can’t figure out how to replace the missing piece of the shoot.

Your troubled co-workers call out a dozen names, but you don’t say a word, gazing around with a crease between your eyebrows.

This whole thing needs to be out in the open by Friday, and the photographers and editors need time. So, postponing this to Monday and the release of the ads to another weekend won’t work, right?

No.

You’re at the headquarters of this brand. And you’re one of the organisers of this shoot and project. Every single shop will need to postpone if you do.

Unprofessional. Goes against the schedule.

The complaints are still on full blast when you see a calm movement from the corner of your eye. You move your head to the left, peeking through the glass door, and on the other side awaits—

A wide-eyed man, staring inside, observing the tumult like he’s stepped into the jungle. He’s wearing a white shirt, tucked into jeans, long bangs hanging into his eyes and enhancing the sweet gaze so wonderfully.

Pieces of your stress melts — but you still can’t figure out why he’s standing there.

You walk to the door automatically, throwing a tiny smile when he detects you among the staff. A big hand waves in tiny, and you open to let him in.

“Hey,” you greet, pushing back to where you stood before. He follows. “What are you doing here?”

As you come to a stand, he puts a hand on your waist lightly, drawing close to press a kiss to your temple. Then, he responds, “Picking you up?”

“Wh—”

Oh. Shit.

You were going to go out and celebrate the end of the stressful week. He’d suggested it last weekend because he already knew how hectic today would be.

Ughhhh.

You’re terrible.

Jungkook realises your forgetfulness the moment your expression changes into a guilty one. His curious, innocent look drops with his eyebrows, and he sighs when you say, “I’m sorry, Kook.”

When he stares down at his shoes, you feel a wave of shame; the noise around you fades for just a second as he half sullenly, half disappointedly asks, “Really?”

“I swear… It’s not my fault.”

It’s not an excuse; not a lie.

He looks disheartened; knowing him, stupid argument or not, he was probably looking forward to this. Fuck, you feel bad.

Despite his obvious drop in mood, he doesn’t say anything much. Instead, he nods and assures, “It’s fine. What happened?”

You look around again. From afar, you see a coworker approach. She looks hopeful and you take the crumbs, but you still explain, “Everything should be done by now. We got most of the pictures, but… one of the guys bailed on us.”

“Shit, really? What now?”

You shrug your shoulders, once again racking your brain for a solution. People here are counting on you, but it’s not you who brings the very first somewhat reasonable suggestion of today.

Only somewhat reasonable, though.

Because the coworker approaching ogles at Jungkook like a pirate at a treasure, pupils big and wondering as she suddenly says, “Hold. Did you come up with that?”

You blink.

Then ask, “What?”

“You called him here?”

“What?” you repeat, a confused, little parrott.

She rolls her eyes, “He,” she points at Jungkook with a thumb, “is not allowed in here. Usually. So I assumed you called him as a replacement.” She tilts her head. “And he’s freaking perfect!”

Per—

What? No, no, no. That’s absolutely nothing you planned or permitted.

“No?” Instinctively, you take a step to the side, right in front of his broad shoulders as if to protect him from harm. You argue, “He’s not a model. He’s an artist.”

From behind, you hear, “I’m just an artist.”

“Yeah, but,” she throws back, “you’re art, too. I won’t lie.”

Another step back until your back almost touches his chest. His fingertips graze your hip, as a warning before you stumble over his feet. You can imagine the subtle rosy dust on his cheek; he’s fond of compliments.

As everyone is, you suppose. But.

“Hey, careful,” you tell her, disguising it as a joke, but feeling the lightest burn in your stomach when he laughs at her words.

She raises her pretty lips to a prettier smile, nodding in reassurance as she promises, “Yes, I know he’s taken.”

Another quiet chuckle from behind you, and you cock an eyebrow before he changes the topic and admits, “Seriously, I’m not a model at all and barely know what these things are like…”

To which she waves off his concerns and explains, “Oh, you just need to look good. We’d put some make up and clothes on you, a few pics and we’re done.”

Sounds easy enough. A bit like an insult to actual models, kind of putting those to shame who ran across stages for years to study, internalise and perfect their movements.

But you don’t correct her because you’re desperate, too. And right now, this sounds the easiest.

Still, he murmurs, “I’m not sure.”

“I understand if not,” she says. Her tone changes, fragments of frustration in it. “It’s just that we’re running out of options.”

Once more, you play out the upcoming week mentally. Postponing the last shoot. Postponing the release. Postponing the seasonal launch.

None of this is your fault, but you’d still be the one to get all the wary looks.

As if on cue, Jungkook squeezes your hip, and you look at him with worry painted across your face. You know he sees it immediately, but he still asks, “Is it that bad?”

You nibble at your lip, putting a hand over his as you say, “Yeah. We do need someone.”

“Is that allowed? Can I just replace a guy?”

“I’m technically the boss here, so you’d just need my permission,” you take a breath and then click your tongue, “I mean, usually we’d just reschedule, but we don’t have the time and those shoots already take hours. And in your case, we’d do all the paperwork, contract stuff later.”

“Would it help you?”

He’s considerate. Even in a stressful moment like this, the gentle tone, the deep care makes you weak. The answer’s already clear, but you still tell him, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Again, it… might take up to two hours or so.”

“But it’d help you, babe, wouldn’t it? Unless you don’t want me to. Then I won’t.”

You don’t have a single problem with this; in fact, you’d be happy to put him in front of a camera. His genuine thoughtfulness liquefies you — you’re a puddle at this point.

“Oh, I… Jungko—”

Juri intrudes, “I’m sorry,” carefully, she inches closer, nodding over her shoulder, “Just wanna say that we have a lot of designers in our team. They do logos and make the posters and all. Maybe, if they saw you — because the country already knows you as her artistic man from newspapers — they could teach you some digital art stuff.”

“I…” Jungkook starts. He’s probably thinking the same — which he confirms when he adds, “I’m not sure how me modelling for you might relate to artistic stuff. But I already know a lot about digital art.”

Yeah, exactly. Of course he does; what else did he wade through college for throughout these years?

“But,” she lifts a finger, infinite force in one word already, “have you ever tried expensive equipment and all?”

Oh oh. You feel bad.

Is that the group of society you represent? Maybe you guys are a little pretentious after all, dealing and seducing with money.

But he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t dare to challenge her when he steps next to you and says, “I can do it, but not for that digital art offer.” He puts a hand on your back, rubbing lightly and briefly, “For her.”

You fold your arms under your chest; less to show dominance, but more to press against the butterflies. There’s a type of nausea falling in love elicits, deep in your stomach where everything appears so surreal and beautiful that it makes you oddly sick.

The first time your pupils took on their heart shape was the first moment Jungkook practised that effect on you; made you realise what inevitable emotions he was pulling you into.

That effect has not faltered; your guts still twist.

At least, for a couple minutes.

Because the second your coworker-vultures attack him and drag him to the back room, something changes. Nervousness, you guess. You know the clothes that are awaiting him, but stepping out of makeup and into the spotlight leaves you gasping for air.

From afar, he’s leering at you.

Wearing a snow white shirt, tucked into his pants, priorly tousled hair still messy but styled in curls. Yes, you might know your collection — but you didn’t think it’d fit him like second skin.

Why did you doubt it, though? Jungkook could wear a trash bag and still compete against Adonis.

For a moment, he stands still, entangling his fingers, looking around. Then, he’s smiling in uncertainty, awkwardly putting his hands on his tiny waist, waiting for directions.

Juri tip-toes towards you, as if you’re filming a scene in a drama. She pulls the clipboard to her chest, one digit pointing to your struggling man before she says, “He’s adorable.”

You nod. “I wonder how he’ll do.”

“Well, yeah,” she murmurs, half distracted; but then she averts her eyes from him, looking from your nervous lips up to your furrowed eyebrows before she assures, “Worst case scenario, we’ll postpone. End of story. At least we tried.”

“Hmm… Well, let’s hope it won’t be that case.”

Which, you soon realise, it certainly isn’t.

A couple professional suggestions by the director and Jungkook gets into position. The initial movements of his hands and body are a little strange and awkward, and you can’t help but want to pull him from this chaos and wrap him in a fuzzy blanket.

But the seemingly feigned adorable stance soon shifts into something unexpectedly dangerous when he raises his chin. Thumbs in the pockets of his jeans, he relaxes his body, lips suddenly forming a tempting, slight pout.

He doesn’t usually look like that…

“Wow,” you whisper, faintly registering Juri’s fascinated nod from the side.

This is still a harmless pose, you think; one the director dared him to do. But you’re surprised by the sudden confidence, the way Jungkook doesn’t fumble or stutter or question anything.

Some of his softness shines through the moment the photographer gives a thumbs up, a tattooed hand cracking the fingers of the others. Doe eyes back, he leans forwards as if he could peek at the pictures like that, asking cautiously, “That okay?”

He looks different. Why does he look different?

“That was great! Perfect start. I promise the rest is just as easy,” the team encourages him, asking him to monitor the pictures they just took.

Jungkook walks to the strangers in slow steps, chest behind the tight, white top heaving once. On his way, he looks up to you instinctively, throwing the same thumbs up at you with a questioning gaze.

And you, still baffled, smile.

Watch as he converses with the people, his grin wide when he likes what he sees — an instant confidence boost, though you still see the nervousness in his stance. Where was any of it when they clicked the photos?

As if a demon possessed him for just a minute. Dual and dangerous.

Then again, he’s not very different in your daily life. A celestial soul on some days, catering to your every whim, never letting your feet touch the ground.

And a beast on others, inhaling your sounds like a starving incubus, never heaving your body off the mattress.

The duality doesn’t disappear with this very first outfit.

When some music starts playing and they tell him to move freely, filming the sequences for the ads, your eyeballs nearly fall out of your eyes. And you finally realise why he looks so different now.

Because the moment his thumb touches his lower lip, mimicking a wiping motion (much like he does after kissing you sometimes), you see the silver-plated jewellery glimmering from all the way from the set.

Lip ring.

Whose idea…

“What did you do back there?” you ask, near-panicking, your heart dropping into your panties.

Juri flinches, asking, “What?”

“Is that a lip ring? You gave him a—”

You puff out a breath; it’s immensely difficult to be mad at him like this. He’s been looking…

“Shouldn’t we have?” her tiny voice asks; her body shrinks a little.

“I mean. I just. It wasn’t planned.”

“Yeah, but look how amazing he looks.”

You’re seeing it, alright.

The subtle touches, the light tugging at his shirt. Movements just right. He looks all serious, like a beast, hotter than motherfucking hell. Transports your saliva into your windpipe with each look he sports.

Until you actually feel yourself choking and gagging once he leaves and comes back for the next shoot twenty minutes later.

Because why on Earth did they omit the shirt under the grey blazer?

You’re close to dashing to costume and makeup, confronting them to ask why they chose to toy with your sanity like this. Because… the lip ring is still there. His hair is suddenly slicked back. Fingers adorned with rings.

And he looks so goddamn good.

Maybe it’s your fault. You told them you trusted them, and that they were supposed to do as they pleased. And they are… they so are.

All of him, like a strong magnet, pulls you in, but you keep your feet firmly on your spot, cementing yourself in place. There’s something incredibly attractive about the way he presents himself — new, talented.

You’re fidgety, a sexually frustrated observer when he touches his jacket, pulling it open just a little. The inked hand is veiny; you see it from here, too. The light gesture allows glimpses of his chest.

Small, perked, brown nipples. Lines and ripples of his abs firm. Ending in his V-line, hidden behind the peeking underwear and blue, baggy jeans.

Heavy chains are already menacing when he shuts his eyelids and parts his lips. Worse when he leans forwards, hazy eyes staring into the camera as if he’s about to devour the camerawoman.

Jeon Jungkook is a hazardous danger to society. The world will want him — and he’ll only want you.

Fuck.

You’re drooling. Drowning in your own puddle. Crossing your legs.

And when they tell him to sit, ordering to open the button of his jeans and push it down his hips just a bit, the little yous in your brain wreak havoc.

A fire starts in the organised office of your mind, red sirens blaring, and you look at Juri as you ask, “Why is he naked?! Why’s the blazer off his shoulder?!!”

“Because,” she defends, hiding behind the clipboard; it’s not her fault. That’s what the other model would’ve done, too. “Underwear ads!”

You’re aware. You just didn’t think it’d be Jungkook ending up in this position. Perhaps you didn’t think it through; didn’t know what it’d do to you.

But his effect pools in your lower stomach; so intense, you might cry.

“What the fuck,” you mumble when he takes the jacket off, sitting up and improvising all of a sudden. A hand covers his mouth, the blazer thrown over his shoulder. “What’s the point of holding it? He’s not even wearing it.”

“Because,” she starts again, “we’re focusing on the underwear.” Where’s the focus on the underwear? You can barely see it. Are people plotting against you? “It’s okay.” She pats your shoulder. “No one’s gonna touch him, love.”

You bite your lip. You know.

You aren’t distressed because you’re mad. But because knowing that everybody will crave him and nobody will get him turns you on more.

The fact that you’re the only one he’ll look at with those starry eyes; with the hunger in his gaze. The only one he’ll press into your bed, lips close to your ears, whispering endearments and filthy, little promises.

This man wants you, and you can barely handle that truth.

New thoughts and ideas form in your mind, too wild and desperate to be occurring right in this moment. So you mentally whoosh them away, holding on for the rest of the neverending shoot until a round of genuine applause sounds around the big set.

God. Okay. Hours of torture later, and he’s done.

A shy bow. No. This monster might convince anyone else, but you know he’s not as innocent as he gives himself.

He jogs over to you, says quietly enough for only you to hear, “Don’t tell them, but that was great.” You can imagine. He backs away, looks down to his defined abs, “I need to change. And then we can head home, they said.”

You blink, perplexed and still out of words. Which he struggles to interpret, looking over his shoulder and then back to you. Unsure, he adds, “Unless you need to wrap things up.”

When a random shout echoes through the room, you awake, inhaling deeply before you tell him, “No, I. I mean, yeah, we’ll wrap things up, but that shouldn’t take too long. Should be mostly done when you are.”

He nods. Waves, and then steers towards the others, shaking hands and exchanging smiles. Short convos. Then, to the back room.

You’re too out of your mind and tired to chat much with staff. You go through the next steps, talk about waiting for the editor to be done with the photos, list the leftover things on your to-do list before the winter launch.

And that’s it. You meet Jungkook at the exit to the hallway, relieved when the end of the day approaches. On your way back home, you converse lightly, though he stops when you yawn one too many times.

He lets you rest as you pass shops and traffic lights, and holds your hand when you get off the vehicle. Drags you up the stairs; the climb is arduous. And then allows you to get ready for your slumber in peace.

The second the back of your head collides with the cold pillow, your eyes drop shut. The world spins behind your tired eyelids, adjusting to the darkness and the silence.

A sigh of relief pushes out of your mouth; a profound sense of tranquillity calms your lit nerves. Jungkook, next to you, seems just as exhausted because the yawn as soon as he slips under the covers is long and tear-inducing.

He’s blinking away the dampness of fatigue when you look over to him; you haven’t talked much since you arrived home, but Jungkook uses the moment to say, “I had a lot more fun than I expected to have.”

You’re so incredibly thankful for his last-minute rescue. But you can’t help but think of the muscles and expressions an hour prior. The seductive gaze, the lip accessory, the ring-clad fingers.

Perhaps it’s because of the time of the month, but you feel vexed by how affected you feel.

You control your tone, though the word still sounds monotone when you say, “Good.”

Catching upon it immediately, he shifts slowly, sniffling and head propping up on his hand before he asks, “Did you not like it?”

“Oh no, I mean,” you start, “you were amazing. I just didn’t know they’d send you out naked for the world to see. Thought the plan was to close a couple buttons.”

“The stylists told me. I think it was a spontaneous change because—”

You glance at him when he hesitates. A sly smile spreads across his features, just a little guilty yet amused as he watches your curiosity grow.

“What?” you ask.

“Nevermind.”

“Don’t be mean.”

“It’s nothing!” he exclaims. “We just thought it’d look cool. I thought you’d like it, too, actually.”

You did. That’s the issue. You liked it enough for it to burn into your mind, and now you can’t shake the image anymore.

No matter how many times you’ve seen him butt naked, buried inside you without a gap between your skin — something about his confidence and eyes stirred an unknown level of desire in you.

But you can’t tell him. Because the thing you want won’t be possible right now. You keep your thoughts veiled.

Instead, you unleash your annoyance because God, you hate him for being so hot.

“Right,” is all you say.

“Hey, don’t worry. Even if they ask, I’m not doing this again.”

“Might make you famous, though,” you mumble.

He snorts, fingers sneaking to your tummy, “So what? That’s not my profession. I didn’t study to become a model. Will work on my actual efforts.”

“Okay.”

The single word forces a sigh out of him, and he shakes his head, tapping his fingers against your stomach as he whispers your name thrice. Like he’s scolding you.

And then, “Are you jealous?”

“No,” you spit without hesitation, “of whom?”

You’re not. And you know that just for the moment, he won’t believe you. Which is fine. You’ll tell him the truth once your period’s over for the month.

“Of people who might see me and like what they see.”

Okay. Jerk.

At this point, he is doing it on purpose. You see it in the cocky smile and the jesting tone and the way his fingertips draw circles over your shirt, itching to sneak underneath the fabric.

You know him.

He’s so annoying.

“No,” you repeat.

“You sure? Huh?” Fuck, not that sulky voice. You close your eyes, but he raises your chin, making your head move. “Look at me, angel.”

“Hmm?”

“You said no, but you do look a little fiery,” he tells you. Yeah, if he knew that the real reason doesn’t lie in envy or whatever the world thinks of him. “What? My girl is jealous of people I won’t even perceive?”

No.

But she does feel the tickling, flattering lust pooling in her lower stomach, Jeon, thank you very much.

“Jungkook,” you start, although breathier when he moves closer, towards your neck. “Don’t be annoying.”

Which triggers a slightly mocking tone; he tuts before he says, “Baby bails on our date today. Will fight me in a restaurant. And then I’m annoying?”

Your answer is immediate and as shameless as can be.

“Yes.”

And it makes him laugh. Hot and sudden against your skin, his breath makes you shiver more than the relentless cold outside ever could.

“Not gonna lie,” he begins, “that brat behaviour isn’t too terrible.”

“Shut the fuck up, you just—”

He just what? You don’t know. Your sentence floats between you when his nose raises your chin, freeing the path to your neck before he’s nuzzling it slowly.

You feel goosebumps at the back of your neck, hair standing up, tingles across your body where you didn’t deem them possible. Under the blanket, your legs shift, and he hurries to move one of his between yours.

Hand still on your shirt, he places a barely-there, soft kiss to your neck; his fine tresses tickle your face and you crumble.

You have long forgotten your unfinished sentence, but he hasn’t. Asks, “What?”

You bury your nails into his arm, intrigued by the little hiss followed by a subtle laugh. Growing in volume when you say, “I kinda hate you right now.”

“Oh yeah,” he agrees, stretching the second word, “I hate you, too. Absolutely loathe you.”

You silence. Hold onto him when he French kisses between your neck and shoulder. And then breathe, “Then go away.”

“Mhh. Maybe I should.”

“Maybe…”

And then, out of the blue, his teeth dig into your neck like a gentle vampire, stopping immediately when you wince desperately. A hot tongue soothes the bite, a strong hand pushing you down by your shoulder again when your body lifts off the bed just a bit.

He keeps you in place, moving to your jaw. And when you whimper in lust and want, navigating his leg closer to your core, he curses, “Fucking hell, babe.”

Then, he’s inhaling, fingers wandering from your shoulder to your wrist as lips finally clash.

His body moves half onto yours, slowly gauging your reaction to the kiss as if he’s still expecting the burst of cumulated emotions. But when you give into his gesture, granting him your tongue, his face moves further against yours.

Undecided fingers let your wrist go, getting ahold of a patch of your hair. You hold his arms again until you wrap yours around him, fingers on the nape of his neck as you pull him in.

You tilt your heads in unison, deepening the kiss, drinking him up. Let him open your lips with his, keeping them like that, tips of your tongues playing with each other.

His touch drops to your waist and down to your pyjamas, pushing them down a little, grazing your panties. But then, his teasing palm floats up again and settles over one of your tits, squeezing once and drawing a telling moan out of you.

No bra.

He loves your little habits. You live through them casually, never noticing how badly they empty his mind.

Seems your head is blanking just as much at his touches; because you look delirious, lost, breathing in and out heavily. Jungkook basks in the expression, pushing a hand to your neck.

And only when he presses in gently, trapping you in place, do you seem to wake.

Eyes shoot open, and you inhale deeply, as if saved from drowning; remember every bit of today. The lines of his abs. The lip ring. The jewellery on his fingers.

You could ask for him to go on, to wreck you thoroughly. But of all arguments stopping you from doing so, there’s one damn reason that asks to prevent the mess.

Fucking period. Would create a literal bloody chaos. And you’re exhausted.

The thing is — if you asked him, you know he’d give it to you.

He’s reckless and careless. But you can’t risk the state of your sheets and the state of your mind. You have more work to do tomorrow; also, if you continued now, you’d be tired and immobile tomorrow, you know — and you need to be awake for this.

Fully in your senses.

Ugh. Fuck.

And the last damn day of the red waterfall, too. Thinking about it, perhaps that’s the reason for your agitation this week.

In hindsight, you know you’re never bitchy like that — he didn’t give you the nickname of an angel for nothing, right? Fuck PMS. Fuck mood swings.

Your poor boy, enduring the wrath of it.

But maybe you need to act pissed just a bit longer because—

“What?” he asks.

It’s not the time. So you stop him, pushing him away lightly. Shake your head, calling forth a crease between your eyebrows, turning away just a bit.

He falls back, once again keeping his upper body up by his arm. Inquires, “I— are you still mad?”

Truthfully, you answer flatly, “I’m on my period.”

“So?” he answers, laughing until he sees your lips, pressed into a serious line. “I’m not scared of some blood.”

You knew it. He’d give in if you told him to.

But what you want can’t be received during this time of the month. What you want requires unhinged chaos, carelessness, breathlessness. Craze of many minutes, hours.

You want more than a short, cautious session that asks you to peek at the sheets and the towel you’d get every now and then. You want to fucking lose yourself in hi—

“Let’s not,” you answer, your tone nonchalant, “Just. Let’s go to sleep, alright?”

He murmurs your name, trying again; but when you turn on your belly, giving a last sign to end the night, you hear him groan quietly.

You grimace when his head falls onto the pillow with an angry thump, movements under the blanket agitated as he scolds, “My God. Alright. You wanna be pissed for an entire week, then be pissed. I can’t do more than that.”

Oof.

If he only knew. And something in you tells you that he will very soon.

SUNDAY

Too lazy to work through the preparation process in the kitchen, Jungkook and you quietly decide to spend lunch outside.

The café nearby is a place you’ve wanted to visit for quite some time now. And despite the flaky, dry sandwiches they served, you’re glad time passed quickly, the awkward conversations between you coming to an end.

When you return from the bathroom, the sky above looks grey. Desolate. The weather forecast predicted a surprisingly pleasant late fall day, but the approaching rain is obvious. Which, you anticipated more than the weather forecast did, really.

That’s why an umbrella is leaning against the leg of the table, and you grab it as you watch Jungkook fumble with his wallet, stuffing it into his back pocket.

He gulps down the last sip of his Matcha Latte, dimples above the corner of his lips as he smacks the taste away. Then, he gets to his feet, asks, “Ready to go?”

Absent-mindedly, you nod, glancing to the sky and then back to him again. He looks sweet and domestic; but you can’t quite take him seriously. Not necessarily because of the fight anymore.

It’s been far too many days to still dwell.

But because of the damn lip ring, the open jacket, the gelled back hair. His destructive expressions. Like he could devour you whole.

Jungkook doesn’t stay angry for a long time, you’ve noticed. He always tells you how his temper used to be worse as a teenager, but how he’s learned to control himself.

Agonies of childhood, relationships and friendships taught him patience. And you notice. You truly notice.

Because he hands you your purse sweetly, immediately stretching his palm towards you. A slight smile spreads across his face, and you respond with a weak one of yours. Take his hand and let him lead you home.

You’ll walk the short distance; it shouldn’t take longer than seven or eight minutes.

And as you approach home, the hand holding yours mimics the motions of the one gripping the umbrella — he brings both arms into swing, somewhat euphoric but casual when he says, “The food was so dry there.”

It’s odd, talking to him like that after several days again. But you nod slowly, and agree, “I know. But at least we know where not to go anymore.”

“Yeah. But I mean, great beverages.”

“The milkshake, too.”

He tugs you a little closer, elbows soon touching, “I still think you should’ve gotten something warmer. You get a cold fast,” he looks up with squinted eyes, “and it’s already chilly today.”

You squeeze his hand as a thank you; Jungkook cares for you in little, subtle ways, and you’d lie if you said you didn’t think of it every now and then. You answer, “I feel fine, though.”

“Okay. Hope that stays.”

His palm, soft in yours, shifts until he’s intertwining his fingers with yours, attempting a stronger grip. You lift your eyes from the ground to his face for a second, meeting a gentle smile, and feel more pieces of your heart split.

They wander through your body, along your arm and straight into his chest, merging with his own organ. If you could, you’d push him against one of the unlit lamp posts, parted lips opting for his, breathing into his mouth.

He infested your thoughts and stuck with you, no way to escape the moment you first fell for him. And somehow, he managed to keep this effect intact, digging deeper into your mind and making himself home every damn second of the day.

The desire you’ve been feeling doesn’t just stem from lip rings and talent behind the camera. But you also keep realising that you’re truly this man’s, and that this man is truly yours.

A hard truth to fathom when you’re the subject of interest to one unique Jeon Jungkook.

But you want all of him. Want him over you, around you, taking all of what no other guy will ever be allowed to touch. Want him to show you once again where you belong and that you’re in this for as long as his affection is aligned with yours.

Fuck. Home is too far away.

So you look away from him. Which he interprets in an entirely wrong way.

“Are you still mad at me?” he asks, an inquiry out of nowhere that has your eyebrows kissing.

“No,” you answer.

“You barely talk to me. And,” he halts to wipe away a raindrop. Guess the clouds are gathering. “And I miss you.”

Your ribs might break. He keeps doing this to you.

“I’m not mad, Kook. Was just PMS-ing before,” you try again, adding a nickname for good measure.

“You sure?”

Jungkook is a free-spirited soul, careless to a healthy degree most of the time. There are only a few things that break his composure; familial insecurities, shitty pasts — and then there’s you.

Topping his list of priorities, you’re the only aspect in his current life that pushes him into spirals of overthinking.

And right now, he’s in the middle one, requiring a thousand reassurances. You want to answer. You really do.

But the distraction from above proves too strong the second you open your mouth. In the middle of your walk, the clouds explode, roaring for a moment before a downpour suddenly showers onto you.

The raindrops are thick, the bursting clouds aggressive.

Instinctively, Jungkook opens the umbrella, hastily working on it, and once under it, your steps pick up on pace. You wrap an arm around your body, closing the jacket, hooking your other arm with his and pushing the two of you forward.

“Shit,” you say; you look up, but can barely see anything. Only hear the thunder.

The wind grows colder, grazing the skin of your face incessantly. Despite the umbrella, the merciless rain wets your cheeks, singular drops flying towards you. Jungkook’s hair covers his face, and he shakes them off his eyes.

You gasp when a literal newspaper flies past you.

“Come on,” you encourage, already shivering. “We can talk about it at home, okay?”

But surprisingly, incredibly lost in his own head, he doesn’t give in. He adjusts to your pace, holding the umbrella in a strong grip, sighs and argues, “We can talk about it anytime.”

“Not now.”

“But—”

“Kook, right now’s not the time for this.”

Holy shit.

This man is a phenomenon. And you wish he wasn’t serious, but you know that he is. A full-on simp-y fool, no matter what.

“You’ve avoided me all week,” he yells over the sounds of the rain, sniffling, looking at the storm ahead, “we won’t die. It’s just rain.”

“It’s a thunderstorm, you idiot!” you exclaim back, moving straight forward and past running passengers. You should be home soon. “And in a minute we won’t be able to see shit.”

Jungkook must be made of cement. Broad shoulders, a well-trained body and willpower seem to combat the storm when he suddenly halts in his steps.

Immediately, you grab the umbrella, keeping it from nearly flying away; and when you remain the only presence under it, you ogle back. Watch him stand there in his red-white jacket, getting soaked by Mother Nature.

What the fuck.

You rush back, grabbing his wrist, pulling him forward as much as you can as you reprimand, “What the hell are you doing? Come on.”

“You’ll talk to me if I do?”

“Jungkook, we’ll die here, I—”

You flinch and gasp when another strong wind blows, once and for all ripping the umbrella off your hand and making it fly a couple feet from you. You watch it break through the fog of rain, mouth wide open with a dozen curses on your tongue.

“Fuck,” you exclaim, gritting your teeth, “I will. Just please, okay?!”

He’s so annoying. The way he looks at you, breathing hard, white shirt drenched and sticking to his body. You tug at his arm, forcing him to run when you do.

It takes you two entire minutes, wordless as you wish them to be, to reach his street and apartment. You tremble in the hallways, rushing up the stairs, and eventually take a seconds-long breath when you step into the flat.

It’s cold. So cold — and you had your jacket protecting your shirt. Your jeans and hair are soaked, your socks a sponge, soaked in a couple millilitres of water.

But it’s relieving when you take the jacket and your jeans off, pulling out the oversized, wrinkled shirt from under your pants, covering half your thighs. Jungkook slips out of his boots and rushes for a towel, approaching your heaving form at the door to dry your hair.

You quiver for a couple more minutes, fearing an approaching cold after all. But once settled on the couch, indulging in the comfort of thick joggers and a fresh cotton shirt, you sigh.

The silence still holding on only breaks when you drop your head back on the couch. A warm hand sneaks to your cheek, and when you open your eyes, he asks, “Are you okay?”

“Warming up…” You lean into the touch, though still irritated by his behaviour before. “Thought it’d rain, but that was a surprise.”

“Yeah.” A pause. And then, “Was a little romantic, too.”

Unbelievable.

You roll your eyes at him, head tilting, tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek. Perhaps he’s joking. The goofy smile suggests that he is.

“Was it, yeah? You just—”

You click your tongue. Think back to him nearly offering his soul to Zeus just a couple minutes ago. Standing in the heavy rain as if he was the lead character in The Notebook.

“Don’t be mad now. I’m kidding,” he says. His voice isn’t as soft anymore; frustrated when he tries again, “Talk to me. What’s the problem?”

“Seriously? I told you there’s nothing.”

“Nah, cut that bullshit. You haven’t talked to me or properly touched me all week. I’m trying my fucking best.”

“I know. This isn’t what it’s about,” you defend, shaking your head, getting to your feet, “but about that insane little stunt out there.”

And the fact that he’s been driving you crazy. The week’s distress mixed with whatever he made you feel yesterday; today’s insanity further adding to it.

When he doesn’t speak, you sigh, waving it off, and opt to walk away. But all in vain.

You make it two steps away from the couch before he flashes up, too; filmesque, you gasp at the strong grip around your elbow, getting a tiny second to process the situation before he’s twirled you around.

He probably didn’t intend it, but you nearly clash against him, stupidly losing your balance and stumbling over his and your own feet. You put a hand to your temples, fearing the worst — what if you fall and clash against the corner of your glass table?

But no. In slow motion, he keeps you in his firm hold, preventing the fall, but still letting you gently drop onto the fluffy, white carpet. Your investment. You’re happy about it now because it caught you the way the wooden floor wouldn’t.

Your movements towards the grounds are slow — or at least that’s what they feel like. But when he appears above you, pinning your wrists to the carpet hard, he’s breathless; and you think that maybe the fall didn’t happen as slowly after all.

“Okay,” he says through gritted teeth. From down here, his jaw looks as sharp as a ship’s deck, the Adam’s apple bobbing when he challenges, “You’re gonna fucking tell me what’s going on.”

Oh. He’s mad.

His eyes are burning, jaw flexed. Defined chest rising in anger.

There’s nothing going on. At least nothing that warrants another fight.

But you don’t tell him that just yet. Instead, all your perplexed mind and tongue manage is, “What?”

“I forgave you. We were both shitty that day, you know? But I still did forgive you, and you’re still being like that.” His knuckles must be paling, because his grip is iron hard. “Why?”

“I—”

“I’ll apologise if that’s what you want. I did, actually. I’m sorry, okay? There. But this is just,” fingers squeeze your wrists, and you hiss, “ridiculous.”

Your following grimace, lips twitching, eyes squinting, go through to him immediately. The hold doesn’t hurt or bother you too much, but the leg between your knees does. Jungkook wouldn’t wound you; he knows his limits.

But perhaps he thinks he’s going overboard when he loosens his fingers, pressing his palms against your skin, rubbing to soothe the missing pain.

He doesn’t quite move away, though, still stubborn when you assure once again, “I’m not mad at you anymore.”

“So you keep saying.”

“I’m not,” you tell him, heart racing at the proximity. You close your legs around his knee, irritated by the barrier. “I promise.”

He doesn’t give your gesture much attention just yet; doesn’t know that his body over yours is exactly what you’ve been craving. But he does understand the sincerity in your voice. Finally.

When he moves closer, pupils melting to fluid gems, you let out an intentional, teeny tiny moan that you’re sure he confuses for a relieved sigh. He moves his palms onto the carpet, caging you in; you keep your wrists where they are, but dig your nails into your skin.

You want to kiss him so badly. You miss him so much.

“Then tell me what’s wrong, angel,” he demands again, quieter and softer this time.

“I don’t know.”

With the fury evaporating bit by bit, his eyes look bigger and rounder again. The desperation of the week gathers in them and his expression, shooting all the way down to his tongue; and when he whispers to you next, your heart collapses, “Please?”

He’s sweet… so utterly oblivious to your true thoughts.

But you couldn’t feel more embarrassed about the pictures you’ve been painting and the words ghosting in that mind of yours. He’d do all of it, no questions asked. But… fuck.

“This is so dumb,” you answer, fingertips dragging down the carpet and then up to his waist, “like… you’ll laugh.”

The touch encourages him. His arms are shaking now, holding him up in this position for too long, and the wandering fingers along his sides and chest must weaken him like his lines affect you.

“That’s a good thing,” he answers, closer than ever when he balances his weight on his arms now, forearms touching the carpet. “I’d rather laugh than fight.”

But the closeness remains for mere seconds before he pulls back again, sitting up with a groan. Hands on his thighs, he lets himself fall on bended knees. He watches your still helpless body on the floor until you work on getting off the carpet, letting him pull you up when he offers a hand.

You ruffle through your hair, legs folding. Your pout is more directed towards yourself than anyone else; you totally realise you didn’t need to confuse him the way you did. Stupid period.

“Listen, I just…” you start, scraping your scalp.

His knees bump against your legs when he drifts closer; there’s something about the two of you sitting on your living room carpet like this.

“It’s just that I want to be able to walk tomorrow.”

And that’s it. That’s literally it.

He halts. His hand was moving up, probably to touch your face, your hair, anything soft to ease the mood. But he cancels the tender gesture, fingers falling back to his knee when he absorbs your words.

Silences with cocked eyebrows. Processes the way you lick your lips and look away, tugging at his wide shirt. And then, once he’s understood, he tsks. Chuckles.

And you, immediately on guard, push lightly against his shoulder, unsurprised when he doesn’t buckle, and defend, “Told you you’d laugh!”

“No, but,” he says, sweet crinkles around his eyes, head tilting and bunny teeth giving way to the prettiest smile in existence, “what are you talking about, hm?”

He knows. If only his feigned innocence was as sweet as his grin, too.

Still, you opt to clarify, “That thing you did yesterday.”

“What thing?”

Ugh.

“The whole modelling thing!” you exclaim, raising your hands. His beam reaches up to his eyes; his occasional giggles are killing you. “Stop. Do you have any clue what you looked like?”

He has the audacity to shrug. “They let me see the pics on their cameras. They’ll come out well.”

“Well? Dude, you looked…”

“What?”

“Dangerous. Like you could eat me up.”

Eat me up might be accurate. It’s the description floating through your little mind since yesterday.

“Ah,” he says, nodding smugly. You know he’s about to tease you. Because— “You specifically, yeah? I was just doing what they told me to.”

“What, is me specifically wrong? Anyone else you’d wanna eat up or—”

“You’re really fixating on that, huh?” Jungkook snickers. His tongue pokes the inside of his right cheek in a brief pause, and then he adds, “You’ve got a point. Didn’t think it’d affect you, though.”

Slowly, but surely, he seems to grasp his own power over you. You think he’s reminiscing about yesterday’s chaos and confidence; maybe even viewing it all from your point of view.

Because his smirk, albeit subtle, is sly when he asks, “What was it like?”

“I…” You click your tongue. “You’ll take me apart if I tell you.”

“Why so?”

“Because.” A beat of silence. You swallow to wet your throat. Then. “I’d ask you to.”

“Ah…” Another understanding nod, as though you’re lecturing him on NASA’s rocket science and he’s finally grasping its meaning. “Yeah?”

“I saw you from afar,” you point into a direction arbitrarily, as if he’s still several feet from you and not mere inches, “and I wanted to,” you inhale when a finger reaches out, straight to a vein in your neck, gentle, exploring, “let you do anything with me that you wanted to.”

“Ohh.” His palm covers your neck, as if he’s coddling you. But you know what that touch will morph into, so you sneak closer to him, lean forwards. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

“…Right.”

His thumb moves up and rubs under your jaw, then up your face and to your lower lip. The touch is soft and careful, as though gauging your reaction and searching for permission.

Your shaky, little exhale is nearly unnoticeable, but you know he catches it, and you know he already sees the consent in your eyes. But he still doesn’t lean in. Moves his eyes across your face, to his hand, to your neck and then all the way back to your gaze.

And then, contrasting the loving movements and affectionate gesture, he smiles. Mischief spreads in his stare, and his fingers retreat to the back of your neck, pulling you closer by a miniscule inch.

“So that’s what it was all this time? You’re on your knees for me, is that it?”

“Babe…” You look down, daring a joke. “Quite literally.”

You shuffle in your spot when he laughs quietly, hooking your fingers into the neckline of his shirt. You emphasise, “I mean it. Just… If you must know? I would’ve been okay with handing you all the control, okay? All of it.”

You’re aware you’re acting as though he doesn’t wreck your shit every other time, too. In fact, that’s probably how the two of you started out.

His absolute craze at the frat party, drunk. College nights when you’d confront him about your bullshit — weak excuses to make him press you against his dorm walls. A hand clapped over your mouth, your ass out, dick buried inside until you felt him in your guts—

You’ve always been at his mercy — but you want him to split you in half this time.

“You would’ve?” he repeats. “And now? Still want that?”

You look down again. There’s no shyness in that movement, no averting his beastly eyes — your focus lies elsewhere because you have a theory. Which proves true.

The swelling under his joggers, right there between his legs wasn’t there before.

So you gather your voice, and say, “…Yes.”

“Hmm. Why didn’t you tell me?” His fingernails dig lightly into your skin, and right in the middle of the tension, he pouts for a little moment. “I genuinely thought you were still pissed.”

“I was on my period…” You shrug your shoulders. “It was also late. I was so tired, and—”

He waits.

“I knew that you’d do it if I asked for it.”

“I would’ve.” What’s worse? The confirmation or the tickling breath against your cheek? When did he get so close? “I still would. If you want me to.”

“I just said yes,” you tug at the shirt, eliciting an amused grin as the tips of your noses collide, “you’ll keep asking and,” your heart beats at a million miles a minute, “just not kiss me, is that it?”

Your provocation proves effective just the right amount.

Because he opens his mouth, seemingly snarling — you can’t tell for sure, since his lips clash against yours within half a moment. Determined as his hand immediately flashes to the small of your back, supporting you before you fall backwards on the carpet.

And then he kisses you like a man starved. Like he’s run out of saliva, dehydrated. Seeks your tongue, tastes like earthy Matcha Latte and something you can’t quite define — something that’s so uniquely him.

Your kiss muffles his tiny sound, a mixture of a sigh and a moan, body impatient as he tries to push closer to you, though separated by your clashing knees. You understand — you, too, would let him smother you under his weight if you could.

So you pull your folded legs apart, shifting until they surround him and attempting to straddle him. But he’s plotting something else: his fingers hold your jaw, keeping you in place, and the hot, wet kiss breaks when he pulls away.

You catch a brief glimpse of glistening lips before he moves to trail down your body, leaning in to teeth at your shirt, pushing it off your shoulder and kissing your skin for a fleeting second. And when the shirt shifts back into position, his other hand works on your tits.

Grabs your shirt at its hem, lifting it over your mounds until they’re free, nipples perked, home to him. In a haze, the tip of his tongue touches the right nub, and you shiver.

More so when he whispers, “Am so hard for you, I’ll fucking combust.”

For you.

You’ll repent for how badly you want him in your mouth.

You caress his thigh, sneaking up until you reach the swelling under the fabric. You feel it immediately, firm as a rock, big and fat, so sensitive that he hisses once you touch it.

“No,” he commands, the word barely a breath, “no, no. Don’t or I’ll come like this.”

He says it against your neck. Warm and tickling. You feel goosebumps arise, your reactions slow, but your heart fast. His fingers engulf your wrist, leading your palm to his cheek; you feel the smileless dimple under your thumb when he darts out his tongue to wet his lips.

Then, you close your eyes; the pecks against your neck are exhilarating. The moving touch, down to your tits and then back up to your jaw is one of his favourite games; you move your hips against the carpet, soaked panties sticking against your pussy.

“You’re…” you start, fingers in his fluffy hair as he bites your nipple. You moan, your words shaky, “You’re— more into this today.”

“I mean… after everything you just said to me?” He chuckles, moving up, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger. His mouth brushes yours.

“And I missed her.” Free hand between your thighs, he taps just over your clit; your lips part. “Too crude to say I can’t wait for her to swallow my cock?”

Well. Fuck.

If it wasn’t him, you’d cringe. But it is him, and the truth is that you’re dying for him to press himself onto you. To wrap himself around you, to wrap yourself around him.

You want him to cut you in half, want to be his little toy until you can barely stand.

“Maybe,” you tell him, “but I promise that she wants it, too.”

That’s it, that’s it.

It’s when teeth meet again, the kiss messy, your arms around his neck. He holds you by your waist, pulling you off the floor a little, readjusting his position, so you can climb onto him.

You tilt your head as far as you can, taking him in, drooling, lips and tongue moving wildly to taste all of him. His digits wander from your back to your ass, pushing between your cheeks and pressing against your clenching hole.

The gesture is short lived, but enough for you to rub against him. The urge to rip your panties and part your folds over his girth is profuse; to dampen his length and empty his balls just like this.

But he clenches his jaw, groaning. Halts your movement with a strong grip before pulling at your hair without breaking the kiss. You move your fingers up and down his arm, and then dash it upwards to bury them in his locks, too.

Only, instead of reaching his mane, your hand hits the glass table on your left; you grunt into the kiss and then move away to exclaim, “Ah, fuck.”

Jungkook must’ve heard the sound because he catches on right away, laughing. Gently, he pushes you off his lap, gets back on his knees and then up. He pulls you with him as he says, “Alright. Get on the couch before you hurt yourself.”

“Couch?”

You’re surprised; not the bed this time, is it?

Then again — Jungkook isn’t necessarily picky when it comes to this; cue flashback to bathroom adventures.

So you still listen. Wobbly legs drag you to the sofa, plumping onto it as you watch him follow. The bulge is huge, hotter than hellfire when he palms it and lets go again.

“Too damn lazy to get to the bedroom,” he declares before dropping back on his knees.

You thought he’d climb over you, push you back across the length of the couch. But instead, he seems satisfied with your helpless position, pushing back the carpet and table some to take a seat right in front of you.

You admire his patience — the outline of his cock presses against its confines. Does it not hurt? His expression doesn’t reveal any discomfort as he adjusts against the hard floor; the carpet barely provides any relief.

But the discomfort doesn’t redirect his focus, his touch heading towards you, urging you to remove your joggers at turtle’s pace. He throws them over his shoulder and onto the table, one leg of them dangling off of it.

Left in your panties, you watch his hands curl under your knees, freeing his way to where you want to ache. Lifts your legs, places them on his shoulders carefully, amused and delighted when your bent limbs drag him closer to your cunt.

His tenacious tongue peeks between his teeth, and he fondles your thighs before he reaches the hem of your panties. They bug him — separate your heat from his mouth; in this moment, a crime to him.

“Help me here real quick,” he whispers, and you raise your ass, letting him drag the underwear off of you.

It sticks to your pussy for a second, obscenely flooded with your gradually building arousal. You think he sees, because he halts for a second, eyes flitting up to you before he says, “I think this’ll be fun.”

“You promise?”

“Have I ever lied to you?”

Well…

You shrug your shoulders, but smile tellingly, eliciting a smirk that decorates his gorgeous face, closing in bit by bit. The cool air evaporates the nearer he draws, replaced by his hot breath.

And then… just to test…

He darts out his tongue, the sharp tip of it tickling your clit. Your reaction, much desired, stirs a new type of appetite in him. Because your chin trembles just once, just for a moment. Lashes flutter, and his heart skips a beat.

As he inhales, but never exhales, you question, “What?”

“Nothing,” he assures, blowing against your sex, “just. So very pretty.”

You look down at him. His shoulders look broader from here. Muscular, hair dark and silky. His lips are colourful, handsome, nose ready to bury in your pelvis. If he thinks you’re pretty, then he’s the definition of true aesthetic.

Slowly, you reach for his hair, brushing through it before you bring his head closer to you, hinting at the obvious, and say, “And you.”

“Not like you, though…”

He waits, allowing the both of you a moment of preparation.

And then… he’s kissing your pussy. Lightly at first, up and down, a hand on your inner thigh that moves closer and closer to your folds.

He sighs once before a digit parts your nether lips sticking together, and then licks a stripe between them. You whine quietly; his eyes close. He’s beautiful like this; in a minute, he’ll look at you again, mouth swollen, and you’ll wish for his touch to last and last and last…

“Please,” you only whisper, but he doesn’t answer.

Instead, his sweet kisses turn into something more. Way more wetness, way more tongue. And before you know it, he’s splitting your legs wider, pushing in to start devouring you.

Your moans are intoxicating. They’re sudden, but not surprising, voiced against the ceiling when your head falls back. The heels of your feet dig into his back, pushing him closer when his knees are already touching the couch.

The movements of his mouth are warm, a waterfall. He eats you out until he’s slurping, drenching you further. He’ll slide in effortlessly, you already know. Will bury every single inch of himself inside you, fill you up for the rest of the day.

And your high — it builds up embarrassingly fast. Perhaps because it’s been a while; or maybe because it’s Jeon Jungkook you’re dealing with. Either way, your lower stomach aches, the knot pressing against your guts.

“Kookie,” you murmur, yet again left without an answer.

He knows not to break his focus this time; knows that you’re close, recognises it in your grip around the patch of his hair. Hears it in your desperate whimpers, louder by the second. Words more unintelligible now.

Your thigh is twitching every now and then, quivering, and he takes it as a sign to keep sucking and swirling. Then flicks his wet muscle over your engorged clit, adding to your exclaims when his nimble fingers glide into you swiftly.

Too swiftly. Two of them are barely enough; and he adds a third. Your cheeks heat up, body sliding down — partly because you’re dying inside, partly because he’s pulling you towards him.

Jungkook knows how to navigate your body, how to direct you towards a rationality-breaking explosion. And he does. He does with the plethora of lustful licks, softly circling around your clit. His nose presses against it every time he shifts downwards, tasting you thoroughly.

“I’m almost—” you voice, and he hums, vibrations torture.

It’s a game to him that he’s skilled at; he understands his moves, and he never loses. Neither today as he clamps his hand onto your waist, fingers pumping in and out of you, curling and digging, massaging your favourite spot.

They turn and twist, two fingers of his free hand settling around your clit and raising it for better access.

It takes probably half a minute longer… and then… then…

Your voice grows in pitch, nearly illegal for a Sunday afternoon, but music to his ears. So genuine and sweet. Corners of your eyes glistening. He holds your legs apart as you start begging, but all he truly makes out is the eager repetition of his name.

He wishes your shirt didn’t cover your upper body; wishes he could see the heaving of your chest, the perked nipples, the sweat on your clavicles.

But for now, this is enough.

The way he sees waves of pleasure wash over you, eyes rolled back, not looking at him anymore. Your lips are dry, your tongue probably, too, and he wants to kiss it wet again.

You moan and wince and keen, body restless. The tug of his hair becomes more prominent and palpable, but the sensation makes him smile. You’re probably barely noticing, too.

That is, until your hold and breathing finally calm down. You keep riding the wave, your head turning in odd circle-ish shapes. He kisses your pussy, helping you through it, only stopping when you open your eyes.

“Well, that was…” he says, lips as swollen as you anticipated, shimmering, “a good start.”

“Every single time,” you begin, panting, shaking your head. You watch him as he gets on his feet, moving in to your mouth. “Every single time I think it can’t get better, and then I remember it’s just the fucking beginning.”

He shifts to you slowly, grazing your lips, and declares with a soft smile, “More to come, I promise. Gonna have so much fun with you.”

“Do your worst—”

One more kiss. Shorter this time, but you recognise the familiar, lingering taste immediately. Neutral, not too bad. Fills you with pride, because he never fails to guarantee that he loves it.

But you can’t wallow in it because he retreats quickly, impatient hands freeing his golden body from his clothes. The shirt falls somewhere next to the carpet, his own joggers soon discarded, landing on top of yours and sliding to the ground together.

He’s a menace when he climbs onto the couch, knees digging in and creating a shift on each side of your body. His bulge, still hidden behind his boxers, floats in front of your face; from this close, you see the droplet of precum darken a spot of the light purple cotton.

“Next stage?” he wonders above you, stroking your hair gently, as if he’s not about to explore the back of your throat. “Want or do I rather not?”

“What do you mean with not?” Your breathing is heavy as you lift your palm and engulf the imprint of his dick. He flinches, hips moving back a bit before they come back. “Get this shit off.”

He chuckles. Brings his hand to your cheek, thumb caressing it and voice clear when he says, “You’re so cute. Being demanding and all.”

But he still listens. Gets off the couch, slides his underwear off, leaves you gaping.

Gaping at the hooked and girthy tower. Gaping at how the slit on top of his head glimmers. Gaping at the moles along the stiff length, staring at the thick veins, at the full, firm balls.

“Tongue out,” he orders; you do.

The ink-free hand pushes his dick down to you, tapping it against your tongue as you open up wide. He feels heavy, hot, the skin smooth. Your head moves forward to swallow more, but he pulls back.

Strokes himself for a couple seconds, thumb spreading the precum over his head. You drool. Watch attentively, as though you’re learning — until he eventually guides it back to you and positions it into your still gaping mouth.

Enters it slowly. Slightly salty. Then says, “Breathe. And don’t overthink it too much.”

Huh.

Well. Damn.

Because…

At times, you do worry about your expressions; about your tears when you gag around him, the coughing fits you get in the middle of it all. So that’s a surprise. Attentive.

But your mind is blank today anyway; so you nod, moving to lick the underside of the tip, and he laughs, mumbling, “Alright. Have it, babe.”

And you do.

Slowly at first, cautious as you twirl your tongue around him. You don’t notice much discomfort just yet, thankful that he’s easing you into this. A third of his length buried inside, you close your lips around him and hollow your cheeks.

Which is probably when the invisible threads holding him back finally break.

“Okay,” he says, “you got this.”

His knees move in, more inches intruding. His fingers drift to the back of your head, and you dig yours in his brawny thighs. He grows harder in your mouth, impossibly bigger the more you drag your lips along his member.

How gratifying. You’ve craved this for hours and days. What was your argument about again?

Your head drops further back when he shoves himself inside, more and more as time passes. You imitate his prior advances — hum and close your eyes. Bring a hand to the base of his cock, pumping all that you won’t be choking around.

When you gaze up at him to analyse his reactions, he leaves your mind vacant. Because his head is raised, like yours, jawline edged and acute. Mouth open until he meets your eyes.

You hope he’s seeing something just as lascivious and mind-numbing from his perspective. Maybe messy hair, laying against the softness of your shirt. Or a cock appearing out of and disappearing behind pretty lips.

Slowly blinking eyes that shut just as slowly again, and a tongue that falls out and licks along a vein whenever your head moves to the side. Allowing you a couple deep breaths.

He must be perceiving it all, too.

Because a moment later, he gnarls, like a wild animal, and states, “This won’t do—”

—Before putting both hands under your ears, holding your head and…

Ramming his cock into your mouth.

You gasp around him, taken aback and delighted at once. Feel the effect between your legs, hoping to not defile the couch too much.

Head still thrown back, falling further, you already feel the ache in the back of your neck. Your attempts of holding onto the couch prove futile because there is nothing to hold onto, armrests too far away; so you return to his thighs.

But he keeps your body steady, held at the spot between his legs. Your head is a different story: it bounces back and forth, the exhales through your nose frantic as he pounds into your throat before he slows down again.

“Good, gooood,” he drags out, observing the glistening veins as he draws back to his tip and then moves in again. “Doing very, very well. Looks so gorgeous, baby.”

You don’t know what he’s talking about — about you, his cock, the position. Everything?

He keeps up the gentler pace, allowing you a break. Allowing himself the pleasure of this very image. Pretty lips surrounding a pretty dick.

And perhaps your desperate, little moans, accompanied by rapid blinking, set a fuse loose in his brain.

Because a moment later, Jungkook dares a step further — cock already stuffing your entire mouth, he pushes in more. The fat monstrosity reaches far, your gag reflex not as much at bay anymore as before.

The view seems to spur him on, though, and you can imagine why. If you were him, you’d probably enjoy the drooling mess under him, too. Salivating all over his dick, you feel the gross drop of your spit land on your clavicle, throat constricting as he thrusts in.

And just when you’re about to tap his thighs — very reluctantly, too — to catch your breath, he pulls back, fingers immediately digging into your cheeks to straighten your neck and head. You cough, eyes teary, your breathing quick and uncontrolled.

Like a toy, he moves your head to the left, to the right, a sly smirk playing around his lips until he moves down to you, back arched. Amidst your panting, he presses a brief kiss to your mouth, slippery against the dampness.

And then he says, as casually as he shouldn’t, “You’d look so beautiful in leashes.”

“…What?”

But he ignores your mumbled inquiry, instead thumbing at your lower lip. His dark eyes flit from one facial feature to another, pink lip caught between his teeth. The firm chest rises dangerously when he breathes in.

“Should I come in your mouth?” he asks as if you’d ever say no; as if you don’t know that he’s asking because he won’t. “Huh? Shoot it all the way down your throat?”

“Do it, fucking coward.”

…And just like that, he moves back.

tumblr is cruel and the 1k block limit in the new editor won't let me post the entire thing at once lol so here's the rest in a reblog!!! <3

#jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #bts smut #bts fluff #jeongguk smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts x reader #bts x you #bts imagines #bts fic #jungkook scenario #jeon jungkook smut #thebtswritersclub #jungkook fic #jungkook imagines #jungkook

4K notes · View notes

epicbuddieficrecs · 5 months

Text

Weekly Recap | December 19th-24th 2023

Merry Christmas everyone! I hope you're all having a good time with your loved ones. You might get an extra rec this week as a treat! 😊

Complete

running in the dark (let the storms arise) by extasiswings/ @extasiswings (6x10: In A Flash | 2K | Teen): As Buck sleeps, Eddie dreams.

give it to someone special by rainbow_nerds/ @rainbow-nerdss (Canon Divergent - Different First Meeting, Christmas | 12K | Mature): Buck and Eddie meet at the airport after their respective girlfriends live their Hallmark movie dreams and dump them right before Christmas.

I Couldn’t Stand the Person Inside Me I Turned All the Mirrors Around by Princessfbi/ @princessfbi (Hurt Buck, Established Buddie | 7K | General): The shattering sound of plates erupted in the air like a crack of thunder and Eddie’s gaze shot up from his phone. Something was wrong. It was a hair thin trigger that had been switched the moment he caught sight of his boyfriend and the whole world could’ve stopped for all Eddie knew. Buck was staring down at his hands, breathing way too fast, and drowning in some kind of panic that only he could see. “My hands won’t work,” Buck said so quietly.

🔥 Kink Club AU series by Princessfbi/ @princessfbi (Canon Divergent - Different First Meeting, BDSM, Dom Eddie, Sub Buck | Complete | Explicit): Canon compliant one shots where Eddie works at a Kink Club as a side hustle and meets Buck there before his first shift in 2x01.

The Warmth (of You) (25K): aka where Buck and Eddie first meet at a kink club before the firehouse To Weather the Storm (With You) (21K): aka the fallout of Buck finding out the dom he met at a Kink Club is his new coworker Safe Here (With You) (20K): aka Buck and Eddie handle working a shift after their first scene The Building Pressure (of You) (15K): aka Buck reaches out to Eddie after he leaves Abby's place in 2x07 An Offer to Torment (You) (14K): aka Eddie is all twisted up inside about what to do with Shannon. Buck offers himself up for some much needed holiday stress relief.

🔥 to be found by ZainClaw/ @zainclaw (Werewolf AU | 71K | Mature): After being mistreated by his alpha for the last time, Buck abandons his pack and heads for the city where he’s found by Eddie - another werewolf who’s nothing like the ones Buck is used to. Eddie is gentle, kind, and has made a pack for himself and his son that Buck desperately wishes he could be a part of. (Part 1 of to be found (verse))

🔥 to belong by ZainClaw/ @zainclaw (Werewolf AU | 9K | Explicit): Reluctantly, Buck detaches himself from Eddie’s neck and lifts his head just enough for them to look at each other. Eddie’s eyes are dark even with the room bathing in sunlight, his pupils blown. His chest rises and falls at a quick pace, his cheeks flushed. Buck can’t help but lick his own mouth at the sight of Eddie’s kiss-bruised lips. I did that, he thinks. A few months ago he hadn’t even known how to kiss Eddie properly for the first time, and now he can do this. Can leave Eddie looking completely disheveled with just his mouth and hands, the sound of his fast thumping heart loud in Buck’s ears. It makes his chest swell with pride. (Part 2 of to be found (verse))

Christmas Lights by ZainClaw/ @zainclaw (Established Buddie, Christmas | 1K | Teen): “What are we looking at?” Eddie asks, his voice slightly muffled from where his cheek is resting against the top of Buck’s head. “The lights.” “Okay,” Eddie hums. “And what do we think about the lights?”

don't waste a dime on me by QuietLittleVoices/ @hawkeyefrommash (Established Buddie, Secret Relationship | 2K | Teen): Buck and Eddie attend the LAFD's Winter Charity Gala, where Buck is up for auction as a 'date with a real firefighter!'.

Pining. Get it? Like the Tree? by littlechivalry/ @jonlybonlyfromboldlygo (Christmas, First Kiss | 2K | General): Buck likes Christmas. Well, he likes the idea of Christmas. Loved ones getting together. Generosity. The magic of the season. It's wonderful. The reality however, or at least the reality he's experienced? Not so much.

all I want for christmas by smilingbuckley/ @smilingbuckley (Christmas, Getting Together | 7K | Teen): Eddie has to work Christmas Eve and asks Buck to take him to the Buckley-Han Christmas dinner. Buck is happy to spend Christmas with Christopher, but being with his parents dampens the mood. It makes it worse when his mother questions his place in Christopher’s life. Luckily, Christopher knows Buck enough to see him hurting and has a plan to make him feel better. To show him who his real family are.

baby, you never lookеd better than you do in that ugly Christmas sweatеr by wikiangela/ @wikiangela (Christmas, Getting Together | 7K | General): Buck mentions he always wanted his family to wear matching Christmas sweaters, but never got it - Eddie takes matters into his own hands.

Like The Cavemen Did by DeadlyChildArtemis (PWP, BDSM | 4K | Explicit): Buck and Eddie discover a new part of themselves.

🔥 still sitting in a corner i haunt by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Time Travel | 7K | Mature): Unable to imagine a scenario where acting on his feelings for Buck doesn’t end up with everybody hurt, Eddie rejects Buck. Before he can finish the conversation, Eddie is ripped from his time and hurtled into several, seemingly random moments from the future that help clarify his decision.

How Eddie Learned To Stop Worrying and Embrace the Kitten Life by DeadlyChildArtemis (PWP, BDSM | 7K | Explicit): Or, 5 times Eddie refuses to acknowledge his cat behavior and one time he does

All it took was one sniff by kas_delafere/ @janekburza (Incubus Buck, Werewolf Eddie | 1K | General): Buck’s been starving himself since Abby left. But the new hire in the station apparently took one look (one sniff, really) at him and decided Buck is The One.

and i feel just like i want to kiss you underneath my mistletoe by oklahoma/ @malewifediaz (Christmas | 9K | Teen): 5 times the team tries to get Eddie and Buck to kiss under the mistletoe and the 1 time they do. Kinda.

ain’t a drop of bad blood by grandpacat (Post-Lawsuit | 2K | General): Buck cries, Eddie apologizes, Eddie cries, Buck apologizes. Post-lawsuit canon divergence.

Hearth by grandpacat (Post-S6 | 6K | Mature): In which Marisol finds out about Eddie's will and isn't happy, Eddie has some realizations, and all the important conversations happen in the kitchen.

Brain Machine Broke by grandpacat (Getting Together, Post-S6 | 1K | General): Buck sees Eddie holding Jee-Yun and his brain breaks.

You and Me Here (underneath the mistletoe) by Bob_loblaws_lawblog/ @buddierights (Christmas, Getting Together | 6K | Teen): It’s fine. It’s just a kiss under the mistletoe. It’s a Christmas tradition, and in this case, just a joke. Not a big deal. He can play along – his only other choice is being weird about it, which sounds too much like revealing his feelings. So, he swallows it down and looks at Eddie who is still standing frozen, staring up at the mistletoe hanging above them. Buck forces an easy smile. “C’mon, I’m not that bad,” he jokes. The tension in Eddie’s shoulders lessens a little and he laughs softly. “No. No you’re not,” he admits. “So, what do we do?” Buck shrugs, trying to remain casual. “I guess we just suck it up and French a little.”

Bottled Poetry by Bob_loblaws_lawblog/ @buddierights (Fake Relationship, Valentine's Day | 7K | Teen): Buck and Eddie take a platonic trip to a winery and everyone assumes they're a couple. Eddie pines.

Home is Just Another Word for You by Bob_loblaws_lawblog/ @buddierights (Christmas, Different First Meeting AU | 10K | General): Eddie misses his flight home to his son on Christmas Eve, and just so happens to get stuck with the handsome man who sprinted across the airport with him.

Dance the Night Away by ReformedTsundere/ @film-in-my-soul (Canon Divergent - Different First Meeting | 7K | Mature): "Just promise me something, okay?" Eddie is brought around to the present, blinking as he wraps his hand around his beer bottle and nods for Ricky to go on, even though he's already half-sure of what's about to happen. "You have to rescue that poor boy over there." Ricky nods over Eddie's left shoulder, and Eddie, even though he knows better, finds himself twisting, hip cocked against the low bar, to follow Ricky's line of sight toward the cluster of round tables in the corner of the room.

Please Don't Wake Me Up by ReformedTsundere/ @film-in-my-soul (Incubus Eddie | 11K | Explicit): "You've been having wet dreams about me." And shit. Fucking fuck. That was not what Eddie had wanted to start with. But the words are out in the open, and Buck is gaping at him, jaw damn near on the floor as he's frozen, blinking quickly and processing what Eddie's just said. "You- how- did Chimney tell you?"

Cat Scratch Fever by ReformedTsundere/ @film-in-my-soul (Cat Hybrid Buck, PWP, Established Buddie | 3K | Explicit): When another cat hybrid on a call accidentally gets Buck hyped on pheromones, Eddie's there to take care of him.

When the Lost are Found by ReformedTsundere/ @film-in-my-soul (Soulmates AU | 3K | General): When everyone seems to have a better soulmate identifying system, Buck can't help but consider his own to be lackluster. How's he meant to find his soulmate with loose change and mismatched socks after all?

Capture Something by ReformedTsundere/ @film-in-my-soul (Percy Jackson Fusion | 3K | Teen): "Let's see," Buck counts off on his fingers, "he just broke up with his girlfriend. He lives in Texas while I'm in Pennsylvania. We have no evidence he's even interested in boys, and, oh yeah!" Buck fake gasps as though this last point has just come to him, "he's an Ares kid."

WIP

They don’t know (your name is already mine) by thewolvesof1998/ @thewolvesof1998 (Post-S6, Secret Relationship, Hurt Buck | 3/4 | 7K | General): Buck gets in a car accident on Christmas Eve Eve and the only ID he has on him is Eddie's dog tags. A case of mistaken Identity, a trip to the hospital and a Christmas Surprise.

Packing Light by devirnis/ @devirnis(Last Holiday AU, Christmas | 1/4 | 8K | Teen): The discovery that he has a terminal illness prompts Buck, who has been stagnating as a sales associate at Kelly’s Department Store, to withdraw his life savings and jet off to Europe. There, he lives like a millionaire at the luxury hotel where his sister works. The only one missing from his new life is his coworker and longtime crush, Eddie Diaz.

Kiss Me Once Cause You Know I Had A Long Night by I_still_dont_understand_13 / @sherlockcrossing (Prompt collection | 19/? | 13K | Teen): 100 kiss prompts.

a foundation of trust and love we cannot see by lemonzestywrites/ @lemonzestywrites (FWB, BDSM, Sub Eddie, Dom Buck | 1/17 | 12K | Explicit): “It’s like I want to explore it and dive into it, but it’s not exactly like I’m seeing someone to try this all out with,” he explains, doing his best to keep down the annoyed huff that threatens to escape him at every other word. Buck nods to himself before steadily going silent. For a minute, Eddie thinks that this is the end of their conversation. “I can show you if you’d like.” Eddie nearly chokes on his beer.

🔥 Right Where You Left Me by hyacinthusbloom/ @thebloomingheather (Canon Divergent, Post-S4, Angst | 89K | 20/? | Explicit | Warning: Rape/Non-con): "Therapy?" Eddie suggests. Buck almost laughs, but instead says, "I'll go if you go." Because he had fully expected him to be chicken shit, to disagree, and instead Eddie, the bastard, replies, "Deal." Or Buck never tells anyone that he slept with his therapist and deals with the butterfly effect years later.

🔥 Precious & Fragile Things by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Small Miracles AU, Angel Buck | 15K | 6/? | Teen): Buck is the Fallen Angel of Petty Temptation, who has been tasked with tempting human Eddie Diaz to sin and enjoy life, but just a little. He thinks the job will be easy - get in, get out, go back to Peru to continue messing around with eternity. But when Buck arrives in Los Angeles, he finds Eddie is harder to tempt than expected, and more compelling than Buck had hoped.

Fractals from the Lightning Bolt by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (One Shots Collection | 41/54 | 78K | Not Rated): A collection of oneshots, some originally posted on tumblr. Each chapter is individually rated.

42. Head Empty Just Vibes : Rated G - just more of me being obsessed with the possibilities of Eddie's recovery and Buck being there for him. 43. Phantom Sensation : Rated T - just to be on the safe side for blood and trauma and such. Yet another post-shooting "Buck stays over and helps Eddie recover" ficlet.

#buddie #buddie fic #buddie fanfic #epic buddie fic rec #buddie fic rec #buddie fanfiction #911 fanfic #911 fic #911 fanfiction

208 notes · View notes

sims4luxury · 1 year

Text

The Nursery/Kid Collection

Hello everyone 🤗

I'm wishing you all a Happy New Year 😍🥳🥳 I hope you're all doing great at the beginning of 2023!

I'm so, so happy today to share with you the biggest collection I ever made and to show you my progress in Blender 😱

About my progress this month:

One of the biggest new skills I have now is that the bed blanket is animated!!!!

I learned how to make a cloth simulation on a mesh, which means I created from scratch for the first time in my life the pillow, the blanket (bed cover?), and the bed canopy

As I already said, I learn how to animate the blanket, which means the bed is fully functional exactly as it should be. No more strange animation when a toddler will going to sleep in it 👌

I also learned how to create a curve, which was needed for the garland

Most of the rugs in this collection has now a thickness even if the shape is not a basic shape such as a square, rectangle, or round. I learned how to add texture details to them which gives a realistic and mellow appearance which can be great if you have a Simstagram and share cute toddler poses for example

I started learning several new other skills but the end result is too bad to be shared right now 😂

Thank you all so so much for all your support without which I simply wouldn't be able to spend as much time learning new 3d skills 🙏❤

About the collection:

The collection is composed of 25 new CC with a total of ... 291 swatches! 😱

I wanted to cover as many styles as possible with plain colors and matching patterns for you to be sure to be able to create a lot of different toddler bedrooms even if you're using the same mesh. I'm personally always frustrated when the CC is exactly the one I want to use but can't find the swatch that is matching with the other items made by another CC creator.

Of course, I couldn't create all the textures ever possible, but for sure when an item has 38 different swatches, you'll find at least 1 of them matching your interior 😍

The color palettes I used to create this collection are mostly white, pink, orange, green, and blue with matching patterns and for some items, I created different kinds and tones of wood from light to dark.

Everything is base game and HQ compatible

Everything is functional and playtested

All items have from 1 swatch up to 38

When possible, all items have all their LODs

Except for the bed canopy (sorry), everything is low poly

They all have their custom thumbnails and are correctly tagged

Most of them can be found under "kid's furniture" or "kid's decoration"

All of them can also be found with those keywords: sims4luxury; nursery; toddler; kid

Here are all the thumbnails of the collection:

How to make the bed functional:

The bed is coming in 3 separated pieces:

Bed frame

mattress

blanket

and ONLY THE BLANKET is actually functional. Bed frames and mattresses are only decor items with 0 interactions or animations linking to them. So you'll need to place the blanket if you want your toddler sim to be able to sleep in the bed from this collection.

You can use the blanket with any other bed frame you have, it will work the same.

I separated the bed into 3 pieces for you to choose between all the swatches and mix and match all of them the way you prefer.

About the bed canopy:

The bed canopy is a high poly mesh. I did my best and created several versions of it but the only one which didn't look too weird to be shared is the version that has 25k poly. So please be cautious!

I created the mesh to be placed as close as possible to the walls in a corner so that the bed frame can be placed below it, not next to or in front of it and it does not create a collision with any sim.

Tips:

Because of the number of swatches a lot of the CC in this collection has, the files are large.

If you need to save space on your computer but still want to keep this collection installed, I suggest you delete the swatches you like the least with Sims4Studio.

---------------------

Et voilà 🤗

I wish you all to enjoy this new CC collection and all the best for 2023 😍🥳

Full love to everyone of you and thank you from the bottom of my heart for all your support 🙏

Mélissa

* FREE DOWNLOAD *

1K notes · View notes

whatifyoulivelikethat · 6 months

Text

peppermint gum, m | jjk | savor...

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

It’s impossible to fall in love when you’re already in love. And Jeon Jungkook was in love. Helplessly. But what could he do? Time passed. The world became tasteless to his eyes. All he could do was hold onto the crisp and intense color of those memories, remember her words, and wonder where she was now. Savor, and burst forth.

this is part i | click here for part ii | total wc: 25.6k

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; this story contains parental child abuse - child neglect and abandonment; sloooow burn; mild alcohol consumption; hardcore pining JK; angst and fluff and feels; (in part ii) smut (fem reader, slight D/s dynamic, so much kissing, hair pulling, scratching / marking. grinding, choking, m-receiving oral, finger sucking, fingering, nipple play, m-masturbation, thigh riding, edging, penetrative sex, doggy, multiple orgasms); shifts back and forth between Jungkook’s POV and your POV; from lovers-to-strangers-to-lovers again :)

non-idol!AU; pining!Jungkook x noona!reader — ft JK's helpful? friends Kim Taehyung and Park Jimin; reader's close friend and talented guitarist, Kang Hyungu (ONEWE's Kanghyun if you want to see his appearance, hehe, same personality); JK has all his piercings and has hair (lol) had to be broken up into two parts bc it is 25k words, rip

“Aren’t you afraid that I’ll forget you?”

Those last words rang in his head, accompanied by her smile.

“Your mind might forget me, but the body always remembers.”

He wanted her to be wrong. But, of course, she wasn’t. Life wasn’t so kind. Life wasn’t so kind to give him a dramatic ending. Rather, it was a calm one of slow decay where he gradually learned to not miss her anymore. No ill feelings. Just helplessness. He had wanted her to be his morning, his afternoon, his night. She didn’t. He had been younger then. He had thought he could change what was already written.

She had done the right thing, actually.

Years past. The memories became a blur with everything else. Everyone else – between nights and bodies and the feeling of not quite right. Searching but not knowing what he was looking for so he cut them off just as he had been cut off. It hurt, of course, but not as much as it would have if he had let it drag on. Maybe that was what he had learned from that time.

He forgot to miss her.

But he still thought of her and wondered where she was now.

Tattoos, piercings, and countless hours at the gym later. Running. Life an endless loop despite the differences. Nowadays, he was making an effort to hang out with his friends more, not just for birthdays or online games, but socializing at in-person events that he still wasn’t very good at. Becoming older meant drifting apart since they didn’t have those common places to mingle in anymore, so it was important to put in the effort. If he wanted to improve in talking to people more casually, well, he should at least put himself in those opportunities, right?

Right.

Running.

Always running.

Sometimes, when he was in the dark surrounded by people and with just the right amount of alcohol in his system, he missed her terribly, but he couldn’t remember what standing next to her was even like.

Other times, he completely forgot she used to like this type of tea or that kind of snack. These details faded into the background, only to return to him in disorienting dreams and half-realities.

And most of the time, he forgot.

In between hands and lips and legs, he felt the rush. The exhilaration. Lust. He could make magic in the bedroom. Wasn’t that what it was all about? Wasn’t it all about the chase between two? Wasn’t love about strangers becoming forever-afters? Wasn’t it? He didn’t know anything about that when he was younger. Right. How could that be love?

Maybe.

Maybe he just forgot.

The spark always died so fast. It must have been not quite right.

She must have forgotten him too, by now.

When Jeon Jungkook saw her again, he hadn’t expected it at all.

It was at a nightclub concert. Loud and obnoxious and full of infectious energy. A friend of his was a singer of the band that was going onstage next. Currently, there was alternative rock band vibing with the crowd, singing songs that no one knew but spoke to feelings everyone understood. Breakup lyrics to sweetheart melodies. He was enjoying himself, but not paying much attention. In a split second, he had whipped his head around because one of his friends was playfully flicking the back of his hair, being an idiot, and then he saw her at the edge of the stage. Right there. He almost didn’t think it was her at first, but his eyes recognized that face right away, even amidst the chocolate smokey eye and cherry lip stain. He almost looked away, not wanting to stare at a now-stranger, but his body froze when she smiled, remembering the way his heart fluttered when those past-lover-now-stranger’s eyes sparkled with mischief when she smiled.

That couldn’t have been love, right?

He couldn’t remember.

Was she more beautiful than before or had helplessness desaturated his memory?

She was cheerfully speaking to someone. A young man who had cerulean hair. His undercut was dyed a gradient purple. Taller than her, with broad shoulders. Black t-shirt and tight jeans showing off a built body. He lingered near her the same way a cat stayed by its owner. She shook her head at him and said something. The man chuckled despite a demeanor full of nervousness. She handed him his purple electric guitar and pushed him, motioning him to interact with the band standing offstage. Oh, that was right. His singer friend had mentioned that their actual guitarist was out taking care of his grandmother. They had to call someone to fill in on short notice.

It was clear, by the instrument, that this was the fill in.

The young man trotted over to the band and introduced himself. He was meant with open arms and gracious bows that left him flustered and shaking his head.

Jeon Jungkook looked away, not wanting her to see him.

Would she know it was him?

He glanced at her again during the break for the band change. She was standing at the side, not too close to the wall but not too far. Could be noticed right away, because she was not drinking and because she was alone. Simply standing there. Almost regal even in a tight white crop top and hip-hugging black trousers. The thick black strap of her sling bag had a large plush keychain dangling by her waist. A tuxedo cat with a tangerine on its head. She didn’t seem bothered to be alone with no one to speak to. She also held onto a big, thick, black leather jacket. Folded and tucked in her arms. Could be hers.

Could also not be.

She was smiling in the direction of the substitute guitarist. Jungkook caught a shared gaze between them. She gave the man a thumbs up. He returned the smile, albeit awkwardly. A wordless exchange. Two people who knew each other very well. The lights dimmed. An announcement was made and cheers erupted around him.

But Jungkook was in the dark, surrounded by people, with not enough alcohol in his system to place the emotion he was feeling right now.

He looked to the stage as the spotlights returned to the stage, lighting up the band and his friend, but his mind held onto the image he had just now seen. Something about her makeup, with the striking eyeliner and black-cherry tinted lips. His own lips tingled, remembering the taste of a kiss from years ago.

A bright and refreshing flavor, so strong that it had seemed to last for hours after.

He was not self-centered or bitter enough to call her an ex-girlfriend. It had been a crisp and intense connection but, in retrospect, the time had been short. Fast and in a rush. The kind of love that made his skin prickle and his heart race. There had been no way to know how long it would last. There had been no comparison to realize that that love could be as fleeting as it was powerful.

A peppermint gum love.

Ah, what was he going on like this for? Maybe she didn’t want to be bothered. Maybe she wouldn’t want to see a ghost of her past. Maybe she didn’t even remember him. Jungkook knew he looked very different now. Back then, he had been a lot more worried about being presentable to everyone. Now, he was old enough to know he couldn’t and didn’t have to please everyone. He could wear loose clothes even if he worked out to look toned the way he wanted. He could get those lip piercings even if people told him eight ear piercings was already too many and adding two more on the right side of his lower lip was overdoing it. He could get a sleeve of colorfully dark tattoos and maybe consider getting more if he really wanted, even if some people found it tacky or not to their taste.

Well.

As long as he had the money for it, anyway.

He tried to discern how she was looking at the young man playing guitar, but Jungkook couldn’t figure out if it was the same expression that she had given him all those years before. He couldn’t remember.

His mind couldn’t remember.

But.

There was an interlude mid-act. He had made up his mind. He excused himself from his friends, mumbling the excuse of the bathroom. It was nerve-wracking to cut himself away from that safety. He didn’t have to do this. There was no ill feeling.

Just helplessness.

He moved through the crowd, winding between the people. Right there. There was so much noise. Conversations. Laughter. Drunken bickering. But all he could hear was silence. Bodies pushed up against him, bumping into him by accident, mumbling out apologies. But all he could feel was the suggestion of a touch, the faded peppermint gum love, grasping for a memory that he couldn’t seem to recall.

His finger tapped her shoulder.

He just wanted to know something.

“Do you still feel the same as you did back then?”

After the hey, how have you been, after the look of recognition and half-amused smile and the flutter of his heart, after the small talk of where are you now, he asked her the question. Those things were only the precursor. The filler and fluff. The pretense to the question that had been on his mind for a long, long time now.

“About what?” she asked, tilting her head curiously.

“I don’t know if you remember…” He didn’t either, actually. Remember her original words. “But you said that you didn’t think you could ever understand love. You said something like that to me a long time ago and I wonder… I wonder if that feeling has changed.”

He knew it was a strange question and yet.

He just…

Needed to know.

The shadows in her eyes became darker, impenetrable. “Sounds like something I’ve said. But, are you asking me because you think that feeling should have changed?”

He shook his head quickly. “No.” Looked at her head-on, unsure if this bravery was from alcohol or the question itself that had been lingering in his mind for so long. “I remembered what you said after all this time because…”

Hot and heavy, but ultimately forgettable nights.

Cold and bright.

Unable to last and, yet, lasted.

“Because I think now I am beginning to understand what you meant.”

There was a lot of noise around them, but he barely noticed. There was so much light, so many people around them, but this moment was a spotlight between him and the past cold brightness. The shadows in her eyes softened, no longer bristling thorns, fading into a dark forest of overlapping leaves. He couldn’t know, but he felt those eyes were different now. Darker. More decisive. And yet, in some ways she hadn’t changed at all. One of the things that he had always liked about her back then was that she always answered him seriously and wisely even if the question seemed out of the blue.

They always had an inexplicable closeness, even as strangers.

She was even more beautiful and more attractive than he remembered though.

“I lied,” she admitted with a half-smile. Was that a sparkle of mischief in her irises or was he seeing things? “I remember what I said to you. It had upset you a lot, I remember, when I said I didn’t understand love. You cried. It must have hurt you, but I couldn’t understand why back then. Back then, I said I didn’t understand love because I both didn’t want to learn and couldn’t feel it. Only the latter is true now. Or, rather, I don’t think I feel the same things that other people feel when they are with the people they love. But why do you say you’re beginning to understand that I meant?”

His body remembered the feeling of her hand on his shoulder. Now, their relations weren’t close enough for her to touch him. He didn’t remember crying but he wasn’t surprised to be told that he did. When he was younger, he had been a bit of a crybaby. Just because he didn’t recall didn’t mean it didn’t happen.

But.

His heart could still feel that deep scratch of those familiar words, even now.

“When I met you back then… I thought I knew everything about love. Love was for good people. I wanted to be a good person so I could be loved. All I had to do was become the person that people wanted to love. But then I realized I wasn’t doing the things I wanted to do, only what was expected of me. Then you told me you didn’t understand love and I, someone who wanted to be loved by you, realized I had nothing to fall back on because I was only made of others’ expectations and ideals.”

He shook his head. He did remember crying after they parted. He remembered trying to make the sadness go away. He remembered nights in beds and stumbling home to cry in the shower, feeling disconnected in the physical connection. He remembered nights alone, empty bottles and holding a shot glass of tears, feeling unable to speak about this to anyone. Lost without knowing how to be found. Doing things based on impulse because only impulses were truly his and not poisoned by the opinions of others. Laughing at the search of happiness. Above all, he had been afraid. He had been afraid to give voice to his worries because then maybe they would gain power and overtake him.

But then he remembered the person who didn’t understand love.

There was such a person that existed out there.

He wondered how she was now.

“I wanted to tell you…”

And now he knew.

“I wanted to tell you I understand now. Or… don’t. Um.”

She smiled at him.

It was not the same way as she looked at the guitarist.

“Huh, you’ve become so mature and grown up. Well, welcome to the smoke-and-mirrors of adulthood, Jeon Jungkook,” she chuckled teasingly, shaking her head. “I scarred you that bad, eh?”

“No, I didn’t mean–”

She raised a hand to stop him, waving away his apology. “No, it’s okay. I’m surprised you still remember me. And don’t hate me. A lot of them hate me.”

Your mind might forget me, but the body always remembers.

His body did remember.

“A lot of them?” he echoed, a muscle in his jaw tightening.

The faintest tick of her eyebrow. “You gonna tell me you have all these tattoos and piercings and don’t get laid?”

His heart dropped. “You don’t like them?” He blurted that a little too fast.

She laughed. “My opinion of them doesn’t really matter.”

“Yes, it does,” was his quick reply.

She paused. The shadows in her eyes swirled. He tried to discern their meaning as he stared into those dark irises but the shadows were all evasive and clever, flitting away from him playfully. When she spoke again, there was a sternness to her tone. Not scolding him. Just getting her point across.

“Answer the question of whether or not you get laid.”

Hot and heavy nights that meant nothing compared to the cold and bright scratch on his heart.

“I…”

The tips of his ears suddenly burned but maybe it was the alcohol.

“I do. But I haven’t remembered or been bothered to remember a single thing they’ve said to me,” Jungkook heard himself say and wondered where that bravery came from.

She didn’t say anything for a moment.

Then she smiled in the way that made him shiver.

“Hyungu is gonna be pissed,” she laughed as the sound of a guitar riff pierced the air.

Oh, shit.

The spotlight faded.

Everything rushed back. Sound, color, light. It suddenly became very clear that he was too far and too long gone from his friends to go back now and face them. Jungkook spun around, seeing that the crowd had packed up tightly again. To his dismay, he had no idea where his friends were. They were no longer in that little pocket they had been. Did they get closer to the stage? Had they seen where he had gone? Did one of them text him? He was afraid to pull out his phone, both in rudeness and in the possible mortifying teasing. His phone was always on silent, at least. What he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

He turned back.

The melody echoing behind him was sharp and bright chords followed by a soulful voice.

She had been looking at the stage but immediately caught his gaze with a surprised expression. As if she hadn’t expected him to stay once the music started. And he shouldn’t, for it was rude and intrusive and inconsiderate to stay and invade a stranger’s space any longer.

But.

“You didn’t give me an answer.”

She blinked at him. “What?”

He pulled up the sleeve of his charcoal hoodie, revealing more of his tattoos. Her eyes tracked the movement, widening in surprise at the burst of color combined with thick black outlines. She had been able to see some of them, as his sleeves had been pushed up slightly, but it was much more obvious with the cuffs to the elbows. His forearm was covered with ink and there was no sign of stopping past the black patch in his inner elbow.

He looked back at her.

For a moment, they were young again.

Haloed by music, immersed in each other. A movie in real life. Suddenly it felt worth it – worth taking the risk of being rude, intrusive, or inconsiderate. Suddenly, it felt worth rolling the die and betting double just to…

Have a taste of that peppermint flavor.

“Yes or no?” he insisted, frowning, stubbornly pushing for an answer.

Deep down, Jungkook had always hoped she was thriving, shining brighter than all the stars, because then it proved that he, someone who also felt like he didn’t understand love, could be as impactful as that sparkling smile.

The corner of her lips ticked up in amusement. “Does a stranger’s opinion matter that much? I thought you weren’t going to let the opinions of others bother you anymore.”

Are we really strangers?

He grinned. “A stranger’s opinion would be the most unbiased, right?”

Can strangers speak like the way you and I do?

She stared at him for seconds that felt like forever-ever-afters.

Then she laughed, reaching up with a graceful hand and touching her fingertips to her forehead. His breath caught his throat, suddenly flooded with memories of youth and rashness, short as it was. He could see it all in a whirlwind. Crystal clear and fleeting all at once. A perfect storm and now caught in the eye, all of his wonders and helplessness thrown to the wayside upon seeing this familiar gesture that he didn’t even know until now was familiar, realizing now just how precious it was.

She lowered her hand with a mirthful and sparkling expression.

Beckoned with a downward wave as the music swelled, dangerously close to melting into the bridge.

“Step closer. You’re in someone’s way.”

Jungkook jolted, stumbling, realizing there was a short woman with carrying three full cups of foamy, honey-colored beer looking confusedly at him.

“Oh, shit, sorry–”

Her hand touched his shoulder, directing him gently.

His body moved but his mind froze at the touch.

“Listen. This is my favorite part. I’ll tell you after.”

One moment, there was space between them.

The next, he was standing next to her.

She tapped the air, closing her eyes.

“Listen.”

He closed his eyes obediently. Took away the visual, and suddenly his world was flooded with the auditory. An intricate guitar solo to bring life to his fluttering heart blending with piano and drums flowing together. Memories flashing past, too fast to grasp onto, happiness and misery, and then the bridge came, the lyrics painting the photo of two colorless roses abandoned by the heavens.

He opened his eyes and looked at her.

Her eyes opened at the final chorus, exhaling softly. Turned her head and he could see in the shadows of her gaze that she, too, remembered their minty whirlwind of memories.

Or…

Was he just hoping for that?

She smiled.

“I love your tattoos and piercings. You suit them well. I’m glad you found your own color, Jeon Jungkook. You shine so much brighter now than you did back then.”

It was at this moment that he knew...

He fucked up.

He shouldn’t have walked over here. He shouldn’t have asked the question. He shouldn’t have stayed and continued the conversation. He shouldn’t have asked if she liked how he looked now. He should have stayed with his friends and wondered. He should have preserved in the hot and heavy instead of searching for the past of crisp and bright. He might get used to it. He might end up finding what he was looking for, whatever it was. Or, better yet, he might just forget this whole feeling and her lasting words if he never saw her smile as she spoke to him again.

But he didn’t, so that meant he really fucked up.

Pit-a-pat.

He stared at her for so long that he didn’t realize he hadn’t said anything in reply until the song ended and her expression changed, tilting her head in puzzlement. She thinks I’m insane. Say something, Jungkook! Anything! But nothing was coming to mind, as how it always was in these situations. Awesome.

“Uh…”

She smoothly interrupted his awkwardness. “Did you come with friends?” Expression neutral. “I would hate to keep you from your company for too long.”

The notable shift from more casual to formal slightly stung.

No.

Really stung.

“I… Well, honestly, I don’t know where they are,” Jungkook confessed, scanning the crowd for a moment in attempt to look for them. It was a half-assed attempt, but it was an attempt. “I think I’ll have to look for them after the show. We’re meeting up with the band to eat, I think.”

“Oh? You know them?”

He pointed awkwardly to the stage. “Ah, yeah, the lead singer… We met in high school and are in the same friend group… Well, I’ve only recently started hanging out outside again. We’ve played a lot of online games together.”

“Oh, really?” She looked back up to the stage. “In that case, do you think your friends would mind if Hyungu tagged along?” A cautious smile. “It’s just… Hyungu-ah is in a band too, but they’re on hiatus right now. A few of them are doing military service. I think he really misses that environment. I can’t really talk music with him though, I don’t know anything,” she added ruefully, shaking her head and scrunching her nose. “Sorry, that’s probably a bit much to ask you after seeing you all this time. I’m just worried about that introvert, haha.”

Oh, right. The substitute guitarist. Right, because she didn’t simply magically appear as an act of fate or red string level of storytelling in a drama. Real life wasn’t like that.

“S-Sure, we can all go together–”

She was asking him to suggest or go along with the proposition to not alienate the guy. It was clear that she cared about him. He didn’t want to see them together, but… If she became part of his friend group, he might have a reason to go out more. Maybe he was a masochist. Maybe he just wanted to see if she was happy with that guy. Maybe he…

Okay, he wanted her to be close, even if it was all futile.

She relaxed. “Ah, phew. It really did take me a while to convince him to get out of the house,” she chuckled. “It’ll be nice for him to be around people that understand his true language of music, haha. I’ll stick around just in case, but don’t worry, I’ll leave and let you guys be guys, heh.”

Wait.

What?

Jungkook blinked rapidly. “Huh? Aren’t you coming too?”

She stared back. “Huh? Why?”

He looked at her and she looked at him.

Both blank stares of confusion.

“Why wouldn’t you go with your boyfriend?” he blurted.

Invisible question marks popped up over her head. Then she jolted and jerked her head to the band, to the blue-haired guitarist tearing it up on stage with a grin, then back at Jungkook, her eyes wide. “Me? Me?” She pointed to herself quickly, half-laughing in disbelief. “Me and Kang Hyungu?”

Jungkook gawked.

She burst out laughing.

“Oh, fuck, no, no, no,” she puffed, waving her hand all over. “No, no, he’s not… Oh, sheesh, no, we’re not dating. You thought… hah, sorry, there’s a misunderstanding here, hahaha…” She flicked her hand downward as if that idea was so ridiculous that it needed to be physically slapped out of existence. “Ah, no, how can I explain…”

Huh?

Wait, didn’t she mention earlier that his Kang Hyungu was going to be angry? She did directly say, Hyungu is gonna be pissed, right after Jungkook had told her he never bothered to remember what other girls told him, which would imply… argh, this was very baffling and Jungkook found his scatterbrained thoughts spinning trying to comprehend it all.

She straightened and ticked her head to the stage. “Me and him are just friends. We’ve been friends are a long time. Sorry, I can see why you’re mistaken since I came here with him, but Hyungu-ah is the type that really doesn’t like new situations. When he got asked to fill in for another band, he wanted me to come with him, since he wouldn’t know anybody. I believe he said he only spoke to these guys a couple times at festivals and he just needed some moral support.” She grinned. “Ya know, a tough cookie in case things get tough, hehe.”

Jungkook understood but also he was confused. “O… Oh…”

She motioned away his doubts. “In his words, you’re scary, noona. I’d feel much better if you came with me. Can you believe this guy? Just admit you’re lonely.” She rolled her eyes. “Hyungu-ah is a guitar genius. He’s a music nerd. I’ve known him since…” She paused, a dark shadow casting over her eyes as she recalled the past. “I was asked to tutor him when he was in high school and I was finishing university. He was shit at math and science. I helped him pass and then I…”

And again.

That pause.

Jungkook got the feeling she wasn’t sure if she wanted to tell him or not.

She shrugged. “I moved away. Then I saw his name on a poster. Turns out this nerd made his dream a reality and started that band after all.” Her expression became fond. Gentle. “I went to go see him perform. I was surprised he recognized me, actually. Hah, kinda like–”

Her gaze shifted to him.

It was as if time stopped.

She continued, clearing her throat. “Anyway, I’m not dating anyone. Definitely not Hyungu. He’s more like a little brother to me. Or I’m more like a bodyguard, heh. With only intimidation tactics. I really should work out, huh…”

He frowned. “Have you talked about him before? I would have remembered someone so important to you.”

“Nah, I think you and me was after university. When I was being a slu–” She cut herself off. “Ahem, I mean, I was young and didn’t really want to deal with, well, anything. Running from myself, so to speak.” She sighed. A little heavy. “I meant to say sorry, back then. You got caught up with my madness.”

She winked.

Jungkook felt his heart skip a beat.

“But, hey, you dodged a bullet, eh?”

He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. That burst between them wasn’t there anymore.

Right?

Wrong.

He grinned.

“Nah, I’m bulletproof.”

Something about her.

Do you feel it too?

Her gaze sharpened and she stilled, mischief sparkling in her eyes.

“Oh, yeah?”

Well.

Can’t say you expected the events of tonight to be on this year’s bingo card.

You laid in bed and scrolled through your phone, but you didn’t pay much attention to anything on the screen. On one hand, you felt a little restless leaving Kang Hyungu to fend for himself with his low alcohol tolerance. On another hand, he was a grown man and would call you in the middle of the night to pick him up if he was really fucked up. Eh, he was too much of a good boy to be irresponsible.

You chuckled to no one in particular.

You were alone, after all.

It was a miracle, really, that little Hyungu still wanted to be your friend now.

In some ways, he was still the same kid you had met all those years ago. You didn’t really interact with him much as you were a couple years older and, well, a girl. You couldn’t really look at him either, all things considering. After all, wasn’t it highly probable that the bags under his eyes was your family’s fault? Your family and his family happened to be next-door neighbors at the apartment complex.

No one really talked about it.

In certain areas, the sounds of yelling and thrown dishes were simply background noise. Normal circumstances. The first near two decades of your life was that every day. Most of the time, your presence was as insignificant as a cockroach. Sometimes you would be spoken of but never spoken to. You learned from a pretty young age to shut up or be forced to shut up. The family motto was, children are not meant to be seen or heard. The adults were speaking. More accurately, arguing, escalating to screaming, and then to scalding silent treatment. Repeat cycle. You learned to snatch food from the fridge as soon as you saw it. No one was going to prepare anything for you, but at least there was always something edible in there.

Until you became a teenager, that was.

It got especially bad when you attended high school as both sides picked up hideous habits to deal with their issues. In your opinion, they should have picked divorce to deal with them, but instead they chose gambling and serial cheating. Sometimes neither would come home for days. Whenever they crossed paths, the endless war continued. There was no way to predict when the silence could become suddenly violate and now you were old enough to understand what was going on – and old enough to loathe it. You barely saw your next-door neighbors at that time because you did basically anything you could to avoid going home. There was only so much a child can take.

They either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

It was also about this time that you started using sex as a coping mechanism.

Approval by society wasn’t high on the list for you at that time, nor was it now. Must have been the upbringing. You watched alcohol become an expensive addiction for your parents and, paired with their mindless days at the casinos and excess spending on extramarital pleasures, illegal drugs were out of the question. Sex, however. If you knew what clinics to go to or where to shoplift, well. Free protection. Yup. During university, though, was when you needed money. You couldn’t go far as you couldn’t pay to live in a dorm. Your scholarships were barely covering tuition, so living at home was the only option. At this point, your parents had mostly forgot forgot that there was someone they birthed living in the apartment with them, which was fine by you, except when you needed to eat.

How Kang Hyungu knew things he shouldn’t know was a mystery you never figured out.

You had gotten locked out, again, and some loud dispute was happening behind the door. Deadbolted. It was shaping up to be a shit night – that was until a tall high schooler with a guitar bag approached the door to your right. You tried not to look at him and decided you would leave to find a PC bang to spend the night. But he must have seen your university-branded bag and called out your family name.

That was when Kang Hyungu started talking to you.

He must have noticed the many times that you had been locked out. Well, how could he ignore it? You didn’t want to do the small talk thing except for immediately informing him with your given name. However, your ears perked up when he mentioned that he needed help with math and science classes. He was looking to pay a tutor. Cram school was pretty expensive. Turns out you both had attended the same high school – of course, considering you lived in the same damn apartment building – and the high school posted notices about alumni that had received scholarships. That shit was a big deal to educators.

That was how you ended up in a basement studio room listening to five high schoolers make songs for hours and teaching them calculus, biology, and chemistry. All of them ended up being mild levels of garbage at those subjects, but it made teaching in a group much more efficient. It was thanks to Hyungu that you were able to eat all of university. Honestly, you didn’t really need the money as much as you needed somewhere to be. Yeah, it was pretty clear that Hyungu knew that somehow. He was a lot more observant than you gave him credit for. Neither of you really talked about it even though you should have.

Maybe, then…

When you graduated university, it was clear you had to leave. It was clear you had to put some distance between you and those who birthed you. Turns out, they did it for you, because one day you came home from job hunting and you didn’t have a home anymore. The apartment door was open and some random people were moving in. Cool. A talk with the leasing office, then. Turns out your parents moved out and didn’t bother to tell you. Together? Separately? Who the fuck knew. You found a box of your clothes in the dumpster along with some other random shit. Your birth certificate, even.

Your entire existence thrown in the trash.

It had really not been the best time.

Couple months of living strictly from PC bangs and business hotel rooms, you started a desk job at minimum wage. Funny how a degree didn’t do much but whatever. You also continued your not-so-great coping mechanism of fucking around, which is how you met Jeon Jungkook. He definitely had a different idea of how it all went down, but.

You paused, seeing that you had pulled up your phone contacts and there he was.

Even through changed models, your phone contacts transferred over. You never bothered to clear them out unless the person was worth blocking. Jeon Jungkook wasn’t worth blocking. The breakup, if you could call it that, was pretty simple. You said what you said and he didn’t fight you. You didn’t need his number in the years after, but you forgot about thinking you needed to delete unused numbers. You didn’t really forget him, though.

He was the only one that you felt sorry for breaking his heart.

He hadn’t been your type back then. Your type had been self-destructive, and you had become tired of that, so you chased for the complete opposite instead. You knew full well that it wasn’t going to work out. You didn’t even go into it invested. But you chose well, and he was the complete opposite. He trusted everything you said. He put up with your cold front. He liked you more than you liked him and he had no idea that he did. In fact, you wouldn’t be surprised that he wouldn’t care even if he knew. He was good in bed too. Eager, quick to learn, and listened to everything you said. Tried everything you asked without questioning or judging. It was precisely why you broke it off before it got too deep, because it got too deep way too fast.

He thought of you too highly when, at that time, you were too low to be anything above a grey area.

Aren’t you afraid I’ll forget you?

Just by asking you that, you never forgot Jungkook. He was the only one who seemed worried about that. Everyone else called you a heartless bitch or a dumb whore who was making a mistake. But Jungkook asked you if you were afraid that he would lose your memory, as if it was valuable enough to be tarnished.

Life worked in mysterious ways.

The happening of you seeing Hyungu’s name on a poster was by chance. The choice to go to that concert back then was on a whim. The chance of Hyungu recognizing you and coming to find you, dragging you to his bandmates that all yapped excitedly around you as if no time had passed was surprising. You had always thought they had forgotten or resented you on some level. After all, you didn’t have a working phone for a while since you couldn’t pay for a plan. You had essentially ghosted them for years, but Hyungu acted as if you had always been there. I’ll never forget that you took good care of me, noona. There was no way you could even attempt to date Kang Hyungu. How could you ruin a relationship that he kept preserved so preciously when you abandoned it? He spoke highly of you even when you hadn’t been around, even when you had been too busy being selfish and self-centered. He smiled at you and relied on you once again because he trusted that you could be relied on. You would sigh and be hauled around by these young loons and support their blooming music career as you got your footing and made it to a better desk job with better pay.

And, by some fate, being close to Kang Hyungu caused you to cross paths with Jeon Jungkook once again.

Weird, eh?

You lowered your phone, staring up at the ceiling.

Well, life was full of coincidences, right? There was no reason to think this was a special event. After all, you had been trying your best to forget that time in your life where you felt the most lost. It took a lot of pushing past your own stubbornness to realize that how your parents felt about you had nothing to do who you were. Accepting that you weren’t the worst fuckup ever to exist, thanks to the saving grace of someone who remembered to call you noona in an endearing way and not in an obligated way. It would be counterproductive to…

Jeon Jungkook’s smiling face flashed in your mind.

You only had one orb-shaped lamp on currently. It was one of those that you could set the lighting color and tone to your taste. You liked the low, moody, cool blue lighting. Besides, you knew the layout of your apartment by now, and the overhead lighting wasn’t necessary unless you needed to look for something.

The orb shone like the moon.

Jungkook had known such a different version of you and yet he still smiled at you like that.

“You must have somebody, don’t you?” you sighed to the shining moon.

It was silly to think too much about a random conversation. And, really, all he wanted to know was if you still found him hot or whatever. Yeah, he was just looking for external validation. You just happened to be there. Tattoos and piercings and working out? Sounded like a quarter life crisis to you. One that worked out in his favor, though. Your skin prickled with goosebumps, but it wasn’t from a tangible cold.

In the darkness, the moon-shaped light glowed brightly.

“It would be nice if you had somebody.”

You frowned and turned your back to the light.

It was a coincidence. Another moment of going through life and realizing you had been climbing Penrose stairs all along. How different were you from back then, really? It wasn’t as if you magically started getting into relationships and had a damn epiphany. The cruel epiphany was that we were all stuck in this endless loop of our respective pasts catching up to the present. No amount of heat could dissipate the coldness of the future.

You sighed, melting into the comfort of your cool bedsheets.

“I should just forget about Jeon Jungkook,” you mumbled.

Whatever.

Wasn’t like you were ever gonna see him again.

You dozed off.

Your phone vibrated against your chest.

“You idiot, you know you have no tolerance…”

“Noona, it was so fun, ahahaha…”

The air was cold. The sting of winter clung to his cheeks. He called out her name, feeling like the sound was drowned out by the cars and white noise in his head, but, once again, Jeon Jungkook completely forgot how loud he was.

Passersby jumped as he ran past clutching a guitar bag.

Her arms were wrapped around a blue-haired man who was dwarfing her frame. He looked half-asleep and too proud of himself but that was probably under the influence of alcohol and good vibes. She jolted, startled, her eyes widening as Jungkook skidded to a questionably close stop in front of them, nearly colliding into her.

In fact, he did.

“Woah!”

“Yah!”

He threw an arm out and around them, snapping back to hold the three of them up, pressing the guitar bag to her chest. There they were, a bundle of people who somehow ended up like this with a guitar cuddled between them, standing in the middle of the sidewalk at midnight with nightlife bystanders staring at them like they were all insane. At least Kang Hyungu was completely oblivious. Come to find out during dinner, he had low alcohol tolerance. Less than a soju bottle low. Welp. Nobody had believed him and he had given in a bit. At least he had the backup plan of a close friend picking him up. The group of guys had all stayed at the restaurant, making sure he was safe until she arrived, flushed and windswept, bowing repeatedly in thankfulness.

Therefore, Kang Hyungu was blissfully unaware of the sudden awkwardness of past lovers staring at each other with their stunned faces millimeters from each other.

Jungkook froze, holding her tight.

“H… His guitar…”

Her lips parted but no sound came out.

In his shock, he had only now realized she had removed her makeup. His heartbeat leapt to his throat, suddenly remembering how much he had loved the shape of her eyes and the color of her natural, full lips. How her cheeks seemed more filled out now. Healthier. Her skin glowed. He could almost…

Almost.

His body shivered.

She blinked, casting her eyes down. “Oh, shit, how could I forget… T-Thank you. He would be heartbroken without his precious guitar,” she breathed out quickly and exasperatedly, reaching up to grab the strap. “Thank you. Sorry to trouble you.”

“It’s o-okay…”

Jungkook reluctantly peeled away from her, taking a step back. There was an awkward moment of her still holding onto her friend and shouldering the guitar, juggling between the two. Even in that short moment, Jungkook realized Kang Hyungu must work out. He was not as light as he seemed. Instinctively, Jungkook reached out and held Hyungu’s shoulders when the guitar slipped from her narrow shoulder.

“Aw, fuck–”

Jungkook almost laughed at her puffed cheeks and under-the-breath swearing.

Almost, because his heart ached suddenly.

She had been so cute when she was mad, even if it was being taken out on him. He always thought that, so it had always been hard to argue when he was trying not to be in love with those cheeks.

“Sorry, I got him,” she sighed. “I’ll get him home even if I have to drag him.”

“I’ll help you, noona.”

She froze with her arms around another man. Her eyes darted and fixated on him.

Jungkook realized his mistake and also froze.

He had been calling her formally by name out of politeness until now. The same way strangers would address each other with no intention of ever meeting again. The honorific had just slipped out naturally. Or unnaturally, depending on how one considered the effects of alcohol. The blue-haired guitarist was half-asleep on her shoulder. There were only two conscious souls under this streetlamp on this cold night.

A diffused spotlight.

He sputtered. “S… Sorry, was that too informal…?”

Her gaze shifted. Were her cheeks pink from the crisp air or was it his eyes playing tricks on him? “No, it’s fine, I just…” She shook her head, swallowing hard. “It’s been a while since you… It’s okay,” she chuckled, the corner of her lips rising. “I mean, I would be pissed if you called me anything else. Our age difference is not that significant, but it’s there.”

“Y-Yeah.”

Was there hope in those shadowy eyes or was it all in his mind?

“Don’t you have to go home too?”

He grinned.

“Ah, I stay up until three in the morning every night anyway. Let’s get Hyungu-ssi home.”

Which was how you ended up on a bus with not-so-little-anymore Kang Hyungu snoring on your left shoulder and your past fling Jeon Jungkook on your right.

Awkward.

You clutched Hyungu’s guitar bag like your life depended on it. Actually, deep down you were kind of glad it somehow ended up this way. Being on a bus at midnight meant the crowd was the unpleasant kind. It must have been an odd sight. Sleeping Hyungu by the window, you in the middle seat holding a very expensive guitar, and Jungkook at the aisle being a great big buffer to keep the unsavory folk away. He was wearing a thick black parka over his charcoal sweat set, and he had his hood up to protect his ears from the cold.

For some reason, his jaw was clenched.

His eyebrows were furrowed too, giving him a very mean appearance for no reason. Or, at least, no discernable reason you could conclude. He wasn’t looking at anyone in particular as far as you could tell.

“Sorry about this,” you suddenly said.

Jungkook flinched and turned his head to look at you. Instantly, his expression burst into life, the stern expression melting away into sparkling big peepers and pink lips in a small ‘o’, making your breath catch as the small mole under his lip appeared.

You used to kiss that mole first before you kissed his lips.

Used to.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” he replied with a smile.

“I feel like I cut your night short.”

He gave you a lopsided grin, scratching his cheek. “Eh, I can go to the club or karaoke bar some other time. And maybe I need to not be so easily influenced, ahahaha…”

You hummed. “Guess you’re still the same, going along with our people’s suggestions.”

He puffed his cheeks. “No, I’m not. I’m here with you now, aren’t I?” he shot back.

Pause.

You both looked away at the same time.

Hyungu snored softly in your ear.

Thanks for that, man.

You tried to ignore the creeping goosebumps along your back. It was not the outside temperature. You were wearing your big black leather jacket over the black sweatshirt and jeans you yanked on to quickly get out the door. Your shoulder bumped into Jungkook’s as the bus stopped and let some passengers off. It was still a few stops yet of this awkwardness. For fuck’s sake, you were the older one. Come on. You resisted the urge to slap your own cheeks to get a grip. Nothing is going on here. The heart palpitations were in your head. Yeah. Totally.

“Thank you, again.”

You felt him shift, sitting up straighter. “I really don’t mind at all, noona.”

You sat up too, casting him a sideways half-smile.

He bit the left side of his lip, mumbling.

“I never minded doing anything for you.”

A strange tingling sensation danced over your scalp and down your shoulders. Sigh. He was doing this on purpose, right? One look and of course not. You shut your eyes. Maybe you could just make up a reason to hate him. You thought you had lost him under other bodies and darker nights and bad decisions. You thought he hated you for ending it the way you did, so coolly and unfeelingly. You thought.

“Have you been happy, Jungkook?”

You felt him hesitate. You could almost remember how he smelled back then. Like crisp linens and bright cotton. He loved fabric softener and similar clean scents. Have you been happy after me? You hoped so. In retrospect, you had been such a small, meaningless part in this winding road of life.

“I… I guess? I’m doing things I like to do. I feel like I’m able to live more freely, and I figure I can just… keep doing what I’m good at.”

You smiled.

“That’s good.”

You opened your eyes.

“What about you, noona?”

Have I been happy?

Did you even know what that meant? And yet you felt the weight of precious Hyungu’s head against your shoulder. Someone who relied on your good heart wholeheartedly. Never mind your opinion of if your heart was good or not, or even there. Happy? You went to work. You enjoyed your hobbies like music and games. You stayed home and shopped online when you were bored. You had the money to buy your favorite snacks and you had the luxury to have poor time management to eat them at midnight and wake up puffy the next day.

You had a very simple life that your younger self could barely dream of.

I don’t want to end up like my parents.

Was that why you didn’t want to be in a relationship?

“Noona?”

You looked up suddenly, noticing your surroundings. Quickly pulled on the cord to create the gentle bell tone.

“We need to get off here.”

Somehow, Jungkook ended up in a stranger’s corner apartment surrounded by vinyl, boxed CD albums, and music equipment. It was on a lower floor so at least they didn’t have to climb any stairs to get to the front door. The living room area was less like a living room and more like a half-music studio, complete with guitars, speakers, and a computer with lots of expensive looking music equipment around it. The surrounding walls had black foam squares taped neatly, even on the ceiling. The rest of the wall space was occupied by posters of various indie and mainstream bands. He was surprised to see the few plushies of penguins on the couch. Along the wall of the stairs were flyers that each had a corresponding nail that hung lanyards with plastic cards – artist passes. Festivals and concerts and such, each one containing a recurring name if he looked closely enough.

He, along with his past lover, helped the young man he had just met tonight into the bed in the loft area.

It was a small space.

Somehow, they managed being that close.

“Thanks, again,” she sighed, descending down the stairs in front of him. “You must be thirsty. There has to be some water around here.”

Somehow, Jungkook found himself standing in the hallways of a stranger’s apartment drinking a bottle of water as he watched the one who got away rip a memo note off a pad and scribble something down, finding a Pingu mug to sandwich it under.

Somehow.

She turned around and sighed, looking relieved. The guitar bag was on the sofa, safe and sound.

Then they stared at each other, realizing they were now alone.

Well, not alone.

Above them, Kang Hyungu was in dreamland.

“Ah…”

Her shoulders slumped.

“Sorry, I didn’t even ask how out of your way this was. I’ll pay for a taxi back.”

“Ah, no, that’s okay. I can make my way.”

“Don’t be like that,” she scolded, although not with much severity. “I can’t take advantage of your kindness.”

He paused, staring into her eyes. They hadn’t turned on too many lights. Enough to see, and then turned off most of them right away to avoid waking up the neighbors with the brightness. Only the warm bulb by the door was on now, illuminating them together.

“Noona, can I ask you something?” he asked softly, realizing his voice shook a little.

She lifted her head, pulling her hands out of her pockets.

“Yeah, of course. What is it?”

Have you ever been in love?

He looked at her, and he remembered the question she didn’t answer on the bus. They had been hurried and trying not to inconvenience anyone. Now that what about you was lost in the whirlwind of sights, sounds, in time past. Jungkook was pretty sure that he knew what the line of love and distraction was, but he found he had no real words to describe it. Only a feeling of sureness, just as he was sure that if he asked this question, have you ever been in love, he would be overstepping a boundary somehow.

Mostly because it seemed obvious.

And also because it was not fair to ask questions that he was personally invested in the answer and honestly didn’t know if he wanted to know the answer.

Had he ever been in love? Sure, although he knew it was always with the caveat of what he knew at the time and driven by the image painted by his own parents. A miracle that he had a chance to witness. He hadn’t really thought about how deeply seeing them interact affected him until he met her. She never spoke about her parents. It was like they didn’t exist. No photos, no calls, no casual drop-bys to hand over a home-cooked meal and say hi. In contrast, Jungkook had the unfortunately mortifying moment of being balls deep and then interrupted by his own mother right before the big finale. She just silently laughed while hiding behind the door as his mom attempted to enter his apartment, why are there clothes all over the floor, aish, I keep telling you that I didn’t teach you to be messy, and him trying to reassure her that everything was fine and he had to be somewhere soon.

Yeah.

Anyway.

It the time it had been embarrassing, but she had told him something that had, again, stuck with him for a long time after. You are lucky that she takes the time to bother you. Some people would do anything to have their parents care for their well-being just one more time. The realization had humbled him. Sorry. I didn’t know your parents passed away. But she had just shaken her head with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

No, Jungkook, they’re very much alive. They just never cared about me, ever.

He had felt very sorry then, but she had waved her hand and laughed.

Don’t be. I can’t miss something I’ve never had.

It was then that Jungkook realized that he believed in love because his parents were in love. It was later when Jungkook realized that he, too, had been in love, but this was only after he had stopped seeing her. Only after he stopped tasting her strong, concentrated flavor. The world had become a tasteless future despite all the color and saturation trying to grab his attention.

Because she had left.

It might have been short, but that time had been a forever-after packed into a few months.

Jungkook jumped as she tapped the back of his hand with her fingertip.

“Hello? Welcome back to Earth. Did you enjoy your time spacing out?”

She looked amused.

“Guess you haven’t changed from your random space-outs, heh,” she chuckled, taking his empty water bottle and tossing it in the recycling. Even removed the paper label and everything. “Come on. You shouldn’t be interrogating me in Hyungu’s apartment anyway.”

She ushered him out of the apartment and made sure to lock up behind herself. He wondered why she had a key. Then again, her and the guitarist were very clearly good friends. Jungkook wondered if it would still be like that if Hyungu or her started dating. Or, maybe not, if they ended up dating each other.

Suddenly, Jungkook felt incredibly helpless.

She bumped into him because he stopped walking, bouncing off. They were still in the narrow hallway, trying to be quiet so as not to disturb the neighbors at this late hour. The light in the hallway was warm and low. Not due to the night. More because the lightbulbs were generally old and shitty.

“Woah, what’s going on? You don’t know how to walk straight? Do you need a leash?” she whispered lightheartedly, coming around him.

He looked up.

It must have shown on his face because the playful laughter in her features immediately slipped away upon eye contact.

He had millions of unfair questions swirling in his mind, can we try again, is there something wrong with me, why did you leave me, and Jungkook knew he could ask none of them. For fuck’s sake, they had only just seen each other again tonight. He should just be happy they were together now, even in this platonic way. He should just be happy that she seemed healthy and content. He should just…

But you’ve always known me so well.

You aren’t hard to read, Jungkook, she used to laugh when they talked about how fast they had gotten into bed together.

She placed her hand on his elbow.

Dragged from his minty whirlwind memories and thrown into the present, Jungkook stared at her unreadable expression, but there were too many shadows and his vision was too clouded with what was.

“Come on. We can’t stay here,” she murmured gently, pulling him along.

“I’m not letting you go home alone. It’s not safe.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing all this time? Teleporting?” You scowled. “Besides, turns out your apartment is closer to here and mine is further down. It makes no sense for you to double back.”

One thing about Jeon Jungkook was that once he got an idea in his head, he was more stubborn than an ox. It was true back then when he was chasing after your ass and it was true right now. He was frowning at you and furrowing his eyebrows. The frustrated expression was broken by how big his dark brown eyes were.

“I keep telling you it’s not a big deal for me, noona. I don’t mind.”

“This isn’t about whether or not you mind,” you sighed grumpily. “It just doesn’t make sense. Fine. Fine, do whatever you want.”

Which was how you ended up in a taxi with Jungkook, crammed in the backseat of a tiny sedan with a grandpa who didn’t make small talk and blasted trot music. Well, it probably would have felt less tiny if Jungkook wasn’t right next to you like a big fabric blob. You hadn’t paid much attention to how crowded you had been on the bus since you were already weighed down by half-dead guitarist and his guitar. You had thought Hyungu had been playing up his drunkenness for the attention but he had thoroughly passed out by the time the bus had arrived. He was a lightweight so you weren’t super worried to leave him alone. Then again, you couldn’t tell Jungkook to get lost and leave you at another guy’s apartment, because what kind of message would that send?

Not that Jungkook’s opinion of how you spent your time mattered.

It had just felt rude, that was all.

You were kind of worried about him anyway. You witnessed him zoning out and simply standing there twice already. Boy was gonna get kidnapped one of these days. Sheesh. The car rolled to a stop. You paid the driver through the app and thanked him, getting a wordless nod in return. Cool. Opened the car door and climbed out, followed by a big shadowy blob.

Uh.

The car drove away.

“Jungkook, you should have asked him to drive you to your place,” you pointed out.

Those big brown eyes looked from your apartment complex to you. “Huh?”

Was the heck is on his mind? You sighed and pulled up the taxi app again. “Give me your address. I did say I’ll pay for it.”

“I, erm…”

You looked up at Jungkook’s uneasy tone. Confused. He looked uncomfortable and awkward, not really looking at you in the face.

“I kinda have to go.”

You blinked at him.

He waved his hands. “Eh, it’s fine. I’ll go find a bush or something. Um.”

“Jungkook, I’m not letting you pee in a bush. Do you see this place? You think they’ll let me continue living here after seeing on one of their cameras that my guest peed in a bush?”

He looked from the white walls to the stone fence to the black iron gate to the immaculately clean, very neatly trimmed, small ball-shaped bushes. They weren’t even knee-height. “I-I-I just don’t want you to t-think…” He shifted, wavering a bit. Eyes darting in every direction. “It was all the water and the alcohol earlier, um…” You sighed and turned around to punch in the code. “I didn’t want you to think I’m doing it on purpose.”

You paused.

Then you pushed the gate open and motioned him in.

“Come on before your piss yourself.”

Which was how you ended up sighing as you tossed your jacket onto your large charcoal sofa while Jungkook emptied his bladder in the bathroom of your apartment. At least you hoped that was what he was doing. You weren’t going to be a creep and try to listen for evidence. You flopped down, cozying into the soft but durable fabric. You wouldn’t have brought this couch if it wasn’t for the great deal and the ability for it to be modular, meaning you could lock the pieces together to make a bed and watch television, as well as also having the ability to make it look like an L-shaped sofa when you had guests over so that they didn’t know that you really put the potato in couch potato several times a week.

Hey.

Money well spent.

Of course, you usually only had very few guests over. Occasional one to warm the bed and maybe hosting Hyungu’s band members. Not at the same time. Duh. You weren’t trying to traumatize the five friends you had – Hyungu and the other four band members. Yeah. Wasn’t much, but they existed, even though they were busy right now being Korean men and all that. Soon, Hyungu would be egg-headed and off to duty too. You puffed out your cheeks. Temporary, of course, and yet.

Who knows what could happen?

You were always prepared to find yourself alone.

Wouldn’t be the first time to come home, only to realize home didn’t exist.

It never had.

You heard commotion and Jungkook reappeared, looking relieved. Probably because he was. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to…” He trailed off.

You stood up.

You were past the wishing phase. The pretending phase. Past the numbness and looking for promises when there were none. Expectation was only the precursor to disappointment, after all. To be honest, if it wasn’t for your carnal sex drive, you would be past the distractions too. Good to know you weren’t completely ready to throw in the towel yet. If it wasn’t for someone relying on you, you as well have chosen to fade away.

If it wasn’t for…

You made eye contact with Jeon Jungkook, even though you didn’t want to.

Before today, you really wouldn’t have cared about seeing someone you used to date. Past was in the past. You had made a lot of bad decisions. So far, they hadn’t come back to haunt you yet. As you stared into those big brown eyes, frozen in place by your sudden attention, you wondered what you could say to assure him that you were different from back then. You could admit it now. You could admit back then you were weaker than anybody else, fighting your own demons by running away, wondering what was wrong with you to have parents who fought every day and did everything to run away from their internal struggles except the solution of divorce, and you could admit now that you took out that loss on everyone else around you, all the while knowing the reality.

That was just how life was, sometimes.

Life didn’t know fair and unfair. People made choices without caring about the consequences all the time. You didn’t care enough back then, because you knew you wouldn’t know what to do if they cared back. You knew you could never be beloved when you had nothing and no one to call home.

I don’t want to avoid reality, even if I’m afraid.

The past memories flickered like a whirling panorama – Jungkook nervous in front of you, trying to ask about how the automated system worked so he could get ramyeon with the soft-boiled egg at the PC bang in the dead of night. Playing computer games with him, laughing because he wasn’t very good but still trying for some reason. Learning that he wasn’t doing very well in university and that he was trying to do the escapism thing while working on his video editing business on the side. Sharing a bed with him, not saying anything about how all your belongings only fit in one duffel bag. He didn’t have to know. His face between your hands. Kisses that took his worries away. Body to body, warm for the first time in a long time. Your fingertips walking up his chest, all the way to his rattling heartbeat, turning a simple night into a fantasy.

The thought of your actions having any positive effect seemed foreign and impossible.

But maybe that was the victim mentality talking.

“Can I ask you something, Jungkook?”

He looked surprised. “M…Me?”

You hooked your thumbs into the belt loops of your jeans, doing something with your hands so they wouldn’t fidget about. Even now, he was the same. There was still this persistent innocence about him, stubbornly sticking around as if he could be young forever. He still believed in something, even if life kept trying to tell him time and time again that it wasn’t true.

“Do you still have feelings for me?”

You saw the whirlwind flash through his eyes.

Guilt. Nervousness. Uncertainty. Helplessness, wondering if he was asking for something that could never be given. He was still so easy to read. Those big brown eyes couldn’t hide anything and it wasn’t his nature to lie. There were stars in his eyes.

Those stars were tears.

“You said… You said you can’t feel love,” he shuddered, blinking hard.

There wasn’t much space between you and him. Somewhere around a meter. But it felt like light-years of desolate space and sudden heartache from a heart you weren’t sure you had. Maybe you were born with one, but all flowers wither with no care. You were the desert and he was the ocean, at least in the emotional sense.

You wanted to insist.

I can know love!

But, could you?

You collected a breath and nodded. “I wanted to say I’m sorry for back then. For using you, even though you probably don’t think you were used. For breaking the unspoken promise I couldn’t understand.”

Jungkook looked back at you. His voice small, stranded and lost.

“I have never fallen in love after you, noona.”

You were different now, you told yourself, but maybe you weren’t really and that was the problem.

“It’s impossible to fall in love when I have always been in love with you.”

You opened your mouth to tell him that was silly. It had only been a couple months. You hadn’t even really been that attentive. It had been a short-lived romance, if you could call fucking constantly and gaming at the PC bang at three in the morning that. A fleeting gratification. A sharp burst that lit up the timeline of a very long and eventful life that Jeon Jungkook would have. Nothing more.

Just…

A pop of peppermint gum.

You had meaningful relationships. Ones that taught you things about yourself and people. Maybe even ones that other people could consider love, depending on what their definition was.

But, then there was…

Jungkook.

You opened your mouth to tell him he was silly but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

Had it been love?

And could it still be love?

“You… You don’t even know what I’m like now,” you blew out, suddenly feeling winded. “I could be a total asshole.” You looked away, tucking your tongue in your cheek.

“But I helped you make sure you got your friend and his guitar home safe?” Jungkook questioned, sounding confused. “Would a total asshole would do that?”

“I don’t know,” you rambled, not so sure about anything anymore. “I mean… you’ve only just met me again after how long?”

“A really long time,” Jungkook answered, frown in his tone.

“Yeah, exactly.” You latched on, not caring that he didn’t even calculate it. “How do you know it’s not rose-tinted glasses and all that?”

He shrugged. Glanced at you. “I don’t really think I have the brainpower for that, noona.”

You stared at him.

Jungkook shrugged again.

You shook your head. “You can’t say that about yourself.”

He scratched his cheek, looking sheepish. “At least I know where I’m still lacking?”

You let out an exasperated sigh. “No, you–”

He beat you to it.

“Do I have to understand?”

You froze, realizing you had taken a few steps towards him, perhaps in hopes of shaking some sense into him. This was crazy. This didn’t make any sense. This was only a coincidence turned convoluted by memories, tangled emotions, circumstance…

“My mind might forget, but my body always remembered. There is only you for me.”

Your head snapped up, seeing his soft smile. The recall was so fierce that it was déjà vu, except you had been the one with the gentle smile and he had been the one lost, wondering if you were afraid of losing his love. Now. His short black hair a little windswept, his dark brown eyes a little glassy, and yet he smiled at you, mole peeking out from under the center of his lower lip. Do I have to understand? To understand was to know and to know was to be sure that you were in love, except that you said so yourself that sometimes the thoughts didn’t quite catch up to the heart.

He looked embarrassed, abruptly looking away, letting out a shaky breath.

“It’s just… I think I knew it all along but, even if I know, it doesn’t mean I can change your mind, ha… ha, can you imagine, running off to track you down, you would just think I’m crazy, and if I jeopardized your happiness for my own selfishness, I don’t think I could live with myself… and, anyway…”

He wasn’t really looking at anything anymore.

“Even if what I wanted was ugly, our time was beautiful.”

You stepped forward.

“It’s a common, basic story, isn’t it? My wish for us to be exceptional is too foolish,” Jungkook laughed weakly. Rambling. Speaking from his heart but still unable to focus on the present.

You reached forward.

“I wanted everything about you. I still do.”

Your fingertip touched his cheek.

“Don’t cry,” you finally said.

He froze.

You wiped away a fallen star, the overhead lights of your apartment catching the tears before Jungkook even realized they were there. You brushed the droplet away, but they were falling, falling, and he turned his head, still not really registering what was happening, even as the base of your palms pressed into his cheeks and swept his tears away, quickly breathless as you were captured by the universes entangled in his eyes. You could feel the wetness on your skin. The shudder in his breath. His hands came up to touch your wrists, and you still believed you couldn’t be enough for him, even now, but your body responded on its own, cradling his face, bringing him to you.

“Please don’t cry,” you said again, softly, and realized you said it because, a long time ago, you would have done anything to have someone tell you that in the past, please don’t cry. So, you told Jungkook instead.

He was someone as precious as a memory.

And, yes, even if your thoughts didn’t catch up right away, you pulled him to you, body to body, feeling him shiver, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, this isn’t very manly of me, and like clockwork you told him to shut up and cry, holding him because you remembered he liked to be held. You had told him back then that you weren’t really the type to cuddle, but he had finally confessed late one night that he yearned to be close to you, even if only for a little while, and that he had been afraid to admit it in fear of pushing you away. So, you relented, if only to comfort him and make him happy.

Is that love?

“It’s okay to cry,” you murmured gently, stroking his hair. “It’s just not okay to cry alone.”

He buried his eyes into your shoulder and wept.

He was still in his jacket, swamping you with his frame and excess layers. You placed your arms around his waist under his parka, feeling his warm and shaking frame, gently placing your hands on his shoulder blades.

“I’m sorry… I-I don’t k-know why I’m c-crying…”

“Shh…”

You tugged him along. Step by step, and made him sit on the sofa with you, curled up in a tangle of limbs with your hands on his back. His body was hot from emotion, and he pulled his arms out of his jacket to wipe his nose and eyes with his hoodie sleeves, still not looking at you, and you gave him the privacy, not looking at him either, only holding him as close as possible and keeping his parka on his shoulders, covering you and him together.

“T-This wasn’t how… I t-thought… how I would be hugging you a-again…” Jungkook sobbed quietly, leaning his forehead against your shoulder.

You held him close.

“Yeah, well, nothing is really turning out how you or I planned it. Mostly because neither of us had a plan to begin with.”

He laughed, albeit feebly and wetly, but you just smiled and placed your hand on his head again, running your fingers through his hair. You didn’t have a grand speech planned. You didn’t even really know the right words to say or the correct way to organize your thoughts. You simply leaned him against you, nestled in the cushions, and kept your arms wrapped around him for a long, long time.

click here for part ii

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #bts smut #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you

265 notes · View notes

allwaswell16 · 3 months

Text

A fic rec of One Direction fics that take place in the Victorian era as requested in this ask. If you enjoy the fics, please let the writers know through kudos and comments! You can find my other fic recs here. Happy reading!

~ Louis/Harry ~

🌿 A Taste of Desire by @casuallyhl

(E, 104k, omegaverse) Harry is the owner of the most successful cotton mill in Manchester, and Louis is an opinionated social activist about to disrupt Harry’s world.

🌿 Victorian Boy by @audreyhheart

(E, 101k, murder mystery) Victorian AU. Harry the virgin Duke of Somerset knows little of love, while Louis the sly Duke of Warwick knows too much.

🌿 The Rose of Whitechapel by @itsmotivatingcara

(E, 100k, murder mystery) Jack the Ripper au - Detective Constable Harry Styles and his partner, DC Liam Payne, lead the case on the Whitechapel murders. Louis Tomlinson, the Rose of Whitechapel, is harbouring secrets of his own, along with a dark and sordid past.

🌿 And down the long and silent street by whimsicule

(M, 86k, hurt/comfort) Wherein Louis and Harry are on the opposite ends of the social ladder, but their paths still cross on the filthy streets Louis calls his home. The odds are staked against them from the beginning, and even more when Louis' past finally catches up with him.

🌿 Coax the Cold by MediaWhore / @mediawhorefics

(M, 86k, mermaid) When he hears whispers of a travelling freak show newly established in London claiming the existence of a monstrous sea hybrid, half-man, half-fish, Louis sees it as his ticket to credibility amongst his peers.

🌿 Secrets in Winter by @softfonds

(E, 82k, omegaverse) If Harry Styles thought he was going to have a peaceful winter while staying far away from the rake who lived across the street, he was sorely wrong on two fronts. A Victorian AU.

🌿 An Ever Fixed Mark (series) by My_words_fly_up

(E, 66k, sex work) Harry Styles lives quite scandalously in the slums of London and never expected to cross paths with a kind, well-bred gentleman like Louis Tomlinson. But once they meet neither will be the same again.

🌿 these still waters run deep by @levelofcharm

(E, 64k, aristocracy) Having accepted his engagement to Viscount Andrew, Louis is aware that it isn’t a love match and has no wish to be swept off his feet… until he meets the viscount’s brother, Harry, who makes him second-guess everything.

🌿 an everlasting eclipse by you_explode / @nobodymoves

(M, 63k, adaptation) Anne of Green Gables/Anne With An E AU. In 1891, orphan Harry is adopted by the Teasdales and goes to live on their small farm in Holmes Chapel. In his new life he finds supportive relationships, he finds himself, and eventually, he finds a home.

🌿 saw some things on the other side by we_are_the_same / @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed

(M, 61k, mystery) Louis’ plan doesn’t take into account the fact that instead of writing murder mysteries, he will find himself in one.

🌿 Forever Never Comes by Larry_you_know / @larryyouknow

(M, 25k, friends to lovers) Victorian au, where Harry Styles, the youngest son of the Duke of Sutherland, was always a little in love with his childhood friend Louis Tomlinson, the young Earl of Doncaster, though he would never have told him in a million years.

🌿 The Four Seasons After You by neptune rising / @thelesserneptune

(E, 14k, adaptation) Corpse Bride inspired story where, after months of grief and guilt eating away at Harry’s soul, he finds forgiveness and tentative happiness in an advantageous marriage; only, Louis hasn’t quite caught up yet and isn’t ready to let him go so easily, not till death do them part - if that.

🌿 Even Supposing - by @casuallyhl

(M, 14k, established relationship) a Dickensian London AU where Harry and Louis overcome illness, small budgets, and their own stubbornness to give each other an unforgettable first Christmas together.

🌿 You Light Up the Path by QuickedWeen / @becomeawendybird

(T, 12k, mermaids) Harry, or so he likes to be called, is the myth and legend himself known as the Staithes Mermaid. No one has laid eyes on him, but everyone loves to tell tall tales.

🌿 lead me out on the moonlit floor by @scrunchyharry

(E, 12k, Christmas) Victorian!AU where Louis is a wealthy lord throwing a masquerade ball for his birthday and Harry is a toymaker who's only confident when he's wearing a mask.

🌿 We Never Said Our Love Was Evergreen by Pumpkinspice_Lou

(E, 9k, kidnapping) A Victorian Masquerade Ball AU where Harry is basically the Phantom of the Opera

🌿 You're Already Home by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(G, 5k, historical fantasy) It's Christmas Eve and Harry's life is normal. Then he finds someone's barred the door to his favourite hiding spot -- the old groundskeeper's cottage -- and suddenly Harry's life isn't normal anymore.

🌿 Unto You by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(T, 3k, winter) Louis is a lamplighter celebrating the saturnalia season in his own way. Harry is heavily pregnant and new in the city. The holiday of Christmas is yet to be created.

🌿 a rose by any other name by delsicle / @eeveedel

(G, 3k, omegaverse) Harry is a sheltered omega who is the pinnacle of good breeding, but the flowers in his family’s garden – and the alpha gardener who keeps them – prove to be his greatest weakness.

🌿 Rapture by @allwaswell16

(E, 3k, vampires) It was New Year's Eve in Victorian London, and a lonely vampire could no longer resist the stunning lamplighter he watched night after night.

🌿 Too Great a Temptation by QuickedWeen / @becomeawendybird

(E, 2k, girl direction) Harry and Louis attend a fancy dress ball.

~ Rare Pairs ~

🌿 for years or for hours by narryblossom

(G, 8k, Niall/Harry) a Corpse Bride AU in which Harry wants to marry for love, and does, after The End.

#ficrec #1dficvillage #trackinghappily #hlcreators #hljournal #hltracks #trackinghome #1dsource #yourlarrysource #tracksintheam #hlsource

112 notes · View notes

boydepartment · 9 months

Text

I'm sorry, I'm late- Hwang Hyunjin (oneshot version)

Description: Y/n is a student teacher in a small town in France. Hwang Hyunjin is an idol who decided to run away after trouble started to arise again. He finds himself in the class where she helps, quickly they peaked each other’s interests. Both of them ran from something and it landed them in this small town in the middle of practically nowhere. One thing they both know is that the past always catches up and it is only a matter of time, so they better make the most of it.

Warnings: cursing, maybe a touch of dark subjects. There is French in this story, I am currently studying the language and I am not an expert. If you happen to speak the language and notice a mistake, please tell me! I am happy to learn and correct myself!

a/n- this is a really old story i wrote a few months ago, and i still think about it, so i decided to compile all the chapters into one whole story. i always reread this story too IDK i cleaned it up a little too

wc- 25k ? MASTERLIST

Chapter 1: His eyes

You sat up slowly, feeling the sun through your thin curtains. Your body felt refreshed, oddly enough. Looking over at the clock on your wall you hopped up.

You were late to class! You ran to the wardrobe to get a quick outfit. Throwing on some old clothes the ever so kind old lady, Gram, across the street gave you when you first moved here as a housewarming present. She also made you her special pasta, the thought made your mouth water, but you didn’t have time to relish that thought. You rushed to your bathroom washing up to look presentable enough to be running around a classroom helping the teacher. You grabbed your flats which were by the door and threw your book bag over your shoulder. Feet out you started running down the worn old street.

“Morning Y/n!” One of your neighbors yelled from across the way. You mustered a morning as you kept running. You could not be late! That would look unprofessional! You started to see the town in the distance and took a second to breathe. What time was it now? You dug through your bag and found the watch you bought from the general store. 7:45am.

Alright! Finally slipping your flats on you took note to remind yourself to take a bath when you got home, especially since you ran barefoot all that way. You started to run again down the hill not noticing the person at the bottom. You ran straight into him, your bag swinging around you.

“DÉSOLÉ! JE SUIS EN RETARD! (Sorry, I am late)” You yelled and kept running. Normally you learned not to apologize much here, but you really rammed into him.

However, it was worth it! You got to the small classroom in the tiny-tiny school in time.

“Bonjour, Y/n. (good morning, Y/n)” Your higher up greeted you. You greeted him back with a nod and sat down in your desk which was sat by his. You were learning how to teach art here. Since the teacher was getting old and Mr. W noticed that you weren’t one of the young people to just leave the small French town after his semester class, he decided to take you under his wing. He would tell you how to thoroughly teach an art class, as well as help you with your French. For the most part a lot of people in town would cut you some slack, they pretty much picked up that you were young and at least trying to speak to them as much as you possibly could.

The classroom started to fill with young adults, it was the usual class, until someone who wasn’t ordinary showed up. It was the guy you rammed into at the end of the hill. The more you looked at him the more he stood out to you. His hair was chopped horribly, and his clothes had what you assumed to be the logos removed. You have read an abundance of true crime books in your youth so to say this man didn’t raise all the red flags would be a lie. He didn’t look like he would harm anyone though, that is what truly through you off about him. He looked like a scared ally dog.

Eventually you got tasked to clean up the brushes from last class, you quickly got up and went to the broken-down sink at the back of the room. You let them soak and you listened to the head teacher guide the class through the lesson. Soon that will be you leading the class, you couldn’t wait. Mr. W really knew how to captivate the learning starving artists, soon everyone was working as the record player near his desk started to play famous classical pieces. Your eyes drifted to the young man in the corner, once again catching your interests. You watched as he deliberately and carefully let the small delicate brush hit the thick paper. The sun hit him beautifully and you started to notice little details about him. Then he made eye contact with you, and you quickly went back to soaking and cleaning the brushes, you even went as far as cleaning various old materials used earlier on in the week.

As much as you tried to get your mind off him, you couldn’t. Huffing you grabbed a stool and sat next to him. He looked at you with a terrified look, he looked as if you caught him sneaking a cookie from the cookie jar before dinner.

“You’re new here, I ran into you…” You mumbled and kept looking at him, he looked down quickly at his work.

“I- yeah. It’s okay…” The young man went back to his painting.

“Do you speak French?” You watched his line work again; his eyes watched the brush intently.

“Very little, I have visited Paris many times, but I don’t stay long.”

You let out a small huff of a laugh, “Paris is quite far from here.” This caught his attention and he looked at you.

“Good.” He said softly then turned back. You two have been talking in a soft tone due to people around you trying to focus.

You decided to keep talking, “did you just move here? I haven’t seen you around.”

“Yes, a couple weeks ago. I was at the Inn until I moved into the neighborhood above the hill.” He dipped his brush in the paint again and kept the steady hold.

“You live in the same neighborhood as me.” You said, “you’re also mainly a landscape artist.”

The man looked stunned, and he dropped the brush, “how can you tell?”

“The way your lines are deliberate, you’re calculating in your head instead of feeling out the page and medium emotionally.” You said and made eye contact with him; he was a total mystery to you. After living in this town a couple of years, you learned about almost everyone. The town only sometimes got any new visitors until this guy just showed up.

“You can pick up on that?” The man spoke softly, he seemed to walk on eggshells around you. Did you hurt his feelings? There was nothing wrong with deliberate and calculated lines.

“Yes, mainly because I wish I could do that in my art.”

He picked up the brush again and dabbed it on the paper, “what mediums and styles do you work in?”

“Portrait and abstract. For portrait I work in charcoal and watercolor, for abstract I work in all different types of stuff I can get my hands on.” You spoke softly. When a ghost of a smile graced his features, you almost felt your heart stop and you didn’t know why.

“I hate working in charcoal and abstract.” His eyes followed his brush strokes again.

“Which house do you live in?” You asked him.

He smiled again, “you ask a lot of questions.”

“We haven’t had someone new actually move in since I moved in.” You quickly answered back.

The man acknowledged your statement, “the one with the dead rosebush in the front.”

“It’s not dead forever!” You said rather defensively, mainly because you live right next to this house which you thought was vacant still, “it just needs some help.”

“Ah so you know the house I live in?” He picked up a thicker brush.

“Yes, you’re my neighbor. It is a small neighborhood in a small town. Also why is-“ you were going to ask him about his hair when Mr. W called you by his desk. You excused yourself and walked over. He ended up tasking you to clean up the chalkboard, something about his arm hurting him. If you translated that correctly.

As you cleaned up the old-fashioned school board you felt eyes on you, you knew they were the mysterious stranger’s.

Well, your mysterious neighbor.

After the class was dismissed, you helped clean up for the day and Mr. W excused you. When you grabbed your bag and walked out of the classroom you saw the mysterious stranger again. He saw you and you noticed he got nervous again.

This guy was very odd.

You approached him, “you can go home now.”

“You wanted to ask me something though.” He said and you two walked out of the school building. You looked up at him trying to remember what on Earth you were going to ask him earlier. You pouted a bit trying to remember.

“If you don’t remember then I live next door.” The man said, he went to turn to the direction of the neighborhood, and you stopped him again.

“Wait, what’s your name?” You had grabbed onto his sleeve. His lean figure whipped around.

“Hwang Hyunjin.” Part of his expression told you he was nervous to say this, but still answered you.

“Can I give you a nickname to help me remember?” There was no way you wanted to forget his name let alone accidentally pronounce it wrong. Between speaking English and now heavily studying French, sometimes your pronunciations could get a little wonky.

You saw him smile warmly at you, “Sometimes people would call me Jinnie.”

Jinnie… How cute.

You nodded and repeated it then introduced yourself, “I am Y/n. Y/n L/n.” You put your paint-stained hand out for him to shake. He gladly took your hand and shook it. His hand was quite larger than yours and the next thing you knew he turned away and waved. You stood there dumbfounded, this man, Jinnie, was odd. But he was interesting and young like you. Part of you felt like you had to help him, no one really helped you when you moved to town. You didn’t want this man to go through that too. You made up your mind, you would show up at his door tomorrow and walk to school with him.

Your feet made their way to the heart of the small town, you greeted the locals, they were now kind to you and warm. You belonged here now to them. It was a foreign feeling, being a part of a community that was kind to you. Walking into the bookstore where you help part time you were greeted by your coworker.

“Ah… Vous n'avez qu'à balayer le plancher. (I need you to sweep the floor)” She didn’t always give you tasks like this, most of the time it was restocking shelves or working the counter. However, you didn’t mind sweeping the floor. You nodded and went to the back room to retrieve the broom and dustpan. Everything was older and you thrived in this environment. You could be doing nothing at all, or cleaning, and you are happy. You loved it here. Maybe you romanticized a little too much though. The thought made you smile to yourself. After your sweeping your boss had you tidy up some shelves.

“Um, Y/n!” She peeked her head in from one of the shelves, “A demain(see you tomorrow)??”

“Oui. (yes)” You said simply, you planned on popping in tomorrow after school anyways, if she wanted you to help out too, you would gladly do so. You saw her smile at you then nod, walking off to other tasks. Once you were done you said your goodbyes and started to walk back home. Your little neighborhood wasn’t far from the town. Part of you felt excitement bubble up in you, remembering your new neighbor.

When you walked up the hill it was already nighttime, you honestly think you should start carrying a walking stick especially because it was a pretty empty field surrounding the small jumble of brick homes. The trees didn’t start until the back of the neighborhood. You never went that way though. Whenever you walked into the beaten path you found yourself once again becoming happy, seeing someone new here really greatened your appreciation for this town. You wondered if Jinnie had the same appreciation as you.

You unlocked your small house which you would be lying if you said it wasn’t some little cottage. You decorated it the past two years like that on purpose. Kicking off your flats you remembered how dirty your feet were. Letting out a small laugh, you walked towards the bathroom and drew yourself a bath. As you waited for the water to fill, you made yourself some tea. It was dark out now and you felt it would be a great way to end your night. As you washed your hands in the sink, you had a perfect view of your neighbor’s living room. You didn’t want to be creepy, so you closed the curtains, but not before taking note of how peaceful he looked reading a book that clearly enthralled him. Your heart pounded and next thing you heard was the kettle whistling. Quickly shaken out of your thoughts you waited to pour yourself a cup and head back to the bathroom.

Slipping into your nightgown which was yet another gift from your birthday last year from the kind lady across the way. She wanted to always repay you for bringing her your homemade pumpkin bread once every other week. She was your first friend here. You went under your covers and made sure your alarm clock was on this time. You had to get up a little early anyways, you wanted to walk with Jinnie to school.

~+~

Shockingly, your alarm did wake you up. Excitedly you hurried to get ready, your feet pitter pattered to the wardrobe. You grabbed a dress and another sweater; you were always one for layering even if summer was quickly coming. That means you would have another year of student-teaching experience under your belt. It also meant you would spend more time at the bookstore soon, which made excitement bubble in your stomach. You walked to the bathroom and once again got washed up for the day. Teeth, hair, the homemade lip balm you made yourself, all done!

You slipped your socks and boots on, today felt like a boots day. The breakfast menu was some fruit and toast, you really had to pick up more food soon at the market. Maybe you would go in a couple days on Sunday, the town always had merchants come in and it was outdoor. You nodded to yourself and finished eating. Grabbing your bag you headed to the neighbor’s home, the one with the sad rosebush.

To say you were a little nervous would be a lie, you weren’t used to being the one to almost chase after someone, but Jinnie intrigued you. You knocked a couple times and he answered, seemingly already dressed.

“Good morning, Y/n.” His voice was soft. Jinnie’s eyes looked tired.

“Good morning Jinnie, do you want to walk with me to the school?” You really hoped he would say yes, he could be the only friend you have that was actually your age. Jinnie smiled down at you.

“I would love to actually, let me grab my things.” He went to shut the door but then opened it, “you can come in.”

You took up his offer and decided to look around the house, it had been vacant since you had moved in. But it surely didn’t look like it got worn over time. You saw how he had already had stuff hung up, his art which looked recent, there was no sign of dust stains.

“I have been painting a lot since I moved here.” He said now next to you, you nodded slowly.

“I see most of them are of the town.” You noted, you recognized the general store and the fountain in the middle of town.

Jinnie hummed, “I used to paint flowers a lot, sometimes people or still lifes. But after moving here I have been inspired by the architecture.”

You finally got a look at his clothes, “you are wearing normal clothes today. No torn off logos.”

His brows furrowed, “you take note of everything don’t you? Our neighbor across the street gave me these. Said I was her old husband’s size.”

“She did the same for me too.” You smiled at the memory, “if you want to thank her, I bake her bread once every other week. You can join me.”

His eyes, which were once tired, lit up, “I love bread.”

“We will have to make extra then.”

After you talked about the pumpkin bread recipe you two started your walk to the school, the sun now just rising over the town.

“It is hard to not romanticize this town.” He suddenly spoke, “although the people here sometimes act like they hate me.”

You let out a small huff of a laugh, “they do that to newcomers, if you want, I can help teach you some basic phrases. It will help them warm up to you more.”

“You would do that?” Jinnie asked you, the cool spring breeze brushing through his hair.

“Yes, in exchange that you help me with landscape art.” You said and put your hand out again, to shake on it.

“Deal.” This time he actually grinned and shook your hand. You saw his toothy grin for the first time that morning. This man was dangerously charming.

You really couldn’t help the small glances you two would exchange during class, the small smiles, everything. He was an instant click for you. However, you didn’t let him distract you from your work, Mr. W would kill you if he found out you were getting distracted by some random boy. You started to study the art history books Mr. W assigned for you to take notes on, he always said if you wanted to teach a subject you had to know the history behind it. Your favorite artists were all landscape-based artists, mainly because you couldn’t do it. Your art was either the small details of people’s faces, or complete disordered abstract. Your mind once again wandered to Jinnie who was now cleaning his brushes, his art study on the town that was hung up by the door of his home was almost perfect in a way. You wondered how Jinnie himself just did that.

After the class, you picked up your history books and thanked Mr. W. Since it was Friday you wouldn’t see him until Monday, unless he called your landline asking you to come in. When you walked out you saw Jinnie waiting there for you once more.

“Mr. W really knows how to capture the attention of students.” Jinnie spoke and held the door open for you. You walked out and waited for him this time.

“I am very thankful to be able to learn from him, he wants me to take his teaching position when he is ready to retire.” Your bag swung a bit when you flipped around to face him.

“You are very welcoming; I am sure you will be a good teacher.” Jinnie said, you two walked down the dirt path, almost to where the crossroad was.

“Thank you,” you smiled at him, “I have to go to work… Which is in town…” You weren’t very good at goodbyes or see you laters.

“I can bring you dinner tonight if you want, I mean you are helping me out with getting settled here. It’s the least I can do.” You two now stood at the crossroads.

“I get home sort of late… Tomorrow though would be better, since I work in the morning and will be done by the afternoon.” You offered, you were curious to how good his cooking is, and you would never pass up on a free meal.

“Alright, Saturday evening, I will cook and bring over the plates.” He nodded to himself. Before you were about to say goodbye he already flipped around and waved to walk home.

Jinnie was certainly a person you wanted to figure out, you even found the urge to try and paint him in your sketchbook. That urge hasn’t happened to you since high school.

While doing your chores in the little bookstore you saw some tourists, it seemed like your little town was gaining traction and that made you nervous. You liked how it was a small place to live, under the radar. This sort of put a damper on your mood, it had you overthinking.

It kept you over thinking into the next day as well, especially because that Saturday morning more tourists came by, and it scared you. You didn’t want people here, you realized while sweeping you had no right to say that. You were once a foreigner here too. Sighing, you kept mopping the same spot over and over.

“I think it’s clean.” Someone spoke softly behind you, you turned around to see your other shop owner’s daughter, she was your second friend in town. She got you a job here with her mom in exchange of you tutoring her in English.

“I-I’m sorry. There is just a lot on my mind…” You mumbled; she turned her head in confusion.

“The recent abundance of tourists or that handsome man every girl in town is raving about?” She had a wicked grin on her face, “there are whispers about him living in the same neighborhood as you.”

You set the mop to the side, “it’s just the tourists, you know that makes me nervous and there seems to be more of them.”

She nodded, “you can head home early if you want, I need to make some extra money some of the girls in town want to make the handsome man cookies this weekend and I need to buy powdered sugar tomorrow at the market for the finishing touch.”

You thanked her and started to pack up, before you left you turned around, “oh by the way, his name is Jinnie.” You winked at her and walked out. The shop owner’s daughter felt like your sibling, although she wasn’t around often due to her schooling in the next town over. The time you spent with her you cherished. You took a deep breath then smiled to yourself, you had something to look forward to tonight and that was dinner with ‘the handsome man.’ You thought it was so cute that the girls were gossiping about him.

To thank Jinnie you stopped by the general store and picked up some flowers, that weren’t dead like the ones in his front yard.

“Y/n!” You flipped around and saw your other neighbor, the kind old lady, Gram. You grinned at her; you had already paid for the flowers, so you went over to her.

“How are you, Gram?” It was nice to see her out and about.

“Well, I made friends with your next-door neighbor, Hyunjin.” She said and put stuff in her basket. You decided to walk with her and help her with her shopping.

“Did you?” You asked and got something from the shelf she pointed to. Gram let out a small hum.

“Yes, and I found out stuff about him for you.” She spoke slyly.

You laughed a tiny bit, “oh really?”

Gram let out a huff and nodded, “yes, he is a few months older than you. He traveled a lot, and he used to sing.”

“That’s new information to me.” You mumbled to yourself.

“I can’t hear you when you mumble.” Gram said back.

You apologized quickly and repeated yourself again.

“There is a lot of things I feel you two could learn from each other.”

Your brows furrowed and pondered what she could mean by that. It was quite an odd thing to say but then again, she was odd herself. You helped your neighbor with the rest of her groceries and walked her back home.

“Oh, tomorrow, Gram, I am going to the morning market, I will make pumpkin bread for you tomorrow as well, all fresh ingredients.” You said as you helped unpack her groceries in her kitchen. It was filled with old photos of her family; she also had a little collection of porcelain bunnies.

“I am so excited for that dear.” Gram spoke from her chair in the living room. You finished up and walked in her very floral living space.

“Is there anything else you need?” You asked.

“Tell Hyunjin to bring me back my recipe when he’s done with it.” Gram then waved you off.

He borrowed a recipe?

You walked across the street to your humble abode and started to get ready for dinner with Jinnie. You set the red roses down on the table then started to your bathroom. You took a quick sponge bath and tried your best to look presentable. You had thrown out all your makeup a few months after you moved here, and you didn’t want to check the chest at the foot of your bed which was locked up with your old stuff for a reason. Out of sight out of mind. You dug in your wardrobe and saw a nice floral dress and slipped it on. Tying the back you smiled, Gram had a very good fashion sense in her youth. You rummaged through the little box of sewing supplies she gave you and found ribbons, you tied your hair with them. If he was making dinner you had to look presentable. Skipping to the kitchen you dug around your cabinets; you had wine somewhere around here. It was a housewarming present from the man who sold you this home. It had to still be okay… right? You never opened it. As you were rummaging there was a knock on the door, startled you hit your head on the top of the cabinet.

“Ow…” You mumbled and wobbled up to the door. When you opened you saw Jinnie standing there with a basket in his hands, he must’ve gotten dressed up as well. He looked astronomical even with his choppy messed up hair.

“Can I come in?” He spoke, a smile gracing his features.

You stepped out of the way and let him in, “do you like red wine? I am pretty sure I have a bottle here. Somewhere.” You mumbled and he followed you into the kitchen.

“I could use a glass.” He set the basket down by the flowers. You had already resumed crouching by the cabinet, next thing you knew he was next to you helping you search.

“Oh, the flowers on the table are for you. Figured you’d want something alive.” Chuckling at your own joke you moved the olive oil.

“There it is.” Jinnie said while laughing slightly with you. He grabbed the bottle and set it on the counter, then put his hand out to help you up. You gladly took it and his soft hands held yours, then quickly let go when you were situated. Much to your dismay.

“I do love the roses; they are my favorite actually.”

The corners of your mouth curved, “we will have to nurse the bush in your yard then.”

“That we will.” He walked to the table, and you grabbed your glasses and the wine. Meeting him at the table you saw that he made pasta.

“Gram said you really liked her pasta, so I tried my best.” Jinnie said and set the table.

“I love her pasta; she made it for me when I first moved here.” You were quite surprised that he did this. You set the glasses down and poured the wine.

“So, she said.” Jinnie motioned for you to take a seat and you did, he quickly followed. You saw he was waiting for you to take a bite. When you did you swore you could cry. It tasted so good, it wasn’t quite like Gram’s however, it was still so amazing to your taste buds.

“You really- wow.” You wiped your mouth with a napkin, “this is really good.”

Jinnie grinned and took a sip of his wine, “I am so relieved, I was a little worried.”

“You shouldn’t be, this is amazing Jinnie thank you.” You took another bite then washed it down with a small sip of wine.

Jinnie started to eat his food and he looked surprised, “you weren’t just lying to make me feel better, wow.”

Him being surprised by his own cooking made you laugh, hard. He looked up at you and started to laugh.

“I thought you were just lying to be nice. Honestly.” Jinnie spoke between giggles. You kept giggling.

“Tomorrow I am going to make that pumpkin bread for Gram, I just have to go to the market in the morning.” You said and took another bite of this amazing recipe.

“May I join you? I heard the guy at the general store talk about the Sunday markets.” Jinnie asked. You nodded.

“Of course, you can come with me, I’d love that.”

The way he was so charming and thoughtful really had you entranced. Jinnie was still a mystery to you and maybe that is what made you attracted to him. Or maybe the fact he has been the only guy around your age staying in this town longer than a semester. You didn’t know, but you weren’t complaining.

Chapter 2: His laugh

“Good morning Jinnie!” You grinned as you swung open your door, the morning breeze already rushing at you.

“Good morning, Y/n. I haven’t seen you in forever.” He joked as you locked up your home, you smiled remembering the previous night. Your dinner with him. Before he had left, you helped him clean his plates and you two pretty much finished half of the wine.

You two walked down the path to town, you really liked getting to walk with him. He started to open up and talk to you little by little. You think he realized he was in the same position as you, you were the only person near his age.

“Gram said you told her you can sing, I forgot to ask you about that last night.” You said and he almost dropped his basket.

“Gram told you?” He chuckled, you two were now at the top of the hill.

“She did, I would like to hear you sing.” You said and looked at him, the sunrise warming both your bodies.

“Maybe, I prefer dancing though.” Jinnie said and turned to you.

“Dancing, singing, what else can you do?” You asked, Gram was right, he was something.

Jinnie smiled to himself, as if remembering something, “well, I can speak Korean too, some Japanese, uhhh…”

Your jaw was on the path, “and now you want to pick up French? That is very impressive.”

“Korean was my first language,” Jinnie spoke softly, the tired features washed on his face again.

“Can you show me your dancing one time?” You asked, wanting to change the subject. Jinnie once again smiled.

“I would love to.”

You two arrived at the Sunday morning market not much later then that conversation. The heart of the town was bustling, you recognized the tourists again. You looked down and then up at Jinnie when he tugged the sleeve of your sweater.

“What do we need to pick up?”

Some of the ingredients you already had at home, “we just need eggs, pumpkin puree, and cinnamon butter.” You said to him as he leaned down so he could hear you. He nodded and led you to the dairy stand. When the guy asked him what he wanted in French he started panicking and looked to you. You cleared your throat.

“Je voudrais cinq œufs, sil vous plait. (I would like five eggs please)” You said to the man, he nodded and handed you the five eggs carefully. You softly set them in Jinnie’s basket and paid for them.

“Merci! (Thank you)” You said to the merchant and continued on your way.

“Thank you.” Jinnie said down to you. You smiled up at him.

“This will be your first lesson, okay?” You grabbed him and pulled him to a bench. He sat down and you sat next to him.

“Okay I am ready.” Jinnie said, his hands still gripping the basket.

“When you ask for something, you say, ‘Je voudrais’ that directly translates to, ‘I would like.’” You explain to him, he repeated it back to you and you helped with pronunciation.

“Then right after you say what you’d like, you then end it with ‘sil vous plait’ which means ‘please.’” Once again, he repeated it back to you, you smiled.

“If you want you can even say, ‘merci,’ which is, ‘thank you.’” You further explained, “if you’re REALLY thankful, you can say, ‘merci beaucoup.’” He nodded and took note of your mini lesson.

Standing up you put your hand out instinctively, he grabbed it, and you led him to the next stand, this one had fruits. This is good practice. Plus, you wanted an orange to snack on. You led Jinnie up to the stand and he looked a little nervous. You told him how to ask for two oranges. When the guy asked him what he wants, he gulped and then spoke.

“Je voudrais…” He looked down at you, you looked up at him and squeezed his hand, “deux oranges, sil vous… plait.”

You grinned at him, you handed the man the required money and you two got your oranges.

“Jinnie that was amazing I am so proud of you.” You shook his arm that didn’t have the basket in it, in celebration.

“My pronunciation was… okay?” He looked down at you, you nodded.

“You did really well. The guy didn’t even look annoyed at you!” You giggled then continued to drag him around with you to get the other ingredients.

When you two were about to leave someone called his name, he whipped around and saw a group of five girls run up to him. You recognized one of them, it was your boss’s daughter.

“We wanted to make these for you!” One of the girls said, another girl handed him a bundle of what you assumed were the cookies. He smiled awkwardly at them.

“Ah… Merci… beaucoup!” He looked at you and you gave him a thumbs up. The group of girls started to giggle before practically running away. You heard whispers of, bel homme, and il est tres gentil. It made you laugh a bit and you two started your walk home.

“What were they saying as they were walking away?” Jinnie asked you as you opened your front gate for him. You started to laugh as you dug in your pockets for your keys.

“They were saying you were beautiful and very kind.” You saw his shocked expression and then you turned to open your door to your home.

Walking in, he set the basket down on the counter, and his gift on the table.

“Well, that was very…” He looked at you.

“Gentille.” You finished for him. Jinnie nodded and giggled then repeated what you said.

“Gentille of them.”

You started to unload the groceries, leaving the ingredients for the pumpkin bread out. You saw at the bottom of his basket he had Gram’s recipe at the bottom. You smiled to yourself.

“What can I help with?” Jinnie asked breaking you out of your thoughts.

“Could you get the bowls and stuff please?” You asked him, he nodded and started on his first task. He retrieved them in no time and soon you two were baking.

“JINNIE, CAN YOU GRAB THIS?” You wobbled your way from the back pantry where all the flours and sugars were, he quickly rushed over and grabbed the flour too, helping guide you to the kitchen.

“Okay we did it!” Jinnie said and wiped his face. You started to laugh, and he looked at you with a confused look.

“You have pumpkin puree on your face.” You reached up and wiped it off his forehead, still giggling at him.

Jinnie looked away from you, a smile on his face.

“Can you preheat the oven?” You asked as you started to mix all your ingredients. He hopped to it instantly.

Once the bread was in the oven you two found yourselves looking over the bookshelf in your room, “you have a lot of good reads.”

“Thank you.” You sat down on your bed and watched him, “I needed books to keep myself occupied when I first moved here.”

“You don’t have a phone or a laptop?” He asked and turned around, holding a book of Monet’s work and history.

“I do, they are just locked away, if someone in town wants to contact me, they can just use the landline.” You said simply.

Jinnie looked up from the book and right at you, “in that chest by your bed?”

You nodded, you didn’t look up from the book you were reading, “mhm.”

“Can I ask why they are locked away?” You felt the bed shift, he sat by your sprawled out body.

“Can I ask how you found yourself here?” You sat up now looking at him with curious eyes.

Jinnie thought for a moment, “I ran away.” He looked away from you as if he was ashamed of himself. Your features quickly softened.

“It’s… It’s okay…” You spoke, just above a whisper.

Jinnie looked at you, “I was a coward. I am a-“

“I ran away too.” You said quickly, his eyes widened, “there was a lot going on for me back home, um it became too much so I packed everything and left.”

“Y/n, I understand that more than you know.” He said and grabbed your hand.

You looked up at him, “maybe one day me and you will go more into detail about why we ran.” You stood up still holding onto his hand, “but as for right now, we have pumpkin bread to deliver.”

~+~

“You know when I was a little girl, I used to have the most beautiful blond hair.” Gram said as she sliced the bread for you and Jinnie. She insisted you two have one piece even though it was your gift to her.

“Your hair is still beautiful, Gram.” Jinnie said to her.

Gram let out a quiet laugh, “Hyunjin you are too kind…” She plated the bread and poured some iced tea for you both, and for her. Then she sat down.

“Have you ever had Y/n’s pumpkin bread?” Gram asked Jinnie. He shook his head, “you’ll love it, I remember when she first made it for me.” Gram winked at you, and you smiled bashfully. Then you three dove in. Jinnie instantly complimented your baking. Gram told you this was your best batch yet.

“I had help this time so maybe that’s why.” You smiled at Jinnie.

Gram laughed, “you better help her more if this is how good the bread is going to be!” She joked. You and Jinnie helped clean the cups and plates and she led you two to her living room.

“I want to show you guys photos in my youth.” She sat you guys on the couch and then plopped herself in the middle of you two. Gram started to talk about how after some events, her and her husband decided to move into this little town to get away. Neither of them knew a lick of French but they learned together. You could tell Jinnie was absolutely enthralled with her romantic tale. His eyes lit up and he would ask her questions, she gladly answered. It made your heart warm; he was so effortlessly charming.

At some point she wanted to take her late afternoon nap, so she kicked you two out, Jinnie walked you to your door.

“Walk with me to school tomorrow?” He asked with hopefully eyes.

“I wouldn’t miss it Jinnie.” You spoke and stood at your doorway, the warm air in contrast to the breeze outside.

“I will pick you up this time.” He said, you nodded and before you could say goodbye, just as usual he flipped around and waved. You shut the door behind you. Giggling you rushed to the bathroom, it was time to take a bath and settle down for the day. You still had to study your art history too. Oh, Jinnie just made you so giddy!

~+~

The next morning you knew you overslept because you heard knocking on your bedroom window. You groaned and rubbed your eyes, when you saw his silhouette through your curtains you hopped up and ran through your house, your slippers making you slide. Quickly, you opened the door and waved him in. Jinnie’s warm smile woke you up more.

“Uh here if you didn’t have breakfast um make something, the pantry is yours!” You ran back to your room to get ready for the day. You threw on some old pants and a t-shirt. Your hair was a mess and part of you was a little embarrassed that Jinnie saw you like this. You threw on a straw hat and jacket, almost falling over you put on your boots.

“JINNIE IS MY BAG OUT THERE!?” You yelled from your room. You heard him quickly walk around.

“YES, I GOT IT!” He spoke back. You smiled and walked out, now ready to leave and walk to school with him. When you met him by the door, he handed you your bag.

“Thank you!” You smiled and next thing you knew you two were walking to the school.

“Oh, I woke up a little early this morning, so I made sandwiches for us, if you want to eat them with me after class.” Jinnie said and showed you the wrapped sandwiches in his bag, “I also took the two oranges from your fruit bowl.”

“I will look forward to it, I shouldn’t have work today so I would love to have lunch. Especially your cooking.” Your heart felt warm around him again.

Jinnie let out a soft hum of acknowledgement, “I want to thank you by the way.”

You looked to him as you two just walked made it at the top of the hill, “why’s that?”

“Welcoming me here, you could have just let me figure it out on my own, but you haven’t.” He spoke softly, “you are letting me depend on you.”

“Well, you still have to help me with my landscape art.” You nudged him, Jinnie giggled.

“I have that planned actually; I am trying to find a nice landscape for us.”

This sort of confused you, “you don’t want to paint the town?”

“I will always paint the town, however, let’s say you get frustrated, at least you’ll have a nice view to calm you down.” He explained, “my first day here when I was still at the inn, I painted the general store, or at least tried to, and I couldn’t get it right. Then someone walked by, and it was the most beautiful view I have ever seen.”

You felt a pang of something, your stomach did flips, who captured his eye?

“Did you ever get to see your view again?” You asked, Jinnie looked down at his feet, smiling to himself.

“Almost every day actually.”

That’s odd, “do you know their name?”

“Yes.” Jinnie giggled once more.

“Do I know them?” Yes, you were nosy, you couldn’t help it.

Jinnie let out another laugh, except this time he threw his head back then looked at you, “yes you know them.”

You started to ponder as you two walked up to the school, “wait what’s their name?”

“Y/n.” Jinnie opened the door for you, and you walked in, then spun around.

“Yes?” You asked and took off your hat, Jinnie smiled at you and tried to fix your messy hair.

“That’s their name.” He said simply and started to walk to the classroom. He left you dumbfounded in the middle of the hall. Once back to reality you started to run after him.

“HEY!”

During class Jinnie would make an effort to not pay any attention to you, especially after how flustered he made you right beforehand. It made a little spark inside you; you thought it was funny. The way you’d catch him staring and then he’d dramatically look away. It made you laugh to yourself while you studied your history books. Mr. W started to teach the class about August Friedrich Schenk. You tuned in a bit always being interested by the way there was always an overwhelming dread in the art August Friedrich produced. You struggled painting animals so maybe that’s also why the artist also intrigued you. After the lecture Mr. W assigned you to run some errands to the other teachers, things like reports, attendance, stuff like that. You quickly did as you were told and found yourself greeted by your soon to be coworkers. One of them didn’t have a class for another hour so you found yourself making small talk.

“Is Mr. W still being nice?” She asked and started to write her lesson plan on the board. She was the poetry teacher, Ms. Felicity.

“Yes, thankfully, it is really different from being an art student in his class.” You took a sip of tea that she offered you in a paper classroom cup, “he has always been nicer to me though. I am thankful for that. He really has taken me under his wing the past two years.”

“I’m glad, especially since you’ll be working here soon.” Ms. Felicity turned around and smiled at you.

“Do you live in the next town over?” You asked, suddenly curious. She nodded.

“It is quite the commute but it’s worth it.”

You nodded; you remembered the town over was very nice.

“You know. I wanted to be the art teacher, but here I am doing poetry.” She spoke softly.

You two continued to talk until it was time for you to head back to Mr. W. You found yourself happy that maybe you made a new friend. You seemed to be lucky in that department lately. Walking back into the classroom you saw that Mr. W was close to finishing his lesson. You sat at your little desk and waited for the class to be dismissed.

“Alright, you have your assignments for the next week, remember due March 13th. I will see you guys tomorrow.” The international students started to leave, Mr. W gave you more things to study for the upcoming week

“I am very proud of your progress lately, Y/n.” Mr. W said, you gleamed at the praise.

“Thank you so much, Mr. W!” You quickly picked up your notebooks and bag, packing up. Your teacher made small talk with you about the next assignments for the art students and then sent you off.

Once again you met Jinnie outside of the classroom, “hungry?” He asked. You smiled at him and placed your hat back on your head.

“Starved!”

~+~

“The school has poetry too?” Jinnie asked as you two sat in the grass still in short distance to the school. You were laying on your jacket and you suddenly sat up.

“Yes, did you not look at the classes?” You laughed and took another bite of the wonderful sandwich Jinnie made for you two.

“Well… While signing up I was in a bit of a rush.” He said and sipped his reusable water bottle.

You finished off your sandwich and laid back down, “makes sense how you just appeared out of nowhere.”

Jinnie laughed, “I really did huh?”

“Yes, shockingly. You just poofed.” You flipped on your stomach and looked up at him.

“Is that why you ask me so many questions?” Jinnie teased.

You nodded, “that is exactly why I ask you an abundance of questions. You pique my curiosity.”

“At least you don’t just see me for my looks.” He said quietly. Your brows furrowed and you could sense the sadness in his tone. It was a total 180. You wondered where it came from, especially where the statement itself came from. Yes, he was handsome, however did the people who he ran away from just see him as that?

“No, I see you for your cooking.” You wanted to lighten the mood, anything to get that smile back on his face.

Jinnie rolled his eyes and smiled down at you, “okay Y/n. I see how it is.”

�� “Alright! We both have homework to do!” You stood up and put your hand out. He took it and you helped him up, cleaning up your mini picnic you two went on your merry way.

“We definitely should plant pumpkins in July.” You said and skipped along with him.

“So, they’ll be ready for Halloween, right?” Jinnie asked, you hummed.

“Exactly! The town actually does a whole thing for Halloween. It is really cute, too many tourists though.” You said, noticing once more he was lost in thought.

“Hyunjin…?” You tested the waters of saying his actual name, this caught his attention instantly.

“Am I in trouble?” Poor guy looked and sounded terrified, you laughed slightly.

“Nono I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Jinnie nodded to himself, and he thanked you softly, “it’s just some weird stuff coming back to me again, I’ll be okay.” He reassured you.

“I understand what you mean, that happened to me on my first birthday here. I hung out with Gram the entire day.” You recalled the memory, “it was weird not being around anyone I knew.”

“My birthday is in two weeks.” He said suddenly.

Your eyes widened, “WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME SOONER!” You practically jumped on him; soft giggles escaped his lips.

“We’ve been busy it didn’t come up.”

You huffed as you two made it up the hill, “what day?”

Jinnie thought for a moment, his way of keeping you in suspense, “hmmm I don’t remember.”

“HYUNJIN!”

He looked offended that you used his actual name, “now I’m not going to tell you.”

“Jinni- “

“March 20th.”

You laughed at his suddenness, “okay good! We can plan something!” Jinnie looked at you, he looked a little unreadable.

“You don’t have to…” He mumbled bashfully, you two walked into your neighborhood.

“Well, I want to, I don’t want you to have the same sad birthday as me when I first moved here.” You were determined, “what kind of cake do you want?”

“May I request your pumpkin bread?” He asked hopefully. You grinned at him.

“Yes, you may!”

~+~

The past week you and Jinnie would continue this routine of walking together to school and if you didn’t have work, you or he would make lunch. At one point he brought you lunch at work; it made you feel special. You found yourself cherishing his attention. He was way different from everyone else you have ever met. Hyunjin’s personality was as bright as the reflection of the sun on the water, and you were basking in it. There was never much to do in this town, you didn’t mind. But now that Jinnie was here, you had lots to look forward to, your schedule didn’t seem as mundane.

Saturday night you two were having dinner at your home once more, this time he brought you flowers, and you were cooking. You had music playing from the old music player in your living room.

“What did Mr. W pull you aside for yesterday? I forgot to ask.” You said as you stirred the seasonings for the oven baked potatoes.

“You forgetting to ask something? Impossible.” Jinnie joked. You turned around and gave him the stink eye, he giggled.

“He wanted to look at my sketchbook, he said on Monday he wants me to bring in some of my work that’s on a canvas.”

You flipped around, “no way.” Jinnie gave you a look as if he didn’t know why you were surprised, “he’s scouting you!”

“Psh no.” He waved his hand then took a sip of the wine he brought for you both.

“Psh yes.” You said back and started to pour the seasoning on the potatoes. Once they were in the oven you sat down next to him at the table.

“Mr. W takes one student from the class and scouts them, then if he chooses you then you get a trip to Paris for a chance to display your work at a gallery.” You explained, “I got picked my first year here when I was a student, look.” You stood up and grabbed the picture frame that was on your side table in the living room. You stomped back over and showed him the photo.

“See look.” You shoved the picture frame in his hands, “I was really young and he really took me in. I owe him a lot.”

Jinnie smiled at your photo, you were holding what he presumed to be your artwork, you didn’t look much different, “your hair was shorter.”

“That’s what you’re taking from this? Jinnie!” You grabbed the frame from him again, but he didn’t want to let go.

“Wait I wanna look at you more.” Jinnie giggled, you sighed and let go of the frame. After a few minutes of him asking questions about your younger self he handed it back.

“You really think he’s scouting me?” Jinnie asked and poured more wine for himself and you.

“Absolutely! Whenever I walk by your station I may or may not peek at what you’re working on.”

Mr. W had to be scouting him, this is what your mentor does when he notices talent. Jinnie had that talent.

“You look at my work while I’m working!?” He dramatically waved his hands around and it made you giggle.

“I did when we first met, didn’t I?”

Jinnie thought for a moment then nodded, “okay you did but I let you.”

“And why did you exactly?”

“I told you; I think you’re pretty, beautiful, gorgeous even, the most beautiful view here. Why wouldn’t I give you the opportunity to be charmed by my work.” The wine must’ve started kicking in because he was getting bold.

You face heated up and you felt yourself scoffing, “you still have to teach me your methods. I am still holding you to that.”

“I hope you do.” Jinnie said and leaned back smiling. He talked more about his walks he would take when you were working, saying he finally did find the perfect spot to take you painting. You eventually pulled out the bake potatoes and set up your plates, you also fried vegetables. Plating the food, you set it down in front of him.

“This smells wonderful.” He smiled up at you. You smiled back warmly and sat in front of him, “can you teach me something?”

You picked up on him always wanting to learn something from you, “coffee grounds are bad for your drain… uhhhh…” You thought for a moment, “I don’t think Vincent Van Gogh killed himself.”

“Oh? Elaborate.” Jinnie loved listening to you, and you loved listening to him. Eventually you two finished eating and you found yourself digging under your bed for old artwork. He wanted to see your portrait work.

“Most of them I sold to tourists at the market when I first moved here. These are the leftovers.” You handed him the canvases and he looked at your art in awe. It ranged from big to small pieces, all capturing these people’s details. Their very soul on your canvas.

“These are beautiful…” He breathed; he traced the canvas with his finger extremely delicately. You looked down.

“You should’ve seen the ones that were sold, I didn’t want to let them go but I had to make money, and this was before my bookstore job.” You spoke sadly, he looked up at you.

“We will make more pieces like these together.” Jinnie then looked down and more at your other artwork. The thought made your soul happy; you went to dig more under your bed and found old sketchbooks, one labeled abstract and you handed it to him.

“These were from highschool, if they are a bit dark, I apologize, I don’t really like looking back at these much.” You handed it to him and ever so softly he took it and started flipping through the pages. You found yourself scooting next to him and looking at the worn pages with him. Your eyes went to his face, he looked concentrated as he read the words hidden in your work.

“You made these in highschool?” He whispered, you nodded.

“It wasn’t the best time in my life… Some decisions I made led me here though, so I guess part of me should be thankful.” You whispered back. The music from the living room still playing a bittersweet tune.

“I can relate, although my last year was when I sold myself.” He flipped the page; you were studying him while he studied your work.

You looked back at the sketchbook in front of him, one day you knew you would find out about him. Maybe that night was tonight, “can you tell me?”

Jinnie looked back at you softly setting the book down, he was so gentle with your work, “yeah… I can tell you. But you can’t tell anyone else otherwise I have to leave.”

“I promise.” You looked him in his eyes, you could drown in them. He stood up and led you to sit down next to him on your bed. You shifted so one leg was dangling off and the other was folded on the bed. He sat forward, hands together. He looked stressed.

“Jinnie you don’t have to tell me if you aren’t ready.” Your hand found his way to his shoulder, and he looked at you.

“No, it… it’s okay, I want to tell you.”

You nodded and got ready to have your listening ears on.

“I used to live in Seoul, like Korea. I was very popular,” he looked away, “I was an idol, that’s why I can sing and dance. People really loved me, as much as I liked it, popularity comes with controversy. Almost every week something was wrong or something horrible was being said to me.” Jinnie took a deep breath and you grabbed his hand, he squeezed it and continued, “as much as I loved being in the spotlight and seeing the adoring eyes of people, I couldn’t take the constant pressure, getting in trouble for rumors someone else started, things I didn’t even do, I was tired, I was always scared of someone always watching me, so I ran the second I could. It is irresponsible of me, and I am sure the past month people have been freaking out, but maybe not, I don’t know, I wasn’t allowed to be active anyways when I left.”

Your hand squeezed his again, “I don’t think you’re a coward Jinnie, I just think you were burnt out and lost. That is okay and it doesn’t make you any less of who you are.”

He nodded, “thank you.”

“Anything for you.” You spoke wholeheartedly.

“Can you tell me why you ran?” He asked, you took a deep breath and nodded, Jinnie turned his whole body towards you, now he held both your hands in his large ones. He always wore the same rings.

“In high school, I didn’t have a lot of friends, so when I finally did make them, I was naïve. I really landed myself in the wrong crowd. I was young and stupid to think these people actually did care for me. One of them I thought I fell in love with,” you felt your eyes start to water, “I was wrong, it wasn’t love, my frontal lobe hadn’t even developed so how was I supposed to know that what was happening to me wasn’t love.”

A tear fell from your eye, and he caught it with his hand. You continued, “at some point it started getting really bad, I got really scared for my safety and my family’s safety so I ran. I never looked back.”

Jinnie held tightly onto your hands, “thank you for telling me.” His voice was calming, and you found yourself crashing into him, hugging him desperately. He cradled you in his arms and let you cry.

“It’s okay… Y/n let it out… I know…” His hand found its way to your head, and he played with your hair.

“I miss being home, but I know it’s safer for everyone that I left.” You said in between sobs. Hyunjin just held onto you tighter. “I know… I know exactly what that feels like.” Hyunjin kept wiping away your tears as they fell, at some point he let a few of his own tears fall.

Chapter 3: His Kindness & His Birthday

When you woke up the next morning you had a killer headache, when you stood up your head felt like someone took a bat and constantly smacked you.

“God…” You mumbled and walked toward your bathroom, you cleaned yourself up and started to recall what happened last night. When you walked out of your room you smelled food; good food, was Jinnie still here? You walked down your hallway quickly and saw him standing by the stove, he was cooking. Your curious eyes silently watched him as he stirred what you presumed to be scrambled eggs. He must’ve brought cooking ingredients over from his home. You watched as he swayed back and forth to the music he had playing on; he really could dance. It made you smile to yourself; he really could feel the music. It was impressive.

You didn’t want to embarrass him, so you walked back to your room and called his name.

“Jinnie!” You re-walked down the hallway.

“Cooking breakfast!” He called back, you walked into the kitchen, he turned around and grinned at you. The sun was peeking through the curtains, and he was illuminated beautifully, “good morning. Are you feeling okay?”

“I have a bit of a headache.” You said and looked at what he was cooking, you were right, scrambled eggs.

“Here, I’ll get you some water. Watch the eggs please.” He spun around and started getting you your glass. You hummed and watched the eggs; it was scarily domestic. Part of you didn’t mind, Jinnie is kind and you have never related to anyone as much as him.

Jinnie handed you a cold glass of water and took over the food again, “drink up, if needed we can run to a less secluded town for headache meds.”

“I think I might still have some in the cabinet in the bathroom…” You pondered and sipped the water. He started to plate the eggs and put jam on the toast.

“Where did you get all this food?” You asked, as you sat down on the table. He quickly put the food down and sat with you.

“I had some back at my house and then I picked up the jam this morning from the general store.” He said simply.

You nearly choked on your food, “you walked to town this morning?”

Jinnie nodded, “mhm, after our crying session last night we must’ve both passed out. You were still asleep when I woke up, so I wanted to make you breakfast.”

“That’s very kind of you.” You took a bite of your food and once again your tastebuds were delighted.

“I figured it would be nice after yesterday.” He spoke softly. Yeah, yesterday… You were hit with waves of memories. He ended up telling you why he ran, and you told him why you ran too. He was an idol… Like a celebrity?

“Do you have any questions? You have a cute funny look on your face.” Jinnie looked up at you.

“So you were-“ You didn’t even know how to ask.

Jinnie wiped his mouth of any crumbs, “an idol, performer, celebrity, whatever you want to call it.”

You nodded, “are you ever going to go back?” Part of you didn’t want him to. Your eyes just watched him as he shrugged and looked away from you.

“Not for a while…” He mumbled, then made eye contact with you, “so you’ll be bothered by me for a long time.” Jinnie smiled at you which you gladly returned to him.

“I look forward to it.”

~+~

The next week on his birthday you showed up at his home in the early morning, you were surprised that he was already up. Sometimes you noticed you had to grab the key under his mat and get him out of bed.

“Good morning, Y/n!” He said in a sing song voice, you noticed his basket was packed full of things.

“Good morning, Jinnie!” You grabbed the pumpkin bread from behind your back, “happy birthday!”

You saw his eyes light up and he grabbed the bread, smelling it. After, he set it down and pulled you in a hug, “thank you!”

When he pulled away, he put his hands on your shoulders, “you’re free today right?”

“Yes, I called off for your birthday.” You smiled brightly up at him.

Jinnie clasped his hands together, “perfect!” He quickly rushed to his basket and put the bread in, “we are going for a walk!”

“Right now?” You questioned.

“Yes!” He grabbed his basket and your hand, “we need to pick up your art supplies!”

After the pitstop at your home, you two went on your way.

“It’s your birthday I should be surprising you!” You walked and swayed your bag back and forth. He giggled and copied your actions.

“Well, this is how I want to spend my birthday.” Jinnie said, he led the way, walking in front of you. He would steal glances at you as you two walked.

“Where are we heading?” You were so curious as to where your mysterious neighbor, companion, friend, was leading you.

“You never fail to be so curious.” His voice was warm.

“Welllllllll!” You continuously swung your bag back and forth.

Jinnie turned around to look at you and turned his head, there was something in his eyes you couldn’t pinpoint, “do you trust me?” He asked.

You nodded your head, “yes I do.”

“Perfect.” He grabbed your hand and continued to lead you. You really tried not to get nervous, then your hand would become sweaty.

He started to lead you to the back side of the neighborhood, you decided to keep asking him questions.

“Is thiiiis… A nice place we’re going to?”

“Of course, it’s nice, I’m actually surprised that you haven’t been here.” He spoke.

You looked at him, “I don’t usually go this way. Can you still dance for me.”

Jinnie giggled, “yes Y/n.”

“Sing?”

“Yes, Y/n only for you.”

You started to swing your hands back and forth, you two were walking next to each other now.

“Okay we are getting close so close your eyes.” Jinnie said excitedly.

Your eyes closed and you couldn’t help but smile, you let him guide you deeper into the trees. Your feet almost betrayed you a couple of times, with the rock and loose dirt, but he caught you and just held onto you tighter. You felt his warm hands on your arms then they covered your eyes.

“No peeking.” He said, you let a giggle out.

“I’m not peeking!”

“Suuuure.” He teased.

In the next minute he took his hands off your face, “okay wait here.” You heard him giggling and shifting around.

“I have to get cushions down n stuff.” He explained, “keep your eyes closed!”

“I am! I am! I promise.” You covered your own eyes. You heard him shuffle around more until finally.

“Okay open!”

When you opened your eyes you were met with a beautiful scenic lake, and Jinnie was standing there with a ‘well?’ stance.

“I found this place a little while ago while getting lost to the town, total opposite direction. But it was worth it.” He jogged up to you, “plus it’s perfect to paint.”

You never really had someone be this thoughtful in years, let alone someone who wants to take care of you just because. It was hard to not get a little emotional.

“Wow…” You breathed.

“Perfect right?!” He grabbed your hand and sat you down on the cushion. He pulled out the canvases and paints.

“Just try to paint it, I want to see you do it. Not how I do it.” He said and sat down next to you. You nodded, still in awe about this whole thing. You took out your brushes and started to paint, this time you felt eyes on you. You weren’t watching him paint; he was observing you now.

“You’re making me nervous.” You spoke just above a whisper.

“You do this to me all the time.” Jinnie leaned closer to you, you could feel his breath on you.

“Does it make you nervous?” Your eyes kept going back and forth from the view to your canvas. You kept your stomach erupt in butterflies when he leaned even closer to you.

“Yeah, it does.” Jinnie said, “you’re doing great by the way, I don’t see why you need my help with this.” He continued to watch you paint in silence, you were about halfway done.

“Did you even need my help?” Jinnie teased.

You whipped your head over to him and bumped your face with his, he started giggling almost manically.

“What?” You questioned him, waving the paintbrush, you ended up splattering paint on him. Now both of you were laughing.

“You know what!” He grabbed a brush and started whipping paint at you too. You two started to battle with paintbrushes. The different color droplets started to spray everywhere.

“Ah! Jinnie!” You grabbed a glob of blue acrylic paint and whipped it at him, he retaliated by grabbing yellow paint. At some point you two were chasing after each other.

“Get back here!” Jinnie said, you turned around and saw he was right behind you. You yelped and started to run backwards right into the lake. Jinnie started laughing at you now that you were soaked. But when he skidded at the edge of the lake, he slipped on the mud. His body landed right next to yours with a splash. His head peaked out of the water, his hair everywhere. The water droplets mixing with the paint that stained his face. You didn’t know how he could look more beautiful.

“Look who’s laughing now.” You teased him. His large hand splashed water at you. You gasped and splashed water back at him. You both eventually stood up still splashing water at each other. You started to try and wade away from him, still laughing. You made it out of the water and kept running.

“Y/nnnnn!” He whined, you turned around and taunted him. You closed your eyes and stuck your tongue out. Before you knew it, he was dragging you back into the lake. You were yelping and laughing.

“Jiiiinniee!”

SPLASH

When you opened your eyes, you saw he was right on top of you, “whoops I fell in too.”

“You schmo!” You laughed, closing your eyes again, and tilted your head back, letting the lake soak your hair.

“Schmo?!” He grabbed your shoulders and lightly shook you, your giggles escaping you. When you opened your eyes again your hair was partially blocking your view. But once again you were met with his eyes staring back at you with that far off look he had earlier. Jinnie smiled at you like you were a warm cup of coffee on the coldest day of the year. His hand, still dripping with the lake water brushed your hair out of your eyes.

“Tu es belle (beautiful girl).” Jinnie whispered under his breath.

“Where did you learn that?” You whispered back, his hand cupped your cheek.

“Picked up stuff from Gram.” His eyes never left yours, “she wanted me to know how to compliment you, to woo you per say… I intend to do so. Is it working?”

“Oui.” You grinned at him and tilted your head back again, partially because you didn’t want him to see your flustered face. Your face burned when you felt his soft lips touch your cheek; your breath hitched, and you looked up at him.

“Was that too much?” He asked his voice wavering slightly, one of his hands still held onto your waist and to the side of your face.

“It wasn’t enough.” You put your hands on his cheeks and kissed him. He jumped a bit before quickly melting into your touch.

~+~

“I think that this piece is better than any of my landscapes.”

You looked at the painting you created which was now hung on his wall, “you helped create it.”

“The paint splatters really do add to the landscape, don’t they?” Jinnie placed his hands on your waist, “definitely my favorite birthday present, this year.”

“I’m glad this birthday was good for you.” You grinned up at him and tackled him into a hug. He started laughing.

“You made it better.” He kissed your forehead.

“Walk with me to school tomorrow?” You questioned.

“Mmmm I’d have to check my schedule… I think I only have a rose bush to nurture with a gorgeous girl in the afternoon… Yeah, I can fit you in for a walk in the morning.”

~+~

The next few weeks were peaceful, you and Jinnie’s routine became a part of your lives. He started to sleep over often, and you would sleep over at his home frequently as well. Your favorite thing to do with him was cook, sometimes he would sway with you while the pasta boiled. He would softly spin you while the bread needed to rise. Jinnie was a dream come true in your world. Your heart never felt so safe with anyone before. Life was simple and you two cherished that. The way he would look at you with love and adoration in his eyes is something you will always cherish.

Now you were painting in the living room of his home, he was picking up groceries so you two could bake together for Gram. You bit the end of the wood on your paintbrush, a sick habit you have developed over time. One Jinnie would giggle at.

“My intended I’m home!” He called from the door, you quickly hopped up and followed his voice. There he was in all his glory, with his basket overflowing with groceries. You grinned and practically jumped in his arms. Jinnie yelped and then returned your giggles.

“Miss me?”

“Always.” You pulled away and led him to his kitchen. You helped him put away groceries and started to set up for the now weekly bread. Gram was very happy about this.

“Oh, I also picked something up from the back of the market.” Jinnie sprung up and walked back outside, the way he sauntered always made you smile. He made you smile, especially when he came back from outside with this giant box.

“This guy at the back of the market was selling things, and I noticed on your bookshelf you have a lot of old golden spine books at the top of your shelf.” He spoke excitedly, you honestly forgot about those old children’s books at the top, your main priority now was the old art books. Jinnie set the box on the counter, “the guy I think said that he had no idea if it still works, but! Even if it doesn’t maybe you could take the cases and make a collage.”

You opened up the big box and saw a ton of old VHS tapes, with a player to watch them. You saw old films from the 90s that ranged from The Titanic to old Disney Princess movies. Your eyes lit up, before you left home you had an obsession with movies of any kind. Your obsession slowed down when you moved here.

“Jinnie what about a TV?” You looked up, questioning him.

He gave you a toothy grin, “when I first bought this house he mentioned a REALLY old TV in the attic. If it doesn’t work, we can just take a trip to the next town over.”

Once again, your eyes lit up, “Jinnie!” You hugged him again and he smiled into your neck.

“I figured it would be nice to watch movies other than art documentaries in class, not that I don’t love them.” He mumbled, still holding onto you as if you would disappear any minute, “I also picked something else up.” He pulled away from you and pulled something out of his pocket, it was a small gold necklace, with a rose adorned on the front.

“Jinnie…!” Your breath hitched.

He spun you around and placed the necklace on you, “he was also selling antique jewelry, he discounted it for me. It reminds me of the rosebush that’s now blooming outside of my house. All because of you.”

You turned around and hugged him tightly. Hwang Hyunjin was everything you wanted in a partner...

“You’re so thoughtful.” You pulled away from him, looking at him with stars, “we can set up the movie night tonight and thank you so much for the necklace! Now! Gram has some bread to be made!”

Jinnie nodded with the same dreamy look and you two started baking up a storm. Gram was very happy seeing you two spend so much time together. You noticed how overtime Jinnie really did pay so close attention to her stories. He loved them, especially the love stories. Part of him didn’t seem real to you. When you two parted ways from Gram she gave you and Jinnie a hug and you two walked back across the street.

“You seem to pay more attention to me than Gram now.” He teased, opening his door. You huffed as he let you in first.

“I can’t help it, you’re cute when you’re enthralled in something.” You spun around.

Jinnie chuckled, “I’ll set everything up, do you want to maaaaybe plate some fruit and bread for us pleaaaase.”

“Didn’t you just have my pumpkin bread at Grams?” Your eyes teased him. Jinnie whined and you quickly gave in. You skipped into the kitchen and started to make a snack, it was getting late and you assumed you were sleeping here so you sidetracked into his room. Looking around you found your set of pajamas that you kept at his home. Then you skipped back into the kitchen and finished plating your guy’s food. From the room you heard him curse slightly, you walked in and set the plates on the coffee table. Squatting by him you softly rubbed his back.

“Want tea too?”

Jinnie nodded, his brows furrowed. You could tell he was determined to make this movie night work. It was something you really loved about him; he would try. You were never used to men like this growing up. You happily started the kettle and made tea.

“MY DEAREST INTENDED!” He started running into the kitchen, “I did it! I did it!”

~+~

“Are you sure you want to go through the chest?” He asked as you knelt at the foot of your bed, you took a deep breath and nodded.

“I think it’s time, plus I might’ve stole a couple photo albums, you’ll get to see baby me.”

Jinnie grinned at this and you unlocked the big trunk, it was like how you left it two years ago, almost three. You had an old sweater, joggers, your backpack, laptop, phone, everything.

“Woah.” Jinnie said and started digging through the trunk of stuff. He was really looking for the small photo albums. You took out your phone and laptop, tossing them aside.

“I totally forgot I packed this.” You giggled as you picked up a copy of The Shining.

“Are you a Stephen King fan?” He mumbled, still looking for the photos of your past. You hummed.

“I was, then I read IT and got weirded out.”

You heard Jinnie laugh, then he pulled out something from your backpack, “a Taylor Swift CD?”

“I WAS LIKE 19!” You retorted; he started giggling more.

“I prefer Lana Del Rey, but I can enjoy Taylor Swift.” He teased you, then he finally found what he was looking for. The small old photo albums.

Your body curled up next to him as you pointed out various family members, he listened intently. You thought going through this old trunk was going to be horrible, but with Jinnie, it wasn’t. He asked questions about your family and you happily answered them laughing or with stories that were stored in your memories. You even got reminded of some stuff. If something sparked a story in Jinnie he would tell it to you as well.

“You’d love my mom.” Jinnie said and giggled at your baby photos.

“I think my mom would love you, my dad is hard to win over though.”

Jinnie chuckled then looked at you with a serious look, “do you think we will ever see them again? Or even get to meet them?”

“God, I hope so…” Your voice was quiet. You wanted so badly to introduce Hyunjin to your parents. You know they would love him and be so happy for you. He is everything your parents wanted for you. Respectful, smart, charming, they have always wanted that for you. Now that you have it, you want them so badly to see you this happy. They would be proud of you.

“I think we will get to meet each other’s families.” Jinnie spoke suddenly. You looked at him.

“You think?” Now you were fully pulled out of your thoughts.

Jinnie nodded, his hair falling in front of his eyes, which you pushed softly away.

“I know we will get to. You are my intended after all.”

~+~

You ended up being right about Mr. W scouting Jinnie for the next exhibit in Paris.

“Jinnie you have to except it.” You paced back and forth, your feet pittering and pattering on the old wood.

“Y/n I don’t know. Don’t you think that’ll bring too much attention to me?” You two were currently talking about whether or not he should take it. At this point the semester was nearly over, and that means the Paris trip would be soon. You knelt by him on the couch.

“You could always do a fake name… Maybe cover your face…” You looked up at him, “Jinnie this is really big for your art.”

He looked conflicted, “if that doesn’t work then what am I going to do? Go back and leave you here? I can’t do that…”

“You’re worried about having to leave me?” You leaned your head on his knee, he caressed your cheek. His fingers drifted to the necklace he gave you weeks ago. You seemed to only take it off while you bathed. Not that he paid attention to that or anything.

“Of course, I am, I know I wouldn’t have a choice if I was found out.”

“Hyunjin…” You stood up and sat next to him, his hair had grown out more and he had the same scared dog look to him again. Just like he did when you first met him.

“Y/n, I don’t know what I would do, I know I sound crazy and I know it hasn’t been that long, I know I wear my heart on my sleeve and I know I romanticize every little thing, I can’t just- I-“

You put your hand in his, “it’s okay Jinnie. We aren’t at that yet, and that might not even happen.”

He nodded and took a deep breath, “I’ll explain my situation to Mr. W. Tell him my conditions and then we will go from there.”

Your lips curved into a smile, and you kissed his cheek, “I’m so proud of you, Hyunjin, even if you decide not to go.”

Jinnie looked at you and he looked more relaxed, he squeezed your hand, “I love you so much.”

You had to force your brain to not make your tears flow, “I love you more.”

“I’ll talk to him tomorrow after class,” he stood up, “I want you to come with me if I go to Paris.”

Jinnie pulled you with him, your body crashed into his and he held you.

“You do?” Your eyes loved the sight of him.

“I do.” He lifted both of your hands on his shoulders and put his on your waist, “I know you have work but-“

“I want to go with you, I want to support you. I’d go anywhere with you.”

Jinnie smiled warmly at you, “I’ll have to hold you to that.”

“You still have to sing to me.” Your eyes playfully narrowed at him, he huffed and swayed you two.

“I sing to you all the time, it’s not my fault you’re always already asleep.” He gave you a funny look back. You pretended to be offended.

“No fair! Sing me to sleep tonight!” You said, he giggled and spun you. You ended up crashing into him.

“Say please my intended.”

You looked up at him, “please sing me to sleep tonight.”

Jinnie kissed you softly, you kissed him back and whined a bit when he pulled away, “as you wish.”

~+~

The next morning on the walk to school Jinnie really took in his surroundings like it would be the last time to. It really scared you. He wouldn’t get out of bed until you two absolutely had to. He wouldn’t let go of you while you cooked breakfast, and he wanted you to stay in the kitchen when he prepped your guys’ lunch.

“Jinnie are you okay?” You noticed how he really was looking at the sunrise on the hill. He looked at you and sighed.

“I’m just preparing for the worst.”

You were worried about him, “Jinnie, I know what I said but if you really don’t want to do this-“

“My love, I’ve always wanted to have my art in an exhibit, and- and you’re right. I need to at least try. Maybe he won’t even care that I want to go by another name. That’s pretty normal for artists.”

“That is true…” You nodded and mumbled, “but what if he looks up your legal name?”

“I don’t think he will.” Jinnie said, “at least I really hope not.”

When you two finally made it to school you noticed how he didn’t let go of your hand. Usually he would, you both decided to only tell Gram about your relationship.

“It’ll be okay Hyunjin…” You said to him, he nodded and walked into class first, finally letting go. You quickly followed after him. The whole time you could tell he wasn’t paying attention, his leg would bounce, and his brush would shake before it hit the canvas. It really hurt your heart to see him like this. You didn’t know what to do about this. He wanted this but his past life was still holding him hostage. No matter what though, you were determined to be there for him.

Chapter 4: Broken Trust

After class you waited for Jinnie to stop talking to Mr. W, you picked at your fingernails trying to calm yourself down. Seeing how nervous he was made you feel like throwing up. Taking a deep breath, you leaned your head back against the wall.

“It’ll be okay…” You mumbled to yourself. Your eyes closed and you tried to calm yourself down. Part of you knew Jinnie had to go back at some point, even you had to go back at some point. You just hope that maybe it would be you two together going back and facing what you both left. You should really call your parents soon… Your eyes shot open, and you stood up when the door opened. Jinnie smiled at Mr. W and wished him a good day. Then he turned to you.

“He is totally okay with it.” Jinnie beamed at you and hugged you tightly, “I really want you to come with me.”

Your giggles started when you felt his hair tickle your face, “I will be there.”

~+~

“I want to call my parents.” You said to him a couple days later. He looked up from his plate with wide eyes.

“Are you sure?” Jinnie asked, his mouth full, eyes still wide.

You swallowed hard and nodded, “I’m sure. I think they need to know that I’m okay, all I left them was a note saying I’d be back soon. I feel guilty about it.”

Jinnie nodded, “do you want me to be next to you when you call?”

“Please. I know it’s sort of a lot to ask but- “

He grabbed your hand from across the table, “nothing is too much for you to ask of me.”

Your nerves calmed and you nodded, “thank you Jinnie.”

“You’re most welcome, my intended.”

After dinner you two sat on the floor, your landline phone and your actual cell phone next to each other. The plan was, if the landline didn’t get an answer, then it was a last resort to turn on your old cell phone and call.

“Are you nervous?” Jinnie asked as he sat cross-legged in front of you. Your shoulders shrugged.

“What if they get mad at me? What if they hate me for leaving?”

Hyunjin took a deep breath, “did they know what was going on?”

You nodded softly, “my dad even went to the court room, he stayed outside but he knew what was going on.”

“I don’t think they will be mad.” Hyunjin lightly pushed the phone towards you. You took a deep breath and started to dial. Your hands shook and Hyunjin held your free hand.

Brrrr brrrr brr- click

“Hello?” It was your dad’s voice, you felt that feeling in your throat. You were choked up. You froze. Hyunjin mustve sensed this because he tried to get you back to reality asap.

“Dad?” You said quickly, thankful Hyunjin snapped you out of it.

“If this is some joke, I don’t think this is very fucking funny.” Your father’s voice was stern, just as you remembered it.

“No-No it’s me. Y/n L/n, it’s me, your kid, the one who used to eat the dead flies off the bay window.” You spoke quickly, you saw Jinnie give you a funny look. He was trying to not laugh or make fun of you in this moment.

“Y/N!” Your dad sounded relieved to hear your voice, “I-I’m so glad you’re okay… We didn’t know when you were going to come back, and you never answered any calls.”

“I know… I’m really sorry, I was stupid and thought everything was going to be safer if I left.” You spoke softly.

Your dad let out a sigh, “Kiddo, your heart was in the right place… Home is safe now, we moved, and the door is always open for you.”

Your eyes started to water, “you guys moved?”

“Yeah, a couple months after you left, we figured you left because of the situation, some people were saying that he finally- I don’t even want to get into it.” There was a pain in his voice.

“I’m so sorry. I feel like it was my fault, I still feel like if I didn’t- “

Your dad interrupted you, “Y/n. Nothing was your fault.”

The tears fell and you covered your mouth, choking on a sob, you heard your dad tell you to breathe. Something that when you were a teenager, he had to tell you quite often. You were almost an exact copy of him, he knew how bad it could get. You missed this familiarity.

“I’m sorry.” You repeated.

“It’s okay, I promise. I will give you our new address, visit whenever you want. Please call whenever you want. I know you probably don’t want to disclose where you are and that’s okay. I’m just so happy you aren’t dead.”

Your father gave you the new address and you wrote it down. After catching up a bit, the call ended. Jinnie stayed by your side the entire time, he read his book and held your hand. When the call was finished, he softly set the book down.

“How do you feel?”

You tackled him in a hug on the couch, “I’m so happy Hyunjin!”

~+~

“Okay Y/n is everything packed?” Jinnie asked, you nodded. After you called your dad, Jinnie figured going on a nice weekend trip would help with the heaviness of the past couple weeks. He didn’t tell you where you guys were going, but you trusted him with everything.

“Can you pleaaase tell me?” You asked as you two walked to the town for the millionth time. He started to pack your bags in the rental car.

“No, it’s a surprise.” He evilly giggled. You whined.

“Can you give me a hint?” You leaned against the car.

Jinnie looked at you with his hand on his hip, “no.”

“Have I been there before?”

He rolled his eyes and pecked your lips, “I really hope not.” He closed the trunk and you two started your drive.

“I haven’t been in a car in forever.” You mumbled looking around the interior. Jinnie laughed a little and kept his eyes on the road.

“Don’t get carsick, it’s sort of a long ride.”

You hummed and nodded, “Jinnie?”

“Yes, my intended?”

“Are you excited for the Paris exhibit?”

Your eyes watched as his toothy grin formed, “yes Y/n I’m ecstatic.”

“Good!” You smiled, matching his grin.

As the car ride carried on, you started to doze off. Jinnie said it was okay if you fell asleep, so you let yourself doze off. When you woke, you were still driving, so you fell asleep again.

“I have to get gas; do you have to use the restroom or anything?” He shook you softly awake. You stirred and looked at him sleepily. His smile at you warmed. He looked at you as if you were a warm blanket after a long day outside during the coldest of winters.

“Mmm I’m hungry…” You mumbled and took off your seatbelt.

“Okay let me gas up and I will go in with you.”

You nodded and waited for him, after he fed the car, he parked in the lot and opened your door for you. Your hand found his and you two walked to the little convenience store. When your eyes landed on all the snacks and things they practically sparkled. You hadn’t seen stuff like this for years.

“Jinnie! Look!” You pulled him to the sunglasses. You grabbed a pair and put one on, “do these look nice?”

“Hmmmm, try these ones.” He said and switched them out. You giggled as he put them on your face, after adjusting them and looking into the mirror you nodded. They were circular and red, very old fashioned.

“I like these!”

Jinnie helped you to get some snacks and he paid for them, much to your dismay. Before you knew it, you two were on the road again.

“We are almost there I promise, I know we have been driving for a few hours…” Jinnie mumbled and glanced at you. You sat there munching on some snacks in your new sunglasses.

“Okay Jinnie.” You smiled and took another bite.

He wasn’t wrong, you two were almost there, at some point when the mountain road cleared your eyes met the blue ocean.

“Oh my god!” You practically jumped out of your seat.

“Nice way to kick off the summer?” He asked.

You turned to him, your hair a mess, sunglasses slanted, clothes disheveled, “YES!”

Jinnie smiled and started toward the small home he rented for the weekend. It was a walk from the beach and right when he stopped the car you started running toward the water. You craved the warm sand on your toes and the cold water on your skin. Your feet didn’t stop until you jumped into the water, clothes and all. You saw Jinnie laughing and jogging after you. He always looked like a dream, someone so perfect could only be in your imagination. Yet… Here he was. He wasn’t imaginary, he was just perfect in your eyes.

“This is amazing!” You laughed and waved your new shades back and forth. Jinnie stood by the water letting it hit his feet. You noticed how he was taking it all in as well.

“I know we have to take a trip to Paris next week, but I thought that this would be a nice way to relax before things get busy again.”

You jumped out of the water and hugged him, getting him, all soaked from the ocean.

“Ah!” He jumped and tried to get out of your grip.

“Jiiiiinnnnie!” You whined and looked up at him, his eyes softened, and he kissed you. Perfect, you caught him off guard and you threw both of your bodies into the water. Just like back at home in the lake, where he kissed you the first time. His laughter rang through your ears, you didn’t think you would ever get tired of hearing his laughter. Jinnie’s crazy, loud, stupid laughter. It could make symphonies jealous.

~+~

You two laid in bed with the balcony doors open. The moon shone in, illuminated the room in a pale blue. Almost like the room’s saturation was turned down. The ocean waves could be heard, sometimes the breeze would move the curtains. You laid there playing with his hair, you took in every mole and every imperfection. To you though, the imperfections is what made him human. It’s what made him your intended, just as you were his.

“I need to get it cut before the exhibit.” He mumbled into your arm.

“My boss at the bookstore used to trim mine.” You whispered. Hyunjin nodded.

He slowly opened his eyes; he was so beautiful inside and out. Yeah, sometimes he was a little odd, memories flashed in your head. Sometimes he would chase the birds on the way home from class, other times you noticed he just wanted to watch movies to cry. Hyunjin was one of a kind in your eyes, he was caring and compassionate. No other person compared to his kindness. No other person compared to his uniqueness in general.

“Do you know why I call you my intended?” He asked and his hand found its way to your cheek. Your mouth curved slightly.

“Why is that?”

“I intend to stay with you. No matter what.” He softly kissed your cheek.

Your breath hitched, “you think I’m worth that?”

“You’re worth more than anything, that’s why I spoil you so. You deserve it, you deserve everything. I want to be the one to give you that happy ending.” Hyunjin pulled away from you, eyes locking, “you have made this the best few months I have had in a while. You gave me hope that my childish fantasies of love were true. I am so glad I found that my hopes are within you.”

“I want a happy ending with you.” You breathed, he smiled at you.

“What kind of ending?”

You leaned on your back now, “I dunno, maybe one where we are all old and sometimes gross,” you heard him laugh before you continued, “maybe have a nicer home somewhere else, one where we own it together.” You turned to him, “maybe even get a dog or cat. No birds though, you’d chase it away.”

You felt his lips on yours, “it sounds perfect.”

“What about…?” You looked at him.

“Hmm?” Hyunjin asked, shuffling under the blankets.

“What about your family?”

Hyunjin’s face fell a bit before going back to a lovestruck look, “I will have to go home at some point, but I will always come back to you. I promise.” He kissed your hand.

“I love you, Hyunjin.”

“I love you most, my intended.”

~+~

On the car ride home, you felt yourself getting really carsick, like REALLY carsick. The previous day you two ate at some seafood place and it was not agreeing with your stomach. In the morning you threw up the fish and Jinnie had to watch over you. He made jokes with made you laugh. It wasn’t all bad. You learned that even if he got grossed out, he would still be there.

You two stopped at the gas station once more and this time he bought a matching pair of sunglasses, just to make you smile. Everything felt too good to be true. When you two got home, it felt right to be home with him. Everything felt so perfect with him. He led you to your room and straight to your bathroom. You had to bathe after that long car ride. Jinnie helped you wash up and it was the most vulnerable you have ever been around another human. It opened your world to what you were missing. After what happened you tended to close your world heavily. You didn’t want to love when you didn’t know what love even was. Now you do.

“My intended, I am going to grab some clean clothes from my house. Lay down here, do you need anything while I am away?” He set you down by the bed, your wet hair soaking the pillow.

“I’m okay.” You smiled up at him, he looked down at you, eyes full of adoration. Jinnie nodded and headed out of the door. You started to fade in and out of consciousness. The drive and the food poisoning were really hitting you. You were tired, exhausted even.

At some point, you faded awake and you felt Hyunjin lay next to you, he held you tighter than usual. Your neck felt wet, but you just assumed that he showered or something. Your body just turned more into him, you let him hold you. His breathing was staggered and you would have asked if he was okay, if your own body wasn’t on shut down.

“I love you so much, please know that.”

~*~

The next morning you woke up feeling so much better. The sickness was out of your system, you could hear the birds in the morning. The light shown in your curtains, it felt perfect. You got up thinking Jinnie was making breakfast, skipping in the kitchen you noticed that there was a plate of food. But no Jinnie. Your brows furrowed and you looked at the scene in front of you. The plate of seasoned potatoes and eggs, his sketchbook, and a note.

Y/n, I don’t even know how to start this, I guess I should just explain when I got back to my house to pick up my clothes one of my old friends was there, he started bawling and hugging me when he finally saw me again he started saying how they looked for me everywhere, even though they weren’t technically allowed to, he said that Mr. W ratted me out to JYP. That is the company I am signed to. He ratted me out Y/n, and they came to pick me up. Apparently, I am allowed to work again. They paid Mr. W handsomely to give them My location, and he did.

Your eyes started to well up, you knew he was too good to be true. You took a deep breath and continued to read.

I didn’t want to leave; I told my friend I didn’t. But when I was about to walk out toward your house, the rest of my friends were there too. Some of the strongest people I know were crying when they saw me. People who usually don’t hug me, hugged me. I wanted to wake you up. Take you with me, I wanted you to always be in my world. But I was vetoed quickly. I am so sorry that I have to leave like this. When things settle down I promise I will come back for you. I always will. I am leaving you with my sketchbook. I promise Y/n, I promise you my Intended. I will be back. I am so very much in love with you.

-Your Intended forever, Jinnie.

Originally, you felt sad. Now a wave of anger washed over you. You put on your shoes and ran out, it was Monday, you were supposed to leave for France with Jinnie today. That wasn’t going to happen because of someone whom you looked up to. And for what? Money.

Your feet led you to the school, anger was an understatement. You slammed open the school door and stormed into the classroom. Mr. W stood there, looking at you with a shocked expression. He clearly wasn’t expecting you so early.

“What is wrong with you!?” You yelled.

“His friends were looking for him Y/n.” Your mentor said simply, “I did the right thing.”

“You did the right thing for MONEY!” Your voice still raised, “I am going to the exhibit fucking alone, I am taking his work WITH me.” You started grabbing all of Hyunjin’s canvases.

“Hyunjin was going to go back eventually when he HEALED, you sold him out because of your own selfish wants and needs.” You spoke with a lace of venom in your tone.

Mr. W scoffed, “again Y/n he was going to go back eventually, they needed to know where he was, I just delivered. And how on Earth are you going to do this without me? I taught you everything you know. You are supposed to take my position here.” You did not like when men talked to you like this.

“I went to the exhibit last year, and I think if I explained how you sold out the artist picked this year, they will fucking understand why you aren’t there to join me. Find another apprentice, I am leaving.”

And that you did, you meant what you said. The driver that was going to take you to Paris showed up, Mr. W didn’t meet you at your home like he was supposed to. He was a rat, a selfish waste of space. The driver helped you with Hyunjin’s work and your own work. You might as well try and turn this situation positive. The whole drive there was awkward.

The whole exhibit felt wrong.

It felt like something was missing.

He was missing.

~*~

Only one good thing came out of it, people liked yours and his work, many people asked to sell his work to them. You declined but sold all your own work. You sold all your possessions through the bookstore manager back at that small French town. You erased your existence there. You settled down in a small abode in the city. In the heart of Paris, you resided. Mr. W got a bad reputation at that school, the poetry teacher told you. She hunted you down after you left. She would give you updates on what was happening. Until eventually she would stop calling. That was the last connection cut from that little French town.

Slowly, your own art got more recognition. A year had passed, and you got popular in the art scene. You could afford more, as much praise as you were getting, you still felt so very empty. Most nights you found yourself looking up above the mantle, your favorite piece. It was priceless to you, your favorite landscape.

You sat on the couch mentally preparing for your next meeting, it was going to discuss the next exhibit location. Taking a deep breath, you leaned back. You finally made a name for yourself but at what cost. It wasn’t even your fault. The world you learned was littered with selfish people. The more meetings, the more people, the more people, the more your optimistic mindset declined. There was never a day that went by where you didn’t miss Hyunjin immensely. You researched him behind the scenes, you kept an eye on him. When he posted on their Instagram that he purchased one of your works, you bawled for days.

Taking another breath you stood up, he knew where to find you, yet he hasn’t. That isn’t on you. Grabbing your things you headed down to the lobby of your apartment. You sat in a boring meeting until someone rushed in, it wasn’t so mindless anymore.

“I am so sorry, someone literally stole my bike and I had to rush here.” The man was very tall, hair a mess now. His clothing was impeccable. He had a warm drink in his hand, his glasses almost falling off his nose. He quickly walked to his seat, which was next to you.

When the meeting went on you started to get curious of the man next to you. He was attractive, no lie. Your stubborn heart wasn’t going to pine after him though. When the meeting ended and the location of your exhibit was chosen you quickly walked out.

“Wait!”

You flipped around and saw the man goofily run up to you, “yes…?”

“I wanted to introduce myself, I absolutely love your work and it took a lot of digging to even get into that meeting.” He fixed his glasses.

“Oh.” You said simply. The grown man nodded and stuck his hand out.

“I am Kim Namjoon.”

You smiled and shook his hand, “Y/n.”

You two started to walk together, “so that’s your real name?” He sparked conversation with your closed off demeaner so easily.

“Yes, you didn’t think my name was actually ‘intended’ did you?” You asked, adjusting your coat. It was cold in the spring, although summer was coming quickly. You could just tell.

Namjoon let out a laugh, another unique laugh. You felt yourself smile softly to yourself.

“Well, I wasn’t sure. Sometimes people have distinctive names.” He spoke with a tone that was so interesting to you. This Namjoon was an interesting individual.

“I think your name is nice, I’ve never heard it before.” You spoke. Your bag swung a bit, you looked up at him. Namjoon’s brows furrowed.

“You haven’t?” He asked.

“I mean, it could be familiar, but I don’t know. Should I know it?” Your voice was teasing. The banter made Namjoon smile.

“Well, I was just. I was just in a music industry so it threw me off slightly.” He said quieting his voice.

“Oh?” You asked.

“Yeah, I was in a k-pop group. Sometimes I still make music, but the group is only sometimes now. I don’t mind, the space from all of that lets me enjoy other forms of art.”

Your heart got reminded of what it was stolen of.

“That’s good that you are growing every day.” You said, your tone was cold. A total 180, Namjoon didn’t seem to notice though. As he walked you to your apartment he asked about your work, about you, he made sure you were comfortable.

You ended up letting him in your apartment.

“So, you were in a k-pop group?” You were curious, “was the company bad in any way?”

Namjoon’s brows furrowed, confused by your question. Also confused by your sudden interest in that part of his life.

“Well, when I first started yeah it was rough. But then we just started controlling our own little section of the company. So, I am now in charge of what I do.” He spoke, sipping the tea you made for him.

“Ah…” You sat down at the table with him, you looked out the window at the city. This window of the house barely showed the Eiffel Tower.

“You are different then how I expected you to be.” Namjoon spoke. You perked up.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

He let out a laugh, “its not a bad thing, with how dark your work is, part of me expected a very tortured very damaged person. However, looking at you now, I can still see you have a little spark in your eyes.”

Your eyes softened, you really thought that spark was gone from your soul. But if a complete stranger saw it, maybe the spark wasn’t died out completely.

“You can?” Your voice softened, you didn’t want to cave so easily. However, you felt your walls starting to crumble. When you moved to Paris and started to get popular you were telling men and women left and right to fuck off if they wanted to court you. It was even worse if they TRIED to court you. But Namjoon, he seemed sincere. Your heart dropped when you saw your piece above the mantle. You caved in on yourself. Namjoon picked up on this.

“Was that too much? I’m sorry.” He quickly apologized, you rapidly shook your head no.

“it’s just been a while since I have sat down with someone like this.” You took a sip of your own tea, “it isn’t bad. Its just something different for me.”

Namjoon nodded, “I am in Paris for about a week, I was actually planning on going to your exhibit because either way I wanted to meet you, but I am ranting, anyways, if you would like to do this more, like sit down and talk.”

You looked up at him and smiled, “I would like that.”

He was a little awkward, but maybe he was charming you slightly.

~*~

You two ended up exchanging numbers after he had tea with you that one day, a couple days passed and you two decided to go to a local restaurant down the road. He was going to meet you at your apartment, and you would buzz him up. You put on your makeup and got dressed, back in the small town your clothing was lighter colors. Now you noticed it was all black and navy blue. Dark maroons sometimes littered your wardrobe as well. As you got changed you didn’t see the text reading that Namjoon couldn’t make it today. When your door buzzed you let whoever was here, up. When there was a knock at the door you rushed over, your long black dress flowing as much as it could with your long cardigan over it. You slipped your heels on and opened the door.

“Jinnie- “

Chapter 5: I’m Sorry, I’m Late

“Jinnie-“your voice got caught in your throat. There he was, in front of you. His hair was different, but the curves of his face and his moles were exactly where you remembered him. You tried to draw him many times over the past year; you could never perfect him.

“I’m sorry, I’m late.” He spoke, his voice was just as you remembered it. God…

In a shock to yourself your face contorted, “late for what Hyunjin.” Your cold voice stunned you.

“I had a feeling you would be upset with me.” His voice was calm, he looked somewhat different, his hair was blond and long. It was a total 180 from the short choppy dark hair of Jinnie.

“Can I come in?” he asked softly. You took a deep breath and stepped aside. He walked in, his clothes were different too. More chic, he looked expensive.

You walked over to your phone to see that Namjoon asked to reschedule, what rotten timing.

“You still have our piece we made together, over the mantel.” He noted. Your heart wanted to be so mad at him. You were livid, he had left for a year, no words, no letters, nothing. Hyunjin just watched you from afar as you did him. It’s not like you had any way to contact him. He could’ve easily contacted you, but he didn’t.

“Why are you here?” You asked trying to sound stern, it wasn’t real though. When it came to him your heart was on your sleeve. Your cold tortured artist façade now crumbled completely; it always did when your heart missed him.

“I’m here for your exhibit.” He turned around and looked at you, now leaning on the arm of the couch, “your home is nice.”

“My exhibit isn’t until a few days.” Your voice once again slightly quivering. You felt your posture stiffen.

“I know that.” Hyunjin walked toward you, your eyes weren’t on him, but you could hear his shoes. His now expensive, shiny, pointy, stupidly classy shoes.

You finally gained enough courage to look at him, his brown eyes looking straight into you. The rolls were reversed now, your heart was the scared dog.

“I said I was late because I heard from the grape vine about Namjoon visiting for your exhibit.”

Your eyes widened, how? It was one day…

“My friend is friends with Namjoon’s friend. He apparently talks nonstop about you and your work. When Chris, my friend, told me, I came here as soon as possible.” He went to grab your hand and you pushed it away.

“So, you only came here when you found out someone who has an interest in me was now getting to see me?” Obviously, this hurt you. It felt selfish and that wasn’t the Jinnie you knew.

“Y/n you know I don’t mean it like that…” Hyunjin’s voice was pained. It broke you a little more knowing it was because of your own words. You walked past him, and you heard his footsteps following you. Whipping around you poked his chest.

“You didn’t even reach out to me! You bought one of my works second hand! You knew exactly where to find me!” Your voice raised, “I waited for you!”

“I know you did, and I am so sorry, I got caught up in so many schedules. And it was a lot. My parents missed me, and I missed my friends and the next thing I knew- “

“And then you have the absolute AUDACITY to come to my home when I just started getting over you!” You backed him to the edge of the couch again.

Hyunjin looked at you with wide eyes, then they trailed down to your neck, “are you sure about that?” His voice was just above a whisper. Your brows furrowed and your hand came up to touch what his eyes were glued to.

It was the necklace he gave you, in your defense you never take it off. It just became apart of you, just like he did.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice my works wrapped up under the couch either.” He wasn’t walking on eggshells anymore, he was stomping. Your eye twitched.

“What do you even want to get out of this Hyunjin!?” You didn’t look at him.

You felt his warm hand softly grab yours, he was back on eggshells again, his grip was as if you were blown glass.

“I want you just as I always have.”

That was it, there was absolutely no getting over him. Any progress you made in the past year was gone. You looked away from him.

“Please… Look at me…” He was trying not to cry, “say anything please.”

“Not even a text? Or a letter?” Your voice broke, the floodgates had opened wetting your face.

Hyunjin wiped your tears as quickly as they leaked out of his favorite pair of eyes, “I tried, I didn’t know what to say. I will admit I am being impulsive and stupid. I shouldn’t have dropped everything the second I heard Namjoon was going to be at your meeting.”

Your brows furrowed again, and you looked up at him, “you dropped everything?”

“Yes, in a heartbeat, the second Chris told me I booked a plane ticket without telling anyone. I was scared and I couldn’t- I couldn’t let you- “

The anger was back, and you pushed his hands off his face, “you couldn’t let me get over you!?” You turned your back to him and hugged yourself.

“I couldn’t let someone else have you! Y/n, I messed up so badly. I know I did, I hurt you and left you with a stupid note and I didn’t even think about how much it would hurt you in the morning. I was overwhelmed. I should have visited you right when I knew you were here.” Hyunjin was desperately trying to get you to hear him out. Your heart was in a war between loving him and hating him.

Hating him was fueled by how much you were in love with him.

“You have until my exhibit, to fix this. To prove to me that you won’t just leave again with a stupid note.” You turned around and his eyes filled with hope. The same hope before yours and his relationship was tainted.

You ended up having to let Hyunjin stay in your guest room, he didn’t book any kind of hotel or anything. He truly just bought a ticket to France, to you. The rest of that day was spent with him walking around your home and taking what you presumed to be mental notes.

Your outing with Namjoon was going to get rescheduled at your exhibit. At this point, your childish heart wanted the entire Earth to stop so you wouldn’t have to be with anyone but Hyunjin. But the adult brain in you told you that Hyunjin needed to prove that he wouldn’t just leave again.

~*~

The next morning you woke up and flipped over, totally forgetting yesterday’s events. When you heard music playing from your living room you got scared. You sprung up and rushed in, no one was in the living room. It was BRIGHT too, usually you have the curtains closed.

When you entered the kitchen, there he was. You weren’t dreaming.

“Oh, did I wake you?” He turned around, his beautiful face more visible to you now. You mentally thanked the headband he had on.

“No, I just-“ you didn’t know what to say.

“I opened your curtains in the living room and in here, you have beautiful views of the city.” Hyunjin smiled at you and set a plate down at your small table, meant for two.

“You made breakfast?” You asked, eyeing the plate. Your eyes then went up to him, he looked tired, he was still in his pajamas. Hyunjin nodded.

“I am really jetlagged, so it was hard sleeping. I woke up really early and so I made breakfast.” Even through his drowsiness he smiled for you. You mumbled a thank you and sat down. You saw that he made a really good-looking fruit bowl with oatmeal.

“I have hard boiled eggs in the fridge too. All picked up this morning. I didn’t want to use your food without permission.” He said and set down spoons and forks for you both.

“You could have… It’s okay…” Your voice was quiet.

“Do you have any plans today?” Hyunjin asked you. You took a bite of the fruit in the fruit bowl. He even picked the best fruit for you. You shook your head no.

“Would you want to take a walk with me today? I was thinking about getting ice cream or a genuine French Crepe.” He took a sip of his tea.

“Aren’t you worried about being recognized with me? Don’t you have fans?” You took a sip of your tea now.

“Well, don’t you have fans now?” He slyly smiled at you, “I’ve heard some rumors about you.”

You gave him a look, “what do you mean?”

Hyunjin did one of his eye smiles and giggles, “you know at first, I was a little jealous when I heard that everyone in the art scene wanted to court you.” He sipped his tea and wiggled his eyebrows. You couldn’t help the little laugh that escaped you.

“Not everyone.” You looked away, “they stopped after a bit.”

Hyunjin set his glass down which got your attention again, “ah of course they did, you gained the reputation of being unobtainable.”

“Is that what they call me now?” You asked, now taking a spoonful of oatmeal.

“Maybe, I wouldn’t call you that though.”

“Confident, are we?” You asked him.

The man in front of you looked at you, a small huff of a laugh coming out of his nose, “maybe.”

~*~

He held the umbrella for you both as you walked down the busy street with him. A scene your heart never thought would come true.

“Your clothes are darker colors now.” He noted, “they look nice on you.”

You nodded, “thank you, your hair doesn’t look choppy anymore.”

Hyunjin threw his head back and laughed, he almost hit you with the umbrella, “I got scolded and forced to get a haircut, they don’t let me touch it now.”

“Your work?” You questioned. Hyunjin let out a hum of a yes. You frowned, “doesn’t it bother you…? Being put in a box like that?”

“Oh, every day, but it’s worth it when I am on stage, dancing, singing, I missed it truly. I got my spark back.” He spoke with stars in his eyes.

“Well, that’s good then. I am glad your trip helped you appreciate what you have.” You said and pushed your dark sunglasses up again.

“My return though made me miss dearly what I gained on that trip.” Hyunjin said in a hushed voice, near your ear.

You looked at him, as much as you wanted to fight it, your heart belonged to him. It wasn’t time yet though; your mind was still scared.

“The café is up there.” Hyunjin broke eye contact with you then led you to the café.

He ended up ordering for you in French, he spoke with confidence. It was a change from the markets in that oh so small town. You both sat outside after he paid.

“I studied French on my free time when I got back.” Hyunjin spoke and took a bite of his sweet treat.

“I was wondering how you spoke so confidently.” You sipped your hot coffee; you also picked a strawberry off your plate.

“It made me think of you.” He spoke and gave you that stupid eye smile. It was almost torture.

You looked away biting back a smile, he was too charming for his own good. The little things he did were too much. It made your heart win the war over your brain.

“Was the bed warm? In my guest room?” You questioned.

Hyunjin nodded, still smiling at you. He seemed thrilled to just be around you, “mhm!”

“That’s… That’s actually a relief, I don’t usually have overnight guests.” Your lips curved into a smile. You looked up at him and his head was turned in question.

“What?” You asked.

“You don’t have guests?”

You shook your head no, “I don’t have people over like at all. One time my mom visited but that was a few months ago.”

“You don’t get lonely?”

Your mind filled with memories of you sipping wine by yourself, letting a couple tears slip while the fire was the only thing that warmed your body. Quickly you snapped out of it.

“No.” Your answer was short, “I did that before didn’t I?” Correction, you did that before you met Hyunjin. Then he opened your world only to leave you on the dark side of the moon.

“Well, I just thought because your art style changed dramatically. The colors you used were always dark, dark reds, blues, blacks, greys. No more yellow or lavender.” He said simply.

“Do you study my work?”

Hyunjin smiled again at you, with a knowing look, then he shrugged, “finish your coffee its going to get cold.”

~*~

The next day he made you breakfast again, this time it was muffins and fruit. He even cut the fruit into little shapes; you know that he specially hand cut each shape due to the fact you didn’t own any kind of food cutters.

“Good morning!” Hyunjin said cheerfully.

“Did you rest well?” You asked sitting down, Hyunjin nodded.

“I slept a lot better than last night; I usually get over jet lag pretty quickly so.” He set your food down and sat down next to you, “I also made peppermint tea this morning.”

“Thank you…” You felt your face warm and the small butterflies erupted from your chest to your heart.

“So today, are you busy with anything?” Hyunjin asked, you took a bite of your muffin. It was pumpkin.

“Did you make these?” You looked at him, it tasted exactly like your pumpkin bread. Hyunjin nodded with a grin.

“We made it so much that when I had free time, I wrote down the recipe. I used to make it in my dorm whenever I missed you. Let’s just say I gave my friend who actually bakes a run for his money.” He giggled and took a bite of his muffin.

“That’s… Really sweet of you…” You spoke quietly, you saw Hyunjin smile warmly to himself. Part of you knew he truly does love you as much as you still love him. Your mind was starting to forgive him. Your mind then went to his original question.

“I only have a small meeting today for the food being served at my exhibit.” You ate some fruit.

“May I come with you?” Hyunjin asked. Your mind fought it and thought it over. Your heart once again won.

“I think your insight will help.” Your words came off warm. You saw Hyunjin’s eyes widen a bit at your kind tone, then he smiled.

~*~

Once more he held your umbrella as you two walked, today it was actually raining so you actually needed the covering.

“I don’t think it will rain the day of your exhibit.” Hyunjin’s feet slapped against the stone streets of Paris.

“You looked up the weather?” Your eyes looked up at him. Part of him was offended and you can tell.

“Can you please stop being so surprised that I do the bare minimum?” He looked down at you, he didn’t want to start an argument. As he was a man who preferred to communicate and say his emotions. He could never hold in how he was feeling, and you remembered that. One time you two had a small argument in the small town, he just said how he was feeling.

“I’m sorry I am just trying to- I don’t even know. You’re right I need to have more faith in you.” You didn’t look at him anymore, “It’s really wrong of me to assume that you are going to do the worse.” You swallowed, you didn’t want to cry. But he was right. Hyunjin sighed and pulled you to the side of the sidewalk, under an awning. The rain was starting to get loud.

“Y/n you have every right to be cautious of me. I understand what I did and I shouldn’t have just-“

“Hyunjin…” You looked up at him, “you are right, I need to be more open minded, you were never wrong to me in that small town and you didn’t have a choice to leave. You said so in your note.” You dug through your purse and grabbed your wallet.

“What’re you…?”

You kept digging until you pulled out his note, the one he left you at your small cottage, “you said yourself you wanted to take me with you, but you were shot down.”

“You keep it with you…?”

Your eyes looked away from him and to the note that was in your hands, “yes I keep it with me…”

Hyunjin’s hand touched yours and he took a deep breath, “I’m still so sorry.”

“It’s okay… Again, I know you didn’t have a choice, and I know you were so busy with your life and I started to become busy too and our lives just got so complicated… I need to stop being so cold to you…” Your voice was shaky, and you took a deep breath.”

“Hey… It’s okay…” Hyunjin’s hand slowly and cautiously went to your cheek. You looked up at him, he smiled at you, “hi.”

Your heart loved the view in front of you and so did your mind, “hi.”

“Let’s get to the meeting, okay? We don’t want to be late.”

That’s what you two did, you made it in one piece even in the rain. The meeting consisted of different cheese and wine tastings. Hyunjin would giggle at you everytime your face scrunched from the strong wine flavor and you would laugh at him when the cheese he ate tasted bad.

“You said this one tasted good!” Hyunjin pouted while you were giggling evilly.

“I thought it tasted great… Maybe your taste buds are broken.” You said smugly.

Hyunjin’s jaw dropped and he looked stunned, “MY taste buds!? You like bad cheese apparently!” He said loudly. You had to quiet him down while laughing. You two got a little tipsy while trying all the wine, you were nowhere near drunk, but you could feel a little buzz. You and Hyunjin were just constantly laughing at everything. In your heart you felt that this was perfect, you could live every day with him if you could. Before you two headed out you both made sure to drink water and have a couple slices of bread. Much to Hyunjin’s excitement.

When you two decided on the little snacks and drinks for your exhibit you two started your walk home, together. The buzz was starting to wear off which was good. Being publicly intoxicated could ruin both your public image, as if being alone together wasn’t enough to stir controversy. That fear wasn’t on either of your minds though, at least not at the moment. You and Hyunjin were both drunk on each other’s company.

“I cannot believe you made me try that gross cheese!” Hyunjin said as you two walked on the sidewalk. The rain started to clear up, so he didn’t bother opening the umbrella.

“You tried to get me drunk!” You joked back, Hyunjin dramatically gasped.

“I would never! You drank the same amount as me!” He placed his hand over his heart. You let out a laugh and through your head back. You missed this so much, you missed him so much. You and Hyunjin exchanged glances at each other as you two walked and talked.

“You know I wonder how our neighbor is…” You thought to yourself.

“Gram?” Hyunjin asked and cocked his head to the side.

You nodded and messed with the rings on your fingers, “I still feel guilty for just leaving and selling everything.”

“I am sure she would understand, maybe we could invite her to your exhibit!” Hyunjin suggested, your eyes lit up.

“That is such a good idea!” You grinned up at him, Hyunjin gave you a funny but endearing look.

“I think we should…-“ His voice trailed off and he looked in front of him. Your eyes followed him but before he could figure it out, he pulled you into the alley and started rushing.

“What is this about?” You felt yourself giggle a little and you let him lead you. You were still in love with him, you couldn’t help it.

“I think someone recognized one or both of us.” He turned three corners in the small alley and stopped to look around.

“So, you dragged us into a sketchy ally?” You felt yourself laugh at him, he looked down at you confused and then looked around.

“I guess I did… I panicked, okay?” You could tell he was a little embarrassed, once again you let a giggle slip out.

“I just don’t want to have to leave again.” Hyunjin spoke softly, his voice was quiet. Your eyes softened when you looked at him.

“You think they’d follow you again?” Your curiosity peaked. Hyunjin gave you a look and nodded.

“Oh yeah, they will follow me to the ends of the Earth. I mean my brothers would, they aren’t actually blood brothers but they are the closest I have to them.” He was rambling, it made you forget you two were in some random alleyway.

“Will I ever get to meet them?” You looked up at him and leaned against the wall. Hyunjin looked down at you.

“You want to meet them?”

You nodded, “well of course I would. They’re important to you, are they not?”

“Yeah… Yeah they are.” Hyunjin’s eyes kept staring into yours. His mind was running a mile a minute. You felt the rain start again, it was only a sprinkle and it felt nice. You looked up still leaning on the wall taking in the nice weather. You could hear Hyunjin breathe through his nose, and you looked up at him again. His brows were furrowed, and he looked frustrated.

“Are you okay?” You asked, now you were genuinely concerned.

“Please…” He mumbled, now it was your turn to look confused. The rain started to become heavy again, soaking both of you.

You heard Hyunjin mumble something and then look away.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t hear you because of the rain.” You spoke.

“Please let me kiss you again.”

In the middle of the sketchy alleyway, you let him kiss you. The war between your mind and heart was over, they made a truce to love Hyunjin.

And only Hyunjin.

~*~

The next morning you woke up to Hyunjin next to you, he was still sound asleep. Hyunjin looked so peaceful, it was just like when you woke up next to him in that little cottage of yours. Except now you two are older. His face was illuminated by the sun bouncing off your white walls. He was beautiful. You think if you ever spent a year without him again you would be heartbroken forever.

You carefully slipped out of bed, making sure that you wouldn’t wake him. You got up and did your morning routine and called your manager, you had an idea.

“Hello Miss L/n.” Your manager said cheerfully, “what do I owe the pleasure?” Her voice was always so powerful.

“Do you remember the first exhibit when my work started to become popular?” You asked as you went through the fridge to make pancakes for you and Hyunjin.

“Ah yes, the one that was meant for Mr. W’s student Sam. But then Sam couldn’t make it?” Your manager always remembered; it was probably because you paid her to do so but still.

“Yes, that one, I want to put those pieces out again this next exhibit. I have Hyu- Sam, here with me. I would like him to see his work in an exhibit.” You spoke and started to stir the pancake mix.

“How kind of you Miss L/n.” You heard her type from the other end, “I will add that to your exhibit and the pamphlet. This afternoon I will send someone over to pick up yours and Mr. Sam’s.”

“Thank you.”

Your manager started typing again and hummed to herself, “alright, they will be there in the afternoon.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Jean.”

You said your goodbyes and continued to make breakfast, blueberry pancakes and coffee. Smiling to yourself you started to flip the pancakes. You jumped when you felt arms slowly snake around you.

“Good morning.” Hyunjin mumbled and buried his head in your shoulder.

“Morning Jinnie.”

Hyunjin giggled and buried his head more in your shoulder, “I missed that.”

You hummed and he didn’t let go of you while you cooked. You moved to the right, Hyunjin moved to the right. You took a step back, Hyunjin took a step back.

“Breakfast smells great.” Hyunjin was still very sleepy, you could tell.

“I am glad, I figured I would make up for you making breakfast the past couple days.” You laughed out of your nose.

“You don’t have to make anything up for me.” He finally let go of you when the food was done and set.

“Oh, I have someone coming over today to pick up some artwork for the exhibit. Do you mind running errands?” You asked and sipped your hot coffee. You put creamer in it, Hyunjin didn’t put creamer in his. You took note of that.

He pouted, “why can’t I be here?”

You gave him a look, “Can you please just trust me. Pleaaaase.” You pouted back. Hyunjin groaned and took a bite of his pancake, after he drowned it in syrup, of course.

“Jinni-“

“Yes. I can run errands, anything for you.”

Your smile widened and you giggled at how much of a lovesick dork he was. It was hypocritical of you to laugh though, you were the same lovesick dork for him. You always were.

~*~

The day of your exhibit rolled around and you woke Hyunjin up.

“Get up we have to get ready!” You grinned.

“My ticket isn’t until 6pm.” Hyunjin rolled over again, his beautiful form facing you. You shook him again.

“Don’t you want to walk into my exhibit holding hands with me?”

You have never in your life seen someone get ready THAT quickly.

“Blue or black suit?” Hyunjin asked.

You looked up at him. He had light makeup on and his hair was pulled back in a ponytail, he looked divine already. He could show up in his pajamas and he would look so good.

“Blue, navy blue.” You said and looked back at your vanity, you were deciding how to do your hair and makeup.

“Is that because you’re wearing navy blue.” He teased. Your face grew hot.

“Noooo…” You mumbled, he let out a loud obnoxious laugh that you were in love with.

You finished getting ready and you waited for him by the door, adjusting your hat and sunglasses. As much as wearing sunglasses indoors made you kind of look like an asshole, you became known to do so. You started wearing them at your first exhibit, it was so people couldn’t see you crying over Hyunjin and how you wanted him to be there so badly. You took a deep breath, maybe it was time to ditch the sunglasses.

“You look beautiful.” Hyunjin said from behind you and looked at you in the mirror, “can we take a photo?”

You nodded and looked up at him, he whipped out his phone and took a mirror selfie with you. He took a few photos, one of him kissing the side of your head, one of him holding you, another one of him actually kissing you. He would have memories and photos of you with him.

“We are going to be late Jinnie.” You laughed. He nodded and you two headed out to the driver.

~*~

When you two arrived early you talked to your manager and introduced her to Hyunjin. She was very excited to meet this other artist. Just like you, she fell in love with his art too. Mrs. Jean was also clearly scouting for another client. It made you smile with pride. You were always so proud of Hyunjin. They ended up talking about art, thank god your manager kept the surprise. She was clearly trying to sell him on becoming a client, part of you hoped so. That meant he would have to come to Paris more. Which means he could see you more.

Time passed and people started showing up to your shared exhibit. When you walked around and people chatted with you, you saw Hyunjin was chatting with a group of men that you recognized as people from his group. He didn’t look tense around them, and it didn’t seem like he was in too much trouble for running away again.

You sipped on your champagne and grabbed a couple of cheese slices from the table.

“Good evening.” You looked to your side and saw Namjoon. Uh ohhh. You smiled warmly, trying not to panic. You ended up setting your little cheese plate to the side.

“Oh! Hi Namjoon!” You were really trying not to panic. I mean you guys didn’t even go out, you had tea with him once.

“Your exhibit is really beautiful! I am excited to go through the rest of it.” He smiled at you.

“Thank you, Namjoon that means a lot.” You smiled, he smiled back and before you knew it you felt a hand on your waist.

“Oh my god I know you.” Hyunjin said and put his hand out, Namjoon shook it.

“You’re an idol too, right?” Namjoon spoke, “part of that group Stray Kids?”

Hyunjin nodded and shook his hand back, “yes, I am Hyunjin.”

“Ahhhh yes you are talked about a lot, I have heard your name float around before.” Hyunjin shrugged with a sly smile. You could help but roll your eyes at Hyunjin being childish.

Hyunjin and Namjoon talked a little about work before Namjoon excused himself to look at the rest of the exhibit.

“I have something to show you.” You grabbed Hyunjin’s hand with your free hand. You set your champagne down. Hyunjin smiled at you and nodded. You led him to the part of your exhibit that was dedicated to him. You saw as his eyes widened and he looked at you then back at his artwork. They were still in pristine condition.

“You didn’t get to see your work in an exhibit, I wanted to make that up to you.” You said quietly. Hyunjin looked at you like you were the world to him. He was at a loss for words.

“Do you like it?” You asked, scared you overstepped.

“Y/n… I love it…” He mumbled, still in shock, “I love you so much. I-“

You watched, heart beating out of your chest as he got down on one knee. Your mouth was agape. He pulled out a small box, the ring shining under the exhibit lights.

“I was planning to do this after the exhibit but my heart is telling me there is no other perfect time for this. I love you, y/n. I will make up for the time lost for the rest of my life with you. I thought about you every day and I will continue to only think of you every day. I want you to be my future, you already are my everything. My intended. Will you please marry me.”

Maybe you should have worn your sunglasses because you were crying over Jinnie again, but not because of sadness.

“Yes Jinnie!”

242 notes · View notes

wangxianficfinder · 6 months

Text

In the mood for...

~*~

1. ITMF a fic where the Lans or the neis or the cultivation world in general find out about the abuse wwx takes at jiang sect and the other sects trying to help him @zerokogane

~*~

2. Have you all seen maze runner? Yeah. I want a wangxian maze runner version/fusion/setting/same plot or something!!

~*~

3. A) ITMF fics where, in a wedding Wei Ying catches the flowers/bouquet brides throw?

Itmf fics where B) wwx is like a mystery unsolved to anyone and everyone

C) wwx is a magician. Like those cool tricky people uk. Could be real / fake magic. @constellationdks

3B)

Old Foreshadows by protos_metazu_ison (M, 15k, WangXian, YLLZ WWX, BAMF WWX, War, Universe Alteration, Sunshot Campaign) not sure i'm understanding the request, but maybe one of these?

🔒 never been away so long by sundiscus (G, <1k, wangxian, Modern, Pre-Relationship, First Meetings, Ambiguous/Open Ending, (but a happy ending in the endnotes!), Ghosts)

~*~

4. Hello, thank you, my favorite fic comes from your recs. Any fic recs for lan xichen x jiang yanli. No modern era please @dramaqueenrolf

~*~

5. hii, for the next imtf can I ask for a fic where lwj and wwx break up and r mopey about it? a modern au maybe, like there's no promised goodbye here

thank you!! @mercurygirlwt28

~*~

6. Hello! I have a read fics where the characters cultivate to immortality and the story picks up with their lives in modern era. I like the combo of traditional clothes, cultures, and canon personalities in the modern setting. Are there more fics like this? (I cannot remember the names of the two I have read in the past. In one I think WWX loses his memory and regains it upon backpacking to modern Cloud Recesses? In the other WWX time travels to modern and meets LWJ who has lived all those years.)

ridiculous future bullshit by sami (M, 61k, wangxian, WQ/JC/LXC, LSZ & WWX, LSZ/Other(s), LSZ & his family, JYL/OMC, Future Fic, movies, the rewriting of history if the past was different the future is different, But still ridiculous, Humor, the evolution of fashion, immortals through history, LWJ visits other cultures and judges them, Modern, best boy LSZ, Pride Parades, Cats, the legend of WQ, Academia, Border Crossings, biosecurity, oz quarantine is SERIOUS BUSINESS, Kinda cultivated to immortality, Paperwork, Family, Parents and Children, Uncles and nephews, the mortifying ordeal of your family seeing how you really live, Social Media, Chaos Gremlin WWX, Slight Hostage Situations, University, outsider pov, WWX vs Local Culture, actions have consequences, Pets, Movie Stars, Fluff) though it’s a sequel to And Time Is But A Paper Moon so some people are immortal in RFB who died in canon.

Thanks for giving me an excuse to dig up one of my favorite tropes from my bookmarks!! The Future is Ours to Keep series by makebelieveanything & nerdzeword (T, 25k, wangxian, JC & WWX, JC & YZY, JYL/LQY/WQ, post-canon, modern, immortality, reincarnation, healthy family relationships, epistolary, groupchats, fluff) Some beloved cast is immortal in modern times, some reincarnated

Ever Thine, Ever Mine, Ever Ours. by JaenysBloodcourt (T, 3k, WangXian, Immortal LWJ and WWX, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Well it could be a Bittersweet Ending, Love Confessions) Wangxian are immortal, but have pined for a thousand years, and (spoiler!!!) they do get together but mind the bittersweet ending!!!!!!

dark and glimmering by Sanguis (T, 5k, wangxian, post-canon, modern, technology malfunction, established relationship, married couple, immortality) Beautiful and wangxian-centric, not so much about the modern world. But the world is around

Wandering Souls, Wild Ghosts by belleweather (E, 49k, wangxian, post-canon, victorian au, case fic, rentboys, smut, married wangxian, immortality, canon-typical violence, period-typical sexism & racism & homophobia, voyeurism, families of choice) Victorian England with immortal!wangxian’s adventures!

Traditions Series by Witch_Nova221 (G, 7k, WangXian, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Tree, Christmas Presents, Modern with Magic, modern day cultivators, Cloud Recesses, Established Relationship, Married Couple, Married Life, family traditions, wangxian family feels, Romance, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff, immortal cultivators)

A Tale of Two Immortals by esk95 (M, 31k, WIP, WangXian, XiCheng, XuanLi, Post-Canon, Like waaaaay Post-Canon Modern AU, but cultivation still exists, Immortality, Reincarnation, Pretty much everyone is a reincarnation except Wangxian, Secret Identities, Modern with Magic, Immortal!Wangxian) A beloved wip: Immortal wangxian try to solve a mystery, poor Sizhui just wants to be a cultivator and have support of his parents who don’t know anything about cultivation (lol), a lot of reincarnated folk around

MDZS: The Golden Engine by iffervescent (E, 82k, WangXian, XiCheng, Explicit Sexual Content, Immortals) The summary says it all: “In the modern era, immortals Lan Zhan and Wei Wuxian return to Gusu. New evil and old friends + new friends and old evils.”

All Old Things are New Again Series by The Feels Whale (miscellea) (M, 59k, WIP, WangXian, XuanLi, ChengQing, Reincarnation, Modern AU, canon still happened, extreme post canon, Sugar Daddy, Kink Negotiation, gentle dom!LWJ, canonical levels of consent play, Modern Cultivators, Epilogues, yunmeng bros reconciliation, rabbit acquisition) has some immortal lwj and lxc with reincarnation wwx,and it's amazing.

~*~

7. ITMF fics which have wwx's ghosts. Remember ghost brides? And that ghoul child? They don't have to have a major part or something, just the fuc having wwx talking and being friends with ghosts.

It can also have the ghosts taking care of wwx. Loving him and all uk

when the sun goes out by travelingneuritis (E, 176k, WangXian, Modern Cultivation, tech cultivation, Necromancy, Angst with a Happy Ending, insecurity around adoption, Dad!WWX, dad!lwj, Grief/Mourning, Mistaken Identity, Mood Whiplash, Body Swap, sex tears!, Falling In Love, Consensual Somnophilia, apocalypse (localized), Smut, unrealistic sexual stamina, Flashbacks, Time Skips, Illustrations) if you're okay with OC ghosts I highly recommend When the Sun Goes Out by travelingneuritis, it's one of my favorite fics and wwx's relationship with his ghost army (Kaichuang in particular) is one of the reasons why

Ad Oblivione by Baph, HikariNoHimeWriter (M, 70k, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Temporary Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, POV Multiple, Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Identity Reveal, Golden Core Reveal, Cultivation World Critical, Not JC Friendly, Abusive YZY, Angst with a Happy Ending) WWX has a ghost companion who helps him & acts as a mother figure towards him

let the sun go down on your anger; let it burn you to sleep by enbysaurus_rex (Not rated, 86k, wangxian, WQ & WWX, graphic depictions of violence, chronic illness, narcolepsy, chronic pain, YLLZ WWX, oblivious WWX, sleeping beauty elements, body horror, WIP) has pretty much every one of Wei Wuxian's ghosts playing a part and teaming up with his family to help take care of him in their own way

~*~

8. hii, for the itmf

are there any fics w the trope "someone who believes they're hard to love and someone who loves then like it's breathing?

I hope ure having a nice day!!

~*~

9. Any fics where yu ziyuan treats wwx like a son or nephew??

And Time Is But a Paper Moon by sami (M, 139k, WangXian, XiChengQing, Time Travel, Fix-It, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Healing, Mental Health Issues, PTSD, Hurt/Comfort, Depression, BAMF WWX, BAMF JC, BAMF LWJ, BAMF JYL, Getting Together)

Sail Away Sweet Sister by sami (M, 73k, WangXian, YZY/CSSR/MDM Lan, MingLi, Time Travel, EXTREME Canon Divergence, Wide Focus Narrative, Some People Live/Not Everyone Dies, Most Named/Canon Characters Live, Childhood Friends to Lovers, Families of Choice, Parenthood, this work contains a major tonal shift, Fluff, Angst, Underage Sex, not particularly explicit, but not at all ambiguous, PTSD, Only a tiny bit, Unforeseeable consequences, The butterfly effect, Slightly Dark JYL, Asexual Characters, but that’s not really the focus, Canon-Typical Violence) Also most of sami's time travel fics. this one for sure, probably a few others in the Same Moon series

Across the street to another life by danegen (M, 99k, WangXian, Modern AU, unleashed au, Family Fluff, Set in America, Hurt/Comfort, Past Child Abuse, Addiction, Crime, Amnesia, Ableist Language, another fridged mother, POV Alternating, past wwx/ofc, past wwx/omc, Medium parent YZY, A-Yuan is wwx’s biological son, Musicians, Happy Ending) it's mostly late in the fic but "across the street to another life" REALLY earns that "medium parent yu ziyuan" tag. Far from perfect but really steps up when it matters.

Hope series by RoseThorne (T, 57k, wangxian, WWX & YZY, WWX & JFM, WWX & JYL, YZY/JFM, JC & WWX, LQR & WWX, LXC & JYL, Madam Jin & YZY, LQR & JFM, LXC & LWJ, Transmigration, Time Travel Fix-It, Illnesses, Family, Scars, Memory Loss, Angst, Crying, Music, Nosebleed, Fear, Recovery, Nightmares, Sharing a Bed, Flirting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Good Parent YZY, Referenced Sexual Slavery, Blood and Gore, Monsters, Sexual Tension, betrothal, Arranged Marriage, Grief, Adoption, POV Third Person, POV Alternating, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Good Parent LQR, Clairvoyance, Butterfly Effect, Kid Fic, Epistolary, Food, Secrets, Resentful Energy, Cultivation Sect Politics, Character Death)

The Best Gift by Lan_Wangjoe (E, 45k, WangXian, Modern AU, Mistaken Identity, Miscommunication Fluff, Romantic Fluff, Family Fluff, Family Dynamics, Falling In Love, Idiots in Love, Dorks in Love, Nice LQR, Meet the Family, Nerdiness, Science Boyfriends, Science Experiments, Fake Science, Science Husbands, Geeks, Work Contains Fan(s) or Fandom(s), Fandom Allusions & Cliches & References, Fans & Fandom AU, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Adopted Children, Marriage of Convenience, Secret Marriage, Didn't Know They Were Dating, Stupidity, Himbo LXC, Lan Himbos, Lán Family Feels, Everyone Is Alive, Everyone Thinks They're Together, Good Parents JFM and YZY, Genius WWX, Geniuses)

~*~

10. Does anybody have anything where it’s just Immortal(one of them could be reincarnated and recultivated immortality) Wangxian being happy through the ages or in modern society? (Preferably modern Cultivation society) @omgnectarina

The Future is Ours to Keep series by makebelieveanything & nerdzeword (T, 25k, wangxian, JC & WWX, JC & YZY, JYL/LQY/WQ, post-canon, modern, immortality, reincarnation, healthy family relationships, epistolary, groupchats, fluff) (link in #6) Some beloved cast is immortal in modern times, some reincarnated

Ever Thine, Ever Mine, Ever Ours. by JaenysBloodcourt (T, 3k, WangXian, Immortal LWJ and WWX, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Well it could be a Bittersweet Ending, Love Confessions) (link in #6) Wangxian are immortal, but have pined for a thousand years, and (spoiler!!!) they do get together but mind the bittersweet ending!!!!!!

dark and glimmering by Sanguis (T, 5k, wangxian, post-canon, modern, technology malfunction, established relationship, married couple, immortality) (link in #6) Beautiful and wangxian-centric, not so much about the modern world. But the world is around

Wandering Souls, Wild Ghosts by belleweather (E, 49k, wangxian, post-canon, victorian au, case fic, rentboys, smut, married wangxian, immortality, canon-typical violence, period-typical sexism & racism & homophobia, voyeurism, families of choice) (link in #6) Victorian England with immortal!wangxian’s adventures!

A Tale of Two Immortals by esk95 (M, 31k, WIP, WangXian, XiCheng, XuanLi, Post-Canon, Like waaaaay Post-Canon Modern AU, but cultivation still exists, Immortality, Reincarnation, Pretty much everyone is a reincarnation except Wangxian, Secret Identities, Modern with Magic, Immortal!Wangxian) (link in #6) A beloved wip: Immortal wangxian try to solve a mystery, poor Sizhui just wants to be a cultivator and have support of his parents who don’t know anything about cultivation (lol), a lot of reincarnated folk around

MDZS: The Golden Engine by iffervescent (E, 82k, WangXian, XiCheng, Explicit Sexual Content, Immortals) (link in #6) The summary says it all: “In the modern era, immortals Lan Zhan and Wei Wuxian return to Gusu. New evil and old friends + new friends and old evils.”

~*~

11. Itmf pregnant wwx doesn’t realize he is pregnant at first. Broody, hormonal, instinctive, etc., can be foxxian but doesn’t have to be. Bonus points if LWJ has it figured out. Any era is fine.

I didn't know I was pregnant! by Haunted_Cheese (G, 1k, WangXian, A/B/O Dynamics, Modern AU, Mpreg, Unplanned Pregnancy, Childbirth, Omega WWX, Alpha LWJ, Pregnant WWX)

🔒Little fall of rain by luckymoonly (M, 10k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, WWX didn't know he was pregnant, Mpreg, Mention of Birth, Family Feels, Nielan himbo rights, soft LQR, Misunderstandings, jealous lwj, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Smut, Breastfeeding, Thirsty Granny Wen, JGS being his usual self)

🔒Surprise Baby! by trulywicked (M, 10k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Modern Cultivation, Mpreg, Unplanned Pregnancy, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Didn't know he was pregnant, birthing scene, Little bit of blood, A/B/O Dynamics, Inspired by Twitter, Established Relationship, Fluff)

Blood, Google, and Love by Prairie_Grass (E, 4k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, they were roommates, A/B/O Dynamics, Getting Together, Mpreg, semi graphic giving birth, Alpha LWJ, Omega wwx, Intersex Omegas, (or you could head-canon WWX as trans if you wanted), Fluff and Angst, the run-on sentences are on-purpose because WWX and LWJ are both:, neurodiverse characters, slightly traumatic birth)

Impermanence, Transience, Permanence by Best Bepsy (BepsyGray) (E, 39k, wangxian, canon divergence, unplanned pregnancy, mpreg, gore, sunshot campaign, assumed miscarriage, medical procedures, childbirth, golden core reveal) And the case of 'didn't know I was STILL pregnant'

Does Wei Ying have Covid? by Webawee (G, 2k, WangXian, Modern AU, A/B/O Dynamics, Mpreg, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Established Relationship, Pregnancy, Morning Sickness) there's a hillarious fic called does wei ying have covid? its exactly as it sounds our oblivious baby wwx thinks he has covid when lwj thinks wwx is scared to be pregnant/ anxious and wq is wq its great

~*~

12. (Previous part added to FF)

if you could also recommend fics where lwj rejects wwx at first then feels so guilty about it after seeing/hearing about wwx suffering due to his rejection (just any au with this trope)?? i am a sucker for angst with a happy ending.

we are blessed in this community for all the work that you do, thank you so much! 🙇🏻‍♀️ @emkaii

When the Words Stop Coming by mrcformoso (T, 7k, WangXian, Canon Compliant, POV WWX, POV LWJ, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Pre-Sunshot Campaign, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Canonical Character Death, Love Confessions, Rejection, LWJ is a Panicked Gay, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Trauma, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sad with a Happy Ending) Basically where WWX confesses, lwj keeps rejecting him, and canon still happens.

~*~

13. Itmf NMJ is everyone’s big brother (also the best brother nmj).

~*~

14. Hey, hope you're well. ITMF Wèi WuXian appreciation fics. (ex- stunted, starving, juvenility, hua xianle) @tinyfoxpeach

~*~

15. Hello! I wonder if there are works, where Wei Ying died from strangulation in the field by the hands of Jiang Cheng? Thank you!

Lay my body down by tawaen (M, 48k, WWX & WQ, WWX & WN, wangxian, WWX & JYL, canon divergence, time travel, rogue cultivator WWX, no golden core transfer, not cultivation world friendly, not JC friendly, OCs) Might not be what the requester wants? WWX dies in the siege of the Burial Mounds & part of his spirit gets flung through time & latches onto the moment where he is strangled & his heart stopped & goes 'it's free real estate', resulting in a time travel AU where WWX choses to nope the fuck out of the cultivation world. He does die in that moment, but if the requester wants an angsty MCD fic, this ain't it / has Wei Ying die of strangulation but a fragment of his soul returns to that moment and he lives again.

False Catharsis by mondengel (Not Rated, 792, Horror, Angst) WWX dies. It's only 700 words but it hits hard.

~*~

16. Hello~! ITMF hanahaki disease fics, preferably canon setting? In hanahaki trope someone who has unrequited love will grow flowers in their chest until the roots and branches kill them. Basically a curse to wither away in sadness and die unless your love is requited.

Regret Blossoms by piecrust (G, 7k, wangxian, Hanahaki Disease)

This Lantern Shines For You by apollonie (M, 10k, wangxian, Hanahaki Disease, Angst with a Happy Ending, Post-Canon, Pining WWX, WWX Needs a Hug, LWJ is a Disaster Gay)

~*~

17. Idk if you'll answer this but do u know any fics where lwj travels back in time to his younger selfs body and gets to change how he was like with wwx? (Bonus points if it was just a dream) thanks!!! 💗

A Narrow Bridge by FrameofMind, Jo Lasalle (Jo_Lasalle) (E, 700k, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Canon Divergence, Slow Burn, Getting Together, First Time, Pining while fucking, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Angst with a Happy Ending, CQL Verse, almost everybody lives/almost nobody dies, epistolary-ish, canon-ish side pairings, radishes) LWJ goes back & changes his decision at Qiongqi Path

🔒 The Second Hand Unwinds by trulywicked (E, 25k, wangxian, JYL/JZX, Time Travel Fix-It, not JC friendly, not Yúnmèng Jiāng Sect friendly, not Jiāng Family friendly, not YZY friendly, Time Travelling LWJ, Protective LWJ, Fluff, Minor Angst, Minor Character Death, JGS is his own warning, Wooing, LWJ is romantic af, Inventor WWX, Genius WWX, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Protective Gūsū Lán Sect, Supportive LXC, Good Uncle LQR, WIP) LWJ goes back to CRSA

A Matter of Time series by mrcformoso (E, 70 k, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, POV LWJ, POV JC, Dark LWJ, Manipulation, Grooming, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Consensual Underage Sex, Except problematic please read warning in first chapter, Blood and Violence, Insane LWJ, Manic LWJ, Conditioning, WWX is a Lán, Minor Character Death, Confused JC, Golden Core Reveal, Good Friend NHS, WWX Isn’t Adopted by the Jiāngs, Abusive Jiāng Family, Jiāng Family Bashing, Jiāng Family Critical, POV NHS, Dark NHS, Anal Sex, Marathon Sex, Dual Cultivation, Qīnghéng-jūn Lives, LWJ Has a Big Dick, WWX Self-Lubricates, Plot Twists, Porn With Plot, Scheming NHS, Manipulative NHS, BAMF LWJ, BAMF WWX) Features dark!LWJ. Mind the tags

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic recs #i'm in the mood for a fic #the untamed #wangxian fic search #wangxianficfinder #long post

145 notes · View notes

sitp-recs · 2 months

Note

Liv, I am begging you. Please share drarry omegaverse recs. I’ve read all there is to read and I am starved.

Oh anon, I wish I could rec more but I don’t read omegaverse very often 😢 I’m listing the ones I know below (you’ve probably read them already!) - they’re all completed plus @hoko-onchi-writes is currently posting To Hold You in the Earth's Unholy Din and I’ve seen amazing comments about it, you should definitely check it out!

Drarry:

you killed me in the gloom by @fw00shy (T, 1.7k) - AU

Having won the war, Harry returns to the Kingdom of Slytherin to lay claim to his true mate. Draco Malfoy is as beautiful as he was all those years ago. There's only one problem: he doesn't remember Harry at all.

Heat of the Moment by @writcraft (E, 2k)

Harry’s never felt much like an Alpha but that all changes when Draco Malfoy turns up on his doorstep, asking Harry for help.

Alpha by @lqtraintracks (E, 2.6k)

Finding out I’m Malfoy’s Alpha and he’s my Omega might have gone a lot differently had we not still hated each other. But we do, so here’s how it goes.

in heat by @bonesliketambourines (E, 4k)

Draco’s been getting by just fine despite his unfortunate little genetic gift. Until Potter decides to barge in and muck everything up, that is.

Heat of the Heart by carpemermaid (E, 6k)

Draco was recently bitten by a werewolf in the line of duty as an Auror. He'd been dealing with it as best he could, but then his first heat came on hot and fast in the middle of filling out reports with his Auror partner, Harry Potter. Luckily for him, Potter has a knack for saving his arse.

This is How by @bixgirl1 (E, 6.5k)

Omegas are long gone, or so everyone thinks. This is not how things were supposed to go.

Harry Potter and the Werewolf Consultant by 0idontknow0 (E, 15k)

After Teddy transforms into a werewolf for the first time Harry and Andromeda don’t know what to do. They consult an adult werewolf to help Teddy adjust and that werewolf turns out to be one Draco Malfoy.

The Songbirds of Avebury Manor by Tessa Crowley (E, 18k) - AU

Harry Potter presents as alpha at fifteen, and it is supposed to change his life for the better. Instead, it leads him to a beautiful noble omega he cannot have, a political plot he cannot escape, and a threat on his life.

in the electricity of your touch by tryslora (E, 24k)

After returning to Hogwarts after the war, Harry realizes he has nothing to do. There is nothing to chase, or to fight. Why, then does he feel as if there is something pricking under his skin? And why does it feel like he’s struck by lightning every time Draco Malfoy touches him? There’s only one explanation: Draco Malfoy is up to something, and Harry has to find out what it is and put a stop to it.

Tuxedo Angel by tryslora (E, 25k)

Harry and Neville are looking for the infamous Dragon Lily, a Dark witch active throughout Europe and Asia. Instead, they find the Tuxedo Angel, a beautiful witch performing in Rome.

Embers by @shiftylinguini (E, 41k)

Werewolf Alphas aren't meant to be alone, or to suppress their ruts indefinitely like Draco has been since he was bitten eight years ago. He needs company, companionship, to knot ― he needs an Omega Heat Companion. At least, that’s what the Healers say, and even Draco can admit contacting the person they’ve referred him to might be nice.

Expectant by @l0vegl0wsinthedark (E, 62k)

After he accidentally gets Malfoy pregnant on a drunken fuck at a club, Harry doesn't anticipate that it'd be just as easy to fall in love with him.

Dissident by Constance1 (E, 181k)

In a world of Alphas and Omegas, Harry is surprised to discover that he is a rare male Omega. He assumes his pull towards Draco Malfoy is because the Slytherin is an Alpha, but there is more at play here than even Harry knows.

Other ships:

Can't I Have Both? by @nv-md (E, 1.8k) - Harry/Draco/Blaise

Werewolves usually only have one mate, but of course, Draco has to be special and have two Alphas chasing after him. And he makes sure they always want him...especially when he can drag them into the loo of a club.

Almond Blossom by @shiftylinguini (E, 4k) - Teddy/James

James plans it out meticulously--and then of course, his rut comes early anyway.

Heat by @lqtraintracks (E, 7.5k) - James/Scorpius

James had always been miserable as an Alpha. Mostly because he was crap at it. Until Scorpius Malfoy went into an unexpected heat, that is.

Heat by iamisaac (E, 10k) - Teddy/Charlie

When Teddy comes of-age, he discovers that while he didn't inherit his father's lycanthropy, he did inherit his omega traits. Charlie, as an alpha, is more than happy to help him through.

Blame it on the Moon by @shiftylinguini (E, 32k) - Teddy/James

Teddy was born a werewolf. James gets bitten later in life (not by Teddy) and Teddy is there to help him through his first heat.

At The End of The Rope by shiftylinguini (E, 35k) - Teddy/James

Everyone presents in the springtime of their fifteenth year, and no one was more excited about this than James ― or more disappointed when it didn’t happen. But that’s okay, at twenty-two he’s now made peace with being an Absent Presentation, and with his conviction that no one in their right mind would want to be with or claim someone like him, least of all the person he really wants.

#asks #anon #Drarry reclist #omegaverse #a/b/o dynamics #drarry & rare pairs

64 notes · View notes

straighttohellbuddy · 1 year

Text

what you love you devour {c!Wilbur Soot}

Summary: As someone who is chronically honest and the self-appointed court jester of this world, your place in any conflict or situation had always been whichever place to be amused you the most; being on the side of the grown-ass man who put time and effort into waging war against smartass kids over discs? Of course. Immediately switching sides to join the child as he and someone you've never met before start a drug empire? Of course. Except said newcomer seems to know exactly how to keep you entertained; your place becomes by his side, and you quickly come to realise that no-one else will ever compare.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: She/They Reader. Villain!Reader. Past, toxic c!Quackity/Reader, established platonic c!Dream & Reader. Set during the DSMP timeline.

A/N: 25,323 words. this has been about 2 years in the making, which is why i haven't tagged the few people on the taglist but anyways, i finally came back and reread what i had and was like.... this actually holds up pretty well as is. so yeah, i've added and subtracted a few things here and there in the last few hours to make it all make sense overall, but holy shit im so happy to have it out there. is it possibly the wankiest/dramatic thing ive posted in a while? yes. but its also 25k so eat up. and if you wanna talk to me about it! PLEASE DO!!

Warnings: VILLAIN!READER, discussions/implied suicidal ideation, violence & blood, implied and joked about smut, heavy psychological/emotional manipulation, romantic obsession, betrayal, murder, implied torture. it gets pretty dark at times, just take care.

Citrus Scale: 💚 LIME 💚

{ full playlist }

"You've created capitalism, good job," sarcasm dripped from your words as you leaned against the side of the Camarvan while Sapnap attempted to arrest Tommy and the most recent newcomer, a brunette with a way with words that you found yourself admiring.

"I didn't create capitalism," Wilbur automatically defends himself, turning on you like he had the words on the tip of his tongue, simply waiting for someone to bring it up. Though he was playing at being innocent, you could see he was holding back a smile.

"What do you mean?" Tommy, behind him, frowned, before spluttering, "you know what, who cares- Wilbur, buddy don't listen to her, she'll say anything to get a rise out of people," he grumbled, but you just talked over him, addressing the newcomer.

"I'm not implying that you, new boy -"

"Wilbur," he corrected you automatically.

"- you, Wilbur, were the theological creator of capitalism," you rolled your eyes, but couldn't help your own smile at the situation, "I'm saying that you're trying to have a monopoly on potions and the ability to brew them, so you can inflate the price to whatever you want with no competition that people would be able to buy from, all that artificial supply and demand bullshit."

"Don't know what you're on about," but Wilbur's back was to the others as he said it, lips twisting into a grin, "this is but a humble hotdog van."

"A humble hotdog van!" Tommy added resolutely for emphasis, which you yourself repeated, much quieter, turning the words over in your mind as you narrowed your eyes and looked over all of them, "oh get lost, go run back to Dream," Tommy huffed, before turning on Wilbur, "why are you even giving her the time of day? She's in his guard, she's probably here helping Sapnap."

And that's when your gaze finally flicked to the man himself in full diamond armour, who was glowering at you, bow half raised. He stays quiet.

"He doesn't seem too keen on her," Wilbur points out, looking over his shoulder, giving the faintest smile to the kitted-out guard.

"It could be a ruse!" Tommy insisted.

"I'm simply a court jester -" you tried, hands raised defensively, but Tommy cuts you off.

"You shot me!"

"What's a humble court jester doing at our humble hotdog van?" Wilbur asks, turning back to you. At this prompt, however, your whole face lit up and you stood up straight, frantically digging around your pockets, searching, until you offer a small stack of blaze rods, like it's an offering.

"Playing along," you tell him, eyes alight with mirth and mischief.

"Why?" But he takes the blaze rods and you give a shrug, shoving your hands into your pockets.

"It's the funniest option."

---

"It's not capitalism, it's a drug empire," Tommy grumbled under his breath the moment they bring you into the Camarvan and shut the door behind you, before he added, "and I still don't like that you're here."

"It's not my fault that the concept of a grown-ass man going to war with literal children over two discs is deeply funny," you raised your hands in mock surrender as you sat on the counter in the hotdog van.

"Then why were you on his side?" He demanded, and you schooled your grin into something seriously.

"Thomas, Thomas listen to me -"

"Do not call me Thomas," Tommy told you flatly, and for a moment you couldn't help your sharp smile.

"Listen, Tommy, my boy, I was on the side of the grown-ass man who was waging war over discs; you're a kid, dude, being on your side would make too much sense and would be far less funny."

"One, you're a terrible person," Tommy says flatly, and you can't help but laugh not exactly inclined to disagree with him, "two, I'm not your boy, and three, if it suddenly becomes fucking funny for you to turn on us, I will kill you a lot, okay?"

"Okay," you nod, conceding, and though he's still frowning at you, mistrustful, you can't help but follow it with, "but I think you underestimate how much I appreciate our new friend, whose first thought, after finding his way to us, was 'I'm going to build a drug empire and recruit Tommy-goddamn-Innit as my first ally'; very few things can top that, honestly."

Wilbur, who was kneeling by a chest a few feet away and had been quiet this whole time, snorts a laugh. Good.

"Does Dream trust you?" However, when he spoke, your bright mood evaporated. Then he stands, turns, and leans his hip against the chest he was just rifling through, cocking his head to one side as he regards you, "it's not bait, I'm not asking you if you're a double agent, I trust you -" though there was something behind his eyes that contradicted his words, "- just, does Dream trust you?"

"Dream and I have... an understanding," you said carefully, "I understand that he is incredibly powerful -" Tommy made a derisive noise in the back of his throat at that, "- and he understands that I am simply a court jester."

"I don't remember many jesters with enchanted netherite axes," Tommy mutters under his breath. For the barest moment, when he looks at you he sees you looking right back, something dangerous, something like a warning in your eyes that vanishes so fast he’s half concerned he imagined it. No-one else seemed to have seen it, judging by how Wilbur’s continuing on. You’ve already looked away.

"So he may expect you to turn on him?"

"Eventually," you agree, "but he also knows I'd turn back to his side with the right incentive," you knew no good could come of trying to hide your nature, especially since it could lead to others actively attempting to win your loyalty, which you couldn't deny was pretty nice. Tommy was actively glaring at you after this particular admission, however Wilbur hums thoughtfully, regarding you with an expression you can't quite read, one that makes you feel like he's evaluating you; you sit a little straighter.

"Would you steal his potion supplies for us if he had any?" And suddenly, Wilbur's tone was light, as if he were asking for you to run an errand rather than commit treason. While Tommy was flabbergasted at his bluntness, you nodded emphatically.

"Oh, absolutely."

----

"Could you be more subtle while robbing me?" Dream frowned the moment he saw you up to your elbows in a chest in what he considered to be his base of operations.

"Not my fault you're bad at hiding your stuff and good at finding me," you huffed in return, not even bothering to look up, even as Dream peered over your shoulder to see what he'd left behind that you were currently looting. Tortoise shells and empty bottles, not much, but it's something.

"I don't appreciate you stealing my shit for Tommy," Dream pointed out, and you snorted a laugh, beginning to pocket your findings. He sat beside the chest, watching you, "I'm going to stop him."

"You're going to try."

"I thought you were on my side," but even as he said it, he wore a grin that was all teeth; you both knew he was joking, "you'd tell me where the discs were if you knew, wouldn't you?"

"In a heartbeat," you agree without hesitation, sitting back on your heels and finally looking at your sort-of ally, "but we both know Tommy doesn't trust me as far as he can throw me."

"He's a smart kid," Dream's smile gets tight at the edges for just a moment, and when you look to him, he’s looking back at you with a shallow gaze - you ever take something from me like that again and I’ll fucking kill you; you hear your own voice in your head, and wonder if Dream’s thinking of that same moment, of your violent, possessiveness rearing it’s head, your axe pressed to his chest in the dead of night. Back in the present, his gaze clears and he looks at the chest you’re currently elbow deep in, pointedly, "you are robbing me." The memory passes from your mind.

"You weren't here and I'm not using actual force; this is looting at best," at your indignance, he rolls his eyes, looking away, and you open the chest again, taking the remaining items, despite their meagre value. "I'm not doing this for Tommy; Wilbur's the one who suggested it."

"The new guy?"

"The new guy," you confirmed with a nod, "the first thing he does after getting here is commit crimes; I think I'm in love," you tell Dream flatly, mostly joking.

"Sounds like a man after your own heart," Dream points out, not even trying to hide the teasing edge to his words; how deeply bizarre this interaction would be if anyone else were to walk in.

With all of the chest's contents safely in your pockets and satchel, you sit back, eyes narrowing as you give Dream and his mischievous smile a look as you finally try and figure out what this whole interaction means. However the teasing does well to hide the faint notes of apprehension in his voice.

"'s the reason I sided with you in the first place;" you said slowly, "you know how chaos gets me going," your tone was flat, clearly conveying that you hadn't deciphered the nature of this interaction, but your actual words were enough to have Dream himself laughing despite this, the air clearing. "You here to stop me?"

"Does anyone else know where my base is, and are you going to steal anything else from me?"

"No and yes," you answer bluntly; if you were anyone else that answer would be two death sentences, one right after the other, "blaze rods," you quickly elaborate, wilfully digging yourself deeper as Dream opens his mouth.

"You can't have my blaze rods," he says, though he's smiling faintly at your well-worn antics.

"Agree to disagree," you stood swiftly, trying to step over his legs to get to the next chest. Dream grabs your shin with one hand, stopping you in your track as he's sighing deeply.

"Go away, Y/N," he says firmly, letting go of you to get to his feet, beginning to push you to the entrance of the bunker, even as you whined; the fact that he let you take as much as you already had was not lost on you however, and you let yourself be nudged to the door, only putting on a show of protesting.

The timer that had started ticking the moment he'd found you in his bunker had finally run out.

"Get better security," you told him, and he gave you a wide, toothy smile.

"Love you too," he responded, "and keep me updated if you ever find those discs." At that, you give him a quick salute and head back in the general direction of the Camarvan.

----

"L'Manberg?" You said, not even trying to hide your scepticism.

"L'Manberg," both Tommy and Wilbur reiterated, sounding completely sincere in their dedication to the ridiculous name.

"L'-Man-Berg?" You said, slower, squinting at them, waiting for their sincerity to crack.

"But don't worry, Tommy himself said that 'even women can work here'," Wilbur said, corners of his mouth twitching at Tommy's various irritated exclamations, "like... in the hotdog van... with us; we're not implying that women have to work to be here, this isn't- this isn't communism -"

"You've made that abundantly clear," your scepticism broke in the face of his floundering, "I remember you brought capitalism to the Greater Dream SMP, Mr Soot," you were desperately trying not to laugh, though Tommy was fairing much worse than you at that.

"I mean- I mean- I mean-" Tommy spluttered through his laughter as it died down, trying to get himself back to being something resembling serious, "you also- you can't be on Dream's side if you're with us."

"I'm not," you answer honestly and easily.

"So you're on our side?" He clarified, though you had to hum at that.

"No..." you said carefully, before finally looking him in his eyes, "I'm on my side, I just happen to like," without breaking eye contact with Tommy or your serious facade, you pointed directly at Wilbur, to his left, "him." Tommy's outrage at your answer was predictably hilarious, hence the main reason as to why you gave it, and Wilbur's delighted 'that's good enough for me' and accompanying smile was enough to solidify your loyalty with them, at least for the time being.

----

"I knew it would be you," they've taken no chances with you when they started taking people prisoner; Tommy was the first to go, and you happened to show up right as Fundy was being lead away. Wilbur and Tommy had both sent you messages, letting you know people were being arrested, and while they probably meant for you to stay away, you had other ideas.

So now, here you were, with Sapnap's crossbow bolt between your shoulder blades as you were being unceremoniously shoved to the courthouse.

"Stop talking," he muttered, poking you probably harder than necessary, but it did little to dim your smile.

"I've barely said anything," you shrugged, the nonchalant movement only serving to remind you, as if you could forget, about the weapon at your back, "but I'm flattered, really; I knew it would be you."

"Stop. Talking."

"They've got several people escorting Tommy, and even Fundy has Eret and Tubbo," you kept chattering away, despite your guard's grumbling, "but we've fought together, you know what I'm like, and so does he," you gave a faint laugh, "they knew I'd listen to you; you're the only one besides Dream himself who could get me to go peacefully."

"Why then? If you're going to keep talking, can you explain why? Why are you going peacefully, why with me? Are you actually saying you would have put up a fight if I were anyone else?"

"Would you trust anyone else to bring me to jail on their own?" You asked simply.

"I think you overestimate how challenging you are -"

"So that's a yes, you'd trust... Tubbo to lead me to the courthouse alone?" Your tone was sly and heavy with implications, "or Ponk? Or what about Eret? I don't know him but he seems nice. I'd like to get to know him, if you're saying you'd like to swap -"

"I don't trust you," he cuts you off, words forced out through gritted teeth.

"But you trust you," you hum thoughtfully, "because you know you're the only one up for it. They're sweet kids, but they're still kids, aren't they? If the right person talked for long enough they'd believe anything. This is why I knew it'd be you taking me to court; you're better than that," you're better than them hangs in the air, unspoken but still so loud, and you're glad he can't see the way you're grinning.

Then, you give a self deprecating chuckle, shrugging again.

"Honestly I'm probably giving myself too much credit here, I'm unarmed and unarmoured, you're easily overkill as my escort, but again, I'm flattered," the pressure between your shoulder blades lessens until the sharp bolt is gone, and you hear Sapnap's footsteps fall silent. Intrigued, you turn, and you see him scowling.

"Don't do that, don't be cute, don't be coy;" he frowned at you, at how your expression had been schooled into something tamer than the delight you were feeling, "you won't trick me; I remember Dream in that warroom, you remember, we were all planning and he assured us that you were your most dangerous unarmed and unarmoured -"

"I can't believe you remember that," you huff a disbelieving laugh, hoping the delight in your eyes didn't give you away.

"Yeah, well I do; don't coy, don't be shitty, okay? I was sent here for you for a reason, me, alright Y/N? I'm the one with the crossbow," already your words were working their way into his psyche, the bestowing of compliments, building him up, only to undermine it all. Whether he realised it or not, the praise you hid amongst your teasing and self-aggrandizing felt good to hear; you're just glad he believed it.

And so you walked with a crossbow bolt nestled between your shoulders, in silence for the rest of the way, being shoved into a cell beside Tommy, who'd been sitting on the bed provided, chattering away loudly to the other guards.

"What took you so long?"

----

The jacket you're given doesn't fit quite right; it's close, but maybe the arms are a little too long, and it sits strangely when you button the front with more than one button, but you wear it with pride, grip tight on the lapels as you spin on your heel, waiting for an approval from the others.

"Looks good on you," Wilbur's voice is carefully neutral, though he nods, his slight smile betraying him.

"Now will you finally admit you're on our side?" Tommy asked, brow pinched as he looked you over.

"What do you mean? She's with us, of course she is," Tubbo voices his confusion, and you finally, finally relinquish.

"Yes, Tommy, I'm fighting for L'manburg," you inclined your head towards him, smiling faintly.

"Say it, say you're on my side," Tommy demanded, "because I wanna remember this moment when you inevitably double cross us."

"Tommy," you said carefully, trying not to show how amused you actually were.

"Don't patronise me," he warned.

"Tommy," you shifted your tone to something a touch more respectful, but the boy's mouth remained set in a firm line, "I'm on your side as long as you're on Wilbur's side."

"Of course," Tubbo pipes up brightly, "we're all on the same side, for L'manburg," and he so cheerfully misses the subtle nuance in your words that it seems to convince Tommy. Wilbur's smiling to himself, genuine, whole face scrunched up and pleased.

"Seems like an overreaction," Eret, who you were yet to get a proper read on, looked over the four of you with interest; he hadn't been here long either, "they robbed Dream for us, they got arrested too -"

"Y/N is a trickster spirit at the best of times," Tommy tells him, "you can never be too careful, trust me."

"I'm just a jester," you raised your hands in a placating gesture, gaze dipping if only to hide the spark of mischief that found its way to your eye every time you found yourself underplaying your abilities.

"A revolutionary jester," Wilbur corrects, and your gaze snaps to him, your smile growing a touch wider, a shade sharper.

"A revolutionary jester," you agreed.

----

"You should have a home here," you hear Wilbur musing as he's chopping wood with a distracted energy, "do you have a home?" He quickly follows it with, and you snort loudly.

"Christ dude, of course I have a house," though you take a moment to reconsider, "well I have a bed in the savannah," you paused, "near... near Dream's Mountain." You admitted. There's a hum, and when you look to Wilbur he's regarding you curiously.

"Still?"

"Dream doesn't operate out of there anymore," you told him candidly, "but I like it; lots of sand," you added, and Wilbur actually paused.

"Can I ask you something very frank?" He asked, leaning against the handle of his axe where it was pressing into the dirt. You nodded, "what incentive would it take for you to turn on us, and on L'manburg? If Dream offered any number of weapons or diamonds or armour, would you take it?"

"I have everything I need," you told him honestly, "and I don't think Dream could offer me enough incentive to turn against L'manburg the way it stands right now," you shrugged, but he tipped his head to the side, frowning.

"So what would it take you to turn on us individually?"

Your mouth fell open, unused to being properly listened to, properly understood.

"You listen too much," you muttered, unused to being caught out in the way you would twist words. Wilbur, seemingly surprised at your reaction, grins from ear to ear.

"You know, while you were all being arrested, I heard something; I heard someone say that you're at your most dangerous when you're unarmed and unassuming, and I think I'm starting to get it-"

"If I find Tommy's discs, I have an obligation to give them to Dream," you let the words fall from your lips in an effort to derail that train of thought, gaze on your hands as you pluck blades of grass from the ground, twisting them in your fingers. Wilbur carefully lowers himself to the ground, to your level.

"From what I understand, that seems perfectly reasonable, in your mind at least," he says with a half smile, looking to you, expression somewhat unreadable, his pause harbouring something quietly hungry; "and what about me?"

Mouth opening and closing at a sudden loss for words, you find yourself unable to look him in the eyes.

"I have no pre-existing reason to turn against you," your voice is quiet, is flat, but your forgetting fingers betray how antsy this particular shred of honesty made you.

"So, Tommy's the only one you'd throw under the bus?"

"Its up to you," you shrugged, "and I'd only steal Tommy's disc and hand them over, I wouldn't hurt him."

"Are you lying?"

"I don't lie;" your tone was harsh, looking to him with a fire in your eyes, "I will not betray them, or Tommy in any other way, so long as they are all... aligning... with... you." There's no pretty way to twist your words around it, and you can't help your faint, flustered embarrasent, "my word is my bond." Then, softer, heart in your throat, "stop looking at me, Wilbur."

"That's a lot of power you've given me there," he said with a faint laugh, "so if it's no longer in my best interest to align with them-"

"It depends on if you mean that they're no longer allies, or if they're actively hostile," you point out, "because the ways in which I would betray them if they are not my allies are... varied. If they're my active enemy, then that's more of a straightforward fight, you know?"

"And if I decided it's no longer beneficial to be allies with you?"

"You'd be smart," you tell him, knee-jerk reaction, which startles a laugh from him; you give a faint, self-conscious apology, "honestly I'd respect it, it'd be an incredibly funny move after the things I've said, you know?"

"But, no, if I betrayed you, what would you do?"

"Are you planning on betraying me?"

"Not currently," he shrugged easily, and you blinked slowly at him.

"I don't know what I'd do, not yet, but I can get planning," you said with an almost teasing air, while he splutters in protest, "yeah I know you just said you weren't planning on it, but I'm pretty sure you've lied to every single question I've asked since getting here," you paused, smile growing wider, and strangely fond, "actually I think you've lied more than you've told the truth in general since you arrived."

A second passes, then another, then finally he breaks out into laughter.

"And you accuse me of listening too much!" His expression was frankly delighted.

----

You follow them into the dark, down the stairs, listening to the way they were joking about Eret managing to come up with a nuke. The night is unassuming. Spirits are high.

But they bring you all to a small room full of chests. Something is wrong. You stay with Eret by the door, and he's got a hand on your shoulder - you can't run.

"The chests are empty-" you hear Wilbur's confusion, right before Tommy asks what the button in the middle of the room does, and before he can even press it, his fingertips barely contacting the wood, you step forward -

"Easy now," Eret's voice is a gentle murmur, only for you, grip tight on your pauldron. When you look at her, a moment of silence amongst the others' confusion, his expression is… unreadable. Ice cold now, there's a sword through your chest, you can feel it where you shouldn't, followed by the searing heat of blood filling your lungs and windpipe -

"Y/N?!" Wilbur's eyes land on you as Tommy presses the button, you fall to your knees, choking on a mouthful of blood, and when your gaze locks with his, the reality of the betrayal sets in. There's horror in his eyes, and you see Tommy and Tubbo turning before you're suddenly gasping awake in your bed in L'manburg, shaking, eyes wide and goosebumps rising along your skin as you hear your comrades screaming and shouting for help, horrified at Eret's betrayal, all coming in tinny through the communicator still on your hip. You don't properly know what happened after the button was pushed, and you think that was a conscious decision.

Your first life is taken quietly, not with a bang but with a whimper.

There's something inevitable about it for you, at least in your mind, but the others didn't deserve this, didn't deserve that betrayal. You can still feel the sticky heat of the blood in your lungs, your throat, ice cold sword where it had pierced through your back, slipped between your ribs, and come out the other side.

"It was never meant to be," Eret sounds like they’re smiling as they say it, as the others are yelling, and you realise that they're probably reviving in their own homes. You want to ask, want to demand answers, but your hands shake, and when you find your voice, all that comes out is a furious growl, low and full of venomous malice the likes of which the others had never heard from you, judging by how your voice cut through the chaotic mess of shouting.

"What the fuck did you do?"

Eret leaves the communication channel. The silence rings in your ears.

"He betrayed us," Wilbur said, tone flat, thinly veiling his own fury at the situation, "she had us killed by Dream and his men," and then, "he killed you." Like it means something, like he's worried your apathy, or even your connection to Dream, could sway you from your anger. Like he knows betrayal of your nation means little; like he knows you well. Something about this catches in your mind; you knew it was only a matter of time before you were betrayed, but the rest of them cared - Wilbur cared enough about you to know you, and Eret had him killed too.

Your communicator vibrates for a moment, and you look down to see a message from Wilbur himself; Where are you?

Your life was of little consequence, the same could not be said for your comrades.

"They killed me," you said softly, before you swallowed hard; home. Dig the ground by the corner of the walls near the river, you send back. "You died too; you all died. Who was there?"

"Who do you think?" Tommy cut in, loud and brimming with rage.

"It was all so fast, but I saw George, and Sap, and Dream," Tubbo cut in, voice a little shaky, bring Tommy's fury down somewhat.

"Punz was there too," Wilbur said carefully, "they have our things." And you stay quiet as they rage, as you sit in your bed, unable to get up, mind moving a thousand miles a minute as you try and figure out how to process all of this, what it all means. It doesn't take too long before there's sunlight streaming into your little, cosy hovel, followed by Wilbur climbing down the ladder provided, packing dirt into the hole he'd made to keep your location secret.

When he gets to the bottom of the ladder, he takes a deep breath - Tommy and Tubbo are chattering away, audible over both your communicators. Making eye contact, finally, he doesn't quiet seem to know what to do, or where to go. You turn off your communicator. Everything tastes like iron. You don't move. He leans against the wall by the ladder, closing his eyes tightly for few moments, and slowly sliding down, sinking to the ground.

"Wilb- mate are you alright? Where are you?" Tommy's voice rings out from the communicator still on Wilbur's hip, and he sighs deeply.

"I'm fine, I'm fine, just need a few moments, I'll be with you soon," and he turns off the communicator before getting a response.

Silence. Deafening silence.

"I'm sorry," your voice is a whisper, but it's clearly audible in this little room.

"What?" Tone immediately defensive and sharp, Wilbur's eyes snap open and he looks to you with a glare.

"No, I- I've had betrayal coming for a long time, but you- you all didn't deserve that," you clarified, hand on your chest, feeling the raised, tender scar tissue where the sword had come out - it had slid through your sternum like fucking butter, it had been so cold, even as the points where it had touched your clothes caught fire, even as it melted through the metal of your armour - your hand starts to shake. Everything tastes like iron.

"What happened?"

"What did Eret say to you?" His question surprised you, and when you look to him, his gaze is hard and cold.

"Easy now," you remember, "held me back when I went to step forwards, and ran their sword through me before the button had even properly been pressed -"

"I saw," Wilbur's voice was softer.

"I'm sorry, I should have warned you -" your lip was trembling, shake in your words as you drew your knees up to your chest.

"You didn't know, you couldn't have-"

"I could have done more, I could have done something -" the tears start to fall.

"Dream's guard were laying in wait, and the button was their cue to ambush us," Wilbur explained carefully, "but you…" he swallowed hard, "I watched you die." He sounded furious and disgusted, looking at his own hands, twisted into claw-like shapes, ruminating on his own helplessness at the situation.

"You're the only one who noticed," you said, barely audible, "I don't think you were meant to notice."

"What the fuck does that even mean?"

"I wasn't meant to see what happened, and it was meant to be assumed that I died in the skirmish," you said, tone flat and bitter, before your tone grows malicious, "because Dream is a coward."

"I wasn't meant to notice?" He asks, voice weak.

"No-one was; dying in the skirmish is less targeted, but if I had glimpsed any of their team killing -" You swallowed hard, dropping your gaze, "any," you push the word to hide that it's not exactly the truth, "of you… Dream knows I am more than capable of exacting revenge." There was a dark truth to your words that Wilbur couldn’t even begin to fathom, a history he was unaware of.

"I do notice you," Wilbur says, and you're brought from your bitterness momentarily, surprised by the earnestness of his words. He stands, "and I've never heard you speak like this before."

"There are rules," you tell him, watching him cross the room to your bed, to sit by your side, "and I don't expect the same level of honesty that I give, but I expect- I expect- I-" but you can't find the words for what you're trying to say, sitting forward scowling at your hands.

"You would have let him betray us all still if you'd know, wouldn't you? You would have even let her kill you," Wilbur's tone is alight with realisation, and your mouth drops open with surprise; yes, yes of course you would, how did he put it into words like that? He doesn't even sound particularly hurt by that realisation, more fascinated.

"I absolutely would have," you answer.

"But you had no idea," its not accusatory in the slightest, his tone matching yours, alright with bright interest, "which is why- why- why you're so- why you're reacting like this," its like he's trying to piece together how he sees you out loud, "you need to know where all the chess pieces are, what moves are being made, you're not playing as much as you are a spectator delighting in the chaos of it all, with a front row seat." But he's grinning from ear to ear. Your whole body is alight with the instinct to reach out and touch him, to prove he's real and not something you're imagining, because no one else has even cared to figure you out like this, and no one would even come close to reacting so brightly about it.

"I'm sorry I'm like this," you say with a momentary huff of disbelieving laughter, but he reaches out and puts a hand on your knee. The contact burns. You look down at his hand like you can't quite believe it, head swimming, trying to process this all.

"Don't be; knowledge is power and you never lie," he pointed out, "you're a good ally to have." Your heart feels like it's beating out of your chest. Wilbur Soot I'd die for you; the words press against your teeth until it's almost painful, and his hand is still on your knee. You grab it - he's real, he's here, the things he's said are real too!

"I won't betray you," is what you say instead, and Wilbur's expression turns to surprise in the face of your earnestness, your seriousness. You never lie; the thing he's said is playing on both of your minds at this moment, of this you're sure.

"You shouldn't say things like that," he says very carefully.

"Then you understand the full extent of what I'm saying, don't you?" You take his hand now in a handshake, palm to palm, "Wilbur Soot, I will never betray you."

"You have never lied to me," he said, voice low and serious, demanding an answer. You meet his gaze.

"I have never lied to you," you affirm, before adding, "you know me." And you're fairly certain he doesn't quite understand the importance of that, that his understanding of you is the reason for your loyalty. "You don't have to extend the same sentiment, don't worry, like I said I don't expect the same lev of honesty -"

"I will not willingly betray you, Y/N," Wilbur says, matching your earnest seriousness, "and I will attempt to only be honest with you."

----

“What is it about you?” There was a strange quality to Dream’s voice as he voices a question that had seemingly been weighing on him for a long while. Wilbur, where he was trying to fit all of his friends’ equipment on his person to carry back to them, snaps his attention to Dream, brow furrowed.

"What?"

"Loyalty is the one thing Y/N covets above all else, and yet for some reason they’ve given it freely to you -” Dream’s voice was smooth and thoughtful, like he’s not quite aware he’s speaking out loud.

“Maybe it’s because I respect them -”

“I respected them, but still...” he trailed off; again the idea of a darker shared history between you and Dream makes itself known. Wilbur's scowl deepened, "I don’t think they genuinely respected me... or anyone, before you. They get possessive, like dangerously possessive, but you’re different."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You know the thing they do, the way they can talk around people and topics without even lying, and make it look, you know, like it’s easy?” And the minute the words leave Dream's mouth, Wilbur's gaze drops; of course he'd noticed.

"They’ve got a way with words," Wilbur's agrees, slowly, eyes narrowed. At the defensive notes in Wilbur’s voice, the smile dropped from Dream’s face. He’s seen this loyalty before, but never before in someone you yourself were loyal to in turn. This is uncharted territory. This suddenly feels like a dangerous conversation to be having.

“Everything they’ve done is to amuse themselves, so you make no sense to me; what about you is so compelling that they find entertainment in playing revolution?”

“Maybe,” Wilbur says, tone light but clearly well thought out, “someone who is used to listening to everyone else finds a certain novel charm in being heard.” His gaze is icy, but he’s not looking at Dream; he’s standing at the end of the room, gaze hard as he looks at the door, as if focusing intently on something in his mind as he spoke; “I think you assume everyone believes in the ideals that their side stands for, and I also think,” he narrows his eyes, still staring into space. Despite not being the target of his glare, Dream, for the first time in the conversation, feels a strangely familiar powerlessness, “that you underestimate an individual’s loyalty to another individual, rather than to a cause,” he paused, “or a nation.”

“I’ll fight for you, of course, but I can’t kill any of those kids -” in Dream’s mind, he’s taken back to the moment he’d recruited you to his side after he’d stolen Tommy’s discs. You’re looking up at him from where you’re leaning over a grindstone, sharpening your axe. When he’d asked why, you blinked slowly at him, “I’ve barely spoken to them; I can’t discern if they deserve it.” There’s something cold in your eyes as you look at him, and he hears it clear as day without you needing to say it out loud; I don’t kill people I don’t know.

Something about Wilbur in this moment reminds Dream of you. He feels the faded scar on his collar bone ache faintly; the part of him that had wanted to somehow warn Wilbur of your true nature was quickly growing quiet in the back of his mind.

Then, Wilbur looks at his own hands for a moment, before digging through his bag, through the various belongings he was now carrying. He pulls out your axe, and looks back up at the space by the door. Then, to the button, before finally looking at Dream, your axe still in hand, but it rested by his side, nonthreatening. Dream can’t look away from the weapon.

“You were laying in wait for us in the name of your nation,” Wilbur says, tone strangely neutral; he looks back at the door; “you complain about a lack of respect but won’t warn them when they’re about to die.” This is where he’d watched you die; that, atop the various other insights Wilbur has shared here have Dream’s blood running cold. Dream wants to argue that you would have tipped them off, but his words die on his tongue; he at least knew you better than to interfere in a good plan, an entertaining plan, where you would be able to watch the effects of a major plot twist play out in real time, even if it meant you too had to be sacrified... And Wilbur knew this about you too.

“I see,” Dream muses, trying to hide how shaken he was by the moment that had just passed, “you’re starting to make more sense now.”

“And you know what,” Wilbur said, unsettling tension breaking as he grinned, “I think you’re making more sense too; Y/N’s willingness to still bring up their loyalty to you does at least.”

“Their loyalty to me?”

“They still look out for Tommy’s discs on your behalf,” he said candidly, “we all know, but they’re yet to find them so Tommy’s yet to have a proper go at them.”

“It’s always sunny in L’Manberg then,” Dream says, dryly.

“It’s... amusing, to try and see the world the way you see it,” Wilbur’s chipper, but there’s something almost malicious in his bright tone, and Dream’s hair stands on end. His own words haunt him, your loyalty called into question; did you simply help him because you found him trivial and amusing? While it doesn’t exactly surprise him, it stings in a way he didn’t expect. Looking back at Wilbur, it’s clear that at least some of Dream’s feelings about this particular revelation showed on his face, despite his best efforts. Wilbur’s grin was cheshire-esque. Even his smugness somehow had an echo of yours.

He leaves. Dream feels sick, alone in the final control room.

----

"Can I ask you something?" Wilbur asks tentatively, and you look away from the furnace you'd patiently been waiting to smelt your iron ore.

"Of course."

Another long pause; you approached him where he was sitting at the table, watching you with reservation.

"What happened between you and Dream?"

Surprisingly, your expression dropped to something blank in an instant, gaze going glassy.

“He’s my friend,” you say flatly, turning back to the furnace, but not before Wilbur caught a glimpse of your grimace.

“I think he was trying to warn me against you,” Wilbur huffs a faint laugh, but it’s more to test your reaction; when you turn back, your expression is wide and innocent, almost pleading.

“What did he say?”

“That I’m the first person you’ve shown actual respect to,” Wilbur says, tone light but words blunt; it surprises you, which he can read on your face, and you hesitate for a moment, not wanting to confirm or deny as much. His smile grows wider, grows endeared, “and he did say you tend to get possessive.” Your gentle, flustered nature turns into something colder at that, and you look to your hands.

“He says a lot of things,” you mutter, with an air of bitterness. It’s interesting interacting with you; half the time you still seem to try and put on an act around him, though the other half you seem to let yourself be as honest as you’re able, “he says a lot of things to the people I like, then they like me less.” Then, suddenly, you look to him, defiance in your eyes, “I don’t care what he said, I’m not using you, Wilb-”

“Hold on, he never said anything like that,” he holds up his hands, defensive, placating. Your eyes go wide and your mouth snaps shut; you can’t look at him, sitting down, hunching in on yourself.

“Sorry,” you mutter, sighing deeply enough that your shoulders sag, “Dream is my friend, I know it doesn’t seem like it right now, but I thought... he’s taken things from me like this before, things I, well...” you can’t quite put it into words, but Wilbur sits back, watching you, when something in his mind clicks.

“Covet.” His voice was soft with understanding, gentle as he asks “who was it?”

You blink slowly; there was something visceral and feral burning through your veins. You’d spent so long intricately designing the way the world would see you, this single moment feels like you’re on the knife’s edge trying to figure out if having him understanding you is endearing and heartwarming, or cloying and dangerous. He promised he wouldn’t betray you, but he’s not as honest as you’ve trained yourself to be.

But you promised not to betray him, and you’ve become someone defined by your word. All you can do is leave, if that’s what you want. You can’t lash out, you must let him live with the way he knows you, with no promise to keep it to himself. Self preservation is the way your fingers flex, aching for your axe.

“I’ve given you too much power over me,” you swallow hard, hands in fists.

“You won’t hurt me, though.”

“We both know I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

“And you do want to,” he says it like it’s a fact, all light and neutral. You keep your mouth shut; you can’t lie if you don’t speak, no matter how sweet you know it would taste to lie. “I have never felt fear or anger like I felt when I watched you die,” he breaks the silence.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter through clenched teeth, staring intently at the floor.

“You’re not to blame,” he says easily, “none of us deserved that; you didn’t deserve that.”

“You didn’t deserve to see that,” you corrected automatically.

“I thought you wanted to hurt me.”

“Well I can’t.”

“You won’t,” he says, tone still light. You glance a look at him, only to see him resting his chin in his hand, regarding you with a gentle smile. The distinction stings in your mind, the way he clearly understands your internal conflict, it sets your teeth on edge, “you knew what you were getting into when you offered your loyalty; Dream was confused, you know, about why you’d given it so freely when you covet it -” that word again, your expression twists into something frustrated as you drop your gaze back to your hands, “- but he doesn’t really get you, does he?”

“He likes to think he’s like me,” you mutter, “but then he acts like he’s better, like he’s building a family from this war, but he’s going to be left with people filled with resentments. I was aquiring resources, but he didn’t like my methods...”

“Who?” Softer this time, Wilbur asks.

After a very, very long time, you look to him, gaze shallow.

“I thought Quackity was like you, I thought he’d understand.”

“Understand you?”

“Understand the world, the truth,” you wet your lips for a moment, “but he clung to pretty words without question; I could see he had potential, so I kept him around, and it was easy - it was so fuckin’ easy -” You recount how you’d set your sights on loud-mouthed, brash, desperate for recognition Quackity, and how you’d made him your whole world, bombing him with affection and attention, making him feel understood, like the place he belonged was by your side. Quackity had always looked for somewhere to belong, that hadn’t changed, though you muse that you may have made it harder for him to trust it when he finally found a place where he felt like he belonged.

“Everything I fed him was a lie I’d laced with something that sounded close enough to love and sincerity that he’d believed it,” you looked down at where you were tracing shapes on the back of Wilbur’s hand as he listened intently, “I gave him nothing, but made him believe he had everything, until... until I wanted to see how far I could go. I wanted to see if he’d die for me... and he would have, until Dream decided to grow some morals.” You stood, sudden fury burning through your veins at the memory, “he had to sew the fuckin’ seeds of doubt in Q’s mind, had to pick holes in my lies -”

“You lied that much?” This seemed to genuinely shock Wilbur, and you stopped your pacing to look to him.

“It’s why I don’t lie; it’s harder to pick holes in the truth, harder to undermine me,” your lip curled, “Q lost faith in me, stopped trusting me, and there was fucking nothing I could do about it; it was my fault, honestly, so I don’t lie anymore. I’m upfront about who I am. I only keep people around if they’re useful, or they’re entertaining, because that’s the other fucking thing I learned; nothing fucking matters more than keeping me happy, because everyone gets too serious for their own good in the end. Dream was fun before he- he- he-”

“So am I useful or entertaining?” Wilbur asks, and you freeze. Then, slowly, you take a deep breath.

“It was novel to feel understood.”

“And now it’s bloody terrifying you,” he says gently, “because as much as you want to, you can’t trust anyone as much as you trust yourself.”

“I understand people, Wilbur, and no-one I’ve ever met has understood the inherent benefit to honesty the way I have.”

“But you still promised me your loyalty.” He says. You swallowed hard, nodding once. You meet his gaze, refusing to break it, refusing to back down, waiting for him to elaborate. “And I promised you mine, as best I could,” he pauses gives you an evaluative look over, “I can’t trust people, obviously, but I know I can trust you.”

“People don’t like me when they realise I can pick them apart, that I can rewire and reprogram them like I’m an engineer,” and Wilbur regards you curiously as you say this, like he’s going to try and counter it, but you square your shoulders, “even you, Wilbur; do you think, when we met, you’d still trust me if I was upfront about this?” And he closes his mouth, thoughtful, “I wanted so desperately to keep around the first person to halfway understand me, you’re impressed rather than fucking terrified like you should be. Because you know it’s true.”

“Are you trying to push me away?”

“We both know you won’t go,” you say with the faintest, self-deprecating smile, “a stalemate of respect, of our own design.” Then, your expression turned serious, “I have never felt fear or anger like I did when I realised you watched me die.”

Then, very slowly, his gaze meets yours, hard-edged and dark.

“Do you trust me as much as I trust you?” It’s a loaded question; he’s never been given any reason to doubt you, mostly thanks to your honesty and loyalty, but you’d never been afforded that same assurance. But in this instance, it didn’t matter, you knew your answer without a shred of doubt.

“Yes, absolutely.”

----

Its said a shark can smell blood in the water from a mile away, and you, you know there's a traitor living a peaceful life up in the castle. It irritates you, sets your teeth on edge; it's not that they killed you that bothers you, it's that they were careless about it, they let the one person you never wanted to hurt watch you die. The event had shaken Wilbur; the taking of your life was not the matter you cared about.

"You okay?" Others had noticed how distracted you were; in your mind, all you could see was the shocked horror in Wilbur's eyes, and the feeling of the blade in your back. Blinking quickly, back to the present, you smiled brightly at Tubbo, or as brightly as you could manage.

"Of course."

You watch the others sparring and training together and your hands ball into fists, as if aching for a fight. But you've got an image to keep up; you're not the brawn here, you're a jester, you're meant to keep those who you care about smiling.

"You ever wanna hold a sword to my neck like that..." you tone is suggestive as you trail off, grinning at Wilbur, who's got his sword poised beneath a training dummy's chin, glaring at it with ferocity. The moment you call out, however, his focus break, and you see him fighting back a smile as a flush works its way up his cheeks.

"Come test your luck then," he calls back, and you blinked quickly.

"I don't want to fight you, Wilbur," you tell him, quieter, hoping it comes off as soft, as something endeared.

"You should know how to fight," he points out, lowering his sword, digging the tip into the dirt as he leans on the pommel a little.

"I know how to fight," you counter, and a long moment of silence follows as he considers that.

"How have I never seen you with a weapon then?"

"You have, you just haven’t seen me use it as a weapon." You tell him rather pointedly, voice low, and though you’re still smiling, there’s something sharp at the edge of your voice that’s unfamiliar to him. It takes him aback, and for a long moment he’s silent as he regards you with a newfound seriousness, “I’m just a jester; what’s a jester want with a sword anyways?” You half laugh, a little louder now, gaze flicking to the others milling around nearby. Nobody outwardly acknowledges you, nobody apart from Wilbur, who just frowns. His gaze is trained on a spot just past your head, where you know the hilt of your axe sits.

You know you need to act soon, the idea of Eret living in the lap of luxury after everything that happened has your blood boiling. It's getting out of hand. It's getting distracting.

"You're very observant," you note, tone fond as you come back to the moment. Wilbur surfaces from his memories too, his own smile turning all kinds of fond.

"Out of necessity," he points out, making his way over to you. There's something about his tone that is fond, is knowing, and it melts your heart a little, those hints of understanding that no-one else had bothered to afford you. The person who'd betrayed the only person to understand you had been crowned king; soon, your retribution would come soon.

"What's bothering you?" Quiet enough that no-one else could hear, Wilbur reaches out, fingertips gentle on your cheek as he tips your face, has you look him in the eyes. You wonder what he sees when he looks in them, because for a brief second, for a flash, again you see the memory of silent horror as he'd watched you lose your first life. You swallow hard, and close your eyes, leaning into his touch for the briefest moment.

"I keep thinking about what Eret did," your voice is barely more than a whisper, giving only the truth, no attempt made to obfuscate it, like you usually would. Wilbur was quiet. You didn't want to open your eyes, didn't want to witness his reaction, but he's quiet.

You don’t tell him what you’re going to do, what you’re planning; there’s no need for him to worry unnecessarily. If you survive, you survive, and if you don’t, well you have another life to fall back on. If you wake up in bed with a new scar and one less life, that was your decision to make. No-one should worry on your behalf, but Eret needed to know that their actions would have consequences.

So you choose a night where the moon is overshadowed by clouds, and take your axe with you.

You’ve always been one to make an entrance, and even now you don’t disappoint, laying in wait for as long as it takes, hours spent dead silent and idle, simply waiting.

"You should be very careful if things don't go exactly to plan," finally your voice rings out through the throne room, and Eret, all dark hair and pale eyes, stops dead where they'd been passing through. Slowly, so slow its almost painful, they turn to look at you. You, draped in the throne like you own the place, axe leaning carefully against the arm of the seat. Your name escapes her mouth like a curse.

"It did go to plan," she hisses, tone guarded.

"If it had gone to plan, I wouldn't be here," you say, shifting a little, sitting a little lower, "if your timing had been better," you paused with a shark-like smile, "I may have been the only person in L'manburg to have no issue with your betrayal," and finally you look at him, watching his face as he tries to piece together what you mean, why you're here, "on paper I admire you." You tell them callously. Their lip curls in derision.

"Dream said you'd see my side," they say carefully.

"Dream says a lot of things to a lot of people," for a moment, your expression darkens, "I'm sure he told you to kill me first."

"To avoid…" she trails off, frown deepening. Your smile returns, wide and dangerous.

"You broke something of mine, Eret," you tell him seriously, a mad glint in your eyes, "and part of your plan worked like a charm; I won't go after anyone else because I've got plausible deniability, I didn't see who killed who in that skirmish."

"Then why the fuck are you here?"

"Because you killed me, and Wilbur watched; it's all he could do. It was a cruel thing that you did, making someone feel helpless like that."

"You're not here because I killed you?"

"Why would I be? I'm a court jester," you huffed a little laugh, smile turning cruel, "but you used me to make Wilbur sad, and someone's got to take the blame for upsetting the thing I like."

"If that's true, why spend all this time talking? Why not just kill me?"

"Because I like to make sure you get my message; Dream's heard my message, he tried to tell you," this is where you stand, finally, rising, gaze shallow, picking up your axe as you go. Slowly, you descend the steps of the throne, and Eret draws his sword. There's uncertainty in his eyes; he's close to where you want him.

"You're stalling."

"The more I talk, the more you try and remember what people have said about me, don't you? But they don't talk about how I fight, it's never been the most impressive thing about me," you give a low, guttural laugh, axe low in your tight grip, "I'm most dangerous when I'm unarmed and unarmoured, right? That's what they say, right? What do you think that means, really think about it?"

Eret swallows hard.

"It means that you're all talk," he's trying to put up a confident front, but you watch him tighten his grip on his sword. You raise your axe.

"Not quite."

There's nothing elegant about the way you attack, movement uncharacteristically blunt with speed that surprised the King before you. Teeth bared, you slash and duck and weave, playing dirty, tripping them up. You take hits and lash out, snarling and spitting with anger until there's no mirth, only malice, and you bring your boot down on their hand, knee pressed to their throat. There's fear behind their glasses. There's a cut above your brow, blood trickling down your face, slashes along your arms, certainly a few on your chest, but Eret's on her back on the cold floor of the throne room.

"You have no fucking idea of what I'm fully capable of," you snarl, leaning in close to their face, applying pressure until they drop their sword, hissing in pain, "this is your only warning; if you hurt- if you fucking touch my things again, I'll make it stick-" and leaning back, you use your axe to separate their head from their shoulders, taking their first life.

And you're alone, breath coming out shakily, gasping as the adrenaline courses through you. Somewhere in the castle, Eret is waking up with your words echoing in their head. You should leave. Standing slowly, you cast a derisive look to the blood stain on the floor, the only proof of the altercation. Someone else's problem.

You leave through the front doors, still carrying your bloodstained axe. Really, he should have better security.

At the doors to the castle, you pause, casting a derisive look over your shoulder; this all could have been avoided. You pull out your communicator, flicking through your contacts.

[keep your things on a shorter leash] you send to Dream. He should have chosen more carefully, or been more insistent. But that was his problem; if he kept up like this, you may have to start questioning your friendship with him.

But there's something cathartic that comes as the adrenaline is depleting. It's said that revenge doesn't provide the cathartic relief that one hopes for, but you weren't looking for revenge as much as you were looking to send a message. And you're fairly certain that message was thoroughly received. Eret had been afraid, deeply and truly afraid; you'd seen it in her eyes. It made up for the fear you had seen in Wilbur's.

You breathe a deep sigh, letting your shoulders relax for a moment; you head home.

There's static in your ears as you travel back to L'manburg, and you don't quite register that you're back on your nation's soil until you hear shouts. Tommy, Tubbo; the children, they spot you covered in blood that's both yours and not, and they're full of concern. You smile. The wound on your head starts to ache a little, the adrenaline wearing off fully.

"Don't worry about me -" you try, unable to keep the fondness from your voice.

"Wilbur!" Tommy hollers, because he knows. Everyone knows. You've staked your claim enough that even your allies know where to turn when you're acting out of character. It has you laughing, quietly at first - Dream had tried to warn Eret, how stupid must they be to ignore that, to not follow his instructions to the letter? - but your laughter only gets louder as Tubbo takes off, also calling for Wilbur ad Tommy, genuinely concerned, asks what the fuck happened to you.

"I'm a jester," you laugh, eyes a little wild as you look to the child, "I'm just a fucking jester! A messenger! Can't kill the messenger," there's something wild, something feral about you, covered in blood with a grin that's all teeth, bloody and bruised and covering a bloodstained axe. Tommy takes a step back, wary and quiet. His eyes are wide as he looks to your axe.

"I thought you used a bow," he says quietly. Your smile grows wider.

"I'm a bad shot with a bow," you tell him seriously. He blinks slowly, processes your words.

"You shot me," there's apprehension in his voice. He's getting it. Perhaps you should take more caution here; you don't want to break the illusion of you he sees.

"I didn't know you then," is what you say, and see the confusion and vague horror as he tries to figure out what you mean by that. But he's interrupted.

"What did you do?" Wilbur doesn't see the humour in your appearance, he seems like he's barely containing rage. When all you do is grin, giving a slight shrug, he turns to Tommy, tells him he'll take care of you, that the boy should join Tubbo. Tommy looks between the two of you; he tells Wilbur to be careful. You laugh again, bright and loud, and Tommy and Wilbur both frown at you, but at least Tommy follows Wilbur's directions.

With the kid gone, Wilbur turns on his heel, making a beeline for where he knows you've hidden your living area, and you follow him without question.

In your house, his voice turns softly malevolent;

"Who did this to you?" Oh. Your heart catches in your throat, and the surprise must read on your face; despite his furious expression he's gentle when he takes hold of your wrist, leading you to your basin.

"You don't need to worry about me," you tell him softly, though you obligingly sit on the edge of the basin. You lean your axe up behind you.

"You're covered in blood," he points out, gaze flicking for a moment to meet yours as the water runs, filling the basin up.

"Only some of its mine," you try, endeared by the care he was showing, "I just had to deliver a message, that's all."

"You look like you had to go through hell for it," he muses.

"You don't need to worry about me, Wilbur," and you reach out to take his hand where he's dousing a washcloth in the water. He goes still.

"What message?" He asks, finally conceding, tone finally soft. He flips your hand, carefully wiping the blood from it.

"People need to be more careful who they use me against," you say idly, and Wilbur is quiet as he works diligently away, cleaning the blood from your hands, from your arms when you offer them.

"I kept seeing the moment you saw me die," you tell him softly, voice barely more than a whisper as he's rinsing the blood from the cloth. He gives pause; you continue, "I expect betrayal, but I can't imagine how it must feel to have to watch that and be unable to do anything; I suppose that's why Dream told them to kill me first. If their timing wasn't perfect, I'd see one of you slaughtered - I could have seen you slaughtered," you muse, looking down at your hands, at the blood beneath your nails. Carefully, Wilbur finally lifts your chin so he can gently dab at the wound on your forehead, looking as though he was holding back a fond smile. "But I think what happened was worse; I never want to be the source of your unhappiness, on purpose or not," then finally, you look to his eyes, to how he's focusing, and your heart beats hard against your ribs, "I don't want you to worry about me." It's barely more than a whisper, far more honest than the candid way you'd said as much earlier.

"What did you do?" It's fond now, much lighter than the situation at hand called for, and for a moment he meets your gaze, smiling ever so slightly, your face still in his hands.

His eyes are so dark, you never want him to stop looking at you like this; these feelings are already becoming dangerous, on the verge of swallowing you whole. You need him closer. It had been a blood sacrifice to atone for that look in his eyes.

You will never have the words to tell him all you’re willing to do for him.

"The king is dead," you tell him, "long live the king."

----

"Surprised you weren't optioned as their VP," Quackity's smile was all teeth as he slid into the booth, across from you.

"Surprised you were," you fired back, glad for his company; the two of you don't talk like you once did, but you'd always held a fondness for him.

"POG2020 here to drown their sorrows at losing?" He asked, tone edging on something almost mean, but stopping just short.

"Those of them that can drink," you'd grinned, gaze turning to the bar where Wilbur was glaring into a half drunk pint, "he promised me a drink half an hour ago," but you're tone was fond. Quackity makes a noise of sudden understanding.

"That's why you weren't his VP," he says, sitting a little lower in his seat, expression smug, but eyes alight like a tiger with his interest piqued. You make a noise like you have no idea what he's talking about, "poor form, really, looks bad if he's sleeping with his VP."

"You dirty fuckin pervert," but your grin gets wider as your tone gets flustered, "we're not fucking!"

"But you want to," his grin gets wider, "late nights at the office, just the two of you, all alone, its stressful, it's a tough job you know-" his tone is low, teasing in a way that means you can't meet his eyes, but his tone shifts as he seems to hear what he's saying, "hey do you wanna come work with me?" It's mostly a joke, smile turning to something genuine with the way it crinkles by his eyes, and the tension from mere moments ago disappears, and you lean forward, resting your chin on your hand with a sly smile.

"Depends on the benefits," you match his earlier tone, teasing and low, and he mirrors your positioning, face now close to yours, close to the middle of the table.

"I'm sure I could talk Schlatt into something reasonable for the other benefits," he's still smiling, still mostly joking, as were you, though you couldn't deny the thought of being Quackity's assistant and part of the Jschlatt Administration was deeply amusing given your recent history.

"You really in the market for an assistant?" Your tone was brighter, far less joking, and for an instant, Quackity flushed an amusing shade of pink.

"I could be- this was meant to be a bit-"

"You here to rub my nose in it, Quackity?" Wilbur's voice, when it joined the pair of you, was accusatory, and though you don't move from your surprisingly intimate moment, Quackity's eyes slide to the side, to watch Wilbur side effortlessly into the seat beside you.

"Former President Soot," Quackity grinned, but instead of watching Wilbur's reaction, he looked back at you, raising a single, almost challenging eyebrow. Wilbur, at the very least, ignores the comment.

"You conspiring against me?" He asks, mostly directed at you, and while Quackity tries to snort and play it off, you can feel Wilbur's hand slide down the length of your back coming to rest at your hip, arm now around you, and you lean out of your moment with Quackity and into his touch.

Something in Quackity’s gaze turns cold, like he’s awash with memories long past, like he’s quietly mad at himself for losing himself in the moment with you, for forgetting any part of what you’d put him through.

"Not in a technical sense, but I also hadn't agreed to anything," you tell him, finally looking at him. As you settle into the space beside him, his arm moves to wrap around your shoulders, fingers resting gently on your upper arm; it's a clearly possessive gesture. Something in your heart bursts with warmth.

Looking to him, you see he's looking back at you, expression burning, question in his eyes; was I interrupting? Your grin turns sharper. If he had been interrupting, you're more than capable of telling him to fuck off, but just having him around reminds you that this is better than any alternative.

"Oh," Quackity's voice was alight with realisation, breaking the moment, and you turn to him as Wilbur leans into you a little more, "you would have made the worst VP," he practically crows, tone more mocking than it was light, "you wouldn't have made it a week."

"Don't be a prick," Wilbur scowled, "if they'd wanted the job they of course would have been more than welcome to it -"

"Good old fashioned nepotism," Quackity, sounding especially smug, did little to brighten Wilbur's mood, who was set to mumble something else snide before Quackity's eyes fixed on you, "wait, you didn't want to be VP? I was actually right, wasn't I? You knew exactly what would happen, yet somehow he doesn't?! Have you even seen yourselves? How does he not - Ow!" You kick him in the shins under the table. Hard.

"What the fuck are you on about?" Wilbur asks, as Quackity brings his leg up to rub at his sore shin. He's still fucking grinning. Asshole.

"Keep your dirty little mouth closed, Q," you warned.

"Don't worry, I know its not my dirty little mouth you're interested in- fucking ow, Y/N!"

"Good," Wilbur's voice in your ear is warm and pleased and he's leaning on you now, solid and tipsy with his forehead against the side of your head, "he's being a dick, you have terrible friends you know."

"You'd be the worst," you murmur back, voice syrupy and full of affection as Wilbur actually giggles, not even bothering to try and contradict you. Quackity, across from you and still rubbing his shins, mimes gagging.

"Go be Vice President, Quackity," Wilbur sneers.

"Don't be a salty bitch, Mister Former President," Quackity's lip curls.

"Kick him in the shins again, my love," the nickname alone, Wilbur in your ear, it has your heart in a vice-like grip, and Quackity must see it in your eyes how eager you are to follow through because he draws his knees up to his chest with gusto, flipping you both off. You laugh.

"Love you, Q," you tell him with sincerity, out of habit. When he tells you to shut up, there’s nothing joking in his tone in that moment, gaze avoiding yours as he’s shimmying from the booth.

"You're so generous with your words," Wilbur's voice is a gentle sigh, something wanting, something almost forlorn. For a moment your breath catches in your throat, but before you can respond, before you can even think of a response, he's already talking again, "what was he on about anyways? Talking shit about you like he has any right to, you would have made a great VP, I asked, you know I asked -" he sits up, as if worried that you think he thinks less of you, but his arm is still around you.

"Will your the only one who wanted me to be VP," which isn't a lie, but in your trademark fashion, it also wasn't the whole truth.

"They don't trust you with a nation," he sounded so bitter, and for a moment your heart stutters in your chest.

"They shouldn't," you tell him softly.

"Do you like Quackity more than me?"

"I think I probably like him more than you like him, yes."

"That wasn't what I was asking and you knew that," then his voice drops, something in his eyes as serious as you've ever seen, "do you like Dream more than me?"

"Wilbur…"

"I know- I know you're close, I know, I just… I need to know, you know?"

"Will…" and as you say his name, voice a hesitant murmur, he cups your face.

"You don't have to- to be worried if you do, I just need to know, for me, it's selfish but I need to know for me; I'd understand, of course of course I'd understand, you two have history-" and his gaze is boring into you, eyes wide and dark and you can't find the words for how much you want him to hold you close, hold you tight and never let go.

You hesitate. You drop his gaze.

"You do," he sounds heartbroken, his grip on you grows slack.

"I have never lied to you, Wilbur," your tone is nervous and hesitant, "but I'm afraid of answering, I'm afraid of what it means."

"You'd… you'd betray me for him?" Drunk and emotional, he sits back, but your hands are shaking.

"Wilbur, I'm afraid of answering because… you're wrong. It's you. Over Big Q, over Dream, over everyone… Wilbur I-" your voice caught in your throat, words too honest by half, so you swallow them, choose safer ones, "will choose you," you let out a shaky sigh, "you have my loyalty."

His eyes were wide as saucers, shiny and overwhelmed and emotional and then he's holding you so tight it's like a vice, face pressed into the crook of your neck.

"You've always had my vote," you tell him faintly, and he holds you tighter still.

"You," he whispers incredulously, not even your name, just, "its you." And your mind hears them said like a mirror, like he himself can't quite believe your honestly.

----

“They’re exiling you,” you hear Quackity before you see him; they’ve got you locked away, and probably for good reason, but also probably at his insistence.

“It’s better than the death penalty,” you say, huffing a laugh.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” his tone is gentle but reserved, and when you finally look up from your hands, elbows braced on your knees, you see him leaning on the bars of your cage. It’s too dark to read his expression, but you can tell from his voice, “just play nice with Schlatt and you can stay a citizen.”

“Play nice?” You asked with the faintest of smirks, “what does that entail exactly?”

This is where he grows quiet, crouching down and looking at the floor, mouth in a thin line.

“You’re good at playing nice, it shouldn’t be hard,” you can’t mistake the bitterness in his voice, and you give pause, “just say it was an act, your loyalty to that dictator, Wilbur.”

“Lie, so I can swap out one perceived dictator for another?” You asked softly.

“Helping run a campaign for the former president only to admit that you don’t actually give a shit, and stay loyal to the man who won by forming a coalition with the two losing parties, that sounds exactly like something you’d do,” he pointed out, and there’s something in his voice you can’t identify, something akin to faint desperation, though you can’t quite understand why. But still, something catches in your throat.

“Isn’t it funnier to stay loyal to the former president who lost after the two losing parties formed a secret coalition? To the point of exile?”

“Can’t you just play nice? Can’t you just lie?”

“You wanna keep me around that bad?” You asked, faintly teasing edge to your words, but as soon as he stands, as soon as he speaks, you can hear him growing defensive.

“I’m the Vice President trying to offer an olive branch to a potentially skilled ally,” he sniped, “don’t get it twisted.”

“I’m not going to lie to try and play nice with the dictator who stole the nation from the person I’m loyal to,” you tell him, blunt. Quackity is quiet for a very long moment.

“Dream ‘ll be heartbroken,” his voice is suddenly strangely rough, “someone’s knocked him out as top fuckin’ dog in your little, black heart -”

“Q,” it’s finally clicked, and you don’t know what else to say.

----

“I want you to know what I’m capable of,” you say softly, looking up at the stars. Then, slowly, you look at Wilbur, who’s regarding you with interest, “everyone ends up afraid of me,” you tell him, “and it might be self sabotage, but I want you to fear me too. I’m not used to love, I’m not used to understanding.”

“More honest than usual tonight,” he muses with a gentle smile.

“If I’m not feared I feel like I’m being underestimated.”

“It sounds like self sabotage.”

“I feel violent today,” then, looking up at the stars you take a deep breath, “I love you. I don’t think I’ve said that before; I love you, Wilbur.”

“You love me and you want me to fear you,” he says slowly. His gaze follows the tense set of your shoulders, “not used to loving someone?” You shake your head.

“I want to cut off your head, just so you know I could,” you tell him, hands behind your back, gaze skyward, “I think I want to fuck you, but I’m not sure, I’m really not used to loving someone, not genuinely. I don’t think I know how to love you in a way that makes sense.”

Finally, you turn to him, expression neutral, while inside you were alight with nerves. He’s watching you, dark eyes thoughtful. You swallow hard.

“I’m trying to push you away,” you tell him without hesitation, “because I’ve given you too much power over me, and I-” you voice catches, your façade cracking, and finally you drop your gaze, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m like this.”

Even your honesty was it’s own kind of dishonest mask, and there was nothing more fear inducing than genuinely letting it slip. Your image is a house of cards and you keep handing Wilbur fucking fans.

“You know at some point I am just going to leave; I don’t want to, but if you keep pushing -” he pauses, as if expecting a rebuttal, but your mouth remains firmly closed, which causes him to frown, “- I’m going to end up leaving. Do you want me to go? I’m just going to ask, because you keep pushing, you keep doing this, I’d rather you were just honest with me.”

“I’m always honest with you.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I don’t want you to stay around me out of some sort of moral obligation,” you tell him.

“That’s not an answer.”

“And I can’t answer because you can’t guarantee you won’t end up fucking fearing me like everyone else! I can’t answer because I am not going to be responsible for someone else’s feelings; if you stop caring about me I don’t want you to feel like you should still be around me, and just go on to resent me!”

Squeezing your eyes closed, face scrunched up, you force the words through your lips, “I would give you the fucking world, Wilbur, but I don’t expect- I don’t want to expect anything in return,” your jaw clenches for a moment, but you relax your face, eyes still closed, “obsession,” you sigh gently, “is safer if I am sure it is not reciprocated. Especially obsession like this...”

“Like this?”

“The things I obsess over... they’re just that; things. And I want to keep them safe, but I don’t... I don’t actually love them like I love you,” your lip curls, and you look at the ground, slowly sinking into a squat as you contemplate, “it’s fucking obscene,” you spit, as if disgusted at yourself. “Love makes me feel fucking filthy; it’s always funnier when I’m the object of desire.”

“You’re still trying to push me away!”

“And yet you’re still here, so who’s the real idiot!?” You snapped, lip curled in a sneer as you shot him a venomous look; the shock of it all was plain as day on his face, but you don’t let the faint guilt you feel show on your face as you look at your hands.

“I love you,” he says faintly, still sounding surprised, like he can’t quite realise what he’s saying, “and I’m just tired to trying to fight you on that, I don’t know how to prove that what I say to you is the truth; you don’t have a patent on honesty, and I just don’t know what to do to get you to believe me.” And then, coming back to himself, anger returning, “it’s not filthy to be in love!”

“It is when it’s obsession,” your answer comes out more like a growl.

“Y/N, my drug empire turned into a nation, I think more people should be obsessed with me,” he says with surprising levity. Something protective, something jealous flares up at that suggestion, but you keep your reaction to yourself, looking up at him as something close to hope flares bright in your chest. “You act like you’re the only one here, like you’re the only one allowed to worry about me, like you’re the only one willing to- to die. You killed the King for me, you have Dream’s respect, if I was going to be afraid of you it would have settled in by now,” then, “the only reason I haven’t killed Eret for what he did to you is because you got there first yourself. Do you believe me when I tell you that I love you?”

The question hangs in the air between you both; you think you can almost see it there, catching starlight. You look at your hands instead.

“I believe there’s something wrong with the type of people who fall in love with me,” you admit, barely louder than a whisper, “and part of me believes you’re better than that.”

“Listen to yourself,” he gives an exasperated chuckle, “there’s something wrong with you.”

“I know that,” you say almost immediately. Silence lapses out between you, and finally Wilbur sighs, stepping in close and wrapping his arms around you.

“I think it might be why I love you.”

There’s never been a more dangerous feeling in your chest than in this moment, in his arms. You want to tell him you’d kill for him, you’d die for him, but it’s more than that, more than you could explain or do justice with words alone, so you hug him back, and never want this moment to end.

“There’s something wrong with you, too.”

----

He is silent; cold and unmoving and your hands start to shake.

"You did what you had to," your tone is flat, no distress, nothing, just flat. Phil is quiet. Neither of you move. You can hear your heart beat in your ears. "We should move his body."

"Yeah…" and then, softer, "actually, no, it won't be around for long… but we can set up a gravestone."

"What do you mean?"

"Bodies here don't stay, they move on-" and as Phil speaks, as you step towards the body on the ground, hand outstretched, it begins to fade to ash, to dust. Only his things were left behind. Your fingers curl into a fist and you lower your hand, "are you okay?" His voice has the barest shake, like he still can't believe what just happened.

"It was never meant to be," you tell him instead of answering truthfully, forcing yourself to smile as you finally look up to the father of your best friend, your- "are you okay, Phil? I'm sorry you had to do that, I'm sorry-"

"You're okay." He sounded deeply concerned by what he'd perceived to be your response. Looking out from the room to the crater, you see Withers flying overhead, and hear shouting and confusion.

"I should go," you say softly, "I'm the only one left who could take the fall for that," you muse, jaw tightening for a moment, though noone can see your expression. When you move past Phil, you pause, and tell him quietly, reassuringly, that he did what had to be done, and that you were sorry.

"Was he just a means to an end for you, just another joke? You'd gotten better, you'd gotten kinder-" his voice finally betrayed his distress; his son was dead by his own hand and you'd just watched, "what happened?"

It takes you a long time to formulate your response, terrified of letting yourself be vulnerable; you'd been the villain too many times to not expect an opportunist to use your vulnerability against you. Phil may not be that opportunist, but you know better than anyone what dangers may lurk behind a kind face and sincere veneer.

"Whatever I may have felt is no longer relevant, to you, me, or anyone; he's gone, as is L'manburg."

"Did you even care about him?" Phil asks gently, "don't talk your way around me, please, Y/N." Your breath catches for a moment; he's giving you an imploring look, holding your wrist carefully; outside, someone, possibly Tommy, is hollering both yours and Wilbur's names with fury.

"Care is a very weak word for how I may have felt," you tell him softly, holding his gaze. Your tone is flat, but you see it in his eyes when he catches your meaning, how you can't bring yourself to admit out loud that you loved Wilbur, "not that it matters now… not that anyone would believe you if you told them." You said, tone dismissive. Phil lets you go.

----

"Oh hello, Quackity!" You hear Ghostbur cheerfully greeting someone as he peers out the window, leaning far enough out on the sill, pushed up on his toes, that you're half worried he'll fall. You hear violently loud shushing outside your house and your blood runs cold. Why was he trying to sneak up on your house?

You’re intrigued by it all, and don’t try and put up a fight.

"I suppose the kangaroo court is now in session," you mused, peering up at the precarious contraption above you, "can you at least tell me why you're dropping an anvil on my head?"

"Because you're a threat to society," Quackity grumbles, though he can't bring himself to look at you.

"Because you drove my father to madness, helped him blow up half the land, then you killed him once he'd outlived his purpose," Fundy was unflinching as he levelled a glare at you.

“They didn’t kill me,” it’s Ghostbur’s voice that joins the foray, amid the shouting, while you’re hopping from one foot to the other, looking up at the anvil, the gentle reverb that accompanies his soft speech cuts through the din.

And suddenly the madness stops; all eyes on the Ghost.

“Don’t kill her over me, if that’s your reasoning;” he paused, nervous, “or just don’t kill them…” he trailed off.

“Don’t you get that they’ve already made up their mind?” Quackity’s rolling his eyes, standing by the lever that decides your fate, “if they wanted someone to release them, they could have convinced one of us by now-” and he looks to you, eyes dark and cold, and the moment you’d shared back at Wilbur’s grave surfaces in your mind ‘you’re getting better at hearing the truth’.

"Quackity-" you breathed, alight with intrigue at this development, unable to help yourself. There's an old, familiar flicker of misguided desire, for lack of a better word.

"Keep my fucking name out of your mouth," he muttered, only loud enough for you to hear, "and quit it with that tone." He can't look at you; you delicately wrap press your hands to the glass of your cage.

"Q, what tone, I don't-" but even you could hear the giddy notes that bleed through in your words.

"You're about to die; I'm about to kill you, but you're hear acting- talking like you did when you pretended to care about me-"

"I have cared about you from the moment I met you," you fired back defensively, "I have always cared about you, Quackity."

“God I really fuckin’ preferred it when you lied, then I didn’t have to try and figure out what the fuck you mean when you talk like that,” he snapped, before making his way from the podium, “I’m sick of them, someone else pull the lever.” He called out; he’s taking a stand, trying to block you out, keep your words out of his head. This was the Quackity you’d been so captivated by when you’d met him, the man who intrigued you, who you thought could challenge you, whose very nature excited you. Heart beating in your ears, you press your hands to the glass of the cage, looking out past him, to the others.

“I was not responsible for what happened to Wilbur,” you called, looking to Fundy, who you’re pleased to see looked conflicted, “what happened to L’Manberg wasn’t my fault- I fought with you. I fought with you all,” there’s the faintest notes of desperation in your voice. You had already made peace with your fate, now you were simply intrigued as to whose hands your blood would be on.

“Fine, Fundy if you’re conflicted because they didn’t kill your dad, you can stay out of it,” Quackity’s got his hands shoved in his pockets, but you can see the hard, tense line of his shoulders.

“It feels like our actual execution reasons... aren’t there anymore,” Tubbo points out, “and as a leader, I feel bad killing someone for being a nuisance, and not even a nuisance to me or anyone else.”

“This feels kinda personal,” Ranboo adds, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, “which is fine, but they don’t seem like a threat to the country.”

“Did you fucking forget she became Wilbur Soot’s right hand?!” Quackity demanded from them, stepping forward again, “ she may not have been responsible for pressing the button, but she had ample opportunity to stop him; hell, she had ample opportunity to not be a dick. How can we even believe what she says?!”

“People do some fucked up things for love,” Ranboo gives a simple shrug.

“And Y/N doesn’t lie,” Tubbo pointed out, looking to you. In this moment, time freezes; his words buzz in the back of your mind as you look to Quackity, trying to decipher how he’s reacting when you can’t see his face. Because he can’t give it away, can’t bring himself to admit the power you once had over him, the sliver of power you still have, can’t make himself look weak, and it’s killing him.

They’ve only known you to be honest, and for that you’re glad... but Quackity knew you before.

Perhaps your begging, your desperation, had worked too well.

----

“You gonna give the people a show?” Your heart is beating in your throat as you find yourself waiting in your cell, hands restrained behind your back as Dream himself paces in irate silence outside your cell.

“I gave you the option to come back, to join me to not go down this road,” he’s seething, hands balling into white-knuckled fists and unballing again and again, “I don’t understand you, I don’t fucking understand you, Y/N,” and he stops, pulls off his mask to run his hand through his hair in irritation. Then he looks to you, and you’re looking back, expression thoughtful, or at least, you hopes it comes across as thoughtful, rather than betraying the way you’re heart is hammering against your ribs.

“It’s not your fault it’s more amusing to be on the side of revolution,” you told him, lips quirking into the faintest smile, “they called it L’manberg,” your smile widens, unable to help your own laugh, and his distress becomes more evident. Then, smile slowly fading, you meet Dream’s gaze, giving a slight frown.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you tell him seriously, “you could have picked anyone else to do this, you didn’t have to volunteer.”

“If I had picked anyone else,” he swallows hard, looking at the ground and taking a deep breath, “you would have talked your way out, and it would have made them look weak, but there would be a target still on your head and you’d be hunted.”

“And you?”

“You’ve never done that thing you do with me, talk circles, trying to get me on your side -”

“You’re already on my side,” you say gently, but his expression turns pained.

“They know - everyone knows I’m the only person on the side of Pogtopia you haven’t attempted to talk your way around, but I’m also the only person who could convince you to go into exile, to not fucking let yourself be killed, and have the others not hunt you furiously when they find out.”

“Dream the Great and Powerful,” you smile, tone fond and frankly adoring, he winces again.

“You’re a pain,” he mutters, mostly to himself, before he lowers himself into a squat, as if to centre himself, gaze lifting to you finally, “you can go; join Tommy in exile, you don’t have to… to… you don’t have to die, dude.”

“If I die, in their eyes I’ve atoned for my crimes,” you try to sit back, settling in a little against the wall, “you and Tommy will never see eye to eye, but like you said, that thing I do, the way I talk my way around people, that has affected more than just you,” you took a deep breath, “the only person I really respected apart from you died, Dream, the only person who truly vouched for me apart from you is dead, Dream.” Your smile grows tight, and suddenly you can’t look him in the eyes; respect, it was so much more than that. Your heart grows warm at his memory, the mere thought of his smile, before growing cold and sad as he demanded that Phil kill him. It must show on your face.

“Wilbur protected you,” Dream said, tone knowing, but you couldn’t help but bark a laugh at that.

“Wilbur was my limiter,” you corrected, and Dream’s eyebrows rose, momentarily broken from his distress, “I respected him, I… anyways, so if he asked me not to fuck with one of our allies, I wouldn’t - except to give you Tommy’s discs,” you clarified, and for the barest moment, Dream’s lips twitched into something almost resembling a smile.

“You’re kind of awful,” he says gently, “you’d fuck with your allies? Just change sides, don’t mess with the people who trust you and expect them to keep trusting you as such.”

“My ally was Wilbur, the rest of them were on his side,” you explained, “I’m on my own side before anyone else's,” you reminded, and he nodded seriously, looking to the floor, bouncing on his toes.

----

"I- I mean I'm not sorry," Quackity muses. You don't look up, but you hear him sit on the other side of Wilbur's Tombstone.

"I don't know why you would be; you're not responsible for what happened to me."

“Oh,” Quackity frowns, giving pause, “no, I meant about him,” and he slaps the side of the tombstone with one hand.

“Not your fault either,” you shrugged.

"He did it to himself," which is right, but not in the way Quackity means it. He thinks Wilbur blew up. He doesn't know what was asked of Phil. You're quiet, and finally Quackity speaks; "did you actually love him or was it another one of your stunts?"

"Love is a strong word," you respond, tone devoid of inflection. He can't hear how badly you want to confirm, you want to holler how fucking wide the sky has gotten in Wilbur's absence.

"Can you just teach me how to not fucking care? Because how is it so easy for you? How do you wake up and decide you're going to ruin lives and stand by while the world goes up in flames?"

“I don’t do it on purpose.”

“It’s just a side effect of who you are as a person,” he says derisively.

"You find what you love and let it kill you," you tell him, voice quiet.

"You find who you love and let them kill you," he says, knowingly, "you followed Eret into the control room because of Wilbur," he said knowingly, "and we all saw who gave you that mark on your neck," he laughs humourlessly. "But you can't even entertain the idea that I could hurt you, can you?" He asks.

"Find who you love and let them kill you."

"What then?"

"Hope your love for them dies too; severing attachments takes great personal sacrifice."

"You sound like Dream."

"I've known him the longest, you know?"

"He's your best friend, I remember," he tells you derisively, "so did your love die?"

"My attachment to him is situational at best."

“But does it die?” He asked quietly, “you severed the attachment, but does the love die?” His tone is hollow, and you swallowed hard.

“You’re getting better at hearing the truth.” You give a humourless laugh, and he responds with a non-committal hum

“I liked you better when you lied," he says quietly.

"I almost got you killed," you tell him flatly, and he huffs a faint laugh.

"Correction, I almost died for you."

"What's the difference?"

"Intention," you can hear his faint smile, "find what you love and let it kill you, after all." Then, quieter, "you should finish the job."

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Give me that kind of power over you," you tell him flatly.

"You should finish what you started," he scoffs, the mood shifting more and more with each word, "you're the one who wanted me to die for you; if you're learning to be all honourable and noble and shit, you should learn to take accountability -" he huffed in frustration, "can I be perfectly fucking honest with you for a moment?"

"I'd appreciate it," you tell him. There's a few moments of silence that follow, and finally you shift, peering at him over your shoulder to where he's leaning against the headstone, legs kicked out in front of him. He looks at you, eyes dark and tired.

"I'm so tired of giving a shit about you."

You know there's something selfish in how you miss seeing his smile in this moment. But then again, did you miss his smile, or did you miss what it represented; his love and loyalty.

----

"You're getting rained on," Ghostbur said quietly, looking at you with his wide, cloudy eyes as you held an umbrella open and aloft above him.

"I'll live," you said pointedly, and at Ghostbur's smile became faintly strained, but he accept the umbrella. You, however, didn't move, sitting beside him on the log that you'd found him on.

"What are you doing out here?" He asked, shuffling a little closer, if only to try and shield you too with the little umbrella. Instead of looking to him, you look at the grey, drizzling clouds looming overhead.

"I saw it was clouding over," you told him, "and no-one I spoke to had seen you for a while..." you trailed off, shrugging, as if that was enough.

"You've always been a lovely friend, I remember that, I remember..." but his own voice trails off, dies in his throat; you look at him with interest, and after a beat he looks back at you, "I remember the good times, the happy times, and you, in the beginning you were a wonderful friend, but I don't... they say I blew up a nation, you know, and I don't remember that, but I don't remember a lot leading up to that either. It -" he hesitates before backtracking, choosing his words carefully, "did something bad happen between us?"

Your understanding of the word, of the time you spent with Wilbur, it was all shattering in your mind at once. His eyes were wide and full of concern when you look back at him, and he reaches out gently, wiping away a tear you hadn't realised had fallen; you hear the hiss of the water against his thumb and move out of his touch.

"Sorry," he says softly, genuine apology in his voice, "was it because of what I did to L'Manberg?" He asks gently. Around you, the rain was getting heavier.

"I thought we were happy," it came out barely louder than a whisper, and you quickly wiped your eyes, despite the rain now coming down hard enough to hide your tears, "I should have... I know I should have said something, but I thought we both just knew, you know? I should have..." and you turn, bottom lip trembling, "I'm sorry, Ghostbur, I know you're not him, you keep saying that, but I never got to tell Alive-You that I... you know," you swallowed hard, "that I love him. You? Him? I never actually got to tell him properly, in a way that makes sense. But I did. I do. And I thought... Fuck," the word comes out in a harsh breath, and you find yourself scowling and looking away, "probably for the best that I didn't say anything if he - you, I guess - weren't - wasn't? - happy."

"I know he cared about you, as much as I can remember, he never stopped caring," Ghostbur's voice is quiet, and finally, you look at him. His face is scrunched up with concentration, but there's small trails of steam -

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry," you're genuinely apologetic, and he looks shocked when you look up, as if he hadn't even noticed.

"Just because I don't remember doesn't mean... well a lot of things were not good memories towards the end, but that's because of everything going on up here," he was wiping at his eyes quickly to dispel the tears before he taps his temple with two fingers, "and if what you're saying is true, he wasn't unhappy because of you, he was just unhappy, and it... there are months missing for me, and that's no-one's fault."

Oh... well you supposed you could understand that, still, it was difficult to process this whole conversation and all it's implications.

"How is this the most amusing option, if you don't mind me asking?" He suddenly speaks up, and you look up with confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"You're upset, I don't think I've ever seen you upset -"

"Well it probably wouldn't be a good memory if you had," you reminded, to which he conceded.

"But I remember clear as day when we met, and you told me and Tommy that you simply did whatever amused you the most, this... this doesn't seem particularly amusing."

"I don't operate like that anymore," you told him frankly, staring at your hands.

"Oh," he muttered softly, before asking, voice tentatively, "why did you think to come find me?"

You take a moment to deliberate, to consider your own reasoning and motivations, still looking at your hands, fingers twisting and curling and locking into inconsistent shapes.

"You used to do this near the end," you said softly, "used to run off and sit near the button and think and think and think but never do anything," you paused, "and I never cared about the land like I cared about you, so I was all for blowing it all up, but it... I could see it was doing something to you. The election, everything that was happening, it did something to you; you were spiralling, and I knew if I didn't know where you were, you were by the button. Awful and fucking beautiful, and dude, I'm- I'm so sorry I didn't tell you but, Christ, I was so in love with you, Wilb-" looking sharply at him, your voice died in your throat, and you corrected yourself, "him. Not... you're different. Right. Ghostbur." He blinked at you, a little taken aback by the sudden passion of your outburst, of your explanation. You cleared your throat. "No-one else had the balls to acknowledge that the land no longer functioned by the ideals it was built for, and I loved your passion; I could listen to you talk down there for hours. Sometimes I did. It was like a prison and a safe space all at once, and I don't know if it made things better or worse, but when he couldn't stand to see what the world had become, we'd sit in that room with the button and talk."

Finally, you looked at him, seeing him and not the man he used to be.

"And today I couldn't find you, and I knew it was going to rain, and... I know rain hurts you. There's no button, but you don't spend time in town anymore, so I looked for Friend." You looked at the little, blue sheep who'd been happily munching on some grass during your conversation. Then a faint, cold pressure in your hands, and you look down to see Ghostbur pressing a vial of a thick, blue liquid into your hands.

"Have some blue," he said softly, "it'll make you feel better." And then, much softer, he thanks you for finding him, he takes your free hand and laces your fingers with his, "thank you for talking to me."

"Thank you for talking to me." You mumble, giving his hand a squeeze, feeling a touch guilty for unloading all of this on him. No-one else would listen, or if they would, they didn't care; people had gone from not trusting you because you refused to be completely loyal to any thing but yourself, now they hated you for staying loyal to what they deemed to be the wrong thing. Allies were few and far between, and Ghostbur may see himself as separate to Wilbur, but you weren't going to stop yourself from caring about him too.

----

"You're in here," Tommy's voice is quiet where he's thumbing through a notebook you half recognise. Making a noise of interest, you look a little closer at the notebook - What I Remember. Ghostbur's notes, you feel yourself growing tongue tied.

"I don't- you shouldn't be reading that."

"You suddenly decided to grow a conscience?"

"Shut up," your lip curled, "and I'm not in it."

"Who else would be the Favourite Jester?" He asked, turning the book around, but you covered your eyes.

"Don't be a sook," he sneered.

"Does Ghostbur know you have it?" You asked, and he grew a little antsy at that, to which you simply growled at him to give it back. But still, you catch a glimpse of it;

“Its you.” - in the notebook, in Ghostbur's neat scrawl - you chose me when no-one else did.

----

"I think Tommy trusts me," you told Dream, frowning at your brewing stand. Dream, for his part, finds the humour in your statement where he's sitting at your table, leaning back, his feet on the table.

"Tommy, I've changed!" Your tone shifts to a mocking imitation of your earlier conversation with the boy, "death has changed me!" And you dropped the act with a snort, "getting a scar doesn't make me a different person," you rolled your eyes. Dream clears his throat.

"Sorry about that, again," he muttered.

"No hard feelings, dude, obviously," you grinned over your shoulder.

"So you- you're okay with my plan; the two of you fought side by side for your nation -"

"I'll be by your side until -"

"Until something better comes along," Dream nods in resignation.

----

“I’m sorr- Ghostbur I’m so sorry,” you sniffled, angrily rubbing at your eyes, frustrated that he had even seen you get so emotional, “I’m not- you shouldn’t have seen that, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, crying’s normal,” he said, voice a gentle echo of the one you loved, “do you want to talk about it?”

“Not with you, Ghostbur,” though you’re shooting for light, it doesn’t land, and instead, he looks to the floor, apologising. You wipe the tears that refuse to stop spilling from your eyes.

“You still miss him so much it moves you to tears?”

“You caught me in a moment of weakness.”

“I didn’t think you were capable of those,” he says with a faint laugh, and you look at him, see his quietly fond smile, and for a moment you see the memory of Wilbur himself, and your expression crumples. Immediately as you bury your face in your hands, you feel him by your side, apologising, trying to lay a comforting hand on your arm. The touch is cold but familiar, and you reach out instinctively and grab his hand.

“Ghostbur, my life is a fucking joke and I’m not laughing anym-” he kisses you quick when he gets the chance, his mouth on yours so close to being familiar, but not quite. It knocks the wind from you, and for a moment you let yourself fall into it, grabbing his sweater and pulling him closer.

“Does that help?” He asks a little breathless when you part, and you can’t look him in the eyes, only at your shaking hands balled up in his perfect, yellow sweater.

“You’re not him,” your voice is a shaky whisper.

“I...” his words get caught in his throat, “I think right now I’m close enough. Does this,” and he holds your face with one hand like it’s porcelain, like he’s afraid you’re about to shatter, “does this help?”

“Why?” You can feel how weak you are in this moment, unable to let him go, knowing the truth of the whole situation.

“I don’t like seeing you sad.”

“It’s not your job to make me happy, give me time and I’ll be alright,” but you don’t let him go, then, “tell me you don’t love me, please.”

“It seems dangerous to even entertain the idea; I’m not Wilbur,” he says gently, and finally you look at him, meeting his gaze, leaning into his touch.

“Do you even want any of this?” Your voice is barely a whisper, “me, or anything like this moment?” Ghostbur visibly hesitated.

“I don’t want you to be sad,” he said with a surprising firmness, “I want to do whatever makes you happy,” then, his voice goes quiet, “even now, I forget sad things, people tell me sad things and the conversation ends, and I just... lose whatever they said,” he gives a faint smile, “but even in time that aren’t... aren’t the happiest, I haven’t forgotten you; something about being around you makes me happy, happy enough to remember you. All I want is for you to be happy too.”

“Did you lie to me?” Your voice is barely more than a whisper, and you can’t look him in the eyes, so you watch his lips twist into something thin and unhappy, before stumbling over his words, trying to deny, “did you lie about not remembering me? About not remembering... not remembering how close we were?”

“I thought...” his expression reads apology, his hands coming to cover yours where you can’t bring yourself to let him go, still holding him close by his sweater, “it would be easier for you to let go, to move on, if you didn’t know.”

“But you don’t care about me like he did.”

“I care about you,” his eyes go wide and concerned, “but I’m not him. You understood him better than anyone and- and- and- he needed you- uh, your company,” he correct, faint blush rising on his cheeks at his own implicit wording, “more than anything else. You’re the one who stayed.”

You swallowed hard, huffing a humourless laugh.

“And he’s the one who got away.”

“Y/N...”

“This feels...” you look to your hands still holding him close, then to his mouth, then his eyes, taking a shakey breath, “self destructive, for us both,” and his expression reads shock, reads apology, but in that instance you cave to your need for contact, leaning into him, to find what comfort you could in him. A shiver runs down your spine as you make a snap decision, “I know you’re not him, but I still love you,” you lie; he’s not the one you promised to always be honest with, but for now he’s as close as you’ve got, and you can’t let him go, “please don’t go.”

----

It’s been a long time, relatively since you’d seen Q when you run into him. You’re not looking for him, you’re merely roaming on an overcast day, but he looks like he’s on a mission. He seems surprised to see you, right before his expression turns dark.

“Figures I’d run into you out here sooner or later,” his words genuinely confuse you, which he seems to pick up on, because at least for a moment, he seems confused himself, before clarifying, “Dream’s in prison.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t ‘oh’ me.” His audible irritation makes your own smile grow just a touch wider, “you know you should be there too.”

“Cruel, Q, they’ve already killed me for my crimes once,” you practically sing, amused smile stretched from ear to ear, “haven’t I suffered enough?” His smile was thin and mean.

“Not even close.”

“You make me miss being a bad person,” you say with a hint of self deprecation.

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Quackity snorted, “you’re still terrible.”

“I like you standing up for yourself; self confidence is a good look on you.”

“You like anyone who actually challenges you,” he rolled his eyes, “which makes me feel fucking stupid for ever caring about you like I did. You don’t give a shit about simps, I get it now.”

“You’re better than that,” you tell him, which is a metaphorical slippery-slope, a half truth, since you only half-believe it, but your tone is low, is sincere, and he blinks quickly, surprised.

“I- yeah, I know,” he scowls, but turns away.

“Good, it’s good you know your worth,” you tell him seriously, “you have...” and you huff a faint laugh, tone awed and gentle, “so much potential, Q.” And for the barest moment, his expression softens. Carefully, he steps up to you.

“This is how it started last time,” his tone is low as you feel the feather-light way his fingertips ghost up your arm. He’s in your space, gaze locked with yours, searching for something in you that you can’t begin to guess at, right before he grabs your chin hard enough that it hurts, “you try and build me up so you can tear me down - I’m not doing this again.”

God damn it, you can feel your heart beat against your ribs at the sight of the fury in his eyes.

“Q-” you try, soft and a little helpless. For a moment, both his grip and his gaze softens, and you know that look, that faint gentleness, from a time long passed, “I never spoke poorly of you, you just lost faith in me.”

The look in his eyes before he storms off gives him away; he hates that in a twisted way, it’s still the truth.

----

“I’ve always appreciated your honesty,” Ghostbur muses; night is falling over the snowy biome you’d decided to call home, the house Dream had built for himself that sat abandoned since he was taken prisoner. Ghostbur is sitting on a bench, looking around, ankles crossed wearing a sunny smile.

“It’s the only thing I’m consistent about,” gave a wry smile, not looking up from where you were crouched in front of you brewing stand; everything started because of these brewing stands, just look how far you’ve come. You try not to dwell on that.

“Consistently inconsistent,” his tone was bright and fond, but then he hums, “you’re consistent in a lot of ways; you’re loyal -” he points out, but you’re so quick to respond it doesn’t even register at first.

“Only because I love you,” then, silence, and you scrunch up your whole face with regret, “him, Wilbur,” you sigh deeply, “don’t get me wrong, Ghostbur, I care about you, probably too much by my standards, but...” and you trail off, a touch apologetic.

“Everyone keeps telling me that I did, or well, he did, all these terrible things; I just... I just want to know why.”

“Why what? Why he did what he did?”

“Why you still loved him when he did all those things,” Ghostbur clarified. You freeze.

“You want me to be honest?” Your voice is soft, and when you look over, you see he’s drawn his legs up to sit cross-legged on the counter, tearing apart a loaf of bread for something to do with his hands.

“You’re always honest,” his tone is earnest, but he can’t look at you, before you can speak, however, he goes on, tone softer, “I remember bits and pieces, more and more as time goes on. More of you is always coming back; more of us, and I thought not remembering would be the most painful part about being around you, making you sad because I can’t remember what happened to make you feel so close to me before... before I died, but I think remembering’s worse,” he looked up, “because I’m not him. Like I’m borrowing someone else’s memories even though they’re mine, because I don’t think like he did; I don’t think I understood you the way he does. I don’t...”

“Everyone’s so quick to tell me what terrible things I’ve done - my son, Fundy, I spoke to him, he’s- he’s- he’s not happy with me, you know? Nor is Tommy, I mean most people just need me to know how awful I was, but you... you speak his name with love and honey on your lips and I don’t know how or why, you make all the terrible things sound like miracles and I don’t know why.”

Slowly, you get to your feet, stretching a little, as your words begin to fall from you and you make your way over to Ghostbur, his pale form golden in the candlelight.

“I don’t know how to put it, but I don’t... I never feel quite real, not - for lack of a better word, given the nature of everyone here - human enough, and I look around and I see Tommy and Tubbo and George and Puffy and -” you rest your hands on his knees, gently, as you watch his hands tearing apart the loaf of bread, “and they’re all effortlessly people, they’re good, they’ve got dirt beneath their nails and a sparkle in their eyes, and I tried being good and noble and honest, and the only part I liked was being honest but being too honest somehow made me the villain; no-one understood. Dream came the closest, he felt like another amalgamation of interactions pretending to be human, but he knew his power and his place and his role, and he didn’t understand that I had no interest in playing the same part over and over again; consistently inconsistent, apart from my honesty and my loyalty. He liked my honesty and loyalty, so he did his best to accept the rest of me that came with it.”

Looking him in the eyes, finally, you could see it dawning on Ghostbur. Your fingers tapped a gentle, inconsistent rhythm on his knees.

“But Wilbur... you - he - he... he...”

“He loved you,” Ghostbur’s voice was gentle, but after all this time, the confirmation from his returning memories, it was enough for your voice to catch in your throat. Then, he nodded again like it was a confirmation, “he loved you.”

“He loved me,” you said, voice barely more than a whisper, “not despite who I was, but because of it, loved all of me, at least, that’s what it felt like... I’d never felt that before, and I... I never wanted to let it go,” he’s putting the bread to the side, slowly sliding off of the counter and into your space, “he was staying true to himself, and they hated him for it, but I never could, and I never will.” You murmur, as he wraps his arms around you, holding you tightly in the dimly lit room.

“It’s you,” you whispered against the fabric of his sweater, echoing your words from what feels like a lifetime ago, “above everyone else, I choose you. You have my loyalty.”

A moment of silence; he swallows hard, presses his face into the crook of your neck.

“It’s you,” he whispers back, just as Wilbur had those months ago; at the time you though they were an incredulous echo of your own thoughts, but now you know it’s an admission, a return of affection, a declaration; you have my loyalty, he’d been trying to tell you.

You can’t tell Ghostbur you love him, you can’t tell him you love him, you cannot tell him you love him, no matter how much you want to. He’s not Wilbur. He’s not the Wilbur you fell in love with.

You tell him anyways. Whisper it like it’s a secret.

“I love you. I’m sorry.”

His answer comes whispered with a kiss at your temple, a small token of comfort.

“I know.”

----

The world had fallen still in a way you had only felt before natural disasters. There was quiet. There was peace. Something was wrong. Your conversation with Dream played on repeat in your mind, over and over and over.

"You will owe me a life." You can't forget the gravitas with which he'd said it, eyes dark and eerie as he sat cross-legged on the floor of his prison; you will owe me a life.

The phrasing had caught you off guard, because what in the hell did that even mean? It could mean anything, hell he could claim your first child if he wanted to, but you'd been desperate enough to not question, to just accept.

"You really do love him, don't you?" He'd said softly as you'd sat opposite him, when he'd jokingly asked if you'd take his place in the prison in exchange for Wilbur back.

"Of course," had been your serious answer to both questions. Dream had laughed, equal parts fond and weary, his gaze drifting up to the impossibly high ceiling.

"Its a nice thought, though I doubt Sam would simply let you switch with me," he mused, adding, "you know Ghostbur won't be around anymore."

"But Wilbur will be alive," you insisted, and finally he looks at you.

"You trust me," its not a question.

"I've always trusted you," its not a lie. Dream blinks at you, surprised by your honesty. He should be, somehow everyone overlooks your defining trait being brutal honestly. Moments like this remind you why you need Wilbur back so desperately; he understood you in a way no-one else did, not even Dream.

"I killed you," he says, almost to himself, like he's just remembered that fact.

"I know," you nodded, "and I trusted you then, and I trust you now. Everything happens-"

"Don't say for a reason," Dream gritted his teeth with irritation at the phrase, but you gave a faint smile.

"No, I was just going to say that everything happens. We live, we die," you shrugged.

"Then why are you asking me to bring him back?"

"I didn't realise your book of necromancy was purely for decoration," there's a slight edge to your words, lip curling in knee-jerk defensiveness. Dream looked back at you suddenly, eyebrows rising at your tone.

"Is that why you trust me?" There's something betrayed in his voice, and he sits back, away from you, something dangerous in his eyes.

"That's..." you tried to find a way to talk your way out of the situation, but your inability to lie was more of a hindrance now than anything else, "so reductive," you settle on. But you're fidgeting.

"Then complicate it for me," he's practically ordering, and if he weren't the only way to bring back Wilbur, you wouldn't be complying so easily. Then, like a bolt of lighting it hits you; you look up, gaze unwaivering as you meet his.

"Kill me."

"What?"

"Kill me. Don't bring me back," you yourself are almost ordering, tone leaving little room for argument.

"What the fuck; why?" He hissed in confusion, and you knew, in that instance, that your point would be clear.

"Why not?" Something amused and sinister curled at the edge of your lips as you regained the upper hand in the conversation, "if you'd prefer, I could kill myself; walk straight into the lava until my lives run out," and with that, you carefully get to your feet as he frowns at you. Sauntering over to the flowing, molten walls, you stick your hands in your pockets, looking pensively at the liquid rock.

"Wouldn't it kill two birds with one stone? If I'm dead, maybe I'll find my way back to Will, and you won't have to revive him. That's what the kids call a win-win, right? I won't ask you for anything, but, you know, I won't owe you anything either."

When you look to him, you get to watch in real time as it dawns on him. The way his face contorts with bitter anger makes your own, imposing, gloating stance soften, even as he looks away, refusing to look at you.

"I don't..." you sighed deeply, "I don't trust you because I know you can revive me, I trust you because you're a pragmatist, Dream, and as long as I'm useful to you, well..." you trail off, coming back to him.

"I don't understand you," he said, finally, voice terse, "you've fucking commodified your existence and sold your allegiance to the highest bidder; how do you stand it? I get it, you think I'm controlling, fucking news flash, so was Wilbur, so was fucking Techno, so is everyone. We're a bunch of cruel, self-canalising, power-hungry assholes masquerading as heroes and villains trying to make ourselves feel better for the atrocities we commit."

"And what currency am I selling myself for?" You snort, despite his serious tone; when he looks at you, as if he can't believe you're laughing at his rant, you tip your head and regard him thoughtfully, "while I appreciate that that seemed to have been weighing on you for a while, I'd advise you to not project your shit onto me; have I ever cared about having power for myself?"

That's actually a good point, he seems to realise, and finally, his expression softens, and he gets to his feet.

"Do you care about anyone other than yourself?" Surprisingly, it's not judgemental, it's intrigued, like he has a sudden understand of you that makes everything else make sense. Your smile is so soft and unguarded as you gently cup his cheek with one hand, fondly rubbing your thumb across his cheek.

"You know, you might be my best friend," you told him instead of answering, "and I trust you." He takes a deep breath, expression going serious as you can almost see the cogs turning in his mind.

"Despite... fucking everything, and who you are as a person," he said with the faintest smile, "I actually trust you too," but he hesitates, the slightest crease forming above his brow, "but I don't think I can still say that if Wilbur comes back -"

"Dude -" you're surprised by Dream's honesty in turn, but you do respect it as he clarifies himself.

"He's the one you care about, the only one besides yourself, I know, I've seen it," he gives a faint smirk, "we're still friends, of course, there's no doubt about that, but if I asked you to kill someone that Wilbur would rather have alive, or if I asked you to, say, join me on an adventure with a low survival rate, if Wilbur asked, you'd choose him, wouldn't you? You'd do whatever it takes to make him happy."

"Dream... I -"

"Your loyalty is absolute, but selective; you put yourself first, then Wilbur, and maybe I'm overestimating my place in your life, but I think I may be below him, but above most others..."

"What are you saying? What do you want?" You asked carefully.

"I'll bring back Wilbur, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but I'll bring him back, but you'll owe me a life," and you can't even begin to properly process what he's saying, "not his," Dream clarifies, "I wouldn't do that to you, but in one way or another, you will owe me a life, and when I ask for it, however that may be, you need to uphold your end of the bargain, or I'll send him right back to where he is now."

I'll bring Wilbur back. I'll bring Wilbur back. I'll bring Wilbur back. That's the four words he'd said that you're fixating on, that're playing through your mind on repeat, and you practically crush Dream in a hug as you agree, breathlessly thanking him. He hugs you back, and you can feel his smile against your shoulder, laughing somewhat fondly at the notes of relief in your voice as you mutter that he's your favourite.

"For now," he snorts when you step back, and you give a sheepish smile, ducking your gaze.

"For now," you agree.

----

"Who let you- does Sam know you're in here?" Quackity's voice is dangerously quiet, a strange smile on his face, like having you here is a boon rather than a terrible mistake.

"Q, what the fuck?" You rubbed at your eyes, forcing the sleep from them. Dream is already scrambling as far as he can from the newcomer, anger and fear in his eyes. He tells Quackity to fuck off.

"What are you doing here? You planning an escape for my favourite little war criminal?" He paused, "have you moved on now that your favourite little war criminal is dead?" Everything about him seems sharp, seems cruel and threatening; something about it is thrilling, like a challenge, and you find yourself standing to your full height, refusing to drop his gaze.

“Big Q,” you take some small pride in the fact that your voice doesn’t shake, “you’re looking markedly more malicious today.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been coming here for a while, looking for one simple thing, and your buddy there really hasn’t exactly been helpful,” there’s a faintly manic gleam in his eye, but your blood is hissing and spitting in your veins, conflicted and delighted in equal measure -

“He was your friend you fucking asshole!” The words burst from you, disgusted as you wear a manic grin.

“I was your friend, you fucking piece of shit!” He hollers back, “I was more than your fr-” but his mouth snaps shut, expression one of seething rage, “don’t fucking talk like you still trust him, like you care about him;” the curl of Quackity’s lip is cruel, the look in his eyes cold as he shifts his grip on his sword; a humourless laugh escapes him, “except, of course it’s you who still cares; first Dream, then Wilbur, the only people you actually care about are just like you,” and there’s so much derision in his voice that it almost stings, almost, if he wasn’t right. How can he not see the way his cruel tone delight you? How can he not see the irony in his words in this very moment; “now fuck off, you’re in my way.” He sneers.

“I’m not letting you hurt him,” you refused to move, and his eyes widened, disbelieving laugh escaping him.

“Look at that! Did the wizard finally give you a fucking heart?”

“Look at that!” You mirror his tone, though your own is acidic, pushing, you’re pushing him now, the way you know best, “did you finally get over your pathetic feelings? You finally getting smart enough to see me as a real threat?” And you’re in his space, in his face, refusing to back down, waiting for the moment he snaps.

“I never cared about you, I cared about the fact that you paid me attention; note the difference,” he snarled; it’s a lie, you know it’s a lie, can remember the way he’d looked at you, how he’d almost died for you, and it’s fucking intoxicating.

“You’re so good at hearing the truth, but you’re fucking shit at obfuscating it,” you tell him with a cool confidence, “I hung the stars in your sky, Quackity,” his jaw clenched tightly at your change in tone, the look in your eye, “but tell me again about how it was all an act for you, say it in a way I’ll believe this time.” It’s designed to cut him, and you can see it in his eyes when it does. Fight back, damn it!

“Maybe I’ll give Dream the day off, kill you instead,” he tries, but you can tell his heart’s not in it.

“This isn’t fun for him like it is for you,” Dream pipes up, and Quackity shoots him a surprisingly confused look, while your look over your shoulder, faint disappointment in your eyes. Dream, however, exhausted and paranoid with Quackity in his cell, still has enough wherewithal to understand you better than almost anyone else.

“I wish you would,” you don’t look away from Quackity. Your voice is cold in the wake of Dream’s revelation, and when he looks back at you, Quackity looks... uncertain. A dangerous state to be in considering his opposition.

“You’re down to your last life, don’t fucking test me,” Quackity warned, but his heart’s not in it like before. As you approach him, he raises his weapon, but your confidence strides never falter, “Sam wouldn’t give a shit if I killed you, no-one would.”

“You would,” you tell him snidely, finding yourself growing sick of the sound of his half-baked cruelty.

“Are you just here to let what you love kill you?” He gives a mean, humourless smile.

“Bold to assume I love you, Q.”

“Well, seeing as the only bastard you ever knew how to love was so eager to off himself, I figured I might be all you have left to get back to him,” there’s faint triumph in his eyes when he can see his malicious words touched a nerve, but he wasn’t playing your game right, and you were tired of not having fun.

“It’s not my fucking fault you look for a home in everyone who’s halfway nice to you,” something in you snaps, and your tone is cold and unwaivering, “don’t blame me for your fragile sense of self; you were so ready to believe anything I told you, but when I did what people fucking do - when I let you down - you had to go and let it shatter you,” you sneered.

“You being a shitty person is my fault?” He scoffed, and you stepped up to him, emboldened. You barely even feel his sword at your throat.

“Before breaking your cheap, little heart, I hadn’t been honest a day in my life; everyone had told you as much, you chose to ignore them; did you think you could fix me?” You gave a harsh laugh, stepping forward, crowding him into taking a step back, expression irate, trying to keep up his strong front, “Actually, I guess, wow, you did; since you, I haven’t told a lie,” and you gave him a derisive look, “because fucking you up wasn’t a challenge, making you fall in love with me wasn’t a challenge, getting you to the point where you’d die for me? Not a fucking challenge, Quackity. You offered me your life and it fucking bored me.

Talking to me makes you want to be a worse person? Good luck with that; you will always be better than you fear, better than you fucking hope or wish you were, because you couldn’t fucking stomach killing me once, you couldn’t fucking stomach being a truly terrible person.

You want my blood on your hands? Your hands were mine, and I couldn’t have given less of a shit, so no, if I have any say, you’re not gonna hurt Dream, because you’re hurting him to get the thing that’s going to bring back the person I actually fucking fell in love with. I can’t believe I ever wasted my time on you when he was out there.

I’m tired of trying to be amicable with you when you’re still - fucking still - picking up the pieces and trying to figure out who the fuck you are; God, I fucking hope you kill me, I hope it brings you peace, I hope it brings you clarity, but you better make sure it counts, you better make sure it fucking sticks!”

----

"You do things that hurt you because you don't know what else to do, even if you don't enjoy them," Ranboo's voice is flat, and your expression twists to something derisive, though you attempt to regain your composure.

"Incredibly presumptuous of you," you respond, still alive, if burned.

----

"How many more?" Ghostbur's touch was light on your forearm, tracing the shiny, healed scar of where you'd thrown your hands up to protect your face as Quackity had shoved you into the lava waterfall that surrounded Dream's cell. It hadn’t killed you; he hadn’t been able to go through with it, and the lava curtain parted as the bridge approached the cell at Sam’s command. But it had still left it’s mark.

"What?" You surfaced from your thoughts as his cool hand stilled against the memory of the burn.

"How many more until you see him again?" He asks, and he doesn't look sad often, but he can't look you in the eyes. Then, gently, his hand comes to rest on your shoulder, thumb brushing against the scar that stands out on your neck, a perfect circle, a perfect reminder of what you’d lost the second time you’d died.

And you meet his gaze, can see the nerves hidden just behind his eyes - is this why you do this? Am I… not enough? What a dangerous thought, dangerous territories; how cruel you were to let him fall for you, even a little, even when both of you knew it was a terrible idea.

Dream's voice was in your head - Ghostbur won't be around anymore - and you'd answered without flinching - but Wilbur will be alive.

"One," your voice came out hoarse, "one life and I'll see him again." You can't look him in the eyes, even as he holds your face; he has no idea what to say to that. It's the truth, but not the one he realises.

"You don't love me, right?" You asked, clearing your throat, moving carefully out of his reach.

"You shouldn't kill yourself for him," Ghostbur tells you with uncompromising sincerity instead of answering, "you're worth more than that."

"I need you to tell me that you don't have feelings for me, Ghostbur -"

"Seems like a very worrying thing to be asking given the circumstances," again he tries to deflect, but there's something close to guilt eating you up inside, and you stand, moving out of his space, Dream's voice in your head.

"Do you love me or not, Ghost of Wilbur Soot?" You demanded, and his expression turned hard, so unlike his usual self.

"I'm not him," he said carefully, but his gaze dropped; he couldn't look you in the eyes, "and I don't think it should matter either way, because you've made it abundantly clear that he's the one you want; I'm not going to say I don't and let you kill yourself."

"I promise I'm not going to fucking kill myself!"

Ghostbur went very quiet.

“Any answer is dangerous, really, so it doesn’t matter either way,” he’s pulling his sleeves down to cover his hands, to fiddle with, trying to distract himself, “I love Friend,” his tone was aiming for something light-hearted, an attempt to change the topic, and it did it’s job well enough; your lips twisted into a grin.

“First a Salmon, then a Sheep, your tastes are -” but he looks at you, giving a strangely amused little smile.

“Questionable?” He finishes your sentence, and you find yourself less amused with the situation; he brings up a good point, including you all the same, though you’d been meaning to say bestial, but fuck, what does that make you? For a moment, you find yourself in crisis, wondering if you were technically in a polyamorous relationship with a ghost and an actual sheep. But you push it to the side -

“It’s selfish,” you hear his voice in your head, see him looking at you with wide, shiny eyes in the dim light of a pub, but you can’t help but repeat the words that had been said to you, “but I need to know for me -”

Ghostbur could say anything, and you see the realisation dawning on his face; he knows what you’re asking. He could be silent, he could brush you off, he could say anything else -

“It’s you,” just the way you’d said it to Wilbur, confirming what you feared; Ghostbur drops his gaze when he says those words to you, when he means to say I love you, how can you not see that?

Those two words hang in the air between you, like they always have. You should leave. You should go before you develop a conscience. But you can’t... there’s something familiar, something intoxicating about this moment, his loyalty; you’ve seen this before, you’ve craved this before.

You step up to him, and as if on instinct, he rests his hands on your hips, leaning into your touch when you hold his cheek gently.

“I love you,” your murmur, and his eyes fall closed, breathing deeply, “I love you.” It’s easy, it’s too easy, to fall back into this, to let him rest his forehead against yours, your arms around his neck, knowing in your heart that his loyalty, his love, was a means to an end; “I love you.”

He trusts your words, even now.

“Please don’t go,” he whispers, pulling you close now, moving to press his lips to the crook of your neck. So you stay. Your time with him is limited, though only you know that, so you will enjoy it while you can.

----

"This was your plan," Tommy muttered, horrified, as the realisation dawned on him, "you're the one who pointed out that killing Dream in the prison didn't break any of the prison's rules," he whispered, before turning on you, eyes wide, Friend's leash still looped around his wrist, "you're the one who suggested using Ghostbur as a decoy, because no-one would suspect him."

"You set him up," Ranboo was horrified. One by one they were turning on you.

"You knew Ghostbur didn't- he didn't want to be revived!" Tubbo exclaimed, hurt and betrayed, "I thought - Y/N I thought you loved him, how could you -?!"

"Wilbur and Ghostbur are not the same person! How do you all keep forgetting that?!" You snarled in response, expression contorting to one of rage; that was enough to shock them into silence, taking a step back as they regarded you with a new kind of fear.

"We were happier with Wilbur gone, we liked Ghostbur and he liked us!" Tommy exclaimed, before his voice dropped to something soft and betrayed, hurt in his eyes, "Ghostbur didn't fucking deserve that; you're a terrible person," and your expression dropped to a smirk that didn't reach your eyes.

"I'm sorry about Ghostbur, I am, but the ends justifies the means; do you remember what I told you when L'Manburg was first forming? I told you I'm not on Dream's side, but I'm also not on yours," and you paused for a moment, before looking to the heavy remains of the button room, through which you knew Wilbur himself would finally be returning any moments now, "I'm on Wilbur's."

----

Then you see him, and oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck this is real and you owe Dream a life and Wilbur is alive. You're frozen in place. He's talking to Tommy, who sounds frankly horrified that Wilbur is back, but you're frozen. Heart beating in your throat, the sunrise that’s coming brings with it a warmth, though to you it feels closer to vindication.

And there’s yelling and horror from the others who’ve accompanied you, but you can’t hear them, approaching slowly, with measured, even steps.

Then, his eyes meet yours and something in his expression softens. When he smiles at you, every terrible thing you did was worth it for this moment. Having the others there is too much. You don't want an audience, you don't want anyone there to judge you and your choices, the things you've done to get to this moment.

"This," Tommy turns on you, "this is what you bloody well wanted; now you're acting all shy? " His lip curled, and your expression turned flat and unamused.

“Don’t mistake respect for shyness,” you tell him bluntly, with a cool confidence that was unrecognisable to the blonde, who hadn’t known you well enough before he’d begun starting conflict to know the depths to which you could sink. But he was beginning to learn.

“She’s part of the reason I’m here at all,” Wilbur reprehends him, while Tommy physically recoils at his tone, "Dream himself said as much." And then he's offering you his hand; nothing else matters.

"I can't be here," there's disgust in Tommy's voice, but its enough that the others leave, giving you and Wilbur peace. Finally.

"You're a sight for sore eyes," you tell him, taking his hand with a sharp smile, which he mirrors.

"Thirteen years I was stuck in that train station, and you're just as stunning as when I last saw you," he muses, and you reaches out to run your fingers gently through the unfamiliar white strands of his hair. His eyes study your face, your expression, drinking you in; you'd missed how dark his eyes could be, and when you look back at him, meet his gaze, you see a hunger there.

"Don't leave me," escapes you, but it comes out as a demand, insistent, “don’t ever fucking leave me again,” and you see him swallow hard, then slowly, he smiles.

"Never again," and he's kissing you desperately, mouth on yours with an intensity you relish. I missed you, I missed you, I missed you - you can taste it on his tongue, sticky sweet and somehow sharp and you dig your nails into him, maybe trying to keep him here, keep you both in this moment. When the kiss breaks and you're breathing hard, you don't let him go, though he doesn't either.

"You lied for me," he muttered, something akin to delight on his face, which shocked you enough that you stepped back, or at least tried to, though he held you tight, "no, not-" he tried to clarify, "I won't leave, I don't plan on it, but- I love you." Your heart is beating in your throat, still not quite sure what he means, "I've loved you for a long time," he added, and reaching out, he cupped your face in his hand, "I remember this," he murmured, "Ghostbur - you're scared I didn't love you because he couldn't remember, but I loved you so much, for so long, I just knew... knew what I was going to do. I knew I was going to leave you, I loved you but I was so doomed, so he couldn't remember."

When had your vision gone cloudy, when had tears started to sting your eyes.

"Don't cry, my love," Wilbur murmured, leaning in to rest his forehead against yours as your breath stuttered from your chest as he soothed the biggest fear that had been plaguing you for months.

"Were you worried that I didn't love you because of him?" He asked, like he enjoyed hearing you bare your soul. Of course he did. You remember kissing Ghostbur, his cold lips and soft apologies when you'd pulled away, and you wonder if Wilbur had those memories too.

"He's not you, no point trying to fret about your feelings based on his actions," you huff a watery laugh, finally letting go of him with one hand to wipe at your tears, “he didn’t understand me like you did, but he...” you swallowed hard, “I’m glad to have had him around in the interim.” Wilbur’s lips twist into an amused smile, and his gaze clouds over for the barest moment; you wonder if he can see your resolve cracking in Ghostbur’s memories, taking comfort in his when he’s the closest thing to Wilbur himself that you can find, the lies you’d told to keep him by your side in your moments of selfish desperation.

“I think he loved you, in his own way,” Wilbur said gently. However, as you made a vaguely guilty noise in the back of your throat, he continues thoughtfully, "though, you know, when Dream came to pick me up on that train, when Ghostbur took my place, Dream made sure we both knew, you know; she's the reason you're here, Ghostbur, he'd said, and said that makes you part of the reason that I'm coming back at all," he muses, strange quality to his voice that you couldn't quite place, though when your eyes were dry, you looked at him definitely, challengingly.

"He's not you," you reiterated, firmer this time, "I cared for him for what he was, but he's not the one I want; I love you." You said without hesitation, before you realise what you've said, and you go still, before taking his face in your hands, making sure he's looking you in the eyes, "I think I’ve loved you from the moment I met you, Wilbur; I love you, I fucking love you -" and he's endeared by your declaration as you wrap your arms around him and bury your face against the crook of his neck, whispering the words like you're hoping they'll find a place on his skin forever.

"I didn't tell you before and I'm never making that mistake again,” you admitted faintly; “it’s you.”

“Above all others, I choose you,” his smile is warm, and something bright lights up in your chest. Grinning, elated in this moment that you’d worked so hard to finally get to.

“You have my loyalty, my love.”

#wilbur soot x reader #wilbur soot imagine #wilbur x reader #wilbur imagine #c!wilbur soot imagine #c!wilbur imagine #c!wilbur x reader #c!wilbur soot x reader #dsmp imagine #dsmp x reader #quackity x reader #c!quackity x reader #c!quackity imagine #quackity imagine #dream smp x reader #dream smp imagine #cyltlanp #Spotify

344 notes · View notes