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carakook · 2 months

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Bloom. °˖✧✿✧˖°

“Yeah? You think we’re done? We’re not done.”

→ Chapters list ←

⚘6. Planting the Wrong Seed

🔞For Mature Audiences Only🔞

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⚘Pairings: Jeon Jungkook x fem!reader

⚘Synopsis: You prepare to go to the potluck with Seojoon but find that your day is not going the way that you planned, thanks to a certain someone lingering in your thoughts… if only you knew the shit that was going to unfold.

⚘Genre:Forbidden love

⚘Word count: 12k+

⚘Warnings: 18+ for mature audiences only, MDNI, emotional, mentions of anxiety, mentions of sex, heavy kissing, angst, CANINE POETRY I REPEAT CANINE POETRY, religious metaphors (the story is not religious but makes references to a higher power, karma, fate, etc.), mentions of anxiety, mentions of nightmares, subtle arguing, jealousy, bullying? (Sort of, there’s a bitch in this chapter who makes cunty comments), mentions of alcohol, mentions of cooking (I know this is triggering for some people), heavy tension, cheating, mentions of cheating, mentions of falling out of love/breaking up. Let me know if I miss anything!

⚘Disclaimer: This story in no way reflects the characters of those who are mentioned. It is pure fiction and for entertainment purposes only. Please don’t take it seriously. Nothing is real in this story.

⚘A/N: Chapter 6 is out! I really hope you enjoy it. Please don’t be mad at me. 😀 lol I told you it gets dramatic. I can’t wait to keep writing, shit gets soooo messy but also some very important lessons get learned. DON’T CHEAT AND DON’T BE AFRAID TO LOVE WHO YOU LOVE OK!!! Also, men are stupid sometimes. 🥴 ok love you!!!

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↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ :

♪Glimpse of Us - Joji

♪Bad Habit - Steve Lacy

♪Miss Understood - DPR Ian

♪Hopelessly Devoted To You - Olivia Newton-John (this one is VERY important)

♪Cop Car - Mitski

♪I Bet On Losing Dogs - Mitski (again)

♪Love Me Again - V

♪I LOVE YOU HOE - Odetari Ft. 9lives

✧━。゜✿ฺ✿ฺ゜。━✧

Unfortunately for you, when you wake up after your not-so-peaceful slumber, you have this feeling deep down in your gut that something bad will happen today.

You wake up sometime the next morning, a bit delirious at first because you didn’t get as deep of a sleep as you normally would have. Seojoon is gone already, which isn’t abnormal. He works early mornings so often times he’s gone before you even wake. And in typical Seojoon fashion, he left a little note and cup of coffee that he picked up for you at the convenience store across the street before he left.

You pick up the note and your coffee, take a sip as you read it;

Went to work, text me when you wake up, and don’t forget about tonight.

-Seojoon, aka your boyfriend :)

The usual note he leaves… except the sign off leaves you feeling a bit off. Because normally, it’s just his name. But this time, he added the joking ‘boyfriend’ to it. This should be considered a cute gesture, because he basically is your fucking boyfriend.

But it doesn’t feel cute. Not after the amount of times he talked about being not-boyfriend-girlfriend last night. In fact, as you stare at the note, you realize he is starting to seem bit persistent about it, but its so subtle that you didn't catch it until now.

Maybe he’s getting tired of waiting… it’s been months, so you can't blame him. But also, you can’t help how you feel, and you don’t really feel ready to add the label. So simple for most people, but for you… it’s not simple at all.

It’s like planting a fucking seed, and you aren’t sure if you want him to plant that seed yet.

You aren’t sure if you want to plant his seed, or anyone else's ever again.

It’s too early for this shit, so you decide not to overthink it. You’re off of work today, and you have to figure out what the fuck to cook for this potluck full of people you don’t know. You’re nervous enough as it is, you don’t need to overthink some silly little note your not-boyfriend left. He was probably just being playful.

You’ve become very good at denying things… pretending that you're fine when you really aren't fine. Something you haven’t realized yet.

So you get up and get yourself ready for the day. You do your skincare, brush your hair, brush your teeth, drink your coffee… a normal day, just like any other.

But you begin to realize that the feeling from last night, the same one that you went to bed with and woke up with, it lingers. That little zap feeling you felt when you dreamt, and when he left, that feeling impending doom that you can't quite shake, it's still very much there.

It’s like a little fluttering in your stomach. Something between butterflies and worms, maybe. Subtle, but there. It could be because you dreamt of him again, because you’re meeting Seojoon's friends, or because he has started bringing up making it official all of a sudden… or maybe your gut is trying to tell you something.

Nah, anxiety, surely. Not denial, not intuition… it's just a bad case of anxiety that was triggered by a bad dream. You're sure of it.

After getting yourself dressed and putting on some light makeup, you know you need to calm your shit if tonight is going to go well and be enjoyable for you and everyone else. So you make a little list of ingredients you need to cook something nice for his friends. A way to a man’s heart is food, as they say, it’ll be a nice gesture that you add to the potluck. You decide to cook two things since Seojoon probably won't have time to make something to bring himself. You'll make something sweet and something savory; chocolate chip cookies, a crowd fav, and classic American mac and cheese, because everyone loves cheese. Both things are easy to make, and you’re sure everyone will like them because they’re simple classics.

You’re totally not subconsciously making flower boys past favs. You’re totally not still thinking about him or that dream. You're absolutely-positively-totally not doing little things that remind you of him… not at all.

After you make your list, you grab your bag and wallet, send Seojoon a little text letting him know you’re awake and preparing for tonight. You know he was probably waiting on it, and he was waiting for it. He was actually anticipating you trying to make an excuse not to go tonight, so he feels a bit giddy knowing you’re actually putting not bailing on him. That's my girl, he thinks to himself when he reads the text.

The rest of your day sort of melds together. You do your best to stay on track, even as you pass the floral department at the grocery store. You linger there, looking at the array of autumn flowers that are bright, warm, and blooming... You also look at the array of wilting bouquets that are marked down in price, on sale because no one wants them...

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you reach down and graze the tip of one of the flowers petals. Your heart pounds so hard you swear it might break through your chest, because although it seems like such a simple and curious touch, it isn’t. You’re afraid that just like in the dream, the petals will start turning brown and dry, and the flowers on the shelf will start dying. You’re afraid that your touch is indeed poison.

But nothing happens. They merely stay in place as they did before you touched them, they don’t die any faster, but they don’t stop wilting either. These flowers are neutral to you, and your touch isn’t poisonous as you suspected it may be… not to them, anyway.

You aren’t thinking of him. Not today. You can’t. You won’t. You don’t know why it’s so hard all of a sudden after months of working on yourself, but today of all days cannot be the day that you start reliving memories and asking yourself what if I stayed?

And even though you tell yourself you won’t think of him today, you buy one of the wilting bouquets. Because you feel bad for the flowers that no one seems to want. You feel like you relate to them in some fucked up metaphorical way, or did in the past, at least. You wonder if you can nourish them and nurture them to health, much like you did a certain Bearded Iris many months ago.

Dangerous thoughts for a girl who swore she was moving on and healing just fine.

After you’re done at the grocery store, you make your way back home. You make sure to blare music as soon as you walk in the door to prevent your thoughts from becoming too loud, and you very carefully avoid any love songs that seem to try to make an appearance.

You get to work making the cookie dough, following the ‘secret’ recipe you’ve known since you were a teenager. It’s very rich, contains lots of butter and sugar, probably not the healthiest choice, but every time you make them people go crazy for them. You even won a baking competition back in school using this recipe.

If only they knew this was a recipe on the Betty Crocker website.

You mix the ingredients with familiar motions and fill up several baking pans full of little nuggets of dough. Once every pan is full and there's no dough left, you start baking two sheet pans full at a time because your oven can't fit anymore than that.

You try to ignore the memories that surface when you smell them baking.

“Please Y/N, just a little taste, bet you taste sweeter than these cookies… I need to test it, for science n’ shit.”

“No, you’ll get sick! It has raw eggs. Also isn’t that cannibalism? Kookie eating cookies?”

No. Stop. Fuck.

You make quick work of the mac and cheese after every sheet pan of cookies is finished baking. You let the cookies cool as you boil the elbow noodles and make the creamy cheese sauce, which thank god calls for intense focus, otherwise it’ll burn or become too thick and clumpy.

The mac and cheese recipe is pretty simple, it just requires your full attention up until the last step. This is a recipe you learned online as well, and so far every time you make it everyone loves it, even those who don't really like cheese.

One person specifically was very overdramatic about loving it the first time you made it for him.

“Fuuuck. I should marry you. If I marry you can I have this every day?”

“I am NOT marrying you, dummy. And you’d get diabetes. Do you know how much cheese is in here?”

“Don’t care, blah blah blah, marry me and make me this shit every single day.”

Back when times were simpler, before you knew of him being married. You wonder what would have happened if you played along, said you would marry him and make him mac and cheese every day for the rest of your lives... Should’ve accepted his offer.

You start to become irritated. Because this hasn’t happened in months. You’ve coped, you’ve moved on, you have a not-boyfriend now and you’re supposed to be thriving. Before last night, Jungkook was not consuming you anymore... whereas today, you cannot fucking shake him.

That’s what you thought, that this shit was done. Did one nightmare really fuck it all up? Or is it something deeper?

It doesn’t help that the persistent feeling in your gut continues to linger. It won’t go away and it’s fucking annoying. Like a goddamn fly. Maybe it isn’t butterflies, but a bunch of fucking flies fluttering around in your stomach making you feel nauseous and uneasy. So disgusting.

The zaps never fully went away. In the beginning, after the night he left, it was like it continued to happen after the first time. You’d have panic attacks and feel these zaps in your chest, which Sohee witnessed a few times and told you was normal when having when dealing with loss and change mixed with anxiety She recommended you see someone professional about it, but you didn’t take her advice. It was heartbreak, not a fucking psychotic break…

Ok, maybe almost a psychotic break, but it never got to that point. And with time, the zaps went away for the most part. Just like the lingering feelings he left behind. It all dimmed down to a very dull buzz that was barely noticeable.

Until today. Until last night. Until he decided to invade your dreams again like a fucking intruder.

You shake your head at yourself. Because this is fucking ridiculous. He isn’t here, he isn’t coming back, and you’re supposed to be fucking over it. For fucks sake, you’re making junk food for your new mans friends. You need to get a grip.

Ignore it. Deny it until it goes the fuck away and you forget about it. Maybe if you pretend, you won't even notice it by the time you need to leave tonight.

You finish up the mac and cheese and put it in a large casserole dish, top it with even more cheese and your garlic butter bread crumbs, and then pop it into the oven on medium heat to get all gooey inside and crispy on top. While it bakes, you pack up the cookies in a portable Tupperware container. Now all you have to do is get yourself ready.

You hope like hell you can make yourself look as good as the food, because the dark circles under your eyes are prominent even under the makeup you put on today. This is why you need your goddamn beauty sleep.

While the mac and cheese finishes baking, you fuss over an outfit in your room. It’s a potluck, so you're sure it's casual… but you don’t want to dress too up or down. Normally, you don’t really overthink these things... but again, your nerves are wrecked today. So everything feels worse than what it really is. You're overthinking things far more than normal.

After making your room a damn mess and covering the floor in failed outfits, you decide on wearing a simple floral dress that doesn’t show too much skin, but is still fun. The base color is a deep red, speckled with little white flowers all over. It’s chilly outside due to the changing seasons, so you pair it with some thick thigh high socks and boots. And of course you need a jacket.

A certain jacket that you’ve told everyone you bought for yourself as a treat, but what they can’t see is that it’s covered in an invisible purple and white floral pattern, too.

You touch up your makeup, do it as you always do, and decide to leave your hair down, but pack a hair tie in your bag just in case. You check the clock, and it’s right around 6:30 pm so you know Seojoon is showing up soon, probably in the next thirty minutes or so. You're surprised at how fast time flew today, but also thankful that its nearly over.

Fuck. You feel sick.

After doing one last onceover of yourself, you walk into the kitchen, only to freeze when you see Seojoon is already here… that damn spare key. Maybe it was a bit fast moving to give him your spare key... You were just so used to someone else having it, so you didn't think twice before offering it to Seojoon.

Funny how you gave him a spare key to your apartment but won’t be his fucking girlfriend yet.

He must have gotten off of work early today, because normally he’d be here around seven after going home to check on Simba and change out of his work clothes, but judging by his casual attire, he’s already done all of that. You’re unsure as to why he didn’t text you and let you know… or, fuck, maybe he did and you just didn’t notice. You haven’t exactly been paying attention to your phone thanks to the thoughts plaguing you tonight. You've been all over the place. You’re surprised he didn’t immediately seek you out, but then you see the look on his face… and he doesn’t look very happy.

“Secret admirer?”

He arches a brow that is disguised as playful, but the twitch in his jaw gives him away. At first, you’re confused… until you see his fingers dancing around the petals of the forgotten, wilting, bouquet of flowers that you bought at the grocery store.

You have no fucking clue what comes over you, but you have the urge to scream at him... tell him not to touch what doesn’t belong to him, tell him to get away from them as if he’s the poison. It’s totally irrational, especially when he’s the one who seems to need reassurance here. You aren't sure why he automatically jumps to that conclusion, but you don't think too much about it.

It’s that damn dream. It’s corrupting you. Fuck, maybe you’re possessed. Possessed by the ghost of Jeon-fucking-Jungkook and its causing you to nearly bite Seojoon's head off over touching some dying flowers... You don’t know, but you almost want to laugh at yourself.

You swallow your outburst before it can escape and disguise it with a weary laugh as you make your way over to him.

“What? No, I got these myself. They were on sale and looked sad, wanted to see if I could bring some life back into them.”

This irks Seojoon. He also feels irrationally about it, but sort of regrets immediately jumping to conclusions. It nearly revealed his insecurities… or maybe something deeper than just insecurity. Projection, perhaps, but he’d never admit that.

He feels less of a man knowing you bought yourself fucking flowers, especially ones as pitiful as these. He thinks if you want flowers, he should be buying them for you. He buys them for you often, it's just that you never seem very interested.

He doesn’t like it and neither do you. You wish he’d get you something else, anything else, not flowers. Anything but flowers. It's such a sweet gesture, but as you have said to yourself so many times before, flowers are reserved for someone you refuse to talk to him about.

You grab the bouquet almost protectively and walk over to the sink, get on your tiptoes to start rummaging your cabinets for a proper vase to put them in.

“Should’ve just asked me for flowers, babe. You know I’d get you anything you want... those are just so fucking ugly.”

He laughs when he says it, shakes his head and walks over to where the cookies rest. He takes one from the container and starts nibbling on it, makes a face of almost disgust because fuck, why’re they so rich?

You don’t notice the face he’s making because you’re stuck on the fact that he called these flowers ugly. They aren’t. They’re just sad. Maybe you’re being oversensitive about something so fucking mundane, but it really rubs you the wrong way that he would call them ugly just because they’re wilting.

You wonder if he’s ever thought of you similarly, considering it was no secret when you met him that you weren’t flourishing like you once were. You were recovering from heartbreak, you were as wilted as you could get... much more wilted than these discount flowers.

“They’re not ugly, just need some TLC…” you mutter under your breathe as you fill up a vase full of water.

He doesn’t respond because he disagrees. These flowers are dying, there’s no saving them, that’s why they were marked down in price. No one wants dying flowers.

No one but you.

“Are these the cookies you’re bringing to the potluck?”

You glance at him as he asks. He’s starting to piss you off, which is just making your mood so much worse, you’re already nervous and anxiety-ridden, is he really going to choose today to be picky and pessimistic about shit?

“Yeah, why? Something wrong with them?”

You try to hide the bite in your tone as you place the flowers in their new vase. You fluff them up a bit, sprinkle some plant foot into the water and set them on your windowsill, hoping they’ll get some Sun in the morning.

He snorts at your comment about the cookies and shakes his head, “No, they’re just really… sweet. But you’re a sweet girl, guess I should’ve expected that, huh?”

He’s buttering you up now, because he can tell his comments are bothering you. He’s unsure which one of you are acting extra sensitive tonight, but he silently blames you. Maybe she’s on her period, she didn’t fuck me last night so would make sense, he thinks to himself. Such a man-coded thing to think...

That’s the good thing about Seojoon though; he thinks to himself. He often closets those little comments inside of his head. You’ve yet to have a real argument. The honeymoon phase is inevitably waning, but it’s still there. He doesn’t want to ruin that… because that’s normally when the women he dates start to grow tired of him.

But he wants to keep you. His little wildflower. His little stray cat.

If you knew half of the shit he thought to himself… he has a feeling you would grow tired of him quickly.

You don’t respond to his kiss-ass comment, instead you just shake your head at him. You don't want to argue, especially when you are the one feeling butt-hurt. After fussing over the flowers, you pull out the mac and cheese from the oven and cover the top with tinfoil. You find yourself hoping that tonight passes by quickly because you’re just not in the mood to pretend to be fine.

But you must. Pretend, deny, ignore, just for a little longer. It’s just a bad day, you tell yourself. You’re just sensitive, that’s all. This isn't his fault, it's yours for digging up dead flowers.

As you put the food inside of a bag, Seojoon grabs his coat. He can tell you’re not amused with him at the moment, and doesn’t want to push it. Wants to avoid pissing you off further because he’d be so fucking embarrassed if the first time he brings you around his friends is also the first time you guys argue.

So he does as he should and keeps his mouth shut. No reason to poke the bear.

“Ready to go?”

“Mhm.”

You also want to avoid arguing, obviously. This day has been bad enough, and tonight is supposed to be fun. So you keep your mouth shut just like him.

The communication is lacking.

You both walk down to his car after you lock up your apartment, and begin making your way to the potluck. The drive is silent, other than the music playing subtly in the background. At some point, Seojoon's shuffled playlist plays Hopelessly Devoted To You by Olivia Newton-John from the OG Grease soundtrack. And of course Seojoon starts fucking belting it to the top of his lungs as he drives, putting on a whole ass concert for you to try and cheer you up.

“But now… there's nooowhere to hiiide, Since you pushed my love asiiiiide, I'm ooout of my head, Hopelessly devoted to yoooooou!”

And despite your sour mood and the flies in your stomach, it does cheer you up. It’s silly. He looks ridiculous, a grown ass man singing to you like a damsel in distress while driving. You’re thankful he did it, because your giggles are a good distraction from the lingering thoughts of the man from your past haunting you today.

You barely register the lyrics, Seojoon drowns out what the song is saying entirely with his very off-key terribly singing and the way he dramatically grips your hand like a microphone.

But if you did notice the lyrics, you’d have gotten the sinking feeling that this song is foreshadowing your night.

Thank god you didn’t notice the lyrics.

After this, the mood lightens significantly. You find yourself chattering with him along the way, making little playful comments as you always do. You’re still nervous, but you have a false sense of security now. You were just in your head, that damn dream messed up your entire day and it was causing you to nearly take it out on Seojoon. There’s nothing to be nervous about. You’re meeting new people, this will be fun. A step in the right direction to your possible relationship with him.

This is good. Everything is going to be fine, surely it will. Just a bad day.

At exactly 7:10 pm, you arrive at Taehyung's house. It’s very lovely. It isn’t some sort of luxurious mansion or anything, but it is much nicer than your own small apartment. You can tell his friends must be well off; the various nice cars parked around show that they all must work hard for what they have, which makes sense because, as far as you're aware, they're all a bit older than you. The house has a nice sized front yard, and the outside is clean looking, minimal furniture on the porch, but it still looks cozy. Doesn’t look too big or intimidating. Just a typical house for guys around Seojoon's age and status.

Makes you feel less nervous about lacking something. You’ve always thought of Seojoon as an humble guy, but his job is very well paying and he doesn’t want for anything, so you assume his friends are the same. It was a bit intimidating to think about because your job isn’t exactly bringing you riches, but it does make you happy.

You just want to impress them. Maybe a little too much. It seems silly because you're an adult who has nothing to prove to anyone. This isn't high school, you aren't here to try and fit in... but if Seonjoon's friends decide they don't like you, you may as well end it tonight. Relationships never end or even begin well if those surrounding you don't get along who you are dating... or not-dating-but-sort-of-dating in this case. That's why the pressure feels a bit much at this moment. No, you don't care what they think of you, but also, you kind of do. Because you want things with Seojoon to work.

Seojoon parks at an empty spot on the side of the street, and pats your thigh as he says, “You ready? Or you gonna make a run for it when you get out of the car?”

It’s only meant as a joke, but he really shouldn’t tempt you. He’s lucky he knows how to make you laugh.

“Don’t tempt me.”

He snorts at thatbut holds his hands up in mock surrender. He gets out of the car and opens your door for you as he always does—such a gentlemen. He would have carried the bag of food, too, but you insisted you do it. You want to make sure they know that you came bearing treats, that you made this for them and for Seojoon.

Once you get on the porch, he knocks on the door. You feel those flies in your stomach swirling around, and you wish so badly that you never thought of them as flies, because it makes the feeling a lot more intimidating. Butterflies are much more appealing than flies.

The door swings open, and you see a tall man smiling fondly at Seojoon. His smile is boxy, and you immediately recognize it as the smile Seojoon described as belonging to Taehyung. You love him already.

“Joon, come in. Ooooh and you’ve brought a pretty girl with you too!”

Of course, Taehyung knows who you are. You’re Seojoon's girl. Seojoon wasn’t joking when he said he talks about you often, always bragging about you and maybe exaggerating things a little too much in his excitement.

As you walk in, you say kindly, “Its nice to meet you finally, I’m Y/N.”

Taehyung smiles down at you as Seojoon removes his jacket, “Likewise, I’ve heard so much about you. Joon is fucking whipped for you.”

Seojoon immediately swats Taehyung on the head and gives him a scolding look. You find it funny how he seems to be embarrassed about that comment. Cute, even.

Seojoon isn’t embarrassed, though. He just doesn’t want Taehyung to say too much… doesn’t want him to slip up and call you his girlfriend before he has the chance to do it himself. Then it would be evident that he’s been referring to you as his girlfriend all this time. Can’t have that. Not yet.

“Hey! It’s true, you got hearts in your eyes n’ shit!” Taehyung gestures dramatically to Seojoon's face, and Seojoon rolls his eyes.

“Don’t listen to him, he’s being dramatic.” Seojoon retorts as he moves to take off your jacket for you.

You shake your head and subtly nudge his touch away… because you don’t want to take this jacket off. At the moment it’s like a security blanket. A warm hug in a moment when you’re feeling unsure. Safe. Safe like—

Nope. Not here. Stop.

“Ah, it’s ok, gonna keep it on. Thank you though.”

Seojoon's jaw ticks but he smiles to hide it. Doesn’t like that you didn’t let him act gentlemanly in front of his friend. But he reminds himself that you're an independent girl... even if it irritates him sometimes.

“Joonie! Ah! You’re here!”

You barely have a moment to think when you see a woman rush over to Seojoon like he’s her long-lost lover, wrap her arms around him, and hug him hard.

Oh, you don’t like that. You’ve never really been the jealous-possessive type, those feelings only occur when trust is lacking in a relationship. And as of now, you have no reason not to trust Seojoon...

But something about how comfortable she was being blatantly clingy like that really does not sit well with you.

You smile a bit awkwardly at Taehyung, who looks just as bewildered as you are in the moment, and then you turn to Seojoon and give him a silent look that says who the fuck is this?

Seojoon does look a bit tense as this woman embraces him. He hugs her back awkwardly and gives you an apologetic smile as he pulls away from her.

“Sena, hey, yeah I’m here. Brought my girl with me, too. Sena, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is Sena... we work together.”

You smile politely at her as she turns to face you. Her smile looks just as fake as yours does. Sickly sweet, all teeth, but her eyes scream judgment.

It’s odd, though, because she looks so fucking familiar. You rack your brain quickly, trying to figure out where you know her from, but you come up empty. Maybe you’ve seen her when bringing Seojoon lunch or something.

“Nice to meet you Sena.”

She nods at you, reaches out and touches your jacket, which you nearly recoil from. She clearly lacks boundaries. You start to feel a bit more at ease seeing that she’s just a naturally touchy person, no need to read too much into why the fuck she just hugged Seojoon like she loved him.

“Y/N! I’ve heard so much about you, Seojoon talks about you aaaall the time. I love your jacket by the way, did you get it from the thrift?”

Did you... get it... from the thrift?

Now, there’s nothing wrong with thrifting. In fact, you shop at the thrift often. It’s better for the environment, you find unique pieces, and it saves you money. Better than buying fast fashion or blowing money on shit like Gucci that’s overpriced and not as cute as the vintage pieces at the thrift.

But the way she said it... it’s not a compliment. You know damn well you’re not the only who noticed either, because Taehyung is looking at Seojoon like what the fuck, and Seojoon is looking at Sena like shut the fuck up.

What upsets you most is that this jacket is one of your most prized possessions. Will anyone ever know why? No. Absolutely not. But it’s precious to you, and you hate that she just tried to make you feel bad about it.

Regardless, you smile at her and shake your head, because you didn’t come here to cat fight with some woman who doesn’t have a filter or a sense of when to stop.

“Ah, thanks. No I didn’t get it from the thrift, was a treat for myself last autumn.”

You lie easily. You could just as easily tell her that it was a gift from someone near and dear to you, make her feel bad, but you already told Seojoon a long while ago that you bought it for yourself. Can’t get caught in your white lies.

She merely nods at you in response, reaches down to tug on one of the sleeves and you have to fight the urge to fucking backhand her for touching you without your permission again. Who does this bitch think she is?

“Oooh ok. My husband had a similar jacket last year but he threw it in the trash. Cute, though.”

Before you can even take in what she just said or come up with some sort of rebuttal, Seojoon cuts in. He gently wraps his arm around your waist and says, with a bit too chipper of a tone, "Right, well, I wanna introduce you to everyone else, Y/N. The guys are dying to meet you. It was nice seeing you, Sena."

He quickly drags you away from the infuriating woman just like that. Part of you wants to scold him for it, ask him why the fuck he didn’t say something to her or defend you. But you know in the back of your mind that he was most likely avoiding conflict just like you.

Great fucking start. You’ve met one woman, and she’s being a cunt. Surely, the other women here are nicer...

Once you enter the kitchen, he takes the bag of food from you and hands it to one of the guys, whom he introduces as Seokjin. Tall and handsome, looks almost as if he could be Seojoon’s brother, and the man clearly knows he’s good-looking, too. He seems pretty cocky but also very kind.

Seokjin waves you both off and says he’ll set the food out with the other treats so you can get acquainted with the rest of the guys. Seojoon grabs your arm, and although he’s being gentle, you wish he would stop fucking dragging you around. Again, you don't mean to be so sensitive, and you know it is most likely meant as a comforting gesture, but it's making you feel almost like a child.

It’s making you feel tense and a bit trapped... but you say nothing for the time being.

He brings you to the living room, which is very nicely decorated. Simple, but not too much. Taehyung has a good sense of style. Most of the decor is modern, black and white, but there are various pops of color around, and he has some fascinating pieces of art.

The pops of color dim a bit when you realize Sena is also in here. The spot next to her is empty, and she’s staring you down like an owl would stare at a damn kitten wandering around places it shouldn't be.

God, you hope not all of the girls here are like this... wait... where are the other girls? You take a quick look around and realize that you don't see any other woman here.

“Guys, this is Y/N, my girl. Y/N, this is Hoseok, Jimin, and Namjoon.”

Each of them wave at you as Seojoon introduces you, and you give them a polite smile. All of them are handsome guys, you’re realizing. Makes sense that Seojoon would have such attractive friends, considering he himself is attractive. But damn. They’re all so pretty.

Namjoons smile is one of the prettiest, his dimples stand out and his eyes are warm and welcoming. He’s tall like Jin and Seojoon, whereas Jimin is shorter, but looks fucking ethereal. You’re jealous of how plump his lips are, but he looks so damn sweet. And Hoseok literally reminds you of sunshine with the way he beams at you. Flowers love a bit of sunshine. You feel like you’ll get along with all of them great.

“Damn, Seojoon, she’s so pretty. No wonder you won’t shut the fuck up.”

Jimin smiles after he says it, his eyes scrunching into crescent moons as he giggles at Seojoon's disgruntled groan. The other guys join in… and you realize that you don't see any other woman here. The only woman in sight is Sena, which means the men here didn’t actually bring their partners, or they just don’t have one. You feel a bit deceived.

Either way, Seojoon lied, which you don’t like. Sure, you lied about the origin of your jacket, but that’s harmless compared to him lying about who was going to be here just to get you to agree to join him easily.

You don’t want to make any quick assumptions, though . Maybe you just haven’t met them yet. And if he did lie…. You’ll scold him later. But you have a sinking feeling that when he said the guys 'spouses/girlfriends' would be here, he meant only Sena.

“Nice to meet you Y/N, we’re all really glad you’re here. We’ve been wanting to meet you!” Namjoon says with a welcoming smile.

You start to feel a bit bad that you haven’t met them sooner, although you’re aware that Seojoon isn’t really that close to anyone here other than Taehyung. You almost hope that changes, because they all seem so pleasant so far, other than Sena. These are the types of guys you’d ask to hold you drink at the bar.

They all feel safe... similar to- Nope.

“You really are pretty, Y/N, way too pretty for the likes of Seojoon. You remind me of a sunflower!” Hoseok says. He’s only playing, but the fact that he compares you to a flower makes you feel both flattered and… a bit melancholic.

Flowers are reserved from someone else, you think to yourself again for like the third fucking time today. Irritating, flowers are everywhere, and here you are, gatekeeping them for someone who is practically dead to you. But he was being sweet and has no clue that flowers are a sore spot for you. No one does. It's sweet that he thinks of you as a sunflower when you think of him as the sun. You feel like you could easily become best friends with Hoseok.

“Ah, wow, you’re all so sweet. Thank you. I’m really happy to be here too. I appreciate the warm welcoming.”

You feel yourself become a bit shy as Seojoon drags you to one of the couches to sit down. You nearly want to slap him across the damn head when he picks the spot next to Sena, because why the fuck would he do that? Why would he put you in that position? Especially considering when he sits down, he gives you the seat next to hers, which thankfully grants a bit of space between you that you assume is reserved for her husband... but even then, she's too close for comfort. You feel like you're sitting next to a snake.

But you don’t protest because it wouldn’t look good if you immediately shunned the only fucking woman here after being here for barely twenty minutes.

You wonder who her husband is out of all the guys, because they seem far too good for her. Maybe that’s a bit harsh, but nothing about this familiar woman screams kind. She eyes you like a hawk, while in the same breathe smiles brightly at everyone else here.

Maybe she’s a pick-me sort of girl, maybe it’s internalized misogyny, or maybe she just doesn’t like you for no good goddamn reason.

“Are the two grumps still outside smoking? The food's gonna get cold. Also, Y/N, these cookies are like crack. Holy fuck.”

Taehyung breaks you away from your thoughts about the snake sitting next to you as he walks into the living room, two cookies in his hand, cheeks stuffed full, and chocolate on his bottom lip. He really does remind you of a big kid, just as Seojoon described, and it’s flattering that he likes your cookies. It’s kind of a relief, even, considering Seojoon seemed not to be a fan of them earlier. At least someone likes them.

“I’m so glad you like—“

“I know right? My girlfriend is the best cook.”

“There they are, get your grumpy asses back inside we have food to eat.”

So much happens at once that you can't focus. You’re stunned in silence because of the way Seojoon just so casually called you his girlfriend, and no one even batted an eye. They accepted it as if this wasn't new information to them.

It’s one thing to refer to you as his girl because you refer to him as your man. But he knows how you feel about the label, and he knows damn well you would tell him when you’re ready to add it. Seojoon knows that you aren't ready. And instead of respecting that, he took it upon himself to announce your apparent relationship, meanwhile none of his friends congratulated him or even really reacted to it... which means this isn't the first time he has called you his girlfriend against your wishes.

You’re so caught up in this that you don’t notice the tiny sliver of space dip beside you. You don’t realize someone is pressed against your other side on the cramped couch. You don’t smell the familiar scent of baby powder and fresh linen. You don’t hear Namjoon as he introduces you to the body next to you.

Because you feel betrayed in some way. You question if you’re being dramatic, but you don’t like that he abruptly forced this label on you. You know it may be irrational, he has a damn key to your apartment, but it's not like there's no reason you are hesitant to fully commit. He doesn't know exactly why, but he has known from the start that you wanted to take things slow and go at your own pace. He just took that from you. It's even worse because it’s the first time you’ve met his friends. It puts you in an incredibly uncomfortable position because if you deny it, you make both of you look bad.

There were signs, though... Such as how he kept bringing it up last night and his little hint in the note he left this morning. You just never expected Seojoon would so blatantly cross a boundary like this.

You tune back in when you see Namjoon gesturing to the man sitting on the couch across from you, “and this is Yoongi, he’s quiet and looks kinda grumpy, but he’s just shy. He’s really sweet.”

The man who’s apparently named Yoongi flips Namjoon off and then nods at you, “Hey." He says simply.

You try to bring yourself down from your oversensitive feelings because you don’t want anyone to think you’re being rude. But god, you’re still reeling because of Seojoon. It doesn’t help that he has his fucking hand on your thigh, either. You have been having such a hard time controlling your emotions today, and none of this is helping.

You smile at Yoongi but say nothing, because he’s already talking to Taehyung. You don’t take offense to it, in fact you’d thank him for letting you off easily if you could, because right now you don’t think you could speak with a stable voice.

Seojoon can tell you’re upset, but he acts oblivious. Because he knows damn well what he did and he knows the reason for it was wrong… He was jealous. In fact, he was jealous from he moment you both walked in and everyone was commenting on how pretty you were. He knows they were just being kind, but something about Taehyung commenting on how good those cookies were set him off heavily. Made him feel the need to be clear about what you were to him. They all know you as his girlfriend anyway, but he isn't close to everyone here... he needed them to know that he does have a claim on you, even if you don't know it yourself.

And he knows you aren’t an object to claim, but he’s only a man…

“Nice jacket. Your boyfriend get it for you?”

For fucks sake, what is it with people and this jacket tonight? And now they're calling him your boyfriend. Not fucking helping.

You come out of your silent fit and realize that someone is sitting next to you, sandwiched between you and Sena, which must mean this is her husband. And just like her, his tone is almost insulting. What the hell do they have against this precious piece of clothing? Are they Calvin Klein haters?

You’re debating whether or not to pop off at whoever this man is, but his voice makes chills run up and down your spine. Sounds... familiar. Eerily familiar.

You turn to face him, wanting to get a look at him before you say something passive-aggressive because maybe he isn't trying to be rude, but is just gruff. You also want to know why his voice sounds so familiar, why he smells so familiar, and why the flies in your stomach just multiplied by ten and something is telling you, 'Don't fucking look, Y/N.'

And the moment you look at him, you understand. You wish so badly that you could run the fuck away.

There’s no way this is happening to you right now. There is no fucking way that whoever controls fate and karma hates you this much.

It is impossible for this man to be sitting next to you right now.

Jeon Jungkook stares right at you, and it's as of time stops. His eyes aren’t as kind as you remember them, but his pupils are blown to absolute shit as he stares at you, and his nostrils are flaring with each breathe he takes.

You blink rapidly, because surely you’re hallucinating. Maybe you finally did have your psychotic break. Maybe you’re bat-shit-fucking-crazy and now you’re seeing things that aren’t really there. You almost hope that you are currently going insane.

But no. You feel his warmth, and you finally realize why you recognized his voice and that smell that is so unique to him, and why Sena seemed so familiar in the beginning.

Because Sena is the woman that you’ve been stalking on Instagram periodically to get tiny glimpses of your flower. Sena is the fence that surrounded him all that time, the cage, much like her nails are possessively curled around his bicep right now, keeping him under lock. Sena is the reason that you had to watch your flower be ripped out of your shared soil and taken away from you. So many months ago, but as you stare at him, it's as if the wound is fresh and you never fucking grieved him.

Sena is his fucking wife.

You don’t know which is more earth shattering; the fact that he is sitting in front of you right now, or the fact that he’s married to this witch.

How the fuck didn’t you recognize her sooner?

You don’t know what to do. And oh, it is so fucking ironic how he is sandwiched between you and Sena, and you are sandwiched between him and Seojoon. Such a fucking tragedy.

You may as well jump off a cliff... or play dead. Act like a fucking opossum to get out of this situation. You don’t know if you want to cry or laugh at the irony of it all, at the fact that for months you worked on getting over this man, only for him to end up right fucking beside you in your not-boyfriends group of friends.

Right when you thought shit was getting better.

Or was it? Because you had that nightmare last night. You’ve felt anxiety ridden all day. Every little thing was reminding you of him out of nowhere after months of slowly letting go.

The signs were there, and maybe the universe was trying to tell you. Anxiety over intuition is bullshit, clearly… you didn't listen. Always trust your gut.

“I asked you a question. Did. Your. Boyfriend. Get. You. That jacket?”

Torn away from your thoughts once more, you nearly flinch at his tone of voice. He sounds so fucking…. Mean. And he knows damn well your ‘boyfriend’ didn’t get you this jacket. It’s his fucking jacket. So why is he doing this?

“No, she got it from the thrift. Looks like the one you trashed doesn’t it?”

Wrong fucking time for her to open her stupid fucking mouth.

You feel like you are going to freak out. You are so overwhelmed that you can't even say anything.

Jungkook wants so badly to smirk at this. Because he knows you didn’t get it from the thrift and he knows he never threw that jacket out. Little does Sena know, the jacket he allegedly threw in the trash is the exact one on your body right now.

“Stop being so grumpy.” She scolds him, and has the fucking nerve to take the palm of her hand and push on his head like some fucking dog trying to steal someone’s food.

He doesn’t even react. That’s what’s most devastating of everything that has transpired so far, you think. Out of all that has happened in the last few minutes, this is what bothers you the most. She just subtly degraded him, which may not seem as harsh as you think, but the way his jaw ticked when she did it showed that it wasn't playful. He's used to it, which means she does shit like that often.

Which also means he can’t possibly be as happy as he looks in those pretty pictures on her Instagram.

All this time, he hasn’t been as ok as you thought. You don’t even need him to tell you; you see it in his eyes. Pupils are still dilated to shit as his eyes stay on you, but his eyes express nothing other than bitterness, loneliness, and a sort of longing only he ever looked at you with.

Fuck. You can’t breathe.

No one else seems to notice the tension between you both, or that he’s staring at you as if he’s a starving man looking at a meal being consumed by someone else. Seojoon is talking to Taehyung about something, and the guys around you are joining in, everyone is oblivious to the loud silence stretching between you and Jungkook.

The only one privy to the tension is Yoongi, as quiet as a mouse and as observant as a cat. But you don’t see it. You don’t see anything other than a dead flower taunting you the same way it does in your dreams.

It’s funny because Jungkook can see the turmoil written on your face. Even after all this time, he knows your tells so fucking well. The way your eyes continuously flutter when you blink, the way you’re picking at your nails and bouncing your leg, and the way your eyes won't hold his. He knows you’re fucked right now… and he almost feels satisfaction in it.

Because unlike you, he didn’t move on. After he left, he was a fucking mess. That first month without you was hell, and he was alone throughout it all. His wife was gone, her business trip was conveniently extended another two weeks, so he was able to blubber like a baby and break shit in fits of emotion without anyone noticing. He drank like an alcoholic to try and numb the feeling of complete despair that came with you being gone. What really tore him up, but also pushed him, was when you blocked his number.

What he didn't expect was silence. So when he woke up and re-read what he sent, he sent another apology... because no matter how badly he wished you would extend an olive branch of some sort, he would never want to make you uncomfortable. So he sat there and typed a very lengthy apology for disrespecting your wishes and ever putting you in this situation to begin with. Once he sent it, he sat there and waited for it to deliver… only for the message to turn green. Because you fucking blocked him.

He knows this was the right thing for you to do. You did not owe him anything, and you needed to move on. But god, the fact that you took away his only point of connection that he still had to you, it made him feel so out of control, so fucking bitter and sad inside.

He tried to take this as sign to do better, to move on himself. Because as you have both acknowledged many times before, he wasn’t yours. His heart still very much belonged to you, but he could never fully give himself to you. He was married to Sena. He needed to move on, too.

Your words rang in his head for days, 'love your wife more,' and he wanted to. Despite Sena being insufferable at times, she was still his wife, and he aided in pushing her away. She deserved better and he made a commitment to her for life. He needed to fucking try.

And so he did. For weeks he debated on confessing to her, coming clean. But every time he tried, she wouldn't give him a chance.

"Sena, please we really need to talk."

"About what?"

"About us. Need to get some shit off of my chest... please."

"Ugh, Jungkook, no we don't. We're fine."

That's how it went every time. He would try, and she wouldn't let him. So eventually, he decided to just keep it to himself and silently vow that he would do right by her. He would repent for his sins, cleanse himself with holy water made from his sorrowful tears cried silently at night, and he would make this right.

He wanted so fucking badly to make this right. He didn't want to be a stray dog anymore. You gave him up to the pound, and he was returned to his rightful owner. He wanted to be a loyal and loving companion to his wife. Not a stray fucking dog like he had been long before you came and stole him away from home.

He went out of his way to make her life more pleasurable and easier. Every morning, he woke up and made her breakfast, and every night even when he was tired from taking photos all day, he would make her a home cooked dinner. Did she always want it? No. She complained about it sometimes, claimed she'd rather takeout. And even though it stung, he would get her whatever takeout she wanted.

He continuously bought her things. Flowers, jewelry, sweets that were freshly baked at fancy cafes he knew she liked, new and expensive designer clothing he noticed her eyeing, anything she wanted, he would get for her. Anything he thought she would like, he would buy for her.

Along with the obscene amount of gifts he got her, he had been taking her out more. Fancy restaurants that served small and overpriced portions, but the experience was apparently worth it because of the celebrities who often frequented places like these. He took her to Coachella in LA which was incredibly last second, he dropped way too much money on that damn trip, but he knew she wanted to go and he was going to make it happen. He recreated their honeymoon on their anniversary, took her to Japan just like he did the night that they got married, tried to make it as extravagant and sentimental as he possibly could.

He never questioned her when she would disappear on work trips with barely any notice. He would go along with it, wish her a safe flight, and put his full trust in her despite the fact that he knew she was never really going where she said she was. He cheated, after all. He doesn't have the right to question her loyalty when he was the one who was disloyal. Like you, he’s good at denying things that are obvious. He tried his best to deny the fact that every time she came home from these trips, she was glowing and didn’t smell like herself.

He became more affectionate, kissed her every morning and every night, snuggled her in bed, told her how pretty she is and how much he loved her. He did his fucking best to fall back in love with her and show her that he was trying.

And to anyone else on the outside looking in, they would appear as the perfect married couple. He would appear as the perfect husband who showers his wife with love, kisses the ground she walks on, and supports her demanding career. She would appear as the trophy wife that any man would kill to have. They seemed perfect when she posted her little pictures on Instagram, or when she made rare appearances to gatherings with their friends.

But behind closed doors, it was never enough, and no matter how fucking hard he tried, he remained a stray dog. Instead of being welcome back inside once he came back home to her, he was chained to a fence and kept at arms length. He was fed crumbs of reassurance and half assed affection that was only ever given when she saw that he was unhappy. But Sena didn’t want a stray dog.

She didn't smile at his cooking the same way she did at takeout. When he bought her flowers, he would often find them in the trash. When he bought her clothing or jewelry, he never saw her wear it. When he got her sweets or coffee from her favorite cafes, she would complain that they weren't right. When he took her to fancy dinner dates, she barely paid attention to him or engaged in conversation with him. When they went on little vacations, she would get bored of him after the first day there. And when he tried to kiss or touch, she would brush him off like he was gross.

She still refused to fuck him, even when he would give her hints. This was the most challenging thing. For Jungkook, sex isn't possible unless feelings are involved. So he had to work himself up to even try to be intimate with her. It was bad enough that the thought of touching someone else, even himself, made him fucking sick after you were gone. So when he did finally manage to get a boner one night when he was a bit tipsy and trying to snuggle her in bed, he tried to reignite that flame between them.

Only for her to tell him that the she was on her period… which was a blatant lie. Jungkook knows this because Sena has an IUD that lasts up to 8 years and stopped her periods completely. She hasn’t purchased feminine products such as tampons or pads or even period panties in years. She got the IUD a few months after they married. She wasn’t on her period, she just didn’t fucking want him.

That was the day that he accepted defeat.

She fell out of love with him, it was clear. And there was nothing that he could do to make her love him again. No amount of money or pretty things or fun trips would make her want him again. And he couldn't even show her with his body either, because she wouldn't allow him.

He wanted to blame everyone. Her, you, him, god, satan, the fucking universe itself. He resented her for it, she made him feel so small and unlovable. And if he had never met you, he wouldn't have been tempted, so maybe he could have saved them sooner. And as for god and the devil, well, real or not, he’s blaming them anyway.

Most of all, he blamed himself. It’s always been him. He feels like he could have done so many things differently to keep her love. He should have never pulled away and became distant when she told him she didn’t want kids, he should have talked to her about it. He should have worked it out with her. He knows in the back of his mind that it isn’t fully his fault, it takes two to communicate and keep a healthy relationship… but when he’s alone, it is so fucking easy to take the blame for it all.

He accepted it, because he was tired. A man can only take so much rejection from his own fucking wife before just saying fuck it. And it wasn't like he could talk to her about it, because she wouldn't let him.

He knew there must be someone else, so it was only a matter of time before she left him. He wasn't going to leave her, because he had nothing to lose, did he? He already lost you, he lost himself, and he lost the woman he swore he would spend forever with. He may as well suffer and take his rightful punishment.

She wasn't a monster, and he still cared for her very much. He was not innocent in all of this, he pushed her away, too. A relationship consists of two people, and he quit communicating with her at some point, just as she did with him. He lied and deceived her, so no matter how cold she had become, or what wrong she did, he was in the wrong, too. Two wrongs never make a right.

So, he went back into the doghouse. He stopped whining and howling for her to let him in. He stopped scratching at the door and staring at her with pleading eyes. As the seasons changed and time passed, he stayed in that doghouse in the cold. He stared at the space that two flowers once bloomed together, and the emptiness of it made it so fucking obvious that you were the light that he was missing the most. Without you, there were no stars in the sky, the sun was dull, the moon was invisible, and the flowers never fucking bloomed again.

And every goddamn night he thought of you more and more. Oh, how he wished you would come and rescue him again, because if you did, he would do anything for you. He would leave her, he would give you all his money, he would jump off a damn cliff. He would so much rather be in the doghouse in your metaphorical backyard than this cold and lonely doghouse that is called home. Anything for you. Always fucking you.

When he finally relented in trying to repent for his sins, he started dreaming of you. It was as if his acceptance of you being gone brought relief and turmoil all at once. Relief, because he could finally think of you again without feeling quite so guilty... turmoil because he was thinking of you again.

His dreams weren’t metaphorical like yours, they were always very realistic. Some of them were good, and he found that on nights that he dreamed of you both living happily ever after together, the day following was a little brighter.

But the nightmares made him volatile. The nightmares were always similar. He would run into you somewhere out in the wild, you’d catch up, and then a faceless man would appear and introduce himself as your boyfriend. He couldn’t fucking stand that. He didn’t know who the faceless man was, and every time he tried to run after you, beg you to choose him instead, he couldn’t move. He would stay frozen as he watched you walk away from him again and again, but this time you were happier, you were doing so fucking good without him.

Tonight, he swears he is living this nightmare. When he walked in after smoking, and he saw you, and the heard fucking Seojoon refer to you as his girlfriend? He wanted to punch something just to make sure this wasn’t a nightmare.

You both are very similar, always have been in many ways. Because he also stalked your Instagram. He probably did it way too much. He never made a move to message you or even follow you, he respected the fact that you were stern in your decision, but he lurked. He waited and waited for you to post something new because he was dying to know how you were doing.

And occasionally, you would post. Little cryptic captions that he couldn’t decipher even though he thought about them for hours, tried to find out if they had a hidden meaning like morse code. Pictures that didn’t show your full face, so he couldn’t figure out if you were happy or dying inside like he was; there was never anything that gave away how you were doing.

Until one day, you posted a photo of you and a man. And it was like his nightmares started coming true.

No caption, just a stupid fucking red heart emoji. It was a selfie of you smiling next to Seojoon at some café and he looked at you like you held the fucking stars. And then you posted more, and more, and more, as if you were taunting him on purpose. Some candid photos of Seojoon, some more silly little selfies of you two together, but what really fucked with his head was when you posted a photo you took of a Polaroid picture sitting on your bed, a picture of Seojoon and his dog that is apparently named Simba. You captioned it ‘My babies!!!’

The Polaroid camera he left for you, no doubt. That posts mere existence nearly sent him on a goddamn rampage.

The most comical part of it all is he knew exactly who Seojoon was. Not only did Sena work with the fucker, but he was Taehyung’s friend. He was never close with Seojoon, had met him a few times on nights out when Taehyung invited Seojoon to join, and he heard vague stories involving him when Sena would ramble about work. He never particularly liked him but didn’t hate him either. They just weren’t similar enough to be pals.

He fucking hates him now.

He knew when he saw you with Seojoon, that someday, he would have to face you together. Because Taehyung is one of Jungkook’s closest friends, and Taehyung is also close with Seojoon. They worked together on a few projects, Taehyung works in marketing at an art gallery, so they often swapped ideas and collaborated on marketing ideas. Taehyung also often invited Seojoon to their bar outings and get togethers. It was only a matter of time before Seojoon brought you with him.

He was well aware of the connection. And he was fucking anticipating this day.

See, he wasn’t even going to come tonight. He planned on getting drunk and falling asleep alone like he has done many nights now. But then Taehyung told him some of the people that would be here, which included Seojoon and ‘his new girl.’ His new girl, aka Jungkook’s girl, he still stubbornly thinks. And oh, like the stray dog he is, he started fucking panting at the thought of being near you again.

So, he agreed. What he didn’t fucking agree on was Sena showing up. He rarely brings her out with him, because she’s not interested in spending time with him anymore anyway. But for some fucking reason, she insisted on joining tonight.

That didn’t sit well with him. Something was very off about it. But he couldn’t say no, he wouldn’t say no, because despite how cold she is, he won’t cast her out like she’s cast him out. Not until she forces him to. And if he is being one hundred percent honest, he doesn’t give a fuck why Sena was so persistent on coming tonight. Whatever she’s doing, he doesn’t care anymore. He’s beyond the point of caring. He has his sight fucking set on you.

He has been buzzing all fucking night knowing he would see you again. He’s been in a foul mood, everyone noticed too. He refused to say why, just blamed it on being tired from work. But in reality, it was because he was going to see you again, and he was going to see you with another man.

Hell on earth, he feels this is far worse than you leaving him… but he’s a masochist, he thinks. He was dreading it while simultaneously buzzing with excitement. He felt a rush at imagining seeing you for the first time in half a year with another mans arm around you.

He won’t admit it, but knowing he would see you again kept him going. It was only a matter of time, and he had all the time in the world to wait, even if it was for a single moment and you refused to ever see him again after that. And honestly, he knew damn well all bets would he off. He knew the moment he saw you, he wouldn’t fucking stop. He wouldn’t let you go again. He doesn’t give a fuck if you’re with Seojoon now… he needs you. In any fucking way you’ll allow it. Whether it’s a friend, or an enemy, or a stray fucking dog that circles your apartment until you finally let him inside. Jungkook has always been stubborn, but he has never been as stubborn as he is when it comes to you.

He’s a stray dog, after all. Starved of love and affection that you once provided so freely. Having the knowledge that at some point you’d cross paths again was like waving a fucking steak in his face. He drooled when he thought about it.

He didn’t expect to walk in and the first thing he hears when he sees you is Seojoon referring to you as his girlfriend. And he didn’t expect to feel so fucking resentful towards you for looking like you were ok. You definitely seemed tense, and he had a good idea as to why, but you weren’t falling apart. You were just fine. Was it truly so easy for you to move on?

There you were, sitting on the couch with another man’s arm around you while wearing his fucking jacket and chain he gave you the last time you saw each other. He fucking hates it. It feels like the ultimate betrayal, and although he knows he is so out of line for thinking this way, he just can’t help it. You wanted to move on, you have every right to, you both agreed this is what you needed.

But he’s a stray dog. And this is equivalent to seeing his previous owner loving on a dog who never knew what it was like to be a stray.

He has always been selfish when it comes to you. He knows his feelings are so fucking hypocritical, because you aren’t the only one who showed up wearing things that didn’t belong to you while with someone else, he did the same exact thing; he’s wearing the star pimple patches he stole from you that last night together. He doesn’t even have any pimples, he just likes them, and he doesn’t give a fuck if Sena scolded him for it. He wore them knowing damn well you would both be here tonight with other people, because he wanted you to notice him. He wanted you to remember.

He's so selfish for his train of thought and he knows it. He won’t even deny it… but he had been suffering this entire time, even when trying to do the right thing, yet here you are, sitting in front of him, and you looked totally fine… up until you saw him.

When you saw him, you looked like you saw a ghost. Because you fucking did see a ghost. He may have been aware of what was happening tonight, but the last thing you expected was seeing him here, too.

But even with the bitterness and resentment he’s irrationally feeling, even with the volatile thoughts going through his head, he still can’t stand to see you sitting there looking as if you wish he was someone else. Fuck, he’d do anything to just wrap you in his arms and cradle you and kiss your forehead and whisper sweet everything’s in your ear.

To fucking have you again.

But he can’t do that. And he can’t stand to see you look at him as if you wish he weren’t here right now.

Which is exactly how you’re looking at him. Because you wish so badly that he was not here right now.

“Calvin Klein is a great brand, I’m wearing them too. You have good taste.”

He winks at you, lifts his shirt a bit to reveal the waistband of his fucking underwear, which just so happens to be the pair you used to favor. They’re a light purple color, which makes his honey skin look fucking divine, and they’ve always been snug on him. The tiny flash of color brings memories back quickly, memories of you tugging on them with your teeth and trying to suck him off through the fabric. Fuck. You are so fucked.

He does this as if it’s the most casual thing in the world. Just two people who are meeting for the first time, conversing over a brand of clothing and underwear they both enjoy. He totally didn’t wear these on purpose knowing you’d be here tonight. He totally didn’t premeditate wearing this pair of underwear, or the pimple patches, or being here at-fucking-all.

It’s all too much for you. You can barely even take in the way his hair got so much fucking longer, or the fact that he looks bulkier which means he has been going to the gym more, or the fact that he smells the exact same and reminds you of fucking home. You’re having a very hard time keeping your composure right now, and it feels as if the room is closing in on you.

It’ll keep closing until you and Jungkook are smooshed together, and there will be no denying the fact that you never truly got over him like you convinced yourself, you just buried all the bad feelings.

This is what happens when you deny yourself the truth. You’re fine for a long time, until one day, something little or big can cause it all to come bubbling to the surface, and you can no longer deny it.

That is what’s happening. And you need some fucking air before you suffocate.

“I left my purse in the car. I’ll be right back.”

You don’t even look at anyone as you swiftly make your way outside. Everyone remains oblivious, and if you had any coherent thoughts right now you would probably be concerned about the fact that Seojoon didn’t even blink at the way your voice shook when speaking.

“Actually, babe that reminds me, can you go get my purse too? I left it in the backseat.”

Oh, this just keeps getting better and better. Maybe God doesn’t hate Jungkook after all, because what a perfect fucking excuse to get you alone without anyone batting an eye.

“Yeah, I’ll be right back.”

You’re out the door before you can hear any of this. And if you did hear it, you just might steal Seojoon’s car and drive until the gas runs out, far, far away from here. But you have no idea that he’s trailing you right now, because where Jungkook may be gods favorite, god still definitely has it out for you.

You finally make it to Seojoon’s car, which is parked across the street on the curb. You place your palms on the window in hopes that the coolness will help calm your body because it feels like your blood is hot fucking lava right now.

You take deep breaths. Try to calm down the consistent zapping feeling and flies swarming your stomach that seem desperate to escape out of your mouth in the form of vomit.

You don’t like the fact that even though you felt dread when seeing Jungkook, for a single moment, the flies turned into butterflies again.

You don’t like the very sinful thoughts going through your head knowing that you now have access to him again.

Temptation is no joke, and you’re starting to question everything about the way you coped. Seeing him again surely would have fucked you up, it’s equivalent to seeing an ex who broke your heart, any other person would have probably been a bit shaken up… but this is so much worse. Because it isn’t just a passing glance or brief run in. Jungkook is Taehyung’s friend, who is also Seojoon’s friend. Jungkook is married to Sena, which is Seojoon’s coworker. They’re all fucking connected.

It is both thrilling and devastating.

“How cute that you showed up wearing my jacket while some other man’s hands are all fucking over you… does he know it’s mine?”

He doesn’t touch you, but he’s there. You feel his body heat behind you, and his palms come to rest right next to yours on the window. He has you boxed in, nowhere to fucking hide.

The lyrics from earlier come to mind, the lyrics that were very easy to ignore when Seojoon was terribly singing them:

‘But now there's nowhere to hide,

Since you pushed my love aside,

I'm out of my head,

Hopelessly devoted to you.’

Oh, how fucking fitting.

You don’t know why he’s doing this. He’s being kind of… argumentative. Unfair. Fucking childish, really. He’s never acted like this before… then again, time has passed, and feelings have obviously festered. Maybe he hates your guts now, because he clearly feels bitter about things ending.

You should push him away now. You should immediately set boundaries and tell him sternly that this isn’t ok, and he needs to keep his distance.

But you’ve only ever been so fucking weak for this man, and considering instead of pushing him away, you turn around to face him? You’re still very clearly too weak to be trusted around him.

The moonlight bounces off his face, and for the first time since encountering him tonight, you see light flicker in his eyes just like it used to. They aren’t as dark despite his pupils being blown still, but those little stars that you once loved so fucking much are glittering.

“Fuck.”

He has no idea what comes over him. But the moment you turn around, he expects you to do exactly as you should and push him away, scold him for being so irrational and impulsive and borderline disrespectful. But you don’t. Instead, your eyes mimic his, they fucking glitter and reflect the stars in his own. Asters dancing around in your eyes just like they used to.

That fucks him completely, to actually see that although you seem ok, you haven’t fully moved on like it appeared you had.

You both thought you each moved on, all because of some silly little Instagram posts that neither of you were meant to see to begin with. Nothing is as it seems, is it?

All an illusion.

He grabs your face, it’s so fucking impulsive and he knows it, but he loses control. He’s never been good at controlling himself around you, not unless you tell him no.

But you don’t tell him no. You don’t recoil and tell him to fuck off like you should. You let him.

Stupid girl.

He leans in, but doesn’t quite kiss you. He places his lips so close to yours that they brush together. You are fucking tense, it feels as if your bones could snap at how taught your body is, but you still don’t push him away. You need to, because what if someone walks out and sees? How the fuck would you explain that the man everyone assumes you just met is this close and touching you as if he’s fucking in love with you?

The secret would be out then. Oh fuck, what a mess that would be.

But all those thoughts fly out of the fucking window when he closes the distance. It’s soft, he doesn’t move his lips, he just lets them linger on yours. Both of you are fucking shaking like addicts who just got their first hit of their favored drug after being deprived.

You let out the smallest huff of air, and that’s all it takes for Jungkook to snap. He groans and begins kissing you ravenously. Tongue and teeth, love and hate, his hands leave your face and start wandering your body as if he’s mapping it out all over again. The stray dog finally got the fucking bone.

You kiss him back instinctively. Not much thought goes into it, it’s like your body just automatically responds after being deprived from him for so long. Your tongue tangles with his almost as if they’re fighting, your hands explore his body just as thoroughly as his does yours.

It’s like two planets colliding. Fucking chaos. It shouldn’t be happening, but it is, and neither of you are strong enough to stop it. The big-fucking-bang. The end and the beginning of the world all over again.

He grabs you by the waist and hoists you up, maneuvers your legs so that they’re wrapped around his waist and pins you to the car. Seojoon’s fucking car, by the way. He has no intention of going beyond kissing, because he knows there are lines that he won’t cross again unless you say so. Especially not so soon.

But he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try to get as close as possible to you and bury himself inside of your very soul all over again. The thoughts going through his head are borderline crazy; he’s thinking shit like he wishes he could just crawl inside of you and live there; he wishes you really would treat him like a stray dog, buy him a fucking collar with your name on it, and take him home to keep him forever. Fuck, he would wear it, too. He would eat food off of the floor and lick your fucking feet if you said he could come home with you one last time.

You have no regard for your surroundings for a few moments, or even the fact that if you stay out here for too long people might question why you’re both out here longer than necessary. All you can focus on is how he tastes… how he tastes and feels like home. How for the first time in months, your arousal is bordering on painful just from his hands touching you. You never get like this with Seojoon, and you’re sure you’ll feel guilty for that later.

This is so fucking wrong in so many more ways than it ever was before, but somehow feels so right.

When he left, both of your flowers died. You haven’t bloomed since, and neither has he. You’ve both been dormant as the seasons change. You’ve to get on with your lives… but in this very moment, the seeds are replanted as if it’s inevitable. Spring flowers are dead, but autumn flowers are blooming.

Neither of you will ever be the same for each other again, but this alone is proof that no matter what season it is or how long apart you are… you will always fucking reignite the life in each other.

You’re both lucky, too, because Seojoon and Sena remain oblivious inside. Neither have even noticed that you’re gone, they’ve already helped themselves to some food and are chatting about work.

You know you need to get back inside soon regardless of who has or hasn’t noticed, because eventually someone will come looking. You can’t ravish each other like animals out here, not like this. But just a little bit longer…

“Fuck Y/N I’ve missed you so fucking much.” It comes out as a groan, but he sounds so fucking needy that you feel like you could faint. The way his voice cracks makes you groan back at him. He’s going to kill you acting like this. What a way to die.

Fuck. You need to stop before you go too far. You aren’t sure that you can control yourself.

So with shaky hands, you push him away, nearly fall as your knees wobble when he lets you out of his grip. You’re panting, your lips feel electric, and they taste so potently like him. You point a finger at him and say weakly, “N-no. No. Stop.”

It almost sounds as if you’re scolding a dog… which is ironic considering the canine-poetry he often compares himself to. And of course he stops, but he wonders what the sudden change was. He’s being stupid as fuck, this entire situation he put you both in is stupid, which is fitting because he feels fucking dumb in love all over again.

“Why? Did I hurt you?” He asks dumbly as he wipes his mouth, his fingers are twitching with need to touch you again, but he refrains for now because you said stop. He may be a stray, but he does as he’s told…

Oh, how fucking Jungkook of him to immediately wonder if he hurt you. Because no matter how selfish he is, he will always worry about hurting you, he will never fucking forgive himself for hurting you.

You breathe out a laugh that isn’t out of humor, but out of irony. He’s worried about hurting you, as if that’s the worst thing that could happen here tonight… when you both came here with your fucking partners.

“No, fuck. Jungkook, your fucking wife is inside, and so is my boyfriend. This is wrong. Can’t do this again”

You hate that even with Jungkook, you now feel pressured to call Seojoon your boyfriend. It makes you cringe that he pushed that label on you, and your current confusing feelings do not help at all. Jungkook notices you cringe, too.

He doesn’t like that.

He mimics your laugh, runs a hand through his long hair and shakes his head. He averts his eyes now because he simply can’t stand to look at you. Not when you just called Seojoon your boyfriend when you so obviously don’t see him as such.

He feels himself start to get pissed. He knows he shouldn’t be getting angry right now, has no reason or right to. You’re doing what you’re supposed to do; moving on… but now you’re in front of him again.

And he wants to make it fucking impossible for you to move on.

“Yeah? Your boyfriend, huh? So you’re a liar now too?”

You flinch, your back is pressed against the cool car as you stare at him in shock. Yeah, he’s pissed. Which is making you feel both irritated and a bit intimidated, because his mood switched so quickly. One moment he's devouring you, the next he’s accusing you of being a liar.

You both are so great at moving on! Fucking bullshit.

“What? No, he is my—”

“Does he kiss you like I do?”

He takes a step closer.

Fuck. Please don’t.

“Don’t—”

“Does he touch you like I do?”

Another step closer.

“Does he fuck you like I do?”

And now you’re pinned to the car again. He isn’t touching, because you told him not to. But his body is nearly brushing against yours as he looks down at you. You have no idea what the fuck to say.

“Does he love you like I do? Would he ever fucking be able to love you like I did and still do to this day, Y/N?”

You can’t take it. Fuck. The one thing you never did was compare Seojoon to Jungkook. You may have thought about Jungkook, you may have had lingering feelings for him, but you never once compared Seojoon to him because that would be so fucking unfair. Not only would it be unfair, but you know that if you did compare him, you would never be satisfied.

You never even thought to compare Seojoon to Jungkook until now, because there is no comparison. No one could possibly measure up to Jungkook.

But now, he’s planted those thoughts in your mind like fucking weeds. No, Seojoon doesn’t kiss you like Jungkook does, he doesn’t even seem to enjoy kissing. No, Seojoon doesn’t touch you like Jungkook does, he refuses to leave marks made of love and passion because he thinks it’s tacky. No, Seojoon doesn’t fuck you like Jungkook does, he likes to stick to the same few positions and prefers you on top. And no, Seojoon doesn’t love you like Jungkook ever did, Seojoon doesn’t love you at all.

Fuck Jungkook for putting these thoughts in your head.

You’re pissed at this point. Pissed at him for crossing the line and trying to sabotage shit, pissed at yourself for allowing him to kiss and touch and fill your head with thoughts on how Seojoon is only a tree whereas Jungkook is an exotic fucking flower.

You push at his chest again and grit out, “Fucking stop, I am done.”

You told him to stop, so he should. But he already started… and he isn’t sure he can stop now, not when you are right in front of him, and your face says it all; Seojoon will never be Jungkook.

Jungkook doesn’t budge when you push him, he stays in place like a fucking boulder. Has definitely been visiting the gym more.

“Yeah? You think we’re done? We’re not done.”

He leans down until he is nose to nose with you, his breath washing over your face, hot and heavy.

“I said we’re. not. done. Understand?”

You fucking hate yourself in this moment. Because Jungkook has done a lot of little things in the past that make you go crazy, a single fucking look could make you drop to your knees and do anything he wants. But this? This turns you on in a way you have never experienced before.

It drives you crazy with anger, longing, and fucking passion for him. He’s crossing a line right now, pushing you in ways that are so fucking wrong considering you both have people waiting for you inside. He’s still married, and you technically have a boyfriend now. So you should tell him how full of shit he is for trying to tell you you’re not done. He can’t make decisions for you.

He knows this, too. But he’ll be damned if he doesn’t push you to give into him again in some fucking way. He won’t let you go so easily this time.

But the way he says it… it’s as if he has never been more certain of anything in his life. Because he hasn’t. He is so serious when he says he’s not done. Neither of you are. He will make damn sure of it after the taste he had tonight.

You shouldn’t have planted that fucking seed.

The worst part is that you believe him. You know that look in his eyes, its determination. He won’t fucking stop until you tell him to never come near you again.

You don’t know if you can do that a second time.

You're about to scold him and tell him to back off, but you hear a whistle come from the house.

“Yo, Kook, come help me grill this pork belly.”

Yoongi stares at Jungkook’s back with an emotionless expression, there’s no mistaking how close he is to you right now and it has you so fucking on edge, because Yoongi sees it. What if he fucking tells someone?

This is the exact reason why you shouldn’t be sneaking around. Holy fuck.

It shouldn’t feel this good to sneak around with him again, especially when the stakes are even higher.

“Coming, was just helping Y/N with her purse.”

He stares you down as if to silently say ‘I am so fucking serious.’ And even though he looks borderline angry, there is no mistaking the devastating amount of love he still holds for you. Even when feeling jealous and angry and resentful, his eyes are still glittering when looking at you. It’s as if you’ve siphoned the life back into him.

He childishly pinches your waist, which causes you to squeak, and then he walks away, heading back towards the porch of the house where Yoongi lingers waiting for him.

You watch him the entire time, not sure what the fuck you’re doing or are going to do after this.

It really doesn’t help that before closing the door, Yoongi gives you a look as if to say, ‘I know your secret.’

Fuck, you are in so much trouble. What the fuck are you doing?

One thing is abundantly clear, though; this is either the start of something catastrophic, or it is the last time you will ever see each other again.

You just aren’t sure which one yet.

Yes you are.

You swiftly grab your purse from Seojoon’s car and reapply your lip tint in the mirror. You need to get back inside because now is not the time to start freaking out. People are waiting for you inside, one of which is a man that probably would never expect you to be out here kissing one of his ‘friends’ like a horny fucking teenager.

You have so much fucking thinking to do, but for now, you must pretend once again. You hope so fucking much that Jungkook behaves for the remainder of the night. Otherwise, you just might explode.

#bts #jeon jungkook #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #jungkook #jungkook angst #bts fanfction #bts imagines #bts smut #18+ only #jungkook x you #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #i love jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfiction #bts angst #bts x reader

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crash-and-cure · 1 year

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Wait for Me (Yandere!Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Summary: Tupelo’s favorite son is on his way home to all the expected pomp and circumstance befitting a returning King.

A/N: This is very much inspired by Hadestown and I may or may not blend all the character together so that both Elvis and reader have aspects from all of them. Technically I’m cheating I will admit by combining these two (-, -) requests into one story but I thought it would work well. Not me trying to Posit how WW2 affected the floriculture industry all for a fanfic. But this is apparently how I marry my two hyperfixations of 2022: Hadestown and Elvis. A+ to anyone that can find all the references to both Hadestown and the greek mythos in the story.

Warnings: Yandere!Elvis so expect themes of obsessive, manipulative, and delusional behavior. Kidnapping. Kinda of a stochholme syndrome going on through the later half. Blood and a bit of child abuse depicted (arguably this child deserved it). Emotional Manipulation throughout. Isolation. Touch-starved reader. Innocent reader. Explicit sexual content depicted that includes Penetrative sex (m/f), oral sex (f. and m. recieving), vaginal fingering and handjobs. Outsider POV for the first bit. Probably more that I am blanking on. Excessive use of “Honeybee” and “Rosebud” as a nickname for the reader. Please do not interact if you are under 18.

Word Count: 21k (seriously somebody stop me)

My Masterlist

Dreams are sweet, Until they’re not

Men are kind, Until they aren’t

Flowers bloom, Until they rot, And fall apart

Flowers, Hadestown

Demi has never feared a single man in her life.

Men have done her wrong. Men have humiliated her. Men have even hurt her. But she does not fear them.

That’s how she lived for years, drifting from place to place, belonging to no one as no one belonged to her, unattached and untethered as the wind. Working odd jobs to get by until the next town, but there was a perpetual emptiness in this existence of hers that left her feeling hollow.

And then her sweet little daughter was born and she found something that bound her to this world fully. She knew who the father was, but none of that mattered to her, because her daughter was no man’s, she was hers. He wasn’t good for much, but getting roughly ten acres of land in exchange for never having to deal with either him or his wife again was one of the sweetest deals she had ever heard.

Living on a farm was never where she pictured herself ending up, let alone working and later inheriting a farm that only grew flowers, but Gail, the old caretaker of the land, was a literal godsend in those early days. Gail had that same look in her eyes as someone else who had been wronged by a man, and this kindred spirit would end up more or less adopting Demi as her own.

Her daughter is by far the most beautiful thing to have ever existed, born the first day of spring all balled up fists and shrill cries complete with a scrunched up face.

She was perfect.

Demi made a promise to that tiny creature that night, to never know hunger, to be surrounded by only the most beautiful things the world has to offer, to never be unloved for as long as she should live, and most importantly to never let the world hurt her the same way she was hurt. All of these rather lofty promises to make, but she was determined to keep them.

Those early days were painfully idyllic, caring for flowers, selling the cuttings, all the while her daughter was strapped to her chest. It admittedly did a number on her back, but it was all worth it to remind her what she works for. She doesn’t think there will ever be a day in which she forgets the first time her daughter's tiny hands reached out for a white rose, and just the utter serenity that overcame her in that moment. There is no doubt in her mind that this is where the both of them were meant to be.

As the years passed their little family grew as Demi collected other wayward women, some came and went, others stuck around so long her daughter started calling them her Aunties. Even a war happened a world away, and the farm had to shift focus to making food rather than beauty, but now three years later everything is close to being just as perfect as it was before.

But if there is one saying she wholeheartedly believes, it is that woman plans and man laughs.

Her daughter had been so upset that day and had ended up exhausting herself in Demi’s bed and she thanked whatever force up above for that when she woke in the middle of the night to the sound of rustling in her daughters room. Making sure that her daughter was still asleep she crept silently down the hall, baseball bat in hand, prepared to defend her family from whoever the hell was in her home.

Evidently nothing could have prepared her for what she would find in there, as she walked into her daughter's room and was met with the cornflower blue gaze of a familiar waifish thirteen year old boy.

When he had first started coming around, he was more like a stray cat whom her daughter fed once; annoyingly underfoot but manageable enough with a hose. But the more time he spent the more worried she became.

All of which the day before when she had idly asked her daughter what she did with the boy that day only for her sweet little daughter to innocently respond, “he told me not to tell you.”

Her friends tried to tell her it was puppy love and that it would eventually pass, and just to give it some time to fade. How intervening may just make it worse. But something in her gut told her that there was something about the way he looked at her daughter, the way he spoke to and about her, the way he acted, and that something was that it was all very wrong. If she had to liken it to anything, she imagines that this is the same way a hunter looks upon his mark.

It was beyond anything she’s ever seen in a grown man's eyes, so she never thought she could see something like that in a child's eyes.

Her daughter remained innocent to it, and slowly but surely Demi was trying to edge that boy out of their lives. Sent him home earlier and earlier, kept her from the shop and in the fields, even began to go out of her way to pick up her daughter rather than chance it with walking home by herself.

But now looking at the boy as he eagerly ransacked her daughter's dresser, did she realize she should have better listened to her instinct.

‘Oh hi Miss Demi,” he would say, as though he just wasn’t caught rifling through her daughters drawers. He was clutching tightly to a truly pathetic and haphazardly put together bouquet of flowers, that seemed to be dripping something from the stems. “Do you know where Y/N is? I just wanted to give these to her.”

It was only as she turned on the lights did she see the true horror to be had. Candy apple red, as though it could ever be that innocent, blood was dripping between his fingers and onto the wooden floors below, his face giving no indication that he even noticed, his eyes continually darting behind her as though waiting for someone from behind. The flowers in the chaotic bouquet tell a story of all kinds of love, but the one errant, still-thorned rose tells the story not of love, but of something else… something dark and unspeakable.

Demi acts immediately, grabbing him by the wrist and by the ear and getting him the hell out of her house. For all his protests and attempts to escape her grip, he was no match for the fury of a mother, and with the ruckus the boy is stirring up she silently thanks god that her daughter is such a deep sleeper.

It hurts her having to leave her daughter home alone, but she knows that her daughter's biggest threat is in her grasp.

She’s had to drop the boy off enough times to remember where he lived and she knows his mother well enough to instinctively know she is no doubt up worrying over him. She was proven right seeing the light bleeding through the front windows of the small home.

He is out of the truck before Demi can even fully park it, and he bolts to the door, probably hoping that she will then be forced to leave without talking to his mother about this whole thing. But he is stopped as said woman flies out of the house and catches him in a massive bear hug on the small porch.

He has parents who care for him so much, yet he still acts like this? She wonders to herself. She sees the woman giving her son once over before coming across his wounded hand that had by now begun to congeal and stop bleeding.

“If you know what’s good for him, you’ll make sure he stays the hell away from my property and I best never see you sniffin’ around my child again, boy,” Demi would say, voice ice cold interrupting this warm reunion, pointing a single finger in this boy's face.

“Demi, what’re you talkin’ ‘bout?” his mother would ask, already putting him behind her back, willing to defend him with her life apparently.

Wouldn’t you do the same, a small part of her says.

“Y’know I expected more from you,” Demi said to her fellow mother. “I never would’ve expected you to be the type to raise a boy that would break into a little girls room and go through her drawers. The hell were you even tryin’ to find in there?”

He wouldn’t answer her, but he would look her dead in the eye, with a look that told her he was unrepentant about his actions. Though that mask would crack the slightest bit as his mother took his face in her hands.

“Bewbie… is this true?” the woman would ask her son slowly, unwilling to believe. But his downturned eyes do all the necessary talking.

“Mama she’s crazy,” that little shit would say, trying to deflect, and cowering behind his mothers skirts. “We can’t leave Honeybee with her.”

“I oughta knock all your fuckin’ teeth out for whatchu did. See how good a singer you are then,” she threatens, though that hardly helps her case. But she was willing to do a lot worse if it meant keeping her daughter safe.

“Don’tcha see Mama?” he says, gesturing a hand her way. “She ain’t safe with Miss Demi, and we gotta take her with us.” It’s not so much his words that are disturbing, but the complete and utter conviction that he speaks nothing but the truth that has the hair on the back of Demi’s neck stand up.

That boy’s lucky that his father decided to make his way out there and prevent Demi from making good on her threat.

“Buntyn, go inside,” she would firmly say to her son. He looks as though he were about to protest, until she shoots a look and he backs down, and walks back into his home. His mother takes a moment to process her words, though nothing she says has a chance in hell of quelling the fury in Demi’s heart. “I-I think he’s just actin’ out because we’re gonna to be movin’ soon,” she tries to weakly justify.

“I don’t fuckin’ care what his excuses are, Gladys. Keep a leash on that boy o’ yours if you gotta,” Demi seethes, catching said boy looking out at them from the window. She makes eye contact with him, fully knowing he would hear this next part, “Because I ain’t goin’ to be so nice next time.”

Demi turned around with that threat still hanging in the air and hoped to never see any of them again. It’s a long quiet drive from there, and her fury reaches a near boiling point finding that damned bouquet on the floor, forgotten in all the ruckus, to which she quickly chucks them into the furnace. It feels wrong to burn her own livelihood, but these flowers were now in her eyes tainted and unfit to ever be seen again.

The fury doesn’t fully melt away until she sees the love of her life sitting up from her bed.

“Mama where’d ya go?” you would ask, your tiny fists rubbing the sleep out of your eyes as you let out an almost angelic yawn. You are and always will be her baby, and nothing will ever take you away from her.

“Just a stray dog sniffin’ round the house, Rosebud,” Demi would say, lightly scratching her nails down your back, the same way she’s done since you were a newborn. “But don’tchu worry baby, your mama scared it off. Go back to sleep.”

Demi sleeps well that night if only due to the fact that she was able to convince herself (albeit temporarily) that that had all been a bad dream. But once she saw the trail of crimson starting from your bedroom window, there is no denying what had happened the night before. She didn’t get this far by trusting other people's words, so for the next few days the two of you slept in a different room each night. Demi calls it camping and you, her sweet little girl, are all too willing to believe her. She sleeps with one eye open those nights, all too afraid that even dropping her watch for half a second will lead to disaster.

She would find no peace until she heard around town that they had moved somewhere up north. To where? She didn't care so long as he was as far away from her precious Rosebud as could be. Still she is always worried as to the day he may come back, so she can only pray that he’s moved on to another poor girl and leaves you the hell alone.

Part of her wonders if she should warn you in case he ever returns, but this question answers itself when you come home from school wanting to show her how many ladybugs you caught in the schoolyard today. She didn’t want to burden you with this awful knowledge, wanting to keep you innocent from your mothers woes.

Demi wanted to shield you from the world, and hoped that one day, you would also get to live without fearing men. It would take her nine years to realize, by then far too late, that you only lacked fear because you didn’t know what men were capable of.

Demi fears no man.

But she does fear Elvis Presley.

—------------------------------------

Flowers have always been the family business. Fields upon fields of every color in the rainbow going on for acres. Truly even having lived here for years and knowing little to nothing else but this, it still never fails to take your breath away.

To say your family knows flowers, is an understatement. You had spent your days running around the property asking your aunties about the flowers they tended to, and what each of them meant.

You learned from an early age that flowers were always meant to invoke good feelings in people, and it makes you proud that you’re a part of it. So you’re excited to say the least when your Mama surprises you with your very own gardening kit for Christmas.

It’s a rite of passage for those in your family to successfully grow and maintain their own plot of flowers for the first time. You had been given the choice of any flower you wanted to take on, most of them pointing to some of these easiest ones for your first time, the ones that you need only plant and water regularly to eventually bloom. You on the other hand wanted to do something harder. So you chose roses due to both the challenge it takes into growing and maintaining them but also the fact that your farm had them in abundance, so it wouldn’t hit the business too hard if you failed.

But moreover, Mama had always called you her little Rosebud, so it only felt fitting to have these be the first flowers you grow all on your own. These blooms were rather picky about conditions, but you had been watching the women in your family grow them since before you could walk, and so you felt you were up to the task. You were only nine but you wanted to show the rest of them how good you could do on your own.

So you watched the seeds germinate, watched them grow into tiny sprouts in their small pots, planted them neatly apart, gave them plenty of sun, and never forgot to water them. Mama even caught you once or twice hovering over those little pots not wanting to miss a single moment of their growth.

She warned you to temper your expectations, how sometimes you can do everything right, and they still may not grow. But you were full of hope and wanted this more than you have ever wanted anything in your few years of life.

You had taken this seriously, hanging on to every tip you got from your Aunties, being sure to tend to them at the correct times, giving the correct amount of water and watching like a hawk for any unwanted pests. Each day you got the pleasure of watching them grow into buds and you figured they were close to blooming any day.

And that’s why you took great offense when you found a gangly tow-headed boy picking at the red roses you had worked so hard to grow.

He looked to be older than you by a few years, stood a foot taller than you, but you knew boys like him, the type that would stomp out dandelions to make you cry and you weren’t about to let him ruin your hard work with your first batch of rose bushes. You may be 9 but you’re scrappy as all get out, which you prove when you drop your basket of fresh cuttings of the day and all but tackle the larger boy into the dirt.

He gives an undignified shriek as he hits the ground, having been caught off guard, but he does attempt to shove you off until he goes a bit limp upon getting a good look at you. The brief scuffle ends with you straddling him and your little palms pinning his arms down as best as you could as owlish, cornflower blue eyes stared up at you in equal amounts of awe and fear.

“What’re you doin’ here?” you say your little voice indignant at what you thought were his attempts to sabotage your efforts. “Why were tryin’ to kill those roses?”

“I-I-I wa-wasn’t,” he insists, his cheeks burning from the shame of being caught doing whatever he was doing and his hands shaking something fierce as he limply tries to hide his face from you as you clench a tiny fist above you. You see that the briars got him good and little droplets of blood were beading up on some fine scratches on his hands.

If he was trying to wreck the bushes you doubt he would try to do so in such a stupid way, but that didn’t mean you trusted him quite yet. However you weren’t about to let him continue being hurt in your presence, so you stood up and grabbed the band-aids that were in your little kit, and helped clean him up.

“I-It-ts m-my mama’s birthday to-tomorrow, an-and I wanted to get her so-somethin’ nice this year,” he said after a while, solemnly looking at his bandaged hand.

You softened at his words, not having expected his answer, but you can hardly fault him for his reasoning. Afterall you don’t know where you or your mama would be if there weren’t thoughtful people that gave flowers to those they loved.

But you do know how much work it takes to grow them, and maintaining your irritation at his mucking about, you indignantly say “You coulda went to our shop and bought them.”

He goes an even deeper shade of red with your statement, “I-I know it’s wrong to steal, an-and I never woulda done this i-if I had the money to buy ‘em.”

It feels like all of the animosity you have towards him leaves your body at that moment. You and Mama have had your hard times before, and you are very much aware that each flower in your family’s field is worth something. It’s what keeps everyone fed, what keeps the lights on, and puts the clothes on your backs, but even knowing that you have one simple belief; everyone deserves nice flowers.

“Well,” you say to him as you stand up. “You picked the wrong color. You ain’t supposed to give red roses to your mama.”

“Really?”

“If you know anything about the language of flowers, you’d know that you’re only supposed to give ‘em to your wife or girlfriend.”

“...Flowers talk to each other?”

“No, they…” you pause trying to figure out a way to best explain yourself. “Their colors and the types are supposed to tell people how you feel about ‘em.” He draws his brows together, thoroughly confused as to what you’re saying, though that ain’t surprising. Mama often complained that when Men buy flowers, they never think too much beyond price, and boys rarely if ever appreciate them.

You decide that it may do him better, to see it rather than trying to explain it fully. So you take his bandaged hand and you walk him through some of the crops. From the outside, the fields look to be a chaotic mess of colors, when in reality there is a lot more thought put into it as your mother organizes by type rather than color. You are able to give him a run down as to rose color meanings, until you finally arrive at your intended destination.

He goes a little wide-eyed once you take out your gardening shears, but quickly relaxes once you go behind him to the bushel of pink roses. You’ve been cutting and dethorning roses for about a year or two now, so it takes not even a minute to find one in good condition, grab it, cut it, proceed to have it stripped of all its thorns, and casually present it to the blonde boy before you.

You thought he was red before, but as you presented him that rose, he turned redder than the rose he had attempted to pluck. His bandaged hand shakily takes the flower out of your hand, and with a reverence you’ve never seen from a boy when it comes to flowers, he holds it gently with both.

“Pink means gratitude and admiration.”

“What?” his lip still quivering slightly and eyes glassy.

“When you give someone a pink rose,” you explain to him, with a smile. “You’re letting them know that you’re grateful for all they’ve done for you and that you admire them very much for it. It’s the perfect flower to give to your Mama,” you say, giving him a small smile, the look he’s giving you making you feel warm inside.

“Rosebud?” you hear from behind you, and all the warm feelings seem to die in that instant.

“H-hi mama,” you say nervously, whipping around, standing on your toes, as though you’ll somehow be able to hide this trespasser's taller frame behind you. Though you realize how stupid that idea is and quickly take her hand, “Mama come look at my roses, I think they’re gonna bloom today,” you say, trying desperately to turn her around as though she’ll forget she ever saw that boy.

“In a minute Rosebud,” she said, her voice saccharine sweet, that you know by now means she’s mad. “But first, why don’tcha introduce me to your little friend here.”

“...yes Mama, this is… my friend…,” you go wide-eyed realizing you don’t even know this boy's name.

Luckily he picks up on your pause, “Hello, ma-ma’am, my name is uuhh… Elvis… Presley.”

Your mama slowly leans forward until she’s eye level with him, “Well, Elvis Presley,” she drawls slowly, her words friendly, yet the way they’re delivered tells you her feelings for this boy are anything but. “You mind tellin’ me why the hell you’re on my property, botherin’ my daughter, and plucking out my livelihood?”

Elvis looks down realizing that he was still holding the pink rose for all to see, and makes a futile attempt to hide it, only for his skinny wrist to be caught in your mothers iron like grip.

Mama had that way about her, her smile could be warm but her words icy. You’ve seen her like this with the few men that had come through here. Some trying to buy the land, some trying to find one of your Aunties, all of them leaving empty-handed because of her.

But you don’t believe that the boy before you, the one that wanted to get his mama something nice for her birthday, could ever be like those bad men. So you decided to do what needs to be done, “I invited him over Mama,” you say looking down at your muddy boots.

“Rosebud you ain’t gotta lie for him,” she admonishes, though she does seem to loosen her grip on him.

“Bu-but it’s the truth Mama. He’s been sayin’ how he needs a gift for his mama’s birthday, so I said he could come over here to get her a flower,” you mumble, knowing that this is something she always told you never to do.

She takes a long hard sigh before she fully releases Elvis, “You best get yourself home before it gets dark.” she says, her warning punctuated with a very cold breeze, despite it being well into April. He swallows nervously as he makes his way to the road, giving one last sorrowful glance your way before leaving.

“Rosebud,” your mama sighs, giving you a kiss on the forehead. “Sometimes you’re too sweet for your own good, and I don’t ever want to see someone take advantage of that.”

“Ok Mama.”

When he left that day you fully expected to never see him again, until he showed up the very next day wanting to show you his guitar.

After that, Elvis becomes a near constant presence at your farm. Your aunties thought he was nice enough, pinching his cheeks and plying him with snacks in exchange for having him sing for them. You don’t mind too much, as you don’t really have too many friends, and next to none that want to spend their evenings on your farm. You kind of enjoyed having him around, he would sometimes bring a guitar and sing to you, or read his comics to you. Other times he would follow you around as you did your chores and ask about the flowers.

You got used to him being around and even grew to enjoy it. One special day you even decided to share your most valued treasure with him: your favorite fruit in the whole world. One so good yet so expensive and rare in these parts that it’s limited to a once a year treat for you.

“An onion?” he asks skeptically.

“No,” you insist, slightly huffy that he’s not appreciating your most prized possession. “It’s called a Pomegranate,” you tell him, taking it out of his hands so that you could cut into it the way your Mama showed you. “I know when you first look at it, it doesn't look like much,” you say, as you cut at the crown. “But when you really look at it, you’ll find something truly amazing,” you conclude, and with a twist of your wrist you take the top off to reveal an abundance of the small jewel looking seeds, where you see him looking at it in nothing less than utter amazement.

That look in his eyes only grows when he actually tastes the little kernels for the first time, and he ravenously devours his half of the fruit, some of the juices overflowing out the corners of his mouth, and down his face.

You on the other hand savor each and every bite of it. You truly believe if perfection can be found, it would be in that late summer afternoon. The soft sunbeams creeping through from the shade and the perfume of the freshly cut flowers in your basket. The soft breeze that runs through your hair and causes the flowers in the fields to sway slightly as though they were dancing to the music flowing from your friends' beaten up guitar.

“What’d ya’ dream about doin’?” he would ask as he gazed up at the clouds overhead, idly strumming his guitar, his lips and fingertips stained red.

“What do you mean Elvis?” You would ask as you pick at the very last seeds on your rind.

“I-I mean wh-what’d ya wanna do when you grow up, Honeybee?,” he asks nervously, eyes firmly on the fields as though he were afraid of your answer. You roll your eyes slightly at his nickname for you, stemming from the time a bee landed on your hand and rather than swatting it away, you gently blew on it to get it to fly away. But you do decide to humor him anyway.

“Oh…This.”

“Really?” he asks, truly baffled at your answer. “You really don’t wanna go nowhere or-or do somethin’ else?”

“Why would I wanna do anything else?,” you ask in turn, confused at his confusion. “It’s like magic when really think ‘bout it,” you insist, showing him the last few kernels of the pomegranate you have in your hand. “Something so small can turn into something so beautiful.”

“You could plant ‘em anywhere, couldn’t you?” he insists.

You shrug your shoulders at that. “I guess.”

“But what if you couldn’t stay here,” he asks, his tone mournful, but you didn’t pick up on it at the time. “Wha-what if you had to go far away and y-you couldn’t come back?”

“Then I would make a new home,” you dismiss, offering him the last six seeds of your Pomegranate. He looks so surprised by the offer, his eyes a bit glassy before he furiously rubs them with the back of his hand and accepts your offer.

“Honeybee… co-could you meet me b-by your roses tomorrow,” he stutters. “I-i got something’ important to give ya’.”

“Ok.”

“Bu-but don’t tell your mama,” he says to you.

That may be a tall order, you thought at the time. Your mama on the other hand remains coolly indifferent to him, but you always got the sense that she didn’t like him for whatever reason. Nonetheless a promise is a promise.

Mama was probably at her happiest when he stopped coming around. When you learned he moved away, you were sad that your friend would leave without saying a proper goodbye, and you believed you would never see that dreamer boy again.

So imagine your surprise when a few years later an electric, new singer starts making waves across the south. He tried to steal flowers from your farm and now he steals hearts across the country.

Just about every girl in town, if given the chance, will brag how they had known him way back when, some of the more daring ones even claiming to have been his first kiss. As far as what you have heard Elvis may be the only man alive to have had 25 first kisses. The boys were no better, all claiming to have been his closest buddy growing up, and promising any girl that they could definitely meet back up with him if they chose.

Everyone is in an absolute tizzy for his return to Tupelo, you are simply trying to help your family through the rush of orders that has come in with the upcoming fair. Mostly it had been a headache because the new Miss Tupelo had demanded that her float be decorated with only white roses, as she didn’t think the standard red was flattering for her.

Which is fine until your shop is presented with a very special order from the mayor himself for an order of three dozen of your finest roses to be given to Tupelo’s favorite returning son for his homecoming concert.

Mama had initially treated it like any other order, until she saw who it was from.

“Absolutely not,” she said in her sternest voice, you hear from around the corner.

“Demi,” your Auntie Kate would admonish her. “Don’t be stupid ‘bout this. It’s been years and he was just a dumb kid back then.”

You don’t know what the mayor did to your Mama, but it had to have been bad, if he got her this worked up. Of course you’re not about to ask, as they had both pointedly left the room to discuss the matter while you were supposed to be minding the store. Instead you were very intently listening in to whether or not your mother was about to refuse an order for seemingly the first time in years.

“Kate, I ain’t takin’ any chances with this,” Mama declares. “You weren’t there, but if you’re ever gonna trust me on anything, let it be this.”

“Look Demi,” Kate sighs. “He’s willing to pay a ridiculous amount of money for them, and we need to offload some of the roses and it ain’t like he’s gonna-”

She’s interrupted by the bell signaling a customer having entered the shop. By the time you finish with him though, Mama has agreed, albeit reluctantly, to accept the order, under the condition the Kate be responsible for it in its totality

You don’t know what Kate had said to her but you’re glad nonetheless as she would claim once your mama was out of earshot that she was too busy to do this order so she asked if you would please be so kind as to take care of it for her.

Those weeks leading up to the fair, someone had asked Elvis if he was looking forward to reconnecting with anyone special back in Tupelo. As the reporter described it, the young star would look down bashfully at his feet, one side of his mouth curving upwards with only the slightest hint of red on his ears as he proclaimed yes to this humble reporter. “My sweetheart from way back in the day. I lost touch with her when I moved up to Memphis and I am praying every night that I find her this time around.”

If him simply coming back for a day to perform sent girls into a frenzy, the prospect of him coming back to find his supposed childhood love, just about turned everybody hysterical. Reporters from all over had flooded the town and had been skulking around trying to find this mysterious girl that had a hold on one of the biggest rising stars. Even once or twice coming into the shop and asking if you’ve received any calls from Memphis asking to send flowers to a specific girl in town.

Many girls were claiming to be the one Elvis is in fact looking for, recounting their memories of a sweet boy who only had eyes for them. They all followed the same general beats of being in the same class, he was embarrassingly smitten with them, and they rejected him. You had been in different grades and didn’t really know him outside of when he would visit your farm seemingly everyday, so you could hardly attest as to whether or not any of this was true. You do however remember him cryptically referring to one specific girl that had his heart, though in not so many words.

In the days leading up to the last time you would see him, he became very interested in the flowers for romance. He didn’t say that he was planning to do so, but you could tell he was gearing up to declare his love for that girl he never named. Your first suggestion is, of course, whatever her favorite flower is.

He would blanche a bit at that, “She-she loves em all,” he would mumble looking away bashfully and facing the vibrantly colored fields. According to your mama this is man's speak for “I don’t know.” With few exceptions, nobody is without a favorite, and you sigh slightly disappointed in him that he’s apparently ready to declare undying affection for a girl and he didn’t even know that basic but important information about the girl. But you did promise him your help so you gave him some suggestions: Lilacs for new love, Gardenias for secret love, Carnations for deep love, Tulips for perfect love, Forget-Me-Nots for true love, and of course Red Roses for passionate love.

On that day you would find him nervously pacing in front of your first batch of roses. They were now in full bloom and you sadly recognized that you’re going to have to cut them soon. You know that’s the beast of this business, that in order to bring new life in, the old must make way, but it’s only a cold comfort and you hope that whoever they end up with will appreciate their beauty.

He practically stared you down as you walked down the row between rose bushes, but he seems to be shaking as though his knees were liable to give out at any moment, and the closer you got to him, you saw that his chest was practically heaving. You can see as he holds something behind his back and you blatantly try to look to see what it is, only to be stopped as he places one hand on your shoulder.

“What’d you wanna talk about Elvis?” you ask him, slightly worried he may be having a heat stroke.

He swallows thickly before he finally answers you, “M-my folks and I are gonna be goin’ up North,” his eyes downcast as though he were ashamed to admit this, one hand still hidden behind his back.

“Oh, when are you coming back?” you say oblivious to his grief.

He’s taken by surprise at your question, but he does answer with a simple “I don’t know.” But with that he squares his shoulders and through trembling lips he stutters, “Honeybee… I-I-I want ya’ to c-come wi-with us.”

“Ok.” you say, completely ignorant as to the true meaning of his words.

“Really?” his face breaking into the biggest smile you’ve ever seen in your life.

“Yeah,” you say simply. You remember vividly that you were going to say something to the effect of needing to be back home before dinner because Auntie Erin was gonna be making her famous Golden Apple Pie, when you all of a sudden felt your lips being occupied.

You laugh at your reaction to a simple kiss on the lips now, but at the time, it had felt like the end of the world to you. After all, you were so sure that this was how babies were made.

When you had asked where babies came from, Mama nervously answered you with this story: Your Daddy kissed your mama out in front of the red roses, and their love would cause a new bud to bloom where they would find you sleeping in a rosebud.

Back then you didn’t know any better, all you did know was that you didn’t want to take care of a baby right now. You wanted to grow Azaleas next, and Mama warned you that that would be a big commitment to make. And Elvis was going to be moving away, so who was going to take care of the baby?

You were confused and frustrated beyond anything you’ve experienced up to that point, and you did what any overwhelmed 9 year old would do.

You started bawling your eyes out, pushed him down, and ran back home.

Mama would later comfort you and reassure you no baby was on it’s way. She corrected her story and told you that in fact, the couple must be married in order for a baby to be made. (She never did go into further detail as to the process, so you assumed that was the only necessary detail)

The next day, you had felt bad and wanted to apologize to Elvis for the confusion and for pushing him down yet again. You even had a sprig of Lily of the Valley ready as a peace offering and everything, but you wouldn’t see him the next day. Nor the day after that.

You wouldn’t hear about him until about a couple months back when you had been dethorning the roses while listening to the radio. You vividly remember the surprise that came over you the moment the DJ announced the artist behind the song. How could you not? Afterall it marks the first time in years that a rose had been able to draw blood from you, because in your surprise, hearing the name of a ghost from your past, your ungloved fingers met with a thorn perfectly.

There was no doubt in your mind that it was him not just for the very distinct name, but for that song specifically. You remember him singing it while you were in the fields, saying he had heard it from Big Boy Crudup himself.

For maybe half a second you entertain the thought that you may be the mystery sweetheart of his, but just as quickly you dismiss it as the way he describes it as being a long lost love tragically torn apart by fate. You on the other hand pushed him down and cried your eyes out when he kissed you once before never seeing him again, hardly the type of romance worth reading about.

And like a blink of an eye the fair day arrived.

You had been expressly forbidden from going to the fair, your mother giving no real reason beyond “because I said so.” This in turn makes you feel less guilty about your little scheme, as she did not forbid you from choosing that day to be the day you work in the shop.

Men are funny creatures, you realize as you work on the order the morning of. Whoever put in the order made sure to specify that the roses must be fresh yet somehow neglected to mention the preferred color.

You opted for red ones in the end as you have those in abundance and you figure they probably wouldn’t look too closely into the meaning beyond it being the classic rose color. But you do slip in a pink rose in the mix, remembering the first flower you had ever given him.

It’s a big order to fill, which you only realize once you're carrying a comically large bouquet into the backstage area of the fairgrounds. It was a bit of a hassle making it there in the first place as evidently you’re not the first young woman insisting you’re allowed to be backstage. Though none of them had the mayor himself vouching for the order and letting you in.

He was already walking up on to the stage by the time you get there, and all you really see of him is the back of his head. Without knowing what you did, you would be hard-pressed to find any similarities between the man on stage and the boy who had to sing facing away from you lest he get too anxious.

But when he was presented with the key to the city, did you finally see hints of that boy from your memories. The way he kept shifting nervously from foot to foot, how he kept stuffing his hands in his pockets only to take them out, his eyes flickering back and forth between the crowd and the mayor. All of it reminding you of the endearing, stuttering boy who nervously asked you what each flower in your field meant.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen someone move like that before, so jerky and sudden, but also so very fluid when he wanted to be. Oddly enough you’re reminded of snake charming, with that vicarious thrill of watching something that looks so dangerous, but you also can’t look away from. But that begs the question: is he the snake or is he the charmer?

It’s hard to say, especially when he shifted gears to slower, less rowdy songs.

And then one day

I had my love as perfect as could be

She lived, she loved, she laughed, she cried

And it was all for me

There was a bit of a tremble in his voice as he crooned those words out to the crowd, as though he were close to tears himself. It’s here you think you truly find that boy that used to bug you when you were out in the fields.

It felt like all too soon the concert was over and he was stepping behind the stage. What feels like half a million eyes are focused on him as he steps off the stage to where he was met with just as many cameras and questions thrown his way. You almost feel bad for him, that he wasn’t even given a chance to breathe between one stage to another.

His eyes scanned the crowd that gathered around him, but eventually his eyes would settle on the ridiculously large bouquet right next to you. It’s hard to miss, you think, looking at it, but when you look back at him you find that his eyes are firmly set on you and you feel your heart skip a beat.

He’s probably trying to figure out where he knows you from, you figure. It’s been years, you yourself had long ago forgotten about him, but hearing his name on the radio for the first time dredged up all of those memories.

You can hardly blame him though the both of you have changed a lot in the almost ten years since you’d last seen each other and he doesn’t have the benefit of a famous name or your face on TV to jog his memory.

Even still some part of yourself wishes he does remember and you walk towards him with more a skip in your step than ever. But you find your path thwarted by an unwelcome familiar face.

Mindy, whom you’ve known since grade school, when her and her Mama lived on the farm with you until her mama married a new man. You used to be the best of friends but when she moved out she seemed to want to distance herself from you and did so by criticizing everything you did.

Most people would be hard-pressed to name anything she does like, but ask her about the things she hates and she can go on for hours. And of all the things she hates, you think you rank somewhere near the top, given how much she used to talk about you to anyone who would listen. Everything about you was apparently a personal offense to her, with her latest insult being that you apparently had a bunch of cats on your farm, hence your latest and most confusing nickname of “the Cathouse girl.” Though by far her most egregious thing she's ever said was that one day you were going to suffocate from your Mama’s apron strings, and it felt all the worse that you couldn’t even go to her about it lest you prove her point.

She now proudly wears her Miss Tupelo sash over seafoam green dress as she attempts to lift the bouquet out of your hands with a cloyingly sweet, “I’ll take that off your hands hon.”

You move to protest this, but apparently your day has just gone from bad to worse, as you feel a familiar iron-like grip on your arm. “Rosebud, it’s time for us to leave.” You don’t need to turn around to know who it is.

“But Mama-”

“Yeah Y/N, thought all you did was listen to your Mama,” Mindy interrupts you as she finally wrenches the bouquet out of your hands.

“It’s time to go home, Y/N,” your mother says severely, her grip on your elbow unyielding. Your cheeks burn with humiliation, having never felt so small under your mothers gaze, but you don’t argue with her and allow yourself to be pulled away, lest a bigger scene be caused.

Mindy, idly pops her spearmint gum with the most triumphant of smiles, sparing you a simple dismissive twiddle of her fingers before spinning around to present your hard work to your old friend. If there’s one thing you can be glad about in that moment, is that exactly zero other eyes were on you as you conceded to your mother like a scolded child and let her lead you out of the fairgrounds.

Little did you realize at the time, someone was watching.

You get into the truck and sit your fists clenching in anger on your knees, ashamed at what transpired just now.

“Rosebud…” she starts, and you petulantly turn your entire body to face the window with your back to her. “Honey I know you think I go overboard with these things, but you gotta trust your mama here when I say that it’s all for your own good.”

Your nails dig into the meat of your palms, so hard you worry it may draw blood, but a part of you welcomes that. Maybe then she will understand how upset you are with her. She still treats you like a child after all these years, protecting you from some nebulous threat that is both ever present yet somehow not important enough to give a name.

You feel suffocated, unable to defend yourself from insults that you aren’t allowed to fully understand.

These feelings would only double when you would see the next day's newspaper, where an enlarged picture of Elvis and Mindy on the ferris wheel would take up most of the front page. Well there’s your answer as to who this mystery girl is, you think bitterly.

Sweethearts reunited at last, the headline reads.

Though all your anger and fury would end up manifesting into nothing when the real world decided to remind you what was important in life. About a week after the fair, your home would receive a late night visit from the sheriff informing you of tragedy.

It didn’t feel real seeing what was once a colorful store teeming with life and love to now be reduced to a smoldering, skeletal pile of ash. You had been there not even a day ago and now it was gone. The police don’t suspect foul play but they weren’t ruling it out, and as you would learn, the little insurance mama did have on the shop didn’t cover fires unless it could be proven beyond a doubt that it was accidental. So suffice it to say, your family is on its own in terms of getting the store back up and running.

Typically late fall is for drying out maybe a quarter of the left over supply of flowers, storing the rest into the cold storage below the shop, winterizing the bushels for the next season, and shifting focus to seeding and growing the more popular flowers in the greenhouses, but the fire had thrown the ultimate wrench into the plans. A good chunk of the cut flowers had been kept on display at the front of the shop or beneath it in cold storage, and so with them went much of the value in the business.

Your mama is stressed beyond anything you’ve ever seen, but what makes it worse is that she refuses to burden you with the knowledge of your financial situation. Which in turn stresses you out even more about the financial situation she didn’t want you to know about.

About a month after the fire Mama had gone to the bank in an effort to get a business loan so that she could rent a new place, while the others were in town trying to strike up partnerships with other stores on the same street and convince them to buy and sell your flowers. It wasn’t the greatest of plans but it was the only one you were left with so that you may hobble through this year into the next.

They could sell the flowers off to shops in nearby towns, but even selling the rest of the supply wholesale will hardly breakeven for this year leaving you with nothing saved come next season. And even then that’s only if everybody refuses payment for the work they did, which they did offer, but your Mama was having none of it.

Even setting up a stand on your property and selling from there wasn’t an option, as you’re located way too far out from town too hope for those driving by to stop and buy flowers off of you.

You find yourself on one of the rare days in which you’re home alone, as you sit on the porch gazing out at the fields nearly devoid of all flora now. If your mother can’t convince the bank for a loan then all that your family has ever grown will rot, the land sold, and the strange tribe of women that had been collected under this roof would be left adrift. Beauty will give way over to necessity, as these bankers are under the false assumption that people don’t need flowers.

But how can you begrudge the necessity of food at a time like this when your kitchen is looking pathetically sparse these days. You wouldn’t mind too much if you didn’t know that it was a prelude to no food at all.

It didn’t feel right that this would be the end of the farm, your Nana Gail took the dusty lands her deadbeat of a husband left her with and turned it into something beautiful. She passed it on to your Mama, a relative stranger she took in the both of you when your daddy was sent away to die an ocean away.

The farm had survived two world wars and yet it would be a fire that would cause all that the women of your family had built to crumble.

You shake your head furiously at the thought. Don’t let these bad thoughts get to you, you think to yourself. You're truly afraid of where these thoughts may lead you if you let them fester so instead you decide that the kitchen would benefit from some cheery flowers to brighten up the place.

The house is in desperate need of that these days.

But as you were in the dirt to pick Daffodils, you realize you weren’t as alone as you thought, as in the distance you see some dust being kicked up. Your heart jumps for joy thinking that it was your mother, bearing good news, until you get to the dirt road and the unfamiliar black car drives past you.

Making your way home you can see a tall figure step out of the shiny car, dressed all in black. As they turn to look at the house, they strike an unsettlingly familiar silhouette but it still takes you a second to recognize him, even if it was not even a month ago when you saw him last.

Maybe it’s because, in your head, he’s still that gangly tow-headed boy, not this tall dark man in black that stands before you.

“Elvis?”

A devastating grin spreads across his face as he spreads his arms out in a clear invitation for a hug. “Been a long time, Honeybee.”

You don’t know the etiquette as to how to greet someone you haven’t talked to in years, but also whom you’ve seen in passing a few days ago. But you graciously accept the hug and kiss on the cheek he gives you, so you in turn invite him into your home, unsure what else to do in the face of his casual familiarity.

“Hope you don’t mind,” he says, grabbing a basket from the back seat. “But I brought you a lil’ gift.” Your eyes widen and your mouth instantly starts to water at the plentiful bounty within, as no less than a dozen Pomegranates filled that ornate basket. The fact that he brought such a thing, seemingly on a whim, spoke volumes as to how well the music business was treating him more than any sparkling jewel or shiny car could.

“Can I offer you some water or…” you trail off as you put the daffodils in a vase, hoping he accepts, and you won’t have to suffer the embarrassment of having so little to offer such a man.

“If you could be a doll actually,” he says, plucking one of the sweet fruits. “Why don’tcha pop one a these open for old times sake.” You’re silently grateful he asked as you doubt it would have been too long before your empty stomach was demanding for one. “I still remember when you gave me one for the first time.” he idly remarks as you start to cut into it.

You smile at that shared memory between the two of you, though a sorrowful ache settles in your stomach as those days seem so far away now. You gather a few errant seeds from the cutting board and you can’t help the small moan that comes from you, as you had resigned yourself to the fact that you wouldn’t be having any this year.

With the plate in hand you turn around to find your guest frozen in his sweet, before quickly gathering himself as you approach.

“So what brings you back to these ol’ parts,” you ask, placing the plate between you two.

He pops a few seeds off of the ridge, and into his mouth, “Well I came back here because a certain someone left my show before I could even say hello to her.”

You look down slightly embarrassed but a little ecstatic that he realized your absence, “Sorry ‘bout that, we get super busy around this time and couldn’t stick around too long.”

“I get it,” he answers amiably. “It looked like you and your mama had somewhere to be.”

You cringe and look down humiliated that, of all the things he could’ve seen that day, he saw perhaps the most embarrassing moment of your life. You look back and see an expression you can’t quite read on his face as you quickly recover and ask him how the star's life is treating him.

He regales you with all that he’s done the past few years since the music thing took off, and how he’s looking forward to the movies he’s gonna make. He even tells you how he’s just about to finish filming his first one pretty soon, and head back to Hollywood in a week.

The irony that you sit across from him, his dreams once so lofty and out of reach now coming true whereas your simple one seems to slip through your fingers is not lost on you. You have to actively force yourself to be happy for him at this moment, as he’s hardly to blame for your recent misfortunes.

“How are you and Mindy doing?” you ask, after a while.

“Who?”

That really shouldn’t make you as happy as it did.

“You know your old Sweetheart and all that,” you tease lightly.

“Oh… her…” he says, unable to hide the bit of a grimace on his face. “She was… nice?”

“You don’t gotta lie,” you say, laughing a bit at the thought

“She was nice to me,” he elaborates, shrugging his shoulders a bit, before giving a pointed look at you. “She had a lot to say ‘boutchu though.”

“I can imagine.” you say, plucking a few seeds. “Guess childhood sweethearts ain’t all they cracked up to be.”

“Wouldn’t know,” he says. “But enough a all that, how ‘boutchu, Honeybee? Whatcha been up to all these years?”

“Oh you know, ain’t nothin’ ever changes down in Tupelo,” you dismiss, hoping to dodge his question. “Still growing flowers, still selling them,” you say, willing your smile to be more cheerful than strictly necessary.

“Y’know,” he broaches lightly, his fingers awkwardly rapping against the grainy wood of the table. “I actually did stop by the shop before I got here…” he trails off, a solemn air falling over the both of you.

“Oh.”

“Listen, darlin’,” he says, taking his hand in yours. “If you need anythin’ tell me how I can help,” he pleads softly.

“Yo-you don’t gotta be worried ‘bout us, we-we’re gonna be fine,” you stutter, attempting to parrot your Mama’s own words back to him, hoping you’re at least somewhat convincing. He takes your hand in his and soothingly rubs his thumb along the back of your hand.

“Sweetheart if you folks need some money to tide y‘all over for a bit, I’d be happy t-”

“No,” you cut him off. “I can’t accept your money for nothing,” you declare.

“I understand Honeybee,” he says, looking out the window. “But I just moved to a new place up in Memphis. It’s nice but kinda… bare on the outside, and I’ve been in the market for someone to fix that.” he says his steely blue gaze fixed on you. “And then I thought who better than the girl who could grow anythin’?”

You’re genuinely flattered at the compliment, but you can’t help but feel this is simply more of his pity and you let him know as much.

“Sweetheart, I was gonna offer you the job even before I saw your shop,” he says genuinely. “It don’t gotta be forever, just work a couple months up in Graceland, makin’ sure everything set up come spring, then you’ll be home.”

“Graceland?”

“It’s what the old owners called it anyway,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s a house right now, but it ain’t no home.” he looks solemn in his words until his eyes trail to you and you can see in real time as his whole demeanor brightens. “I think you could help fix that darlin’,” he states, his smile making it hard to focus on much else.

There is a bit of a pause, and you stupidly realize he’s waiting for an answer from you. But from the almost imperceptible drop in his grin at your hesitation, you doubt it’s the one he’s looking for. “I-I’m flattered but… I-I can’t just leave right now.” you stutter, feeling guilty that he’s now upset with you, and you feel the need to further justify your stance. “My family needs me right now.”

“And this is how you can help ‘em right now,” he argues, reaching into his back pocket. “I can even pay ya’ half upfront now.”

“Elvis, I don’t think that’ll be eno–” you’re cut off by him suddenly slapping what looks to be six hundred dollars on the table before casually going back to picking off the ruby colored seeds. He smiles a bit at the gobsmacked expression on your face, but how could you not be?

Renting out a new space downtown for a few months wouldn’t even cost a quarter of this with the rest being able to go toward everything else. It’s almost funny that previously you never even thought about money, but now it feels like that’s all you think about these days.

“This-this is just for six months of work?”

“Three actually,” he corrects. “The rest you’ll get paid in the Spring.”

You feel your heart thunder within your chest with his words. This would be more than enough money to get your family through the year. But you don’t know if you could do it. Not the gardening part obviously more the being so far away from your family part.

“Can I have some time to think about it?” you question, hoping that maybe the rest will be able to better convince you to go for it or someone else could take the offer.

“Sweetheart I gotta get back to Memphis real soon,” he warns, a lot cooler than before. “So I’m gonna need an answer right now.” You swallow nervously at the intensity of his gaze on you, feeling an uncomfortable feeling settling in your belly, the prospect of leaving home, making you queasy.

“Elvis I-I-I don’t know,” you stutter, your palms clammy as you hold the hem of your skirt with shaky hands, feeling as though the world is somehow closing in on you.

“Well I guess that’s that then,” he says with an air of finality, that only further turns your stomach.

This man is offering a solution to all your current woes and yet you hesitate? You balk at the idea of a couple months of doing the same work you would’ve been doing here? And for what exactly?

You know you should discuss this with your Mama, but you already know what her answer is going to be. It’s the same one she has been giving these last few weeks when you had asked about getting a job to better support the house.

Your daddy never came back from the war so she promised to love you twice as fiercely, for the both of them. She had always done her best to feed you, clothe you, protect you. It’s no secret that everything this farm started from you when she had to support the both of you on her own. And you know for a fact if it was her being offered the job she wouldn’t have even blinked to take it. But you’re about to let that all slip through your fingers because you’re too much of a coward to do what needs to be done.

But even with all that in mind, it’s not your mind that ultimately makes the decision so much as your stomach, as it rumbles yet again as you look upon the basket he left behind overflowing with one of the most expensive fruits you know, a mere taste as to what he can so casually provide you.

You catch him just as he’s about to step out the door, but before you can officially say yes you have one question left for him. “Can you promise me I’ll be home come Spring?”

“Darlin’ I can promise you right now, come Spring we’ll both have exactly what we want.” which is a big promise for anyone to make, but you are looking at the boy who had gone from being only able to sing in front of a single person in an empty field to someone who is now selling out shows to hundreds. There is an odd sense that if anybody can manifest the near impossible it would be him.

It takes you only an hour to pack what you think you’ll need for these coming months, as well as write a barebones note explaining to your Mama that no you’re not being kidnapped and that you’ll be gone to raise money to save the farm. You don’t say where you’ll be but you do promise that you will write as often as you can and that you’ll be home come springtime. You quickly stuff the note and the money into the envelope, and leave it right on top of the basket.

But before you can make it out the front door, you're presented with a bright cheerful looking daffodil, plucked straight from the vase you had put it in. “For new beginnings,” he says with a soft smile.

“How’d you know that?” you asked surprised that he remembered after all this time, but taking a hold of it anyway.

“Hell, all the time I spent down here,” he said, throwing an arm over your shoulder. “Somethin’ was bound to stick.”

And just like that you’re off.

You refuse to look forlornly out at the fields you’re leaving behind, trying to remind yourself that it’s not as though you’ll be gone forever. You’ll be back before you know it, you think, trying to convince yourself, and it’s Elvis’ hand in yours that gives you some small comfort in this incredibly trying time, even as his eyes are firmly set forward.

Though it’s as you get to the state border do you realize that this will mark the first time you’ve been so far from home ever, and you let Elvis know as much.

“There’s gonna be a lotta firsts when you stick with me darlin’,” he says, giving a tender kiss to the back of your hand.

Graceland on the outside is beautiful but… sterile, if you had to take a guess. There were trees with leaves starting to brown for the autumn, the shrubbery was perfectly manicured, and the grass was well maintained but it was utterly devoid of color save for the cars in the driveway.

But then again this is what you’re here to rectify, so you try to be an optimist about it, and try to view it as a blank canvas so to speak. What the property lacked in the moment was warmth and you suppose now it’s your job to bring it.

That first month was all devoted to building the greenhouse necessary to start the entire process. You prefer to start with the seeds rather than skipping straight to the bulbs, so a place where you can better help them grow is ideal. Elvis is all too willing to indulge this and he puts in the order for one but all too soon he has to leave to go and finish his movie.

As much as you knew Elvis, it felt odd being in a house with the owner gone. And while Graceland was far from empty, there is still that unsettling sensation of being there that you can’t quite shake.

Of course not used to being so idle even during the winter, you start to take on other duties around the household. You quickly endear yourself to Miss Gladys with your willingness to take on the chores of the house and she goes out of her way to make you feel welcome.

You like her, she’s the only one who feels as uncomfortable at the opulence as you did. In a lot of ways she reminds you of your own mother with the way she frets over her absent son. This strikes a particularly guilty chord within you, because unlike your Mama, Gladys has the benefit of knowing where her child was at the moment.

“Where ya from sweetheart?” she asks you idly one day as you’re helping her make breakfast early one morning.

“Tupelo,” you say while you beat the eggs.

“Oh do I know your Mama?”

“Probably,” you answer. “She ran the flower shop back there.”

Gladys pauses at that. You can’t see her face but you do hear the hesitation in her voice as she whispers “... Demi?”

“Yeah that’s my mama… you know her?” you ask a little confused at this point, and you wonder if there is some history there.

There is an uncomfortably long pause before she says a simple, “Yeah I think I remember her…” The rest of the morning is filled with an awkward silence as you try to figure out what could have possibly happened there.

That night, before you enter the room to talk to Elvis over the phone, you overhear the tail end of the conversation between him and his Mama. You hear her whisper in a low tone, “I hope you know what you’re doin’ Bewbie.”

Whatever awkwardness that had arisen because of her question disappears soon after that. Gladys happily takes you under her wing once more, bringing you further into the fold of the Presleys and all the dynamics that come with it. She has even begun to refer to you as the daughter she never had which, while you understand is meant to make you feel welcome here, it in fact eats at you considering the state of the relationship between you and your real Mama.

It’s times like these that you truly hate that your family doesn’t have a telephone. You want more than anything to hear her voice, but you know yourself well enough to know that if you were to even visit now you wouldn’t want to ever leave again.

You write to her pretty much every day. Like clockwork for the first month you write to her telling her about your day the same way you usually would, asking her for advice on some flowers, anything really that comes to mind. You had a lot of time that first month while you were helping with planning and building the greenhouse, so everyday you would sift through the hoard of mail to find one bearing your home address.

But it never comes.

That doesn’t stop you from continuing to write to her everyday, handing off the letter to Jerry, and eagerly awaiting her reply.

Elvis is very understanding over the fact that it’s a marathon and not a sprint to make the garden he wanted and every time he’s back home he’s just as eager to see your progress with the seeds as you are to show him. Once you even tried to apologize to him feeling guilty that it’s taking so long to perfect that image of Graceland he had.

“Sweetheart you bein’ there, takin’ care a everythin’ makes it feel all the more like a proper home,” he insists over the phone. “And I can’t wait to get back and see it all.”

This guilt eases once the greenhouse is finished and you can finally get to work with the flowers you’ve planned. Elvis quote “trusted your vision” and wanted you to choose whatever you thought worked best, but he did specify which flowers he absolutely wanted on the property: Lilacs, Gardenias, Carnations, Tulips, Forget-Me-Nots, and Roses.

“I’m a bit of a romantic, I guess,” he said shyly rubbing the back of his neck. You don’t mind too much, as him knowing what he wants by far makes him the easiest man you’ve ever worked with.

Elvis had left you with the understanding that the boys he left behind would be at your beck and call and that should you need anything, not to be afraid to send them to get it. Pots and other such tools were easy enough to send for, but when it came down to other fine details such as soil and seeds, you trusted no one but yourself to find what you need, and so you instead ask if one of them could take you into town to find what you need.

“I cAN-” Jerry, one of the younger ones offered, blushing furiously at his overeagerness that caused his voice to crack slightly. “I mean I can take you,” he says, far more composed this time around. The other men protest, saying he’s too young and that he only just got his license, and ‘don’tchu want a real man drivin’ around sweetheart?’

It was those last comments that really solidified your decision to have it be him, as there was something about Jerry, (16, Lanky, and with a voice still cracking from puberty) that put your mind at ease over all these other grown men, in a way you can’t exactly place.

You stopped going to school when you were around 15 and outside of brief exchanges with the men that used to come into your shop, you haven’t really had much interaction with menfolk in the past 3 years. So that’s where you believe your unease stems from, having been surrounded by mostly women your entire life, being around so many men now is a bit of a shock to your system.

He leads you to his shiny new car, a gift from Elvis for some unspecified favor he did for him, and just like that you’re off. The drive into town is mostly quiet save for Jerry nervously pointing out to you his favorite places in Memphis. You're happy to get out of Graceland, even for a little bit, as you rarely if ever got to explore Tupelo, so being somewhere entirely new was exciting, but at the end of the day there is really only one place you wished to be, the local nursery.

You quickly locate the specific tools you’re going to need and find the best soil for the flowers, and you’re finally able to do what you most wanted. You’re almost like a kid in a candy store as you eagerly look through the varieties of seeds available within the store. As much as you want to take them all you have to be realistic as to not only what would look good, but as to what could be grown on the property to have it looking good year round.

“So err…uhhh… Wh-what’s your favorite flower?” he asks shyly, as you're perusing the various seed packets to be had.

“All of them,” you say without hesitation, not even looking up from the task.

“Really all of ‘em?”

“I’m serious, asking me what my favorite flower is, it’s like asking a mother who her favorite child is,” you say fondly, rubbing your thumb lightly on the little packets that will eventually become the flowers you so love.

He laughs at that, “Why do ya’ love ‘em so much?”

“Well when you grow up on a flower farm, you ain’t got much of a choice,” you quip.

“A flower farm?”

“Yeah,” you clarify. “My Mama and I grew and sold flowers in our shop back in Tupelo.”

“...Yo-you had a flower shop back in Tupelo?” he stutters.

“Yeah,” you say solemnly, this conversation dredging up some very bittersweet memories. “Why dontcha go ring up everything while I finish up over here,” you say.

It's October already, you think to yourself, they probably started cutting down the sunflowers by now. You know that you’re doing more for them here making money and sending it back to them than you would have being an extra set of idle hands back home, still that does little to quell that uneasy feeling being so far from home now.

You’d kept up the writing and have recently let her know how lonely you’ve been feeling here, part venting, part as a means of getting her to write to you back for the first time.

It didn’t work and that sours your mood for the rest of the outing.

The ride back to Graceland is far quieter this time around, and Henry seems to avoid you after that, but you hardly notice as now that you have everything you need, you can really focus all your energy in doing what you came here to do. This is what you’re undoubtedly good at and now that you’re back at it, you don’t want anything to distract you from doing your job and getting back home as soon as possible.

A few days later, as you were finishing up in the greenhouse you would find Jerry sitting next to someone, back ramrod straight as a familiar figure had an arm casually slung over his shoulder. Jerry leaves before you can figure out what that’s all about, so you instead greet the not-so-stranger before you.

“You’re early,” you casually remark to him.

“I missed ya’,” he drawls, a light smirk on his lips that causes a pleasant warmth to radiate from your chest. But his face takes on a more sobering look as he looks at you, purses his lips, and pats the no occupied seat, which you worriedly take. “Actually, I was just ‘bouta go lookin’ for ya’,” he says, before letting out a pensive sigh. “Jerry actually needs a place to stay for a week or two, and I invited him here.”

“Oh that’s nice of you,” you say.

A small bashful smile cracks his somber expression, before the intensity returns and he informs you that yours was the room he offered him.

“I don’t mind sleeping on the couch,” you insist, scared that you may be about to be sent home without the rest of the money to show for it.

“Don’tchu worry ‘bout that,” he said, chucking your chin up to look at him. “I just figured that my bed should be big ‘nough for the both of us.”

His words catch you off guard, and you feel your face burning unsure as to how to respond. He sees your hesitation and backs off slightly before continuing. “Course if you don’t feel too comfortable sharin’ with me I can always putcha up somewhere else,” he starts and you’re about to jump on that offer until he continues. “Though, we might need to take that outta your pay,” he says, and you shrink a bit at the reality of the situation. “Not to mention havin’ to getchu back and forth day in and out,” he continues, rambling on and on about the logistics of the prospect.

“No-no,” you cut in. “I-if you’re really okay with it… then I-I don’t mind.” you say slightly defeated though if he notices he doesn’t say anything about it.

A full grin cracks his face, “Perfect we’ll go move your things right now,” he says as he takes your hand in his leading you up to where your room was.

“...ok…” you said, accepting his offer in a small voice. Though it’s hardly an offer as that would imply you had a choice in the matter.

The next week you want to kick yourself over being so nervous over nothing, as he proves himself to be nothing less than a gentleman all things considered. Yes he does get a bit clingy when he’s asleep and he all but refuses to let you out of the bed when you wake up before him. But in all honesty you welcome it very much.

It helps ease that lonely feeling somewhat as being held by him takes away some of your worry about not belonging here. Everybody seems to give you a wide berth and it was a definite shock to your system considering where you come from, being essentially the baby on the farm you were freely plied with all forms of physical affection your whole life. But you do take comfort in him, even if it is only limited to the night time.

Though when that week is up you idly ask him when you can move your things back into your old room, to which he only responds by wrapping an arm over your shoulders and saying, “Now why would I want my Honeybee so far away from me.”

You’re too shocked at the statement to even think of countering him at the moment, but even when the statement does truly settle for you, you aren’t entirely opposed to it. As it makes you feel far more secure here knowing that he wants you here so much. It’s odd how final it feels in spite of how small the moment was. You’re not just Honeybee anymore, you're His Honeybee, and that’s that.

That’s one of the first things you learned living in Graceland, is that whatever Elvis says, goes. Everybody seems to bend over backwards to his wishes here, and at first it was a little funny if a little perturbing, as you justified to yourself that you were his friend and therefore he wouldn’t put any crazy demands on you even if he was technically your boss.

But it’s only in that moment that you truly realize that you were no exception to that rule. And why would you be? Considering he is the one that is the one supporting not only you but by extension your entire family back home, how can you do anything but agree to his demands?

But that may be being a bit too harsh, as being his girl is certainly not an unpleasant phenomena. He seemed to become bolder with your amiable acceptance to your new found title of becoming his. In short order all of the clothes you brought from home disappeared and were replaced with much finer ones, and he becomes the most frequent visitor in the greenhouse.

Whenever he is around is almost constantly touching you and bringing you close to him at any given moment. And these weren’t exactly touches you were familiar with; Brushing his fingers along your neck to fix your necklace, hand on your lower back to steer you a certain way, rubbing your knee beneath the table (sometimes above your clothes, sometimes not) etc. All new and exciting, in their own ways.

Everytime you see him it feels akin to something blooming within your chest. You think this is why there were so many flowers meant to express love, because that feeling he gives you is hard to put into words.

It was only inevitable that the kisses would come along eventually. First beginning as friendly ones on the cheek before bed, then graduating to something far more… carnal. Almost like he was trying to consume you, and these kisses always left you panting and in a state of shock from the ferocity he displayed only to end it with a very sweet kiss to your cheek and tucking the both of you into bed.

You’re not gonna lie and say you don’t enjoy the kissing but it does give you a good scare when he begins to touch you in other places that are not-so-innocent places as he kisses you: His hand on your bottom when wants to press your body closer to his, the continual rubbing between your inner thighs, his thumb circling the taut peak of your breast.

Though admittedly his new touches were a bit on the scarier side for you, you don’t fight it, and in fact get bolder yourself by taking a page out of his book and giving as good as you got. He seems to relish the reaction he can pull from you, which is intimidating as much as it is titillating.

But these feelings have also been manifesting in some strange ways physically, like you seem to breathe harder when he’s around, and seeing him bite his lip makes your mouth go dry. But this all pales in comparison to the sensation of him rubbing a hand on your inner thigh, and it feels like you go dry everywhere, save for one place. As exciting as it is, it’s confusing all the same, and you above all else wish you could confide in anyone with how you were feeling.

Typically you could freely talk about any lady troubles you may have with your Mama but her inability/unwillingness to talk to you now leaves you to navigate this maze alone. You consider asking Miss Gladys or even Dodger for their thoughts, but the fact that it’s Elvis that awakens these feelings within you, makes going to them seem inappropriate for some reason. But ultimately that only leaves you with one person to go to about your problem despite them also being the cause of it.

Which is how you find yourself sitting on your knees in his bed with a shaky breath telling him how his touches are stirring something in you that you don’t understand.

“Where?” he asks, seemingly innocent but the way he bites his cheek, tells you he’s trying to hold back a laugh at your discomfort. “Here” he says, placing a hand on your lower belly, and while it clenches from the sudden contact, you shake your head no.

“Here?” He asks with a small smile, cupping one of your breasts, and though your breath hitches in your throat and you feel one of the buds harden at his thumbs' attention, that’s not where the worst of the feelings is coming from.

“Elvis please,” you beg, squirming at his touch.

“Oh I think I know Honeybee,” he says one hand now slowly dragging the hem of your nightgown up well past your hips, before he rubs his fingers along the seam of your panties.

In spite of the strangled feeling in your throat, you manage to squeak out a simple “yes,” as tears begin to well up in your eyes.

“Don’tchu worry Baby. I know somethin’ that can help,” he says as he drags the delicate fabric of your white cotton panties down to your knees. On reflex your thighs clench shut immediately but, with a few languid kisses he’s able to distract you from your skittishness and you feel the first tentative brush of his fingers on that sensitive flesh.

As much as you love your home you’ll admit that there was rarely if ever a moment for yourself there anymore. So him now brazenly touching the seldom explored area was mind-boggling for you, moreso when he begins to prod deeper, dipping between your folds and even one finger delving further than any other.

That gets a surprised gasp out of you before you bite down on your lip hard, embarrassed that you're feeling like this while he’s trying to help you. But while you’re able to hold back your noises, you can do nothing to help the way you’re breathing-well more panting- now or the way you’re shivering. You’ve never felt anything close to this in your life, but even this pales in comparison to when he adds a second finger, and you feel like you're about to burst.

“Honeybee… what’d ya know ‘bout baby-makin’,” he asks, seemingly out of the blue.

Part of you wants to act coy and say something like “enough” to get him to continue, but it’s hard to concentrate on any of that as you feel his fingers deep within you. So instead you reply with, “that…that o-ooh-only a Husband and Wife can make oNE.” you yelp that last part as he curls his fingers ever so slightly.

“And that’s it?” he asks with a bit of a skeptical look on his face, and you bury your face in his neck, a bit ashamed that that is the truth of the matter. “Oh Honeybee, you don’t gotta be that way,” he says, giving you a sweet kiss to your nose as he’s still three knuckles deep up your canal. “That’s the right of it, but I don’t think yer Mama ever mentioned that there ain’t no harm in practicin’ before the Weddin’ like this.”

“O-oh,” you say, part as an answer, part an involuntary noise to the way his thumb starts to circle around that pearl between your folds.

“You like that baby girl?” he purrs to you. Your eyes are shut tight and you’re trying to move your hips in tandem with his motions.

“Y-yes,” you manage to whimper, so focused on chasing that feeling he’s causing that you don’t even notice when he drags the straps of your nightgown fully down your shoulders. And it’s as you suddenly feel him bite down hard on the soft skin of your breast do you finally peak with a harrowing sob.

You cling on to him for dear life as wave after wave of pleasure surges through you all at once and you feel as though you’re going to float away any moment. But holding on to him, kissing him, and feeling his skin against your tethers you here, reassuring you that this isn't a dream.

You feel his fingers leave you, and that paired with him pulling away from your lips causes a small whine to come from you. You’re quickly quieted from the shock of seeing him stick the same fingers in his mouth giving a contented groan, “Course my Honeybee’s got the sweetest nectar he whispers against your lips, before giving you a taste for yourself.

You feel boneless and weightless yet your eyes feel so heavy from all that you just experienced, but for as tired as you are at that moment, you’re not ready to go back to dreaming yet.

“Ca-can I try that on you?” you ask meekly still in a bit of a haze from that euphoric feeling.

A bite to his lip prevents it from being a full blown grin “You sure ‘bout that Baby? Mine’s a lil’ different… well not too lil’,” he says. Clearly amused by your request to make him feel just as good.

“I wanna help,” you insist. He chuckles at how eager you were before he guides your hand down to a prominent bulge in his briefs. You’re not too sure what exactly you’re feeling through the rough cotton, just that it is either intensely painful or pleasurable to Elvis given how his breath hitches and his eyes slam shut. You try to remove your hand but his vice-like grip on your wrist prevents that and you can only further palm him.

You apply a bit more pressure, you take the sigh of contentment as a good sign before you delve underneath the fabric of his shorts.

You watch, a bit fascinated as you work to get the rough fabric down, and suddenly you’re face to face with something you’ve never seen before. A long thick column of flesh stands before you, bobbing slightly as he takes deep breath after breath. The skin feels soft but unyielding beneath your touch and you patiently await his instructions, but that deep groan that comes from him as you apply a bit of pressure makes you feel all sorts of powerful over this beautiful man.

He has you gather the slick from between your legs and even spit in your own hand to make it easier for you to slide up and down the shaft. His eyes are screwed shut, his long lashes brushing his cheeks, and he’s mumbling his praises for you, which only further encourages you.

He’s unraveling before your eyes, and you take great delight in being a witness to it. You’ve seen him dance before so it shouldn’t be surprising how well he’s able to move his hips, but it does add an entirely new context to it and you hope the next time you see him on stage you’ll be able to not think of him like this.

An idea pops into your head, and you decide to jump on it before you lose your nerve, and you give a soft kiss to the very tip of him. He freezes in place, his eyes wide and shocked at your teasing, his chest rising and falling and you feel heat flood your entire being.

“I-I’m so-sorry,” you breath out, embarrassed that you may have unintentionally done something you weren’t supposed to do. “I just th-thought you mi-” you cut off as he chuckles at your obvious distress before giving you a sweet kiss.

“Just surprised me Honeybee, thas all,” he reassures you against your lips, before giving you a little nibble there. “Why don’tcha try that again?” he drawls, trying to not appear too eager, but it’s apparent even to you.

You get right back to it, and you give even softer kisses along the shaft, each one being punctuated by a low moan from him, until you finally get to the very top of him, and you run your tongue along the small slit to be found there.

His hips stutter at that and one second you’re wondering what’s happening to him, the next you’re a coughing mess as that salty stream hits the back of your throat. He’s now just as dazed as you feel his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back, as you settle, and he takes charge in getting you both ready for bed.

As you lay side by side, he has nothing but praise for you whispering how good and perfect you were between hungry kisses until you drift off to sleep.

The next day would mark the first time you didn’t write to your mother. Part because you have already accepted she wouldn’t reply, part wanting to also keep that as private as possible. It also marks the first time in your life you don’t share something that felt so important with her.

Your Mama never liked talking about your daddy beyond saying that they loved each other very much. She never went into detail beyond that believing you were too young to hear them, but she never gave you an idea when you would be grown enough to hear them. But now above all else you want to hear when she knew she was in love with him, because you think you’re falling in love with Elvis.

Scratch that.

You know you are but you would give anything right now to be able to talk to somebody about it. And it’s upsetting that the person you usually talk your worries through is also one of your biggest ones at the moment. But even then you would have been willing to discuss it with her, if only she was willing to do so back.

It seems the more upset you become with her, the more comforting Elvis becomes to you. Even still you hesitate to share your fears with him until he is the one that broaches it.

“What’s on your mind Honeybee?” he says as he draws circles along your hip.

“Nothing much,” you dismiss. “Just trying to figure out when it's best to plant everything.”

His sardonic smile tells you he doesn’t believe you one bit, “C’mon darlin’ I know ya’ better than that.” Which is a bit of an understatement, as it feels like these days he’s able to read you better than you can yourself anymore.

After letting out a long tired sigh, you tell him “I think she’s mad at me,” while you two were settling into bed.

“Now who could ever be mad at my Honeybee?” he says, bringing you closer to him.

“My mama,” you say solemnly, tears in your eyes. “She’s never replied to a single letter of mine, and I write to her everyday.”

“I’m sure she’s just busy,” he tries to comfort you. But they ring hollow knowing that she always used to say- something you even quoted her in your last letter- ‘I’m never too busy for you Rosebud.’ He pulls you close to his chest as he rubs his hand along your back, “Darlin’ your mama is a hard-headed woman- lord knows I got the scars to prove it- but I don’t think she could stay mad at you forever.”

“What?” you say, sitting up to face him fully.

“What?”

“What do you mean you have the scars to prove it?”

“O-oh…” he says with a slight grimace on his face, before giving a bit of an awkward chuckle. “We-well… ya’ remember before I left, I-I asked you to’ run away with us?” You nod your head slowly. “Well that night, when I went back to the farm to tell her… she… she had a bit of a fit.”

“That doesn’t answer my question E.”

His lips form a thin line, clearly reluctant to tell you more, but he does eventually cave with a long hard sigh. “She got so mad at the thought a you leavin’ she grabbed my hand somethin’ fierce, and… and… well…” he trails off as he presents you the palm of his left hand, where you can see some small jagged silvery lines along it.

“She… she did this?” you whisper, lightly touching the scars, unbelieving that your Mama could do such a thing. She was the one who hardly ever raised her voice and didn’t even swat at Bees in front of you. How could she hurt him like this?

“I-I understand not wantin’ your kid to run away,” he says, “but I don’t think hurtin’ one like this was needed. But that wasn’t even the worst part of it.”

“What is it?”

“She… she banned me from ever comin’ back to the farm again. Couldn’t even say goodbye to ya properly,” he says somberly, his eyes sad as he tenderly cupped your cheek.

“I’m sorry,” you say, at a loss for what else you could say knowing what you do now.

“You don’t got nothin’ to apologize for baby,” he says softly, holding your hand in his scarred one. “And listen Honeybee, if she’s so mad that she don’t wantcha back, you’ll always have a home here,” he promises before he gives you a kiss to your temple and turns off the light.

You know the words were meant to be comforting, but they have the opposite effect and make your stomach drop at the prospect that she may be that mad. It has never occurred in your mind that she may be that cross with you for leaving

But like a fowl little seed, those words are implanted in your mind and take root. You wish he had never said those words, but you can hardly fault him for his attempts to console you in your hurt.

Would she ever be so mad at you? You wonder to yourself. You feel Elvis hands wrap around your waist and you remember the marks your Mama left on him in a rage. And that was simply from the idea that you would leave. What would she do now that you've actually left?

Elvis has never had a bad word to say about anybody, but you realize even he was being far more generous than was needed for what she had done. All that over a stupid kiddy idea of running away?

You lay there for hours with the only sounds being Elvis’ steady breathing. The longer you’re awake the more you think about it, which fuels the vicious cycle as those thoughts make it harder to fall asleep. Doubt creeps into your very soul that the home you are so desperate to return to will even be there come spring, and you silently weep.

But not as silently as you thought, as Elvis is awake within seconds. He holds you so close and so tight that it truly feels like he’ll never let go.

“No matter what,” he whispers in your ear. “Your home will always be here with me, Honeybee.”

You’re touched by his words and the way he holds you makes you feel so safe now and you kiss him fiercely, and want nothing more than to be as close to him as possible.

Up until this point you had been reluctant to go that final step with Elvis, pretty much doing everything but that last act. As greedy as he could be with your body (given how many hours he’s spent with his head between your legs), he had asserted you would be the one to decide when you would cross that final line with him. Though from the tone of his voice each time he said it, you figured he was gunning for it to be sooner rather than later.

You don’t know what exactly it is about the idea that you may not have a home to return to that makes you want to attach yourself further to him. You want to forget about everything when you’re with him and he makes it easy to do so. Being with him makes you so happy in way you don’t ever think you’ve experienced on the farm, and you

“Are ya sure sweetheart,” he groans, before his eyes snap shut as you rub your lower lips along his shaft, as you’ve done dozens of times before.

“Yes,” you whine, wanting to feel him the way he was meant to be.

When he finally slides into you, you can’t help the satisfied hum that escapes you, as he slides right into you. You’re on top and he lets you set the pace for yourself, which is good as even with all of your previous practice with him, you still need some time to adjust to the size of him up that secret channel of yours.

You can see the sheer will power it’s taking for him to let you go your own speed, so once the pleasure overtakes the pain, without any more preamble, you begin to quicken your hips and ride him like your life depends on it. It may very well, considering the closer you get to you climax the more it feels like you may pass out before you get to that point.

“This right here,” he grons, rolling his hips up into you rubbing his thumb along that button of yours. “This is where home is.”

“Yes,” you sob, tears streaming down your face, “Home… you.” you cry, unable to finish as he hits just the right spot within and your vision is being blurred by stars.

You feel so whole as he spills within you, and with his now softened cock still snuggly within you, “I love you Elvis,” you sigh into his chest, content to fall asleep then and there, but you quickly realize your mistake as your words seem to reinvigorate him and he takes you a few more times until the crack of dawn. But between his filthy words and his declarations of love one thing he says sticks out to you the most.

“Ain’t nothin’ ever gonna take you away now Honeybee,” he groans as you pick up the pace, his hand squeezing your bottom so tight, only further cementing how secure you are here.

Slowly but surely you stop writing to your mother. What was something you previously did everyday, became every other week, to eventually once a week once February came. And even the ones you do send are limited to very basic and dry summaries of the week, as to what flowers you were focusing on and general questions as to how everybody else is doing back home. Gone are the days of you waxing poetically about your confusion over your feelings for Elvis and you plea for a single response from her. She’s shown her interest in your life, as well as shown how willing she is to be involved with it anymore so you decide to accept it, albeit with a heavy heart.

The last time you expressed anything even remotely emotional with her was how you find it hard to think of the farm as being home anymore when she’s been so cold to you these last few months, and how you doubt you even want to go back.

She doesn’t reply.

Elvis seems to take to his new role in your life surprisingly well. Always willing to help you through your emotional turmoil when he was home and shield you from the rest.

He seems to take great comfort in you as well, and the greenhouse has now even become a place away from all of it. When he’s home one of the first things he does is visit you there, and simply sit with you for a few hours. You think it’s mostly to serve as a breather between all the chaos that is his life outside of these glass walls, but you’re all too happy to help him in this way as he’s helped you.

That feeling of perfection you got when you first shared that pomegranate with him, you feel it almost everyday in that greenhouse with him. The light shining through the panes of glass keeping the place warm, the fresh air coming from the sproutlings in their pots, his soft humming. All of it adding up to a dream you never want to wake up from.

The beginning of Spring came and went and neither of you brought up the fact that you were meant to be back at the farm. The most you do allude to it was you telling him to forward that final payment directly to your Mama, mostly as a last ditch effort to get her to finally respond to you for once.

She doesn’t respond.

You and Elvis decide then and there to wash your hands of her, though it was perhaps the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do. But you can’t keep letting her silence break your heart so you focus all of your energy into two things: Elvis and making Graceland beautiful.

The first one is pretty easy to do considering when he is home, there is little to no distance between you two. He can hardly keep his hands off of you anymore when he’s here, with nights spent under the sheets, and days spent literally everywhere else on the property. He seems to be particularly fond of being in the Greenhouse, loving to see you so in your element in there only to bend you over your work table and take you hot and heavy from behind.

These encounters only make you feel his absence even more, as while you’re not exactly alone in Graceland it does make the big property feel all the emptier. Which in turn makes your second focus all the harder.

You’ve by now planted any and all flowers you intended to and they are all well on their way to growing strong, and now knowing you’re going to be staying, you’re happy that you’ll be able to do so for years to come. Now that you’ve gotten past the most trying part, tending to them is going to be a cinch…

Or it would be if you weren’t so tired all the time.

Oftentimes you find yourself napping in the most inopportune places around the property. Sweet Pea has apparently appointed herself as your official protector while you rested outside and by extension roped Brutus and Snoopy into it as well. You can’t even begin to count the amount of times you would want to rest your eyes for a minute only to find hours had passed and three dogs at the ready to guard you from whatever may come. WHich considering how you’ve been feeling sicker and sicker lately what with the fever you’ve been feeling and the nausea you’ve been having some mornings.

You don’t exactly understand why you’re far more sensitive to smell nowadays. You almost threw up the other morning from the smell of the eggs, which has Dodger and Miss Gladys looking very funny at you. You don’t pay it any mind though as you were just glad that you’re still able to appreciate the smell of flowers.

You’re in a far better mood today, what with Elvis set to return later, you decided to leave a surprise in his office. The roses were in full bloom now, so you decided to pluck a few for old times sake and leave some for him.

As you’re placing the vase down onto the desk, you watch as one of the blooms falls right off the stems and rolls to the other side of it. But when you go to pick it up, what you find is far stranger.

With the amount of fan mail he gets, you wouldn’t have paid the neat stack any mind if you hadn’t immediately recognized your own handwriting on the very top one. ANd you would have taken that as a very crazy coincidence if it weren’t for the fact that it also has your old address on the front.

And it’s not just that one, you find a couple dozen envelopes with your handwriting and address on the front, and an unpleasant feeling fills your belly as you tentatively remove a page from the envelope.

And it’s there that you read your own gut-wrenching words of your loneliness here and your wishes that your mother would write back to you. How you plead for her to reach out if only to reassure you that she’s alive and getting these letters.

You had imagined that they had either been destroyed the moment your mother saw them or gathering dust somewhere in your old childhood home. But now you find them here, a place you know very few are even allowed to be.

She didn’t get any of them you realize looking at the thick stack, an icky sense of violation creeping under your skin, seeing them worn and wrinkled in some places, but somebody definitely read these.

You want to throw up, and not just because of your newfound sensitive stomach, but due to the revelation that if he didn’t send any of them, then that meant… he had seen you be upset to the point of crying over this, all the while blaming your Mama for it and letting you take comfort in him.

Not only that, he read about your loneliness and actively decided to make you feel even more isolated by not letting you talk to your Mama. He held you as you cried over the fact she wasn’t talking to you and said nothing.

Your heart is pounding in your chest and you stagger back so far that you knock the vase full of roses right off the desk. You don’t pay it any mind and leave them and the letters where you find them. You have to get away, you have to go home.

You don’t bother to grab anything (it’s all his anyway), you simply find Jerry and tell him that he has to take you back to Tupelo right now. He’s stuttering trying to make the usual excuses of why he couldn’t take you, but he’s weak to your tears, and he silently leads you to the car.

It’s a long silent trip save for your quiet sobs from the passenger side. You don’t know if he’s intentionally stalling or if the drive is truly this long, either way it feels like forever before you can finally breathe within the Lee County borders.

You take comfort in the landmarks becoming more and more familiar until finally you see your home in the distance. You don’t take your eyes off of it for even a second, afraid it may disappear the moment you do so. You have a hard time believing it’s even real until you stand before the front door.

You hold the doorknob hesitating to open it, fearful as to what you may find on the other side, but ultimately you know that there is no possible way it can be any worse than where you just came from.

It’s oddly shocking how nothing has really changed in the months you’ve been gone. It’s almost as though you just walked out minutes ago, but you yourself feel you’ve changed so much since you were last here. The furniture arrangement is the same, as are the books on the shelf, and even your Mama's house slippers are in their usual spot.

You listen as someone is cooking in the kitchen, and you feel your heart warm knowing that at the very least you accomplished what you had set out to do and provide for your family, regardless of the sick feeling that work has left in your belly.

“Kate that you?” you hear from the voice that has accompanied you your whole life. “I told all y’all to take the da-” she cuts herself off upon seeing you.

You almost don’t recognize her, the streaks of white in her hair, the fine lines in the corners and the heavy bags underneath her eyes, overall speak to the way your absence has affected her these last few months. You feel guilty for every unkind thought you’ve had of her all this time, as you can now see for yourself how much she missed you. She looks as though she’s aged ten years in the months you’ve been away, and you can only imagine how you’ve so drastically changed in her eyes.

But none of that matters in the moment, as she drops everything in her hands and proceeds to take you in her arms and sob uncontrollably. You meet her halfway weeping just as fiercly in her chest, you thought you had run out of tears during the drive, only to find a new spring, as she blubbers in your ear “my baby’s home.”

Even after some time had passed like that, you can’t even begin to form any semi-coherent sentence as you blubber over and over again your apologies for being gone for so long. She’s long since stopped her own tears in favor of comforting you which only makes you feel all the worse.

“Shh, it’s gonna be okay,” she whispers, having long since stopped her own tears in favor of comforting you now. “You’re home now, Rosebud. Everything’s gonna be okay,” and guilt eats at you, that you could ever even entertain the thought that she wouldn’t want you back.

You remain in that state for what feels like hours, with your head in her lap as she smooths down your hair and in spite of all the turmoil you’ve undoubtedly put her through, it’s clear your comfort is her priority. Eventually though she does gather up the courage to ask you where you’ve been this whole time.

After all you’ve put her through you figure that she at least deserves the truth, so you sit up to face her. But before you can even open your mouth you hear the front door open. Any nominal contentment you’ve found being back home all slips away when you hear the familiar heavy footfalls of the man you’ve been dreading seeing all day.

“There you are Honeybee,” Elvis says, leaning against the doorframe, the familiar rakish smile in place. Those words are so familiar yet now they feel foreign as you no longer recognize the man who utters them to you.

It feels like in mere seconds your mama has brought you to your feet and now you stand behind her, and away from him. “What are you doin’ here!?” she shouts, her body tense and rigid, as though ready to defend you from a lion rather than a single man.

He hardly even glances her way, his eyes firmly set on you. “Here to take my Honeybee back home of course.” Your mama doesn’t even waste a second after hearing that, she only wordlessly approaches and takes a swing at him. But he was ready for that, as he easily catches her wrist, and brought her close to him “Ain’t so easy now I ain’t a runt no more?” he says, grinning ear to ear, a deadly look crossing his steely blue eyes.

This catches both of you off guard but your Mama is quick to recover and attempts to shove him right out the door with a mighty “Get outta my house!”

“Not without her,” he says, unnervingly keeping his voice low and cool, as though he were still very much in control of the situation.

He may still very well be, you think.

Before you can even think to help your mama, he easily maneuvers around her only to walk straight towards your frozen figure and put an arm around your shoulder.

“C’mon Honeybee,” he says, blatantly ignoring the tears streaming down your face. “Time to head home,” and you shiver when he runs his thumb along your cheek the way he’s done a million times before. You see your mama look wide-eyed at this familiar interaction, and to your horror so does Elvis. “That’s right you don’t know where she’s been,” he says, giving a faux innocent look while boldly admitting right in front of you he never sent any of those letters. “Why don’tcha tell her darlin’.” he declares, punctuating his familiarity with a kiss to your cheek. You don’t know what’s worse, the look of shock on your mama’s face as he does this, or the dissatisfied look he shoots you when you curl away from him.

Your mama doesn’t need to be a genius to figure out what he’s implying, as you watch her deflate as she looks at you and gives a very defeated “why?”

“Mama,” you whimper, wanting nothing more than to go to her, but Elvis’ arms keeping you firmly in place. “We-we needed the money, after the fire and…”

You stop yourself short as your Mama seems to contemplate your words, only to make some sort of realization of her own before, a look of horror slowly creeping onto her face. “It was you wasn’t it?” She seethes in a low voice.

“What was?” he says, trying to seem innocent but unable to fully mask his amusement at her state.

“The fire…” she said in a small voice, not even daring to continue.

No, you refuse to believe. Ain’t no way he would go that far, but then you remember Jerry’s skittishness when he learned you had a flower shop in Tupelo as well as his reluctance to deny you a single thing, that big favor he apparently did for Elvis to earn his shiny new Cadillac. All of it is making a lot of sense, but you’re still unwilling to go that far for a chance to be with you.

That is until he says, “Now that’s a mighty big accusation,” coolly, with a bit of a smirk as he looks down on her.

You freeze in place at that line. That’s not a no, you think, somehow still wanting to lie to yourself. He steals a glance at you and his face softens as he holds your shoulders and looks earnestly into your eyes as he says, “Honeybee you don’t think I would ever do something’ like that, now would you?”

You have to think on that for a moment, and you’re quiet until his grip tightens ever so slightly and his face noticeably drops from earnest to frustrated. You swallow deeply as you give a very unconvincing “No, of co-”

“Get your hands off her,” your mama spits, ripping you away from him, but he’s persistent, callously shoving her to the ground and gripping your jaw in his ringed hand.

“Because if it’s true,” he continues so softly even as the cold metal digs into your cheeks. “Then I wonder what else I’d be willin’ to do to keep ya,” he casually threatens a sadistic look in his eyes as a wide grin spreads across his face.

You feel your throat close as he glances down at your Mama, who’s struggling to get off the floor. He lets you go and you’re able to bring her to a chair. You once thought she was invincible but now you see her trembling clearly shaken up by this whole thing. Whatever your mama had; money, influence, respect, Elvis had in spades. She’s effectively powerless against him, but she still finds the strength to angle herself in front of you to try to block him.

She’s afraid of him no doubt about it, but she’s still willing to defend you with her life.

Would he be willing to go that far? You think and you let out a sob knowing the answer already.

“Choice is yours darlin’,” he whispers right next to your ear. “If you’re willin’ to choose.” and then he steps right out onto the porch. You hope in vain that somehow he’s decided to leave, but that quickly dies as you hear him strike a match and you smell the familiar miasma of his favorite cigars.

He wouldn’t, you think, but you can no longer put anything past him. You don’t ever want to truly find out what he’d be willing to if it meant keeping you by him, especially not at your mama’s expense. But you know in your gut how you can protect her.

If you have one thing to thank your earlier crying fits for, it’s that you’re tapped dry at this point, so as you say to her “Mama I gotta go now,” you can say it with a little bit of dignity.

“No… no Rosebud,” she pleads with you holding both of your hands. “Please stay… we can figure this out,” she says, the tears welling up in her eyes, as she comes to the same realization as you do.

“It’s gonna be okay Mama,” you vainly try to reassure her but mostly yourself. “But you gotta let me go,” you sob, wanting to do anything but. And you have to leave her crying in the home she made for you.

You find him leaning against the porch railing, eyes slowly opening as you move closer to him. “Yes Honeybee,” he says, cloyingly sweet, as he wraps an arm around your shoulders.

“Elvis…please… just-just take me home,” you whisper, burying your face into his chest.

“Course sweetheart, anythin’ for you,” he says, and you shudder knowing he means it. You walk away from the porch and you breathe a sigh of relief as he drops the cigar into the dirt and stamps it out. “I really oughta quit anyway,” he says. “Heard it’s bad for the baby.”

“What?” you say, your blood turning to ice hearing that.

“Ain’t it like magic Honeybee?” he sighs as you both get in the backseat of Jerry’s car, the owner of which is pointedly not looking at either of you. Elvis pays no mind to it, instead absentmindedly rubbing your lower belly back and forth. “You plant somethin’ so small, and it’ll grow up to be somethin’ else,” he sighs in contentment, and you close your eyes to yet another revelation that is coming far too late.

“But… but… you said, that it only happens when you’re married,” you say, though your spirit has long since been defeated.

“Don’tchu worry none ‘bout that sweetheart,” he dismisses. “We are gonna get married real soon, and ain’t no one gonna be the wiser.”

There’s something so final in that revelation that you are now forever tied to him not by your own choices, but by his. He chose you.

He knew what he was doing and he knew you didn’t.

Looking back you don’t think there was ever anything within your control. What’s worse is that a part of you wishes you had never gone into his office today and could have lived blissfully, unburdened with the knowledge of what he was willing to do to get you.

You love him, which makes this betrayal feel all the worse. You glance to the side to see the fields of flowers you’re leaving behind, as he slowly slips a ring on your finger. Now he’s not even gonna pretend that you have a choice in the matter, you are going to marry him because he said so.

With his hand in yours you feel as the car transitions from the dirt road to the paved one that will take you far away from your home.

You close your eyes and you don’t look back.

Alternate Summary: In which Elvis sees himself as a triumphant Orpheus when he’s actually a victorious Hades.

Taglist

@venus-haze @djsjs13949 @ilovehobi101 @butlerslut @richardslady121 @giabelia @sydneyyyya @meetme0614 @tacozebra051 @myradiaz @thelifes-world @maythesunshineagain @rakitirakiti @lostteenagetale @j-v-9-2 @eliseinmemphis @dkayfixates @immi547 @thatbanditqueen @marriedtoeddie @cuteejeno @itlover8000 @isthlsfate @mgparker @thatbanditqueen @softsatnin @literally-just-elvis-fics

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 7 months

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Murder Daddy Kinktober 2023 Masterlist.

A full accounting of my work this Kinktober! I think I wrote over 50k! Wow! Please share and let me know what you thought of Kinktober this year! More parts below the cut! Warnings in RED, Please heed them. Pairings in PURPLE.

Day 1 - Trying something new – You’re a desperate Pharma Rep looking for an easy win. Doctor Joel Miller is anything but. [Doctor!Joel Miller x Pharma Rep!Reader. Fingering, degradation, power play, public sex/voyeurism]

Day 2 - Degradation – Fancisco Morales and Santiago Garcia have you right where they want you. [Frankie x You x Santi. Set in the Shore Leave Universe, MMF threesome, DP, degradation(obv), established relationship, PiV sex, no barrier protection(but reader is on undisclosed BC).]

Day 3 - “Daddy please?” – Your stepdad Dave York catches you in the act of making money through online sex work. The fic that inspired “The Princess and The Duke”. [Stepdad!Dave York x Reader. Cam work, sex work, blowjob, exhibitionism, sex on camera, taboo, stepcest, PiV sex, no barrier protection(but reader is on undisclosed BC).]

Day 4 - Outdoor sex/risk of being caught – You and Dave have been fooling around for some time now, and you try and push his buttons at a 4th of July party. “The Princess and The Duke” Universe. [Stepdad!Dave York x Reader. Angst, fluff, smut, risk of getting caught, PiV sex, no barrier protection(but reader is on undisclosed BC) heavy references to PTSD/Trauma.]

Day 5 - “Who does this belong to?” Javi crosses a line in your relationship and you make him pay for it. [Javier Peña x Reader. Bondage, orgasm denial, male masturbation, Javi is a brat, fluff and angst. [Bonus from @lucyeyelesbarrow]

Day 6 - Taboo – You get caught watching your stepdad going for a swim, and it gets you way too hot and bothered. Set in “The Princess and The Duke” Universe. [Stepdad!Dave York x Reader. Female masturbation, spying on Dave, almost getting caught.]

Day 7 - What happens in “x” stays in “x” (add your own

context) You get way too drunk in an unfriendly town, but Silva wants to look after you. Set in the “Walk Away” Universe (Sort of a prologue). [Silva x TransMasc!Reader, heavy angst, body dysmorphia, self-hatred, drinking, Silva being way too sweet, pigs?]

Day 8 - Bondage – Joel loves having you tied up and at his mercy. [No Outbreak!Joel Miller x Reader, Overstimulation, Bondage, mild sub/dom dynamics, ass play, anal sex, double penetration (fingers and dick), unproteted PiV (established relationship BS used), degradation/use of slut/whore)]

Day 9 - Ass play [I cheated and re-used a fic!] You move into a dilapidated mansion after inheriting it from a family member. Joel and Tommy offer to fix it up for you. [Vampire!Joel x You x Vampire!Tommy. DDNI, Dead Dove Do not Eat, This is a dark fic, it’s twisted af, Joel and Tommy are vampires, that murder people, reader is their next victim, threat of death to reader, Joel is mean and fucking nasty in this, so is Tommy, drug use, dubcon(reader is drugged/high on pheremones), coercion, mouth fucking, unprotected PiV, Creampie, anal sex, rimming, throat fucking, ass play, double penetration, reader begs for her life, mind-fuck, mind-break, seriously dubcon/bordering on non-con, degredation, blood play, vampire biting, swallowing dacryphilia, let me know if I missed anything! Enjoy you beautiful THOTs.]

Day 10 - Toys Javi gets you back for the events of “Who does this belong to?” – [Javier Peña x Reader. Overstimulation, wand vibrator, unprotected PiV(Do Better), Papi Kink, Dom!Javi, Sub!reader, spanking, choking(mild), degradation (lots of it, Javi has a filthy mouth), come play(sort of??), bratty reader. Mentions of Infidelity and male masturbation]

Day 11 - Boss/employee (dubcon??) You dress up specially for Max at the office Halloween party. [Max Phillips x Reader. Failed SA on Reader, followed by a swift kick to the balls, Vampires, blood drinking, vampire bites, unprotected PiV(Please wrap it up), slight dubcon(reader isn't drunk but has been drinking), mild threat to reader (vampire sex yo.), blood loss, Max is a softdom,]

Day 12 - CNC (roleplay) You get caught out by a Raider, Joel Miller, in an old grocery store. He takes what he wants, as always. [Raider!Joel Miller x Reader. DDDNI, This is pretty Dark, Roleplay, It's all consensual but it is CNC(Consensual Non-Consent), Vaginal Fingering, gun play, knife play, struggle, threat of r*pe, threat around anal, Joel Miller's fucking mouth, degradation, slut shaming.]

Day 13 - Facial Set in the “Rendezvous in Reno” universe. Dieter gets to try something he’s been dying to do for months, fuck your tits. [Dieter Brave x Erotica Writer!Reader. Face-sitting, face-riding, tit-job/tit-wank/tit-fucking, established relationships, Dieter being a menace, Dieter is a tit man, fluff and plot, fluff and feelings, Dieter is technically a murder daddy because he murders that pussy.]

Day 14 - Phone sex – Set in “The Princess and The Duke” Universe. [Dave York x Reader. Phone sex/dirty talk, Daddy kink, angst, catching feelings, really fucking angsty]

Day 15 - Cousin’s husband’s maid’s brother (wildcard prompt

so have fun/go wild with weird ideas) – The neighbour’s gardener is a no-show, but his brother turns up instead. [No Outbreak!Joel Miller x Reader. Degradation, rough blowjob, no real prep for reader, Joel's mouth, panty sniffing, dirty talk.]

Day 16 - Aphrodisiac/sex pollen You and your least-favourite, but hot as fuck, patrol partner get stuck in an old FEDRA testing site, but you’re not alone. [Jackson!Joel x Reader Dead Dove Do Not Eat/DDDNI, noncon/heavy dubcon, body horror, tentacles, mouth r*pe, double/triple penetration, bondage, non-consensual bondage, choking, deep throating, pheromones, sex pollen, tentacles, mind fuck/mind break, brainwashing, guilt, trauma, trauma bonding.]

Day 17 - “Why do you run, only to let me catch you?” You’ve been on the run from Din Djarin for years but just over a year ago he stopped chasing you… Until tonight. [Din Djarin x Fugitive!Reader. PiV sex, unprotected sex, mutual pining, grogu being a sessy bitch, blood, addiction mentions, addiction, oral F&M recieving, Whiny Din Supremacy.]

Day 18 - Knife Play [ @Clawdeewritesfanfic Subbed in to save the day!]

Day 19 - “So much cum, fuck!” [@Clawdeewritesfanfic Subbed in to save the day! (Again!)]

Day 20 - Breeding kink – Dave York has a breeding kink. [Duke!Dave York x Princess!Reader Daddy Kink, Breeding Kink, creampie, sub/dom dynamics, Dirty Talk, PiV sex (no barrier protection), Carol is mentioned but relationship is amiable.]

Day 21 - Shuffle for a Kesha/Dua Lipa/Charlotte Cardin song

& use the title as inspo – Dave and you finally get round to fucking. (Technically a remix of Daddy Please, but set in “The Princess and The Duke” Universe. [Duke!Dave York x Princess!Reader - Daddy Kink, Sex Work, Cam work, Infidelity, Step-Cest, Dave York(he always needs his own warning), Possessive!Dave, Men being sexist dicks on the internet, choking, degradation, rough sex, rough oral sex, exhibitionism.]

Day 22 - Thigh riding You and Javi have some fun with those deliciously thick thighs of his. [Javier Peña x Reader. Nipple play, spanking, sub/dom dynamics, thigh riding, reader is a brat, degradation.]

Day 23 - Drunk sex Set after “Hurt so Good” Frankie helps you out of your shoes when you’re struggling after a night our drinking. [Vampire!Frankie x Reader. Drunk Reader (dubcon but established relationship), Twilight references (to piss off Frankie) Vampire sex, Vampire bites, Unprotected PiV (sort of), vampire vibes, oral F receiving, biting, vampire bites.]

Day 24 - Safeword – A collection of the various Safewords our PPCU boys use.

Day 25 - Pegging – Joel agrees to let you peg him, because it’s something you want. It doesn’t go quite to plan. [No Outbreak!Joel Miller x Reader. Pegging, anal fingering, handjobs, implied female oral, Joel Miller’s ego, Joel Miller’s Lack of communication skills, hurt/comfort, angst (happy ending heheh), insecurities around masculinity (implied), self-hatred/shame, sub!Joel, dom!reader, strap-on use, butt plug use, lots of lube, SO MUCH CUM! ]

Day 26 - Somnophilia – Javi wakes up to you humping your pillow in your sleep, it awakens something dark inside him. [Javi G x Reader. Warnings: Somnophilia, sleep sex, consensual somnophilia, Javi having dark thoughts, cnc, consensual non-consent (if you squint), Javi being a bad boy, dry humping/pillow humping, wet dreams, unprotected PiV (wrap it up folks)].

Day 27 - Costumes – Fluffy drabbles for our PPCU boys in costume.

Day 28 - “You trying to get me fired?” – You finally get Miguel to give in and just fuck you already. [Office/Lawyer AU!Miguel x Reader. Warnings: Office AU/Lawyer AU, Office romance/sex, co-workers, sexual tension, voyeurism, fingering, dirty talk, the whole office definitely heard, unprotected PiV (wrap it up folks).]

Day 29 - Picture perfect – Part 2/3 of “Creep”. You get sick and tired of waiting for your creepy neighbour to make an appearance, so you take matters into your own hands. [Creepy Neighbour!Joel Miller x Twisted!Reader. This is a dark fic, it’s twisted af, Joel is a creep, Joel is mean and fucking nasty in this, dubcon(Reader touching Joel in his sleep), coercion, degredation(lots of Joel calling Reader a slut/whore etc.), (heavy)stalker vibes.]

Day 30 - Pumpkin Spice [Combining with the below fic for release sometime this week]. Day 31 - Freaky Love (fluff with a monster I know I’m sappy - Combined fluffy smut with Max.

And nce again - big shout out to @pr0ximamidnight @beskarandblasters @wannab-urs @patti7dc @beefrobeefcal @pastelnap @reaperofmen @jksprincess10 @clawdee @covetyou @strang3lov3 @lucyeyelesbarrow @gasolinerainbowpuddles @king-simp and the rest of my wonderful moots (sorry if I missed y’all my brain is soup) for being top tier in supporting me in this crazy as fuck endeavour.

Join my taglist here

@ktheunready @harriedandharassed @survivingandenduring @neverwheremoonchild @noisynightmarepoetry @casa-boiardi @xoxabs88xox @guelyury @its-nebuleuse @deadly-femme-bimbo @christinamadsen @mirandablue1 @clawdee @youandmeand5bucks-blog @hiddenbabynyc @stevie75 @star017 @vabeachazn @darkheartgatita @anoverwhelmingdin @pedroshotwifey @bitchwitch1981 @dameron-grant-spector @livingdeadmaria @cantbenameds-blog @nashja @robertpattinsoninthetracksuit

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kyluxtrashpit · 2 months

Note

Hiya! I hope you're doing well. I made the Hottest Star Wars Man Poll, so when your posts about it were brought to my attention, I felt I should probably reach out.

The polls are just for fun. I make them with no agenda, and I run them with no agenda. I've received messages talking about bots before, but I never wanted to get into the weeds about it.

However, as the discussion about bots is bigger than I realized, I guess now is as good a time as any to speak about it:

My opinion is that the spikes in Hux votes are a mere side-effect of the poll being passed around the internet and bringing in new voters in droves. As your Anon mentioned, @tomatette's edits might's also pulled in waves of people who voted for Hux out of fidelity to her.

I'm fine with the campaigning. As long as the vote is ultimately achieved by a human clicking on the vote themselves, it's alright by me. Hell, I always reblog 'propaganda' I particularly like, and I even requested some Anakin propaganda when he was in his elimination round. It's all fun and games to me.

However.

If anyone is using bots, I'm asking nicely for them to please stop. I'm going to pull the 'I'm not mad, I'm disappointed' card on anyone botting. The polls are all strictly unserious things, so I hope that nobody is taking them too seriously.

Hi there! Sorry the nonsense has reached you, honestly lmao. I just wanted to make a post cause I was upset about the possibility (and, as I've said, I don't have rock solid proof, just suspicions based on observations by myself and others, so like. If people don't agree with me, that's fine, it's all good - I just wanted to speak out in case it was happening like, as a kyluxer, I don't want people to think that if someone is botting, that's something we as a fandom are chill with). I honestly didn't expect it to get quite this much attention either but here we are. I also want to make it clear to both you and my followers that I don't put any blame of anything on you - you're just making fun polls and that's it, you're not responsible for what people do or what drama may arise

I do agree it's possible someone just got a bunch of people to vote within a small window of time, like anything is possible, always is. I just feel like some of the increases I saw, observations from others, and things I've heard are enough to warrant suspicion. If people do or do not agree that there's a reason to think it happened, that's their choice and I'm not going to insist that my word is law and they have to believe me. I don't have receipts, I was just expressing myself and I do appreciate amicable discussion even if my mind has not been changed as of yet

But yeah I agree, propaganda and making funny edits and posts - that's not at all what I was referring to in terms of 'cheating', but somewhere it seems that got mentioned in the discussion? (3 separate people have brought this up to me lmao, like thinking I'm accusing them but I am NOT and no one better be out there accusing them either without actual evidence beyond 'oh you posted about it' cause that's a shitty thing to do) and I also want to make it clear I am not against propaganda fun. That's all just part of it. If people are mad about that, that's their problem and they should use blacklist more liberally. And if people are saying I'm saying that, then those people are either lying or are at 'how dare you say we should piss on the poor' levels of reading comprehension lmao

But yeah, I'll post this publicly, but let me know if you want it taken down and I'll delete it - I appreciate you reaching out and I'm sorry you had to deal with this, that was definitely not my intent when I made the post. I just wanted the botting, if it is indeed happening (and if it's not, all the better, I am just not yet convinced it didn't happen), to stop

And lastly, because of some of the DMs I've received: if you, the person reading this (not you the asker), are sending hate or harassment to people based on my post, FUCKING STOP IT RIGHT THE FUCK NOW, you're no better than the bad actors I was initially referring to

#I'm also gonna start tagging these with #poll drama #cause I didn't think it would escalate to quite this level #but anyway yeah here is the words from the poll runner themselves #and do not fucking be mean to people on my goddamn behalf ffs #never EVER do that #ask tag #jessequinnfirstofhername #text #long post #misc

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mauesartetc · 8 months

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PSA regarding character design asks

For those of you who are new here, if you take a look at the "character design" tag in this blog's archive, you'll notice I post a fair bit about the subject, sometimes helping others improve their own designs. I love getting these kinds of asks, as working out design kinks is a fun challenge for me (despite urgent life shit delaying my response times. Folks who've sent me design asks in the past few months: They're in my drafts and I thank you for your patience).

But recently I received an ask that displayed some rather disappointing behavior, and I thought I'd take this opportunity to nip it in the bud. This isn't a callout post, and I'm not trying to sic the shame squad on this person. I just want to stress to all of you that this isn't okay.

The ask included an image of a character they drew and some brief paragraphs of background information. Typical fare for this kind of ask. Everything was fine until the last two sentences.

I have to confess that I shamelessly stole the [clothing article] from [someone else's character design]. But since [worldbuilding info related to a real-life thing the other person's design was based on], it made perfect sense.

I looked up the original design they were referring to, and sure enough, they had traced so much of it that half of their design wasn't really theirs. Because it "made perfect sense."

I'm going to say this in the most civil way I possibly can.

ANYTHING. Would have made more sense. Than art theft.

"But Maue, it's just part of a design, not the whole thing". Doesn't matter. Theft is theft. And I want to make it clear to everyone reading this that if you think it's in any way acceptable to rip off another character designer, my posts haven't taught you a damn thing. Frankly I'm a bit insulted that this person assumed I'd be complicit in this.

For the record, professional designers do NOT steal from others, or at least the good ones don't. They might be inspired by an existing design, but, importantly, they'll use other inspirations too, and put their own unique spin on it. It's just a starting point, not the final product.

They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, but this ain't just imitation; it's the equivalent of copying another kid's homework in school. This is cheating. I've had one of my own characters shamelessly ripped off before, and there was nothing flattering about it. It just made me feel used, like a parasite had sucked me dry. I never want anyone else to feel that way, and I hope to God none of y'all do either.

Folks, if you want to design your own characters, do the research and actually design your own characters. It's really not that hard. Sure, the first attempts might look terrible, but at least they'll come by their shittiness honestly. Ugly art that tried has infinitely more charm than gorgeous art that didn't.

I'm sorry if this comes off as harsh, but I take this shit seriously. So please don't send me asks containing stolen artwork. I won't respond and you'll earn yourself a block. Fair warning.

Don't get lazy. You know better, so do better.

Thanks.

#psa #character design #asks #art theft

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vivvvy · 1 year

Text

I know i’m not the only one.

harry potter x !fem reader

⚠️: not really any warnings, angst, cheating, slapping.

Summary: While getting ready for bed in her dorm, y/n receives news from a certain someone that harry is cheating on her. (also this is not proofread.)

this is my first post! (and angst) please tell me if this is good.

may or may have not added 2 euphoria references haha

today was a very long day. between OWLS, dealing with Umbridge, and having an insane amount of homework, I barely had time for myself. thanks to Hermione, i was able to get help with homework so i finished it earlier, but that was a couple of hours ago. after I finished everything, I went shopping for a bit to calm myself down before finally returning at my dorm. I grab my keys and I put it in the lock. when I had gotten in there, though, Cho and Hermione were in my room.

“merlin- what the hell are you doing here?” I say to the girls, both mad and concerned in why they had gotten into my dorm.

“We have something to tell you.. it’s quite serious actually,-“ hermione said before being cut off by cho

“you may want to sit down. it’s about me and harry.” cho responded in a guilty tone, like something bad had happened.

confused and filled with worry, i sat down. then i thought of the worst, harry and cho were dating? or maybe he had broken up with me?

“do you want to tell her or should i?” hermione whispers to cho, and she just nods.

“harry kissed me after our meeting in the room of requirement. he’s also been cheating on you with me.” cho told me, looking down at the floor.

at first, i laughed. then i took it seriously.

“you’ve got to be kidding me.” i said, my voice filled with anger, instead of sadness.

cho just stood there, still looking down.

“how long had this been going on?” i ask, my patience growing thin.

“since we first started the lessons with harry.”

i turned to hermione, now i was mad.

“and you knew about this and didn’t tell me?”

she stood there. all she did was stand there unresponsive.

cho was now crying. she was fucking crying.

“oh you’re fucking crying? you’re crying? you are the most idiotic person i have ever fucking met, you kissed my boyfriend and you’re fucking crying?”

i left the room. i could not be in the same room with a girl who knew that a boy was in a relationship, yet still ruined that relationship.

i made my way to the gryffindor tower. i was so angry that i was crying, yet i should not be crying over a boy who cheated on a girl simply because be was fooled. i will not let myself be embarrassed like this.

i finally got to the painting with the fat lady. i didn’t know the password since i was a hufflepuff, but i angrily knocked. to my surprise, someone opened the door. harry.

“oh, hi y/n! how are you?”

“don’t you dare act like everything is okay. i know about you and cho, i know you kissed her, i know you were messing with her. what the fuck is wrong with you? i treat you great, i try to be an amazing girlfriend, and this is what i get in return? you didn’t even tell me. cho and hermione had to tell me after i had gotten back from shopping.” i was getting close to him, tears were streaming down my face. these were not sad tears, however they were angry ones.

people in the common room overheard and were now watching. three of then i had recognized as the weasley twins and their little brother, ron. and boy were they shocked.

our relationship had seen like the most perfect thing. we would get each other gifts, call each other nicknames that were corny, watched movies, baked together, and did so much more. yet he chose to throw it all away for a girl who cries when she ruins someones relationship.

“y/n, i’m sorry.” that’s all he said. three words, and that was it.

“oh you’re sorry? you’re sorry? you think a lame ass apology is going to fix this?” i shout, the people around us watching as we fight.

“what more do you want me to say?”

“maybe saying sorry like you actually fucking mean it? and also, a sorry isn’t going to fix what we had. everything was perfect, we were a great couple! yet you threw that away.” i yell, but now i’m not crying. i’m yelling.

“can we still be together, though?”

that set me off. everyone was not watching us, more people coming down from their dorms. then i finally did it. i slapped him.

“oh shit!“ someone said. others gasped.

“i got to say, potter, i’ve had a lot if regrets, but meeting you is at the top of my list.”

he finally takes the hint. now he knows that we will no longer be seeing each other. that on saturdays, we won’t study together. on wednesday nights, we won’t bake chocolate chip cookies or sit by the fire drinking hot chocolate. and we most certainly will never, and i mean never, be back together again.

“i love you, y/n.”

i laugh, and turn to look at him one last time.

“don’t you dare say you love me.”

#harry potter #harry potter angst #harry potter x reader

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comphy-and-cozy · 2 years

Note

congrats on 500!!!! 🥳

🌺 may i please request 123 or 143 with andrei i honestly can’t chose so surprise me - @ryanpulock

I knew I had to make this one spicy just for you, katie. I think you’ll appreciate the reference I threw in here + also it felt too wrong to not use one of your gifs and I’m so glad you had a Big Boy Suit Gif™

celebrate 500 with me!

Prompts: #123 “Fuck you.” “When?” / #143 “Are you trying to turn me on or are you really just that oblivious?”

Pairing: Andrei Svechnikov x reader (f)

Word Count: 1.3K

Warnings: Adult themes/mature content, smut (but not explicit), and a sweet and adorable and oblivious Martin Nečas. *Technically* not cheating proper but, like, cheating themes?

Though you’ve been running in the same circle as some professional hockey players for awhile, today is the first day that you’re actually attending a private event of theirs. More specifically, a wedding — Brady and Gracia’s. Marty had asked you weeks ago, the first outward display of your little fling that was beginning to blossom.

He’s sweet, almost adorably so, pulling out all the stops: flowers, goodnight phone calls, thinking of you texts. So far, he’s been pretty much perfect, and you can see a reality where you really fall for him and have a future with him.

Unfortunately, it’s in the same reality that up until a few weeks ago, you’d also been secretly hooking up with his teammate. You know, the Russian one — the big boy. And even more unfortunately, it’s also a reality that he’s attending the wedding tonight solo, conveniently located at table 8 with you and Marty.

You haven’t seen him since you cut things off, citing your budding romance as the reason for the split. He’d accepted it with grace, expressing his well wishes. You thought it was the end of it, clean and crisp and sterile, but in hindsight you should’ve known how wrong you were.

Andrei saunters up, his crisp gray suit giving him the look of a fucking GQ model, his hair falling perfectly into place. You can’t help the way your eyes trail over his figure, the rich material hugging his thick thighs in a way that has you fantasizing about the last time you’d had one of those thighs lodged between your legs —

“You look way too hot to be here with him.” The Russian’s head jerks in the direction of your date, who’s at the bar getting you a glass of wine. The implication is unspoken, but clear: You should be here with me instead.

“Andrei.”

“Aww, come on, you aren’t gonna be friendly? You’re the one who ended this, you know.”

Your eyes watch as Marty gets stopped on his way back to you, caught talking to someone as he sends you an apologetic glance. “I am friendly. And I ended this because it wasn’t going anywhere, Andrei.”

He hums, and if he has a protest, he keeps it to himself. “At least I know it isn’t because my dick isn’t big enough.”

With a sigh, you roll your eyes and shake your head, though he catches the tiny smile on your face.

“You really still with him?” Andrei asks quietly, nudging your shoulder with his as he leans back against the table behind him, legs spread leisurely.

“Yes, I am,” you reply. “And I don’t want to fuck this up, so please, don’t do this. Not tonight.”

He holds his hands up in mock defense, shifting to sit more normally as Marty approaches you, apologizing for the delay. You smile, accepting the drink he’s brought, along with the kiss to your cheek that he plants quickly before he sits down.

Dinner is served, and Andrei seems to have taken your request seriously. He’s cordial, keeping his snarky comments to a minimum. It’s nice, and you think that the evening is shaping up to be a great one.

But when dessert comes, it seems the game is back on. The white-gloved servers place a decadent chocolate torte in front of you, topped with whipped cream and a fresh cherry. At the first bite, Andrei lets out a moan that has you shifting uncomfortably in your seat, immediately drawing you back to hearing that same noise — except instead of chocolate cake melting in his mouth all those times, it was your pussy.

Once you’ve tasted the torte for yourself, though, you have to admit that his reaction is warranted; it’s delicious, perfectly sweet and sinfully indulgent — unfortunately, just like the man sitting next to you. He makes a show taking the cherry between his lips, sucking on it before he pulls it into his mouth.

You have half a mind to wonder if he’s doing all of this on purpose, trying to draw a reaction out of you, but then again, he’s kind of just… like that. He’s unaware that you are, in fact, reacting, the pulse between your thighs raging as you finish your dessert, and you pray that he can’t see the way your pulse has quickened in your throat.

“Wow,” he says, licking a bit off his fork before digging in for another bite. “This tastes like heaven.”

With a sharp inhale, you quickly reach for your glass of champagne, washing down the cake with a long swig. You’ve heard him say that before, murmured lowly against the sensitive skin of your thigh, coaxing moans from your lips in the darkness. His eyes flash to yours, so quickly you think you might’ve imagined the wink he sends in your direction.

“This is worth every cheat calorie for the entire week,” Marty agrees, and you blink, almost completely having forgotten he’s there. Oops.

“Brady is a dessert aficionado; there’s no way he wasn’t gonna have the world’s best dessert at his own wedding,” you laugh.

Your table falls silent as you finish the dessert, each of you literally scraping your plate to not waste a single piece. The smug Russian bastard beside you gathers the last bit of whipped cream on his plate with his middle finger and pops it into his mouth, sucking it off of his finger with another dramatic moan.

Swallowing thickly, you barely notice when Marty announces he’s going to find the restroom, asking you if you want him to grab you an extra drink on his way back. You nod, not trusting your voice to come out, and wait impatiently until he’s several tables away to turn to Andrei, annoyed.

“Are you trying to turn me on or are you really just that oblivious?” you finally say with a huff.

He smirks at you, his dimple meshed into his cheek as he regards you hotly. “Is it working?”

“Fuck you, Svechnikov.”

“When?”

With a roll of your eyes, you scoff, dismissing his advance. You’re not even going to give him the satisfaction of rejecting him, because you know he’s going to ignore it anyways.

As expected, he presses on. “Why not? You already know how talented I am with my hands.”

“You’re a pervert.”

“I’m a hockey player. I use my hands to handle my stick. Get your mind out of the gutter,” he says, innuendo still going strong. His accent is extra thick around the word ‘gutter,’ and you have to ignore how endearing it is.

“You’re the one who’s trying to fuck your teammate’s girlfriend.”

“Oh, you’re a girlfriend now, huh?”

“No, but — Andrei, just fuck off, okay?”

“Come on,” he husks, voice in your ear. “If you can look me in the eye and tell me with a straight face you haven’t thought about me fucking that tight little pussy of yours, I’ll drop it. For good. But if you can’t, come home with me tonight — not him.”

His words cause heat to swell in your low abdomen, rising quickly to your cheeks. He has you cornered, and you know it — not that he’s really given you a choice with his little dessert show and incessant teasing.

“Andrei,” you breathe. “Marty —”

“— will be fine,” he cuts you off. “You’re a heartbreaker. Everybody knows it. He knew what he was getting himself into.”

You pause, hesitating for just a little too long considering your real date is heading back to your table, drink in hand. He asks you to dance, and Andrei backs up to allow you both to pass, sending a smirk in your direction as you follow Marty to the dance floor.

You dance with Marty, the heat of his hands resting on your hips as you sway to the song. But at the end of the night, it’s Andrei’s hands pressing into that same spot on your waist, lips marking their claim on your neck.

An unread message from Marty flashes on your screen, Hope you feel better typed out with worry and affection, all but forgotten in the darkness of Andrei’s bedroom.

#c’s 500 follower celly #andrei svechnikov fic #andrei svechnikov blurb #andrei svechnikov imagine #hockey fic #nhl imagine

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thatwildnya · 9 months

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Can you make any writing about Robin fire emblem (Male) being autistic? (Like showing his special interests or Chrom helping him deal with noise or something) Please ignore this ask if no!

Nya: this is a nice change from what we usually get! i'm happy to do some hcs likes this, hope you enjoy love~ also added a hint of gay gay homosexual gay chrobin hope you don't mind-

TW: none? probably??

first things first, get yourself an autistic tactician. they can only be defeated by another autistic tactician in a battle of wits. we autistic fellows are far beyond you mortals understanding, do not question our ways.

anyway

when it's go time it's go time. man will forget to do his basic needs and probably ignore them when he does remember because he is in the zone and needs to work until he no longer can comprehend the simplest tasks. Chrom is one of the few who can get away with dragging his sleep deprived ass away from his precious diagrams and maps without getting electrocuted to unconsciousness. this is because he has grown resistant to it.

our favorite one sleeved blue hair sword man has to either tie his favorite birdie to a bed or practically lay on his until he falls asleep. food comes after the shut eye, all the shepherds learn this the hard way. as his mind starts winding down the exhaustion hits him harder than Truck-kun does an isekai protag. face plants into his soup and will drown if nobody notices the sounds of bubbles popping.

also nobody questions it when they find the great tactician dead to the world with one or more of the shepherds laying with him. during orientation Fredrick tells all new recruits that if they see Robin sleeping with anyone on the list in their pamphlets that neither of them are cheating this is one of two ways to make sure he gets rest. also do not release him if he is chained to a bed unless absolutely necessary he is in gay baby jail being punished for not following the kings orders. if he says he needs to use the bathroom please refer back to the list of people on the pamphlet and locate the nearest one to inform them of the situation.

his favorite nap buddy his Tiki. her body is warmer than others (cuz y'know dragon) and makes a nice cuddle buddy. preferably not her dragon form, he's gotten crushed enough times to know the dangers. his least favorite is Nowi. she's a bed hog and has a habit of transforming in her sleep if her dragonstone is on her.

when he's not on duty he goes out to his favorite bookstores to see if there's any new bestsellers since he's last stopped by. has befriended all the owners and clerks at each one and will spend hours discussing books of all kinds with any of them. his favorite is a back alley shop run by an elder lady who happily listens to his hours long ramblings. she always has his favorite tea in where she keeps her tea for when he drops by so he doesn't get a hoarse voice from all his talking. sometimes he brings Morgan along to chat with the lady instead when he just wants to read quietly. he feels bad otherwise cuz he knows she's a lil lonely.

due to having fought in many battles he isn't phased easily by loud noises. but there are some sounds that just throw him completely off his game. seriously enemies could use this to their advantage he cannot deal with them and have a clear head. Chrom is very aware of how they affect his bestie and tries to find a solution asap. bothered by the sound of the wind sneaking through a crack in the wall? the wall by given the 'Chrom is training and misjudged his strength' treatment. door hinge squeaks make his skin crawl? the door will be replaced within hours even if that means he has to switch it with another door in the building,

the reason Robin wears gloves his because he can't stand the feeling or sight of blood on his hands. it makes him squeamish though he isn't entirely sure why. maybe it's because it reminds him of the relationship he has with Grima. he's a bit embarrassed by this so he doesn't share this with anyone he isn't super close with. only those who are more observant will notice the change in his demeanor because he's so good at hiding it. carries around two extra pairs of gloves in case some get into the ones he's wearing. Miriel, Lisa, and Fredrick also carry some extras. Chrom forgets half the time but he means well.

when he gets super excited about something that goes in hand with his interests he has a tendency to go off on a tangent. you probably won't be able to get a word in and it might take a bit to excuse yourself because he'll keep interrupting you. please be patient with him he's just really happy. his hands are all over the place while he talks and might start pacing around.

his stimming comes in the form of leg bouncing, finger tapping, and pen clicking (or tapping idk if click pens exists for him). unless he's presenting his leg or fingers start moving the longer a meeting is. Fredrick is usually the one to help him keep his stimming from being distracting during meetings as Chrom needs to keep his focus on the meeting at hand. the most Chrom usually does is nudging Robin's foot with his own silently reminding him to not be too distracting. Fredrick's methods involve coughing into his hand, foot nudges, a quick poke to the arm or back, and sometimes (usually when Robin is feeling extremely stressed) setting a hand on his shoulder to help ground him. there have been a few occasions when he's had to have to writing utensil snatched away lightning fast because of the all the racket he's making with it but hey, it happens to the best of us.

will throw up if he gets anything super spongy slimy in his mouth a big no no for him. do not give him calamari he will puke and refuse to eat anything for the next week that isn't something he is absolutely sure is safe.

gets pouty when his favorite pillow is unavailable. it smells like chrom his favorite person and unless he's sleeping with or given something that has the same scent he refuses to sleep. also can't sleep if it's completely silent. a curse of being autistic is your mind is either hyper focused on one thing or there are too many things going through your head. background noise helps to keep his thoughts from running off like that enemy you defeat multiple times but can only kill once you reach a certain part of the game. (looking at you Hubert)

has an after battle routine that must not be disturbed less you want a grumpy tactician on the job. and trust me, a grumpy Robin is a trigger happy Robin. and by that i mean he will cast bolganone at you for simply saying hi.

#nya's writing #fire emblem #fire embem awakening #fe awakening #fe robin #fe chrom #fe frederick #fe tiki #fe nowi #fe grima #fe hcs #fe awakening hcs #fe headcanons #fe awakening headcanons #chrobin

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joes-sha-la-la-la-girl · 5 months

Text

Love Bites: Chapter 9

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Smut and swearing. 18+ only please. This fic from now on will contain cheating.

The shows in America were more than Y/N could ever have dreamed of. Since the tour started, Ultraviolet had attracted more and more attention, and the crowds were not only showing up for Def Leppard but for them as well.

Every night when she called Doug, Y/N had to try and pretend everything was normal. The last thing she wanted was to come home from the tour to nothing. Whilst most of her belongings were replaceable, there were some photos and other sentimental bits and bobs that she would want back. Knowing Doug as well as she did, Y/N knew that if she were to break up with him over the phone he would destroy everything.

Tammy had taken to sitting with Y/N whilst she was phoning her soon-to-be ex-boyfriend. Almost every phone call ended with Y/N either in tears or nearly shaking with anger. Doug wasn’t against insulting her at every given opportunity, only solidifying in the woman’s mind that she had to leave him as soon as they were back in London.

Just over two weeks after their arrival, it was the beginning of April and they still had over half the tour to go. Over those two weeks, Joe and Y/N had been spending more and more time together. Although neither of them had said anything, it was mutually agreed that once Y/N broke up with Doug, the two of them would give it a go. They knew that there would be distance between them but the both of them wanted to make it work.

“Doug I’ve told you like a thousand times when the tour ends.” Y/N refrained from shouting down the phone.

“And I’ve forgotten, you’ve been away for so long now, surely you must be home soon.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and let out a quiet sigh away from the phone.

“The tour ends on the 30th June.” She told him yet again.

“Seriously. Why does it have to be that long, it’s not like either of you are that popular yet.”

“Over here Def Leppard are huge, and I’ll have you know, Ultraviolet has been getting a bigger fan base since the tour started.” Y/N looked over at Tammy who gave her a sympathetic smile. Despite the bassist not being able to hear Doug, she just knew that it wasn’t pleasant responses her lead singer was getting.

Little did Y/N know, as she turned her back again, Joe had entered the room, not releasing that the venue phone was in use. Tammy smiled at him before leaving the room herself. Joe went to follow but with a shake of Tammy’s head he stayed put.

“That’s still three months Y/N.” Doug shouted, prompting Y/N to move the phone away from her ear.

“I know Doug, I can use a calendar.” She bit back. “There's not long until the show. I have to go.”

“You barely have any time for me now.” Doug grumbled.

“I’ll see you in three months.” Y/N said before putting the phone down.

Y/N turned around before coming face-to-face with Joe. She jumped slightly in surprise before giving him a small smile.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Joe told her in almost a whisper.

“It’s okay. I was just expecting Tammy that’s all.” Y/N felt herself exhausted yet again from the phone call, although this one wasn’t as intense as some of the calls between her and Doug, she still was sick of repeating herself all because he couldn’t listen to what she was saying.

“She left when I arrived.” Joe told her.

Y/N nodded before a slightly uncomfortable silence came over the two of them. Joe inched his way closer to her.

“How did it go?” He asked, referring to the phone call she just had.

“Well, about the same as they all go. I tell him something, he doesn’t listen, I have to repeat myself and he doesn’t like what I have to say. I had to lie and say that the show is about to start just to get off the phone. He doesn’t need to know that we still have a few hours.” Y/N ran her hands through her hair, getting her fingers caught in a few tangles that had formed from the backcombing she had done that morning.

Against his better judgement, Joe stepped forward again. Y/N looked up at him as he did so.

“I can’t wait for this tour to end.” He whispered as the backs of his fingers caressed her cheek. “I can’t wait for you to leave him.”

“Me neither.”

Joe found himself getting lost in her eyes. “I know we shouldn’t but…” He started, not looking away.

“No we shouldn’t.” Y/N told him before their lips collided together for a second time that tour.

It started out as a soft kiss, the two gently moving their lips in sync as they moved impossibly closer to each other. Y/N’s hand moved up to Joe’s hair and she pulled carefully, earning a small groan, much like the one from a few weeks before. She wanted to do it again but the two were interrupted by Tammy re-entering the room.

The bassist didn’t say anything as she smiled and left again, however she had effectively ruined the moment. Y/N and Joe pulled apart slowly.

“I should go.” Y/N spoke, her voice slightly hoarse. Joe just nodded and Y/N followed in the same direction Tammy went, leaving Joe alone.

After the show, Y/N refused to go out for a drink and instead opted to get some rest before they travelled the next day. All throughout the show, Y/N couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss, only this time there was less guilt. The more time she spent with Joe, the more she wanted to get home and break up with Doug and now it didn’t even feel like she was dating him anymore. She knew it was wrong to think that way but with every argument the distance between them felt greater.

She had just changed into her pyjamas when there was a knock on her hotel room door. She was a little confused as to who it could be because as far as she knew, everyone was out. However, she felt her heart skip a beat when she opened the door to reveal Joe.

“We really should stay away from each other.” Joe told her as soon as he saw her.

“Then why are you here?”

“Because staying away from you appears to be impossible.” Joe then moved forward and kissed her again. This time there was a sense of urgency in the kiss and Y/N couldn’t help but reciprocate it. When Joe broke the kiss, he pushed her backwards slightly so that he could enter her room and shut the door.

“Now I probably shouldn’t do this because you have a boyfriend but I can’t seem to control myself around you.”

Y/N nodded along with what he was saying.

“I can’t control myself around you either.” She told him as he pressed his lips to hers once more. He moved his hands down from her back to the back of her thighs, giving her bum a small squeeze as he did so. She let out a little squeal as he tried to lift her up. Without breaking the kiss, Y/N jumped into his arms and wrapped her legs around his waist.

He moved the two over to her bed and laid her down, trailing his lips down her neck and sucking gently. Y/N let out a soft moan and moved her hands to Joe’s shoulders, gently digging in her fingernails.

“May I?” Joe breathed as he placed his fingers at the hem of her pyjama bottoms.

“Yes.” Y/N whispered. Without any hesitation Joe pulled her pyjama bottoms down with her underwear in one. “Please Joe.” Y/N whimpered as she felt his breath on her.

“Please what?”

“Touch me please.”

Joe didn’t waste anymore time running his fingers through her folds, finding her clit almost straight away. Y/N gasped in surprise, Doug took months to find it.

Soon enough Joe pushed two fingers inside of her groaning at the tightness. He kissed her clit and Y/N grabbed his hair for support. With the hand he wasn’t using, he moved to under her thin top and grabbed her breast, squeezing softly and brushing his fingertips over her nipple.

Y/N was overwhelmed with the sensations when Joe pulled away from her. Before she could question it, he quickly pulled his wallet out of his pocket and removed a condom. Y/N sat up and reached for Joe’s jeans, undoing the button as Joe reached for her top.

The pair of them removed each other's clothes, unable to pull their eyes away from the other. Y/N reached up and kissed him again before laying back down on the bed. Joe climbed on top of her and lined himself up at her entrance.

“You sure love?”

“Yes Joe please.”

That was all Joe needed before he pushed into her. They let out moans together as they gripped onto each other. Joe waited for her to adjust before he started rocking.

Y/N let out a cry of his name as he hit that special spot inside of her, something else Doug couldn’t seem to find.

Joe set the pace for them as Y/N encouraged him by scratching her nails down his back. She moved her hips to meet him which made him go even deeper than before. Joe leaned down to kiss her as she felt tears of pleasure stream down her face.

Y/N didn’t know how long they had been rocking in sync for but soon enough she felt her high coming.

“Joe I’m gonna, fuck…”

“I know love. Come for me sweetheart.” He leant down to her ear and kissed just behind it. The sensations all became too much for her as she allowed herself to fall over the edge.

“Shit, I’m coming Y/N/N.” Joe announced as she was in the middle of her high. Y/N just clutched onto Joe tighter, as if he would disappear if she let go.

When they both finished, Joe rolled off of her, moving to the bathroom to get a washcloth. He went back and cleaned them both up, disposing of the condom and climbing into bed with her. Y/N wrapped herself around him under the duvet. Focusing on her breathing. Joe kissed her forehead and rubbed his arm up and down her back.

“We’ll sort all this love.” Joe told her before the two drifted off to sleep.

Taglist:

@genxrocker

@elliotts-personal-property

@friccinfricks

@i-love-def-leppard

@vintagerocknrollgirl

#joe elliott #joe elliott x reader #def leppard #ellen's fic #love bites fic #love bites chapter 9 #joe elliott smut

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carakook · 1 month

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Bloom. °˖✧✿✧˖°

“Sorry, I assumed he was your boyfriend because of the way you were tongue fucking outside. My bad.”

→ Chapters list ←

⚘7. Two Petals on the Same Flower

🔞For Mature Audiences Only🔞

◤──•~❉᯽❉~•──◥

⚘Pairings: Jeon Jungkook x fem!reader ⚘Synopsis: After your unexpected reunion with Jungkook, you must go on with the night and act completely normal... but shit just keeps going wrong. Surely Jeon Jungkook is a demon. ⚘Genre:Forbidden love ⚘Word count: 11.5k+ ⚘Warnings: 18+ for mature audiences only, MDNI, emotional, mentions of anxiety, mentions of sex, angst, conflict, religious metaphors (the story is not religious but makes references to a higher power, karma, fate, etc.), cigarette use, alcohol use, subtle arguing, jealousy, bullying? (fucking Sena), heavy tension, cheating, mentions of cheating, mentions of falling out of love/breaking up. Let me know if I miss anything! ⚘Disclaimer: This story in no way reflects the characters of those who are mentioned. It is pure fiction and for entertainment purposes only. Please don’t take it seriously. Nothing is real in this story. ⚘A/N: WOW OK SORRY I AM A DAY LATE BUT I HAD ISSUES WITH THE 4096 ERROR, I FIGURED OUT A LOOPHOLE WHICH CONSISTED OF ME COPYING AND PASTING THIS INTO A WORD DOCUMENT, OPENING IT ON MY PHONE, AND THEN COPYING AND PASTING IT AGAIN IN THE APP. ANYWAYS. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I am sorry for the lack of uploads. Please forgive me if there are any typos. Already working on chapter 8! Things are picking up, how do you think things will go? LOVE YOU!

◣──•~❉᯽❉~•──◢

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ :

♪ Secrets - The Weeknd

♪ Guilty - TaeMin

♪ Agora Hills - Doja Cat

♪ Pacify Her - Melanie Martinez

♪ if u think i’m pretty - Artemas

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。 It’s incredibly rare for you to smoke, as it isn’t exactly a healthy habit to form… Seojoon hates it, and you grew up watching adults do it all around you, swearing you would never pick up the same habit…

And although it isn’t a habit for you… sometimes you just need a fucking cigarette.

You never used to smoke, but Jungkook introduced you to it. Of course he did. On one of the nights you spent with him a long time ago, he went for a smoke outside. You remember scolding him for the nasty habit, telling him you don’t want to kiss him and taste burnt tobacco rather than his own pretty taste. But then he explained how relaxing it can be, how it’s ok to do things like this in moderation. Bad habits don’t make you a bad person, he said. It’s a quick fix for anxiety in some cases. So, you tried you it… and you realized that maybe he was right. You’re an adult, you’re allowed to indulge sometimes, even if it isn’t the best for you. And as much as you hate admitting it, Jungkook was fucking sexy when he smoked.

So, you started smoking too. Not often of course, only socially or when you needed to calm your nerves. An occasional indulgence, if you will…

Much like the kiss you shared with Jungkook moments ago.

You stayed behind after he went back inside, because there was no fucking way you could keep composed in front of everyone after that. Your lips were fucking swollen from the way he kissed you anyway, he left them pink and glossy with traces of him all over you. You remembered you kept an emergency pack of cigs in your bag, one that you haven’t touched in months, and you indulged.

You needed to get your shit together before facing everyone again. Needed to calm the fuck down and put your mask back on; that pretty, pretty mask, decorated in flowers and glitter, hiding the wilting flower growing underneath it. The flower you didn’t even realize was still there. The flower that you swore died when he left.

A cigarette was really the only way you could cope in the moment, and little did you know, Jungkook stepped out back to indulge just like you. Two peas in a fucking pod; or maybe two petals on the same flower.

You weren’t the only one holding on by a thread thanks to this little reunion. He was just better at pretending… fuck, has been pretending for months now. And tonight, he fears he may have a hard time keeping up the façade. Seeing you has awoken something inside of him that was long dormant, a slew of emotions he has no idea how to process. He needs to get his shit together just as much as you do, or he fears he may do something impulsive and stupid… if he knew his reaction to you would have been this strong, he probably would not have come tonight. But he just needed to see you again; his lilac aster, who isn’t much of an aster anymore…

His beautiful flower. Your biggest nightmare.

After smoking, you re-applied your lip stain for the second time, doused a bit more perfume on yourself, and practiced smiling in the car mirror like an idiot. Realized you have been gone far longer than you should have been considering you were only supposed to be grabbing your purse, so you try to act cool and nonchalant as you walk back inside. As if it was totally normal for you to spend 20 minutes outside when you were just doing a simple task.

You’ll just blame it on the anxiety, which isn’t a full on lie…

And as you glance across to the living room while removing your shoes… Seojoon isn’t there.

Neither is Sena or Jungkook.

Fuck. Shit. Fuck.

This reminds you precisely as to why you called things off with Jungkook. You fucking kissed him out there, and now you’re paranoid someone saw. Was it Yoongi? Did he fucking tattle tell like a rat? You know he saw something, there is no way he didn’t with the way he stared at you when coming to get Jungkook.

“In the kitchen.”

You flinch hard when you here the deep voice address you, turn to the side to see Yoongi leaning on the door frame in the hallway. Looks like the fucking Chesire Cat, the way he’s smiling with an almost mischievous look in his eyes.

“Sorry?”

You respond stupidly, because he caught you by surprise, and you were wondering where three people were, not one. You should only be wondering where one of those people are, that is, if your conscious was clean. But it isn’t. ‘Guilty’ may as well be written across your forehead.

Yoongi knows better.

He shakes his head as he huffs out a little laugh, a laugh that doesn’t sound humorous at all, but almost sarcastic. “Your friend, he’s in the kitchen. Sena too. Said they were talking about some work shit.”

The way he refers to Seojoon as your friend is intentional. He could see the discomfort on your face when he called himself your boyfriend, just as much as he can see the guilt right now.

“Ahh, ok.” You mumble, nodding your head as you shuffle to your feet. You give him the most awkward smile, and then move to make your way to the kitchen. If you weren’t so guilty, you would probably feel incredibly uncomfortable at the thought of Seojoon being alone in the kitchen with Sena. But as of right now, it’s the human fucking cat making you uncomfortable.

“Your boyfriend went for a smoke, if you were wondering. He’s grilling the pork belly outside too. Looked pretty fucked when he came back inside.”

You freeze, because… boyfriend? Who the fuck does this guy think he is? Now he decides to throw the word around?

Does he know?

“Sorry?” You say again, turning to look at him with what was supposed to be a confused expression, but your eyes say it all. Guilt. Caught with your hand in the cookie jar. Bad, bad, bad.

He snickers at this, because he can tell your mind is reeling with thoughts about who might know. No one knows… other than him. See, Yoongi and Jungkook are close. Yoongi is who Jungkook goes to when he needs advice from someone who won’t be biased, someone who will tell him like it is, call him out on his bullshit. Yoongi is the only other soul who knows about the sins committed between you and Jungkook. He is well acquainted with the secret garden built between you two, much like Sohee is.

Everyone needs someone to tell their secrets to, after all.

Yoongi knew what was happening tonight. Jungkook told him, and Yoongi tried really hard to talk him out of coming. Tried to talk some sense into the idiot’s head, but he knew damn well Jungkook wouldn’t listen. Once Jungkook sets his mind to something, he can’t be stopped. So, Yoongi vowed he would at least attempt to keep the peace tonight, keep Jungkook in check.

Yoongi is also just really fucking good at reading people. Can tell easily when someone is lying. Can look at someone and guess what their trauma is. Always has been a perceptive man… but he’s also great at keeping secrets. A blessing and a curse.

Never one to judge, but always one to tell you when you’re being a shitty person.

And… Yoongi really likes fucking with people.

“Sorry, I assumed he was your boyfriend because of the way you were tongue fucking outside. My bad.”

You flinch again because, holy fuck, he did see. Why was he even watching? Is he about to blow your cover? Blackmail you? Scream to the top of lungs ‘they’re dirty cheaters!’

“He is not my boyfriend. Never has been.”

Not a lie, for once. Never was your boyfriend. Was… fuck. You don’t even know what he was.

Lover. Soulmate. Flower boy. Florist. Garden keeper. Guilty pleasure. A fucking demon who you cant escape, apparently.

Yoongi scoffs at you, because he hates this game. Sure, he wants to fuck with you, make you squirm a bit. Doesn’t like the fact that you showed up here for the first time to meet everyone and end up outside making out with someone you acted like you didn’t know. Thinks if you’re going to fuck up, do something that fucking risky, you may as well grow balls and admit to it when confronted.

He clearly knows, so he sees no reason for you to be defending yourself and deflecting. He gets it, he does, and he isn’t judging either of you. But fuck, don’t make him say it out loud.

He will if he has to. But he doesn’t want to throw that awful ‘M’ word around. Calling him your boyfriend is far less heavy than him voicing what he really was to you, or what you were to him.

“Right… well, I’m not here to start shit. I’m not here to tell everyone either, no one else is aware of your… situation. I’m just here to make sure Kook doesn’t act fucking stupid… so please, do us both a favor, and just… don’t.”

You feel your heartrate pickup and that familiar heat all over your body that comes with being called out. Like a scolded child. You’re getting both irritated and nervous. The only reassuring thing he just said was that he isn’t going to tell anyone… but why is he putting the blame on you?

If you knew Jungkook was going to be here, you wouldn’t have come. And you tried to avoid him, fuck, you went outside specifically to get away from him and get your head straight. But he followed you, of course he did, the love sick stray dog he’s become couldn’t help it.

“Scold him. Not me. If you’ll excuse me…”

Yoongi knows he’s coming off a bit harsh, but he can’t help it. He doesn’t know the details of your fucked up affair with him, he just knows the basics. One drunken night recently is when Jungkook confessed, after he found out you were dating Seojoon. Told Yoongi the basics of what happened and how it ended, and how fucked he still is. Yoongi always knew something was eating Jungkook up that went beyond his rocky marriage, and finding out exactly what it was… it made sense.

He doesn’t ever want to see Jungkook in such a bad spot again. So anguished and full of regret and yearning… he’s only trying to protect him, because even if he is the one being stupid, he’s still one of Yoongi’s dearest friends.

Biased? No. But he will do whatever it takes to lessen the messes Jungkook makes of himself, even if that means being a bit harsh towards you.

And you, you’re reeling. You want to ask Yoongi so many questions, such as how he knows, why he knows, if he hates you automatically after knowing who you are and what you’ve done. It definitely strikes you as odd that Yoongi is aware of who you are, because even if he knew about what happened between you and Jungkook, how would he automatically catch on to the fact it was you? Was it the kiss? Did that give it away..?

Or was this all pre-meditated?

So many questions, but now is not the time for answers. Maybe eventually you can ask, but as of now, you have a role to play; Seojoons perfect girlfriend, apparently.

So you once again, begin walking towards the kitchen.

“One more thing Y/N…”

Can he please just shut the fuck up and disappear?

“Hm?”

“Be so fucking careful around Sena. And I’m not talking about with Jungkook.”

Before you can even ask, he’s gone. You turn to question him, ask him why the fuck he’s being so cryptic, demand he just say what he means… but he’s gone. Chesire fucking cat.

You really don’t like what he said or how it made you feel, because… if not with Jungkook, then what? Why would you possibly need to be careful around that snake?

You huff. Run your fingers through your hair as you feel a migraine start to come on. Fuck, you need a drink, because the nicotine is already wearing off.

You finally end up making your way into the kitchen, but pause once you reach the entryway. See Sena and Seojoon… whispering.

You don’t like that either. What the fuck are they whispering about?

Sena looks irritated as fuck, waving her hands around animatedly as she speaks. Seojoon is looking down at her with an expression that mimics worry, and you try really hard to decipher what they’re saying before you’re noticed.

Fuck you wish tonight was over already. Too much shit is going wrong.

“They’re conspiring against us.”

You jump a little when you feel hot breath in your ear, hear the deep whisper of the man who’s been haunting your dreams for the last six months. You hate how the simple act of him whispering in your ear brings back several memories… all of them incredibly inappropriate.

“What?”

You look up at him as you ask, and he has a shit eating grin on his face. His pupils are still blown to shit, you wonder if its because he’s looking at you again or if they jus haven’t calmed down since the kiss. He smells heavily of smoke, cigarette smoke and charcoal, but fuck the way it mixes with his cologne…

Nope. Stop.

“Oh—I—Y/N. Sorry, I didn’t notice you. How long have you been standing there?”

Seojoon addresses you almost robotically, looking between you and Jungkook as you both stand awkwardly in the doorway of the kitchen. Immediately, alarm bells ring in your ear. You wonder why he’s even asking that, what they were talking about to warrant a question like that.

But you cant decipher whether this is a gut feeling, or guilt making you project your wrongdoings onto him. That’s what fucks you up the most; a woman’s intuition is rarely wrong, but how can you tell when you’re the guilty one?

You clear your throat, step to the side a bit to gain some distance from Jungkook. Can’t think straight when he’s all warm and smelling like a fucking lumberjack next to you.

“Uh… I just came in a bit ago, sorry I took so long, just really needed some air… what were you talking about?”

The entire time you speak, everyone’s eyes are on you. You can’t read the emotion on Seojoon’s face, it’s almost like he’s purposely masking it. Jungkook doesn’t even fucking try to hide how intensely he’s looking at you. And Sena… well, her look of disdain just grows.

Seojoon chuckles, shakes his head as he walks towards you, drapes his arm around your shoulder and pulls you in as he nods towards Sena.

“We were just talking about work, me and Sena are working on a project together but I haven’t had time to visit her at the office, so I thought it was great timing. Right Sena?”

He looks at Sena with the same expressionless look, and she doesn’t look at him at all. Her eyes are on you.

“Right.” She replies flatly before making her way beside Jungkook, who barely reacts to her linking their arms together.

Odd, in the way she seems so territorial… not just of him, but everything surrounding her. Including Seojoon.

Don’t like that. Not at all.

Seojoon nods awkwardly and then begins dragging you along towards the dining table, but stops when he moves to kiss your temple… looks at you, scrunches his nose up as he leans in to sniff you.

Fuck. Does he smell Jungkook?

You tense up a bit, wait for him to ask you why you smell like another man all of a sudden. Start praying that you will simply drop dead before you can even answer.

“Did you smoke or something? You smell like smoke, I hate it.”

Fuck… the smoke. Not the cologne, but the smoke.

You hate how relieved you feel knowing you haven’t been caught, although you are a bit offended. Hate how he addresses you like some unruly child in the moment.

You’re about to answer, say something snarky, but of course—

“Sorry man, that must be me. Was smoking and grilling the pork belly outside, must’ve rubbed off on your girl.”

Could he have worded it any worse?

Seojoon nods at Jungkook, regards him casually. He squeezes your shoulder before letting go and arching a playful brow at Jungkook.

“Ah, ok. But please, don’t rub off on my girlfriend, yeah?”

He chuckles before nodding towards the dining room, signaling for you to come with. In any other situation, you would have laughed at the dirty joke. But obviously, not right now, not when you still taste him on your lips, not while you’re remembering the several instances where Jungkook actually rubbed off on you, not while he’s standing right beside you.

If only he—

“If only he knew.”

Jungkook whispers as he passes you, turns around and walks backwards with his tongue sticking out and eyebrows wiggling up and down. Fuck, like he read your fucking mind. You have no idea how he can fucking say that right now, what if someone hears him? He’s being stupid, just as Yoongi said, and you aren’t even provoking him. You’re worried he’s going to get you both caught.

It's at that moment that Sena brushes past you, bumps your shoulder, which you are sure is intentional. She enters the dining room, doesn’t even say sorry, and quite frankly, you don’t care. You don’t have the energy for her petty shit, or for trying to dissect why she’s so weird with you and Seojoon. You have bigger problems, problems decorated in piercings and tattoos.

You grunt at him and roll your eyes, move to brush past him as you mumble simply, “Fucking stop.”

He playfully pouts at you, follows you into the dining room and says low enough for your ears only, “Fiiine I swear I’ll behave the rest of the night.”

You ignore him once you get into the dining room, put your mask back on quickly. Smile at everyone as they greet you warmly. Urge you to take a seat and join them for food. The smell of freshly grilled pork belly and many sides wafts through the air, and even then your appetite isn’t present. The only thing swirling in your stomach are fucking butterflies; or worms and flies, you don’t know anymore.

But you don’t make it obvious, instead you take a seat next to Seojoon, who has already made you a hefty plate of food. You thank him, and begin picking at it as you try to decipher what everyone is chatting about.

Until you feel a familiar warmth beside you again… and you swear to god, you are about to whack him with your fucking purse.

You immediately glare at Jungkook for taking a seat directly beside you, his big ass is so close that his thigh presses against yours. He holds his hand up in surrender, makes a pouty face at you.

“Hey! I didn’t do it on purpose, I swear, it’s the only open seat.”

You scoff at him, look around the table because you are fully prepared to call him out on his bullshit… but he’s actually telling the truth. You realize the table isn’t exactly the biggest, and every seat is taken except for the one he’s at. Sena is on his other side, so it makes sense for him to be sitting there… he isn’t lying.

Ah, ok, you just have absolute shit luck. Right. Got it.

You glare at him a second longer before averting your eyes, staring directly in front of you now… where Yoongi sits. Oh, how lovely. His eyebrow is raised as if to silently say ‘You’re both being stupidly obvious.’

You look away quickly, shoveling a bite of food into your mouth to try and distract yourself from how wrong everything is going. You’re thankful that only three people in the room are aware of it, but also… fuck. You really hate having to pretend when all you want to do is fucking scream.

Thank god for alcohol.

Because as the night goes on, you shamelessly drink as if it’ll be your last. You know how to handle your liquor, so you don’t overdue it, but you drink enough to silent your overthinking brain. In your tipsy state, it’s much easier to laugh along with the jokes being told or to join in on the conversation… it’s also much easier to ignore the thorn in your side.

Easy to ignore the way his eyes are constantly on you. Easy to ignore how every time you laugh, he mimics you. Easy to ignore how every time you speak, he pays such close attention that his mouth traces the words coming from your own. Easy to ignore how he’s subtly shifted closer to you throughout the little potluck dinner.

Easy for you to ignore, but impossible for him.

See, he’s torn. He hasn’t felt so fucking happy in such a long time, simply just being in the same room as you has him on cloud nine. But, fuck, he wishes you would acknowledge him. The fact that you’re ignoring him as if he doesn’t exist has made him grow a bit antsy… maybe even irritable underneath the euphoria he feels from being so close to you again.

So, so close… but still so far away.

Everyone is done eating now, most of the food is gone. Of course, your mac and cheese was a hit, and the pork belly went great with it. Everyone else had dishes just as delicious… with the exception of Sena, who brought a fucking salad full of spinach and kale.

You fight the urge to laugh at the fact the bowl is still full.

Now, everyone is enjoying dessert, the vibe is mellow. Of course you’re still on edge, but it’s easier to manage, because Jungkook really has been behaving. Other than the occasional ‘accidental’ touch, he hasn’t provoked you.

Taehyung, being the gracious host that he is, brewed a fresh pot of English tea to go with dessert. He was hell-bent on dipping the cookies you made in tea, said it was the perfect combo, and nothing is more soothing than a hot cup of tea. Everyone is so kind, with the exception of Sena, and they’ve all been very open and loving towards you. Even Yoongi has talked to you some, didn’t make it weird at all. Maybe he isn’t as bad as you thought… You are silently thankful for how much things have calmed down since the earlier shit show.

But of course, the calm always comes before the storm.

Jungkook was full of euphoria, even if he was irritable at the fact he couldn’t openly adore you… until he saw Seojoon’s hand gripping your thigh. If you’re being honest, you haven’t even noticed, alcohol always makes you a bit oblivious to things like that especially when you’re engaging in conversation with others. But Jungkook, oh, Jungkook noticed… and he cannot fucking stand it.

He is well aware that he has no fucking right to feel possessive or irritated with Seojoon’s hands on you; you aren’t his girl, you haven’t seen each other in months, and he knew you were coming here with him as your date. He knows.

But even though he knows, he can’t control how he feels in this moment. How he just wants to rip Seojoon’s hands right off of you, maybe even rip his arms off completely so he can’t touch you again. He feels like he’s gonna turn into the fucking Hulk.

The ugly green monster, big, bad, scary, out of control: Jealousy, an emotion he has never been good at controlling.

He bounces his leg up and down, feeling like he’s gonna crawl out of his skin the more he stares at Seojoon caressing your thigh. Feels like he needs to make him stop, but he can’t just tell him to stop, that would be weird. That would give it all away, and although Jungkook is near the point of not giving a fuck who knows about your shared past… he’s also well aware of how reckless he has been all night.

He knows damn well how reckless it would be to make things so obvious. It’s your secret, too, and he has no right to make it known unless you choose to; and he knows you wouldn’t ever choose that willingly. He wouldn’t either, not here anyway, even if he thinks about it.

But then he sees Seojoon laugh, pick up his cup of luke-warm tea, take a sip, and put it back down.

Gets an idea. An extremely petty one.

Before he can talk himself out of it, he says casually, “Mmm this tea could use some sugar, ‘scuse me…”

He reaches over you towards the sugar cubes, even though there’s a cup of them right in front if him, and he makes a move to grab them. But after grabbing the little cup full of sugar cubes, he ‘accidentally’ knocks Seojoon’s cup of tea off of the table…

Right into your lap, spilling all over you and all over Seojoon’s hand.

Seojoon hisses, yanks his hand away from your thigh. You let out a little squeak, although the tea isn’t piping hot anymore, it’s warm and uncomfortable as it covers your thighs and a portion of your dress.

“What the fuck, man?” Seojoon asks irritably, and honestly is being a little dramatic. He’s cradling his hand as if it burns or hurts, but you know it doesn’t considering it didn’t burn you at all, wasn’t even hot.

You also know this was no accident, judging by that look in Jungkook’s eyes that you’ve seen in the past; the look of satisfaction blended with fake innocence… the same look he used to give you when he would edge the fuck out of you even though you begged him to just let you finish.

You immediately move to grab a napkin, which you half expected Seojoon to do for you, but he’s too busy cradling his hand. Drama king. You begin dabbing at your dress and thighs, shooting Jungkook a glare similar to the one earlier.

He flashes the most innocent, apologetic, fake-ass smile you’ve ever seen, grabs a napkin and starts assisting you in cleaning up the mess on your thighs.

“Ah, I’m so sorry, I’m so clumsy sometimes. Let me help…”

Two things go through your mind; why is Jungkook helping you, but not Seojoon, and holy fuck, he is touching your thighs.

To the rest of the table, who are stuck between scolding Jungkook and checking on you and Seojoon, his touches probably seem clinical; an attempt to help fix his mess… but to you, it feels as if the tea sticking to your skin is suddenly piping hot. His fingers fucking burn when they touch your skin, and it causes goose bumps to raise all over your body.

You shoot him a look, although you aren’t sure of your expression. He makes eye contact, doesn’t dare look away as he slowly wipes the napkin over your skin, dabbing away the liquid until your skin is dry.

That same needy look he used to get when you were on top. Those fucking eyes that beg you for anything, everything, suck you in. It’s as if he’s silently saying, ‘please let me touch, I’ll do anything.’

You hate yourself at this moment, the alcohol somehow doesn’t dim down the sensations of his fingers in your skin. You wonder why when Seojoon was caressing your thigh, you barely noticed… yet this small touch from Jugkook is setting you alight in a way you haven’t been in so fucking long.

Why are you even thinking about these things? Why are you remembering these things about him? They’re all supposed to be buried in the soil along with your dead flower. Is the flower still alive? Has it somehow survived these months of anguish and healing?

Did you ever heal at all? Did you ever truly get over him, or did you just get better at not thinking about him every second of the day?

Fuck. This is a mess. The way he’s looking at you doesn’t help, and what's worse is you cannot look away. Your thighs are dry now, and he dabs uselessly at the wet spot on your dress as his other hand boldly reaches up and skims the side of your leg… what the fuck is he doing? At a table full of people?!

You don’t even realize that Seojoon is now arguing petulantly with Taehyung. Oh, sweet Taehyung, who is being just as dramatic as Seojoon, fretting over his hand as if it’s the end of the fucking world that Jungkook spilled luke-warm tea on him.

“Jungkook-ah, say you’re sorry! You could’ve hurt him, him and his pretty hands!”

That snaps Jungkook out of it, the needy look leaving his face quickly as he snatches both hands away from you as if you are the one burning him now. He won’t even look at you.

Because he just almost lost control. Genuinley, he was not paying attention to those around you both. He got fucking sucked into another dimension, full of flashbacks, pictures of flowers and your face, and all he fucking wanted was to touch.

As much of a little shit as he is being, he doesn’t want that. He feels crazy. Just scared himself a little bit.

He glares at Taehyung and then addresses Seojoon, “My apologies hyung, was an honest accident. Is your hand ok?”

Seojoon nearly wants to scoff at the use of the honorific because something feels so fake about it… because it is fake. Meant to butter him up and make him believe Jungkook didn’t just purposely spill some tea all over him out of jealousy.

Luckily, Seojoon is none the wiser. He’s just irritated with Jungkook in general… for other reasons that don’t exactly involve you or Jungkook directly at all.

“It’s fine, I’m fine. Just didn’t expect it…”

Seojoon mumbles as he realizes you also got drenched in tea. He looks down, notices you’re already as clean as you can be, and is thankful he doesn’t have to fret over you too. His mood is a bit soured now, but even then he nudges you and gives you a small smile.

“You good baby? Didn’t ruin your dress, did you?”

You nod at him, try to hide how shaky your hands are as you straighten the hem of your dress to cover your thighs. You feel a bit too exposed, your skin still burning from the intensity of Jungkook’s touch… begin to wonder if he has turned into poison ivy, rather than a flower.

You can’t recall him being quite this intense in the past. Lot’s of unanswered questions go through your head again.

You nod at Seojoon and smile, “I’m good, it’ll come out if I wash it. No worries.”

You let out a deep breathe, and Seojoon goes back to talking to Tae about some work thing. You look up through your lashes, make eye contact with the Chesire cat.

His expression is unreadable, which is unsettling for reasons you don’t understand. You wish you knew how much he knew… did he see Jungkook touching you again?

“You should be more careful, you’re really like a child sometimes, it’s exhausting.”

Your head snaps up to the sound of that grating female voice, and you feel another surge of irritation. Sena, speaking to Jungkook like that… oh, it pisses you off almost as he does.

What he did was childish, and you’ll pull him aside to scold him later probably, but why is she saying something like that in front of everyone? Isn’t that embarrassing? It is, it’s fucking humiliating. If Seojoon said some shit like that to you, you’d walk out.

Jungkook’s friends don’t know the exact issues in his marriage, but they’re used to this kind of thing. They know it is far from perfect, and have become accustomed to Sena’s behavior. They always make sure to check on him when she’s not around, but he always tells them to mind their business.

It doesn’t change the fact that it’s always a bit awkward when they overhear it.

Jungkook just rolls his eyes, because he doesn’t care anymore. Nods at her. Agrees with her, even. If he doesn’t, she’ll just argue, and he doesn’t really have the energy for that right now. Not when he still has the lingering feeling of your skin on the tips of his fingers, or the satisfaction he feels at the fact Seojoon hasn’t even attempted to touch your thigh again.

Messy, but… Mission accomplished.

You, however, it isn’t so easy for you to let go. You aren’t accustomed to her behavior like him and his friends, and you don’t plan to be.

“It’s fine, really, accidents happen.”

You shoot her a tight smile, try to be polite and reassuring… and she scoffs, rolls her eyes, and then waves a fucking hand at you.

“See? That’s something a mom would say to their kid if they spilled something. Even our new friend is talking to you like a child Jungkook, do better.”

You swear you feel your eye start to twitch.

“Sena, enough. I get it. My bad.”

Jungkook tries to get her to shut up, can tell you’re getting irritated. Part of him secretly likes it, the fact that you hate his guts right now but still try to defend his honor. But he’s also embarrassed because you’re finally seeing what his wife is like.

He wishes he was proud of his wife, but when shit like this happens? He’s anything but.

You try really hard not to start seething at her. You nearly want to jump across the table and pull her blonde fucking hair.

“No, I’m not speaking to him like a child, I’m stating the fact that accidents do happen and it’s nothing to get bitchy over. You’re the only one addressing a grown man as if he’s a child over something so small, Sena.”

“Excuse me???”

You know that scene in Mean Girls when the cafeteria turns into a jungle, and everyone starts fighting? It feels like that’s about to happen.

“Alright! Who wants more margaritas?! I do!”

Hoseoks voice carries across the table, clapping his hands with the brightest smile on his face, sounding a lot cheerier than he should in your opinion. But thankfully, it works. Clearly everyone heard you, and now you’re embarrassed. You just inadvertently called this woman a bitch over a man everyone presumes you met tonight for the very first time. You’re certain you’ve just made yourself look bad, could have handled yourself a lot better. But, fuck, you couldn’t help it. You hated hearing her speak to him that way and then try to make it as if you agreed with her! You tried to be nice, but she fucking pushed it.

“No thanks. My apologies.”

You bow your head slightly, and Hoseok just keeps that smile on his face. Rushes over to Sena’s side, badgering her to go in the kitchen and help him make more drinks. She groans at him, but gets up with an eyeroll and follows him.

You have a feeling that he did that specifically to get her away from you, and you’re unsure if that’s in your favor or hers. Fuck. Way too much shit has happened tonight.

You glance around the table, notice Jin and Namjoon are gone, must gave gone outside or maybe in the living room. Seojoon and Taehyung are in their own little world, you wonder if they even heard the little argument… and if they did, why hasn’t Seojoon said anything? God, you hope he isn’t mad now, although you wouldn’t blame him if he were.

That’s when you look straight ahead. Yoongi again. And he has the littlest smirk on his face… except this time, it almost seems genuine, not sarcastic or misplaced.

It's full of respect, because you just did the one thing everyone else around you refuses to fucking do for Jungkooks sake, which is speak up against Sena and her shitty attitude.

That’s the moment that you decide that you don’t regret it, and you don’t care if Seojoon is mad. If Yoongi, the man who apparently knows bits and pieces of your deepest darkest secret, is looking at you like that? Then you know you did the right thing. You’re a little proud, even.

You nod to Yoongi, a silent exchange between you two. Then you look beside you, and see Jungkook, with that needy expression on his face again. He’s sitting with his elbow propped on the table, his chin resting in his palm. Looks like he’s drunk, cheeks red, eyes heavy, lips a bit pouty… but he only had one beer.

He is drunk. Drunk on you, on the way you just defended him in front of everyone against his fucking wife. Nearly got hard because of it, which is why his cheeks are so flushed. He never expects the guys to defend him, in fact, makes it clear that they stay out of it when her attitude flares up. But you, oh you… You met her for the first time tonight, met everyone here for the first time tonight, and even in a room full of people you’re trying to impress… you defended him.

You still love him, he just knows it. He knows deep down inside, you must fucking love him. If you really hated him, you wouldn’t have done that.

He almost feels giddy at the knowledge.

You have a hard time looking away once again, you’re amazed that no one has noticed how intensely you both have locked eyes several times tonight. Jungkook just has that effect on you, he’s fucking beautiful, and the way he looks at you is enough to make you weak to this fucking day. Drives you mad with conflict.

And as you stare at him, you finally notice the little purple star patches on his face. Looks just like the ones you use… you wonder where the fuck yours even went, now that you think about it. Haven’t seem them in months.

You point to his cheek and mumble almost stupidly, “Those look exactly like the ones I used to use.”

He hums in response, sticks his tongue in cheek. Fights a grin, because if only you knew he fucking stole these from you the night he left.

Maybe he’ll confess one day.

“Weird,” is all he says in response.

He stares at you some more, like you he can’t look away. Looking at you, being near you, is the equivalent to a thirsty man finally getting a few sips of water. He was fucking thirsty, and his eyes drink you in as if you’re water straight from the spring.

He mouths the word ‘pretty,’ at you, uses a finger to point at your face and then your dress. Whispers, “So pretty.”

Fuck. You are going to die. You are going to have a heart attack.

“Jungkook, I’m ready to go home.”

Ok, maybe you won’t die, because you’re interrupted again… or maybe you will fucking die for that very reason.

Butterflies again. Not worms and flies. Butterflies.

Sena is staring at Jungkook with an irritated expression, her arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed grumpily. Seems Hoseok’s margaritas didn’t sway her or improve her mood, seems you ruined her mood for the rest of the night, seems she’s the fucking child after all…

You just hope your little outburst doesn’t cause problems for Jungkook at home.

“Alright.” Jungkook says flatly, eyes still never leaving you.

You wonder if she notices. That thought alone makes you finally look away.

Seojoon eyes Sena almost wearily, but his gaze shifts to you once he realizes you’re staring back. He gives you a tight lipped smiled.

“We should get going too, you ready?”

You nod at him, because as much as you really would enjoy staying to chat, or making love with your eyes at Jungkook, you are fucking exhausted. Emotionally, anyway. Tonight has been so unnecessarily dramatic and you just want to go to sleep. You want to be able to take a shower, sit in there until the water runs cold, maybe cry a little, and process all of the shit that has happened tonight.

“Yeah, getting a little tired. Must be the alcohol.”

Or maybe it’s the headache staring at you like a sad dog right now.

You get up, force yourself to not look at Jungkook as he gets up as well. He nearly pouts, but he also thinks right now is a good time to wrap it up… although a sense of dread fills him at the thought of not seeing you again.

He won’t let that be an option. Nope.

You make your way to the living room where most of the guys have gathered, say your goodbyes. Each of them insist on hugging you, thanking you for coming. Taehyung especially, gives you the biggest fucking bear hug and makes you agree to hangout again, says he adores you, begs you to make him more cookies.

Seojoon is less than pleased with this, but tries not to show it. Tries not to feel threatened or jealous… tries not to feel guilty about the fact his own head was a bit all over the place tonight. Was barely paying attention to you after the whole girlfriend fiasco, if he’s being honest. Was worried Sena may start shit…

You don’t need to know that, though.

Yoongi is the only one who doesn’t hug you, which you don’t mind. Would feel far too awkward giving this mysterious man a hug. But he does offer you a head nod and a lip purse, so that’s something, right?

You don’t say goodbye to Sena, although Seojoon did say goodbye in both of your behaves.

You don’t say goodbye to Jungkook either. Don’t know if you can stomach uttering the words ‘goodbye’ again. Makes you feel all kinds of fucked up, so you just… don’t.

But of course, he won’t have that. Absolutely not.

Because right as you are following Seojoon out the door after putting on your ‘thrifted’ coat and shoes, he grabs your arm, pulls you back in. You let out a huff of air and yank your arm away. Not that the touch makes you uncomfortable, but… him touching you at all is causing some very confusing feelings, just like when he ‘accidentally’ spilled Seojoon’s tea and then cleaned you up after.

“You didn’t say bye. And you forgot your purse at the table.”

He states simply, handing you your purse and then sticking his hands in his pocket politely as he rocks back and forth on his heels.

Giving you that same fucking look. It’s so subtle, but his eyes practically beg you to at least say goodbye to him.

He's gonna make this hard, isn’t he?

You nod at him awkwardly and sling your purse over your shoulder. Fail to realize that it’s a bit lighter than it was when you originally brought it.

Because Jungkook, being the thief that he apparently is, impulsively took something from it. This time, he doesn’t intend to keep it, quite the opposite actually. See, he knew you would probably refuse to see him after this. He can’t take that. He needed an excuse to see you again, anything, something that you wouldn’t be able to say no to since he is certain you probably won’t even unblock his number after this.

He isn’t even sure what he plans to do when seeing you again. His intentions aren’t necessarily to start things up again, he isn’t that stupid, but… just to be in your life again. He would do anything to be in your life again.

Will do his fucking best to control himself if you do come around and show him mercy.

So… he took your wallet. Yeah, probably a very shitty thing to do. But you need your wallet, and he needs to see you… he can just say you dropped it and he picked it up for you. Maybe you’ll meet him for coffee, take it back, and then he can get on his knees and beg again for you to please, please, please give him another spot in your life.

Maybe it’s reckless, but he has been reckless all night. Maybe he will regret this tomorrow morning.

You don’t know this though, have no clue, completely just done with this shit tonight. Don’t even think to double check and make sure you have all of your belongings before leaving.

So you mutter, “Thanks… see ya.”

And you turn to walk off. Try to ignore how fucking terrible it feels to act so indifferent with him, but you don’t know how else to act after the past, and after the shit he pulled tonight. Reckless is an understatement in your opinion.

He's actually satisfied with this… because ‘see ya,’ implies that you will see him again. Whether it’s a subconscious choice of words, or intentional, he isn’t sure; but it still implies you are at least considering seeing him again.

It makes him smile to himself as he watches you walk off.

“See ya.” He echoes in response.

Now he just needs to figure out a way to contact you when you aren’t face to face, since you’ve blocked his number…

The drive home was fairly quiet, other than Seojoon thanking you for coming. He seemed a bit on edge, didn’t really say much after the vague praise of how well you did with his friends… but you chalked it up to him just being tired. You aren’t sure what the fuck the deal is between him and Sena, but you assume maybe she’s just someone who is very hard to be around. Seojoon works with her, so of course he would be a bit awkward with the way she acted, you wouldn’t want things to be awkward for him at work just because you don’t get along with her.

But also… you find it incredibly odd that he didn’t say anything when you stood up to her. He didn’t scold you, didn’t defend you, didn’t even tell you to watch your mouth. He didn’t bring it up at all… you swore he would. If it were you in his position, you would have stood by him and supported him in speaking up.

But he just said… nothing. Maybe he just doesn’t want to argue, or maybe he didn’t notice it; it’s been a long night, and you’re both full and tired. You’re more tired than him considering you drank a bit heavily, thank god he didn’t drink more than a beer.

Regardless, he takes you back to your place, decides he’s going to sleep over because he’s way too tired to drive back. You sometimes forget the fact that he’s older than you, and nearly make a joke about him being an old man… but decide against it. He seems a little grumpy.

You really just wanted to come home and wallow in your own self pity, but you suppose you will have to put that off.

Besides, this will be a good chance to bring up the fact that he called you his fucking girlfriend. Labeled you without giving you a heads up. And after you deal with that, he can fall asleep, and you can cry into your pillow about fucking flower boy and his antics.

You do take a shower first, although it isn’t two hours long like you wished it was. You stay in there for about 45 minutes before getting out, let the warm water wash over your body as you decompress. Tried not to think too much about those needy eyes or fiery hands.

Key word: tried. And you fucking failed. The moment you started to get aroused at a bunch of unwelcome memories, you turned the water to the coldest setting. Then you got out, dried yourself off, did all the girly thinks like skincare and lotion, and then got dressed. Pretended it didn’t happen.

As you make your way out of the bathroom, you see Seojoon has already made himself comfortable in your bed. He’s dressed down into his boxers, laying on his stomach with his cheek pressed into the pillow. His eyes are closed, but you know he’s not asleep because you can see the stress lining his brows.

Normally such a sight would be comforting… you don’t like sleeping alone. But tonight, you almost wish he went home so that you could have a few moments of peace.

Or maybe so you could have a complete mental breakdown without him being near.

You sigh and make your way to lay beside him on the bed, plug your phone into the charger and then look down at him. Cross your arms as you lean against the headboard, and he can feel you staring at the back of his head, so he turns to face you.

He knows what you’re about to say. Doesn’t want to deal with it, really, but he knows he needs to. So he keeps his mouth shut and waits for you to say it.

“So I’m your girlfriend now?”

There it is.

He shrugs, keeps his eyes closed. Says simply, “Yeah.”

What more is there to say? Do you expect him to apologize for putting that label on your relationship finally, after several months of basically being boyfriend-girlfriend? It’s essentially what you are to begin with, he doesn’t see the big deal. It’s just a stupid label.

And it protects him from losing you. He didn’t like the way Taehyung doted on you, or how Hoseok called you pretty. He needed everyone there to know you were taken… especially that Jungkook guy. He swears he saw him looking at your ass.

(He did, by the way.)

If Seojoon knew the truth behind Jungkook’s little glances, he would probably have had a heart attack. Thank god he doesn’t know, even though you are unaware of the jealousy festering inside of Seojoon.

But that isn’t the only reason he claimed you as his girlfriend, Sena was a huge reason. The guys doting on you was just a bit of a push to get the words out, but he needed Sena to know he was exclusive with you considering she was far too comfortable when she greeted him.

Exclusive for now, anyway. Things between him and Sena are… complicated.

Just like things between you and Jungkook.

And neither of you have a fucking clue.

“Well, we never talked about it so it was pretty off putting to hear you just blurt it out like that. I didn’t like it Seojoon.”

You keep your voice leveled when speaking to him, calm, because you don’t want him to think you’re trying to argue with him… but you also want him to know how you feel. Boundaries and all that.

“Ugh, Y/N, it isn’t that serious. We are basically in a relationship as it is, you’re my girlfriend even without the label. You know it’s true, babe.”

You huff at him, because he doesn’t get it. He isn’t wrong exactly, but… you feel pressured now. The label isn’t the issue, it’s the fact that yesterday you were comfortable with whatever you and Seojoon are; now you’re unsure. A bit nervous, even.

“I get that Seojoon, I do, but you know how I am… I told you I wanted to move slow.”

“Yeah, you wanted to move slow, yet I have a key to your apartment and basically live here. Don’t be so stubborn, just let it be…”

You’re conflicted… because he’s right. You did say you wanted to move slow, yet you contradicted yourself in several ways. You don’t think you lead him on, because you do want to be serious with him… but also, pressure. Pressure, pressure, pressure, and you do not like it.

You begin to speak up, but he cuts you off.

“Baby, just stop overthinking. We just needed a little push, that’s all, and I pushed. Now you’re my girlfriend. As simple as that, yeah?”

He reaches up and pats your cheek lazily before turning on his back and grabbing his phone. You’re speechless momentarily, have no fucking idea how to respond to that. Start to question whether you’re being too uptight or not, because he’s making it sound as if you are. Again, he isn’t wrong… but you feel a bit manipulated. He literally silenced you.

Fuck, you hate this. You don’t hate the idea of being his girlfriend, but the way he’s handling it all is throwing you off completely.

You begin to wonder whether or not seeing Jungkook has anything to do with how fucked you’re feeling about it all. If you hadn’t seen him tonight, would you be more accepting of the new label? More willing to hear Seojoon out? Is this all just you being unreasonable?

Or is Seojoon being a fucking dick?

“I leave at six in the morning tomorrow, quite a few coworkers are joining on the trip. You sure you don’t wanna come? I can buy your ticket and everything.”

“Huh?”

Seojoon breaks you out of your silent thought, speaking of some trip you don’t remember discussing. You’re all over the place really, can’t seem to focus on a single thought at a time, and you kind of hate how he just brushed over the topic expecting you to accept what he said…

… even though you kinda did.

“Work trip to New York? For the fashion convention? It’s only for the weekend, I told you about it last month. You really should come.”

You blink at him, start to vaguely recall him telling you about a trip at some point. He invited you, and you declined because you thought you would be working. Also, you didn’t know how you felt about traveling with him at the time so you thought it was best he went on his own.

Funny how he so easily made you forget the problem at hand, isn’t it?

You realize you actually don’t work this weekend, which is rare. Weekends are normally busiest, all the couples and families come in on the weekends to get in their quality time. But you switched your shifts this weekend to Sohee, because she needed Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday off to visit her parents unexpectedly.

Speaking of Sohee, you need to call her and fucking tell her what a mess you’re in. Later, though.

A trip to New York doesn’t sound terrible… you could use the mini vacation, especially after tonight. He wouldn’t offer if he didn’t want you there, and maybe this can warm you up to being his girlfriend, since that’s apparently a thing now. You’ve never really been one for impulsive decisions, but you decide this could be good for both of you. Maybe fate is throwing you a bone, freeing up your schedule like this.

Or maybe fate is fucking with you. You can never be too sure…

Going to New York would mean no chance of seeing flower boy, no reminders of him, just a complete distraction. That’s something you really need right now…

“And you’re sure it isn’t too much trouble? I mean, I don’t work like I thought I did, so I could come… but only if it isn’t too much trouble.”

You nibble your lower lip as you look down at him, and he side eyes you. Gives you the most sheepish look.

“Uh, well… no, no trouble at all considering I already bought a plane ticket for the seat next to mine… Don’t look at me like that! I did it just in case, and I don’t like sitting next to strangers so even if you didn’t come, I had a reason. I swear I didn’t do it on purpose. Anyway, yes, please come.”

He gives you a sweet look, fights a laugh. He’s lying, of course. He always intended on you joining him, which is why he bought that second plane ticket… he would have convinced you last minute even if you said no.

You roll your eyes at him, not as irritated as you should be at the gesture because the more you think of a little weekend trip to New York, the more you get excited to get the fuck away for a while.

You reach over and tug his hair playfully, “Ugh, you’re ridiculous… but I’ll come, since you so kindly offered.”

He grins at you, locks his phone and gets more comfortable in the bed. Knowing you’re coming along, and actually seem to be excited about it, is relieving for him. He doesn’t need to do any extra work to coerce you into coming. He gets his way and you remain happy.

“That’s my girl. I’m gonna leave your place at like four, go home to grab my luggage. Taehyung is watching Simba for me. You can pack while I do that, you only need to pack enough to last until Monday.”

You nod at him, “Ok, that sounds good, but you should really take a nap… it’s late and you’ll be tired.”

“Mmm, yeah, guess I should… but I’ll just sleep on the plane. I’ll be fine, long flight.”

You’re thankful that you stay organized because it won’t take you long to pack. Your makeup is already in a bag, and you can just stuff your girly things in your toiletry travel bag… your room is still sort of messy from earlier, but that’s fine. You can pack some clothes quickly in the morning. You feel lighter at the thought that you’re getting to go away for a while, clear your head, so you can’t really find yourself too bothered or stressed at the moment.

As far as sleep, well… you’ve had many sleepless nights the last few months anyway, you’ll be fine as long as you nap on the plane. You’ll deal with the jet lag fine as long as Seojoon supplies you with caffeine.

He falls asleep quickly after that, seems to be at peace… because after you dropped the girlfriend issue, and agreed to go with him so easily, he felt he has no problems worth losing sleep over.

Must be real nice.

You lay back against your pillow and grab your phone, you’re about to search up things to do in New York… when you see a slew of Instagram notifications.

Your stomach fucking drops when you see the name of who has flooded your inbox with DM’s.

Jeon Photography… in other words, fucking Jungkook.

You reluctantly open the DM’s, fully prepared to block his work account.

But it doesn’t work out that way.

Ok, so… you didn’t block him. You messaged him back. And he has your wallet.

You can argue that you messaged him back for that reason alone, you need your wallet to go to NY. And it seems to have worked out, you’ll get it in the morning.

But now, rather than being excited about your little trip, you are full of fucking conflict again. Because one, you have to see Jungkook. Two, Sena is apparently coming and you are pissed that Seojoon didn’t mention that to you. And three… you were fucking smiling at your phone while you messaged him. You liked it far too much.

While Seojoon is right beside you.

You know you shouldn’t be getting involved with Jungkook more than necessary, it isn’t right for several reasons. But, ugh, it was cute how he was acting all sweet and desperate for your attention. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to laugh at him purposely misspelling Seojoon’s name.

But, you gave none of that away. You need to put distance. You don’t want to let Sena ruin this trip for you, and you hope you don’t have to see her much. You need to try and calm down once again, can’t let this ruin yet another occasion you are supposed to be spending with Seojoon. Besides, you won’t have to see Jungkook long, you’ll grab your wallet and go.

And you swear you won’t message him again… even though you make no effort to block his Instagram. You don’t unblock his cell number either, though… so there’s that.

Although a bit giddy at his messages, you’re upset with him. Replay tonight’s events in your head as you try to sleep. The fucking shock of him being there, the passive aggressive comments made, the kiss, the declaration that he isn’t done with you, fucking Yoongi, the tea incident, fuck… all of it. And when you finally got it all off your mind, swept it under the rug, he messages you. Puts himself back in your head.

You need to sleep, not fret over Jeon Jungkook or the guilt that is now resurfacing with Seojoon sleeping soundly beside you.

You can worry about it another time. You can ignore how good it felt to be casually messaging him. You can pretend the kiss didn’t happen. You can refuse to see him after tomorrow.

Sweep it under the rug. Bury it in the dirt. He has no say in whether you’re done or not, and you are done. You swear you are done with him. Have been for a while…

That’s what you repeat to yourself, anyway, all the way until you fall asleep.

Silly girl… you never should have told him you were going on that work trip.

You wake up the next morning to Seojoon nudging you, mumbling something about leaving and packing quickly. Kisses you on the forehead before saying he will be back in 45 minutes to pick you up. You regret staying up late, because fuck, it is hard to get out of bed.

But you do. You don’t want to be late or miss this trip, not after last night. You barely think about the fact that that you must see Jungkook briefly today, you just wake up robotically. Coffee will help.

You go through the motions of taking out your dusty suitcase, throw in a bunch of clothes without really paying attention to what you’re packing. You’re sure it’s fine, you see underwear and bras, the clothes surrounding it looks fine enough. You grab your makeup bag, stuff it in, and then grab your travel toiletry bag and put all of the girly things inside before stuffing it in with the rest of your stuff.

You impulsively grab the polaroid camera you have and pack it with your stuff, think it’ll be nice to grab some photos of New York while you’re there. A little activity to create some memories.

After packing a few other mundane things, you get dressed. Decide to go comfy, put on an oversized sweater and some leggings, some sandals to go with it. You put your hair in a messy bun, and don’t bother to put on makeup because you’ll most likely be sleeping the entire way there anyway.

Time flies, of course. You’re tired as fuck, and judging by Seojoon’s grumpy face he is too when he arrives to get you. He helps you pack your luggage into his trunk and pats you on the back for being able to pack so quickly. He may look grumpy, but it seems he isn’t actually. He’s usually pretty sweet when in the mornings.

He stops to get you both a quick cup of coffee on the way to the airport, and you feel lighter already. You have a lot of shit to unpack mentally, but you are thankful that you said yes to this impromptu trip. You’ve never been to New York before, although you have been to the states a few times, New York was always one place you wanted to experience. Who better to experience it with than your new ‘boyfriend?’

When you arrive to the airport, Seojoon drops you off at the terminal with the luggage while he makes arrangements for the car. You wait patiently while sipping your coffee, sitting on one of the empty benches. People watching, seeing the plethora of strangers who all look different, you wonder where they’re coming from or going to. Its fascinating, really, knowing you’ll never see these people again, you like to imagine what they��re like anyway…

And then you see him.

No, not Seojoon, but Jungkook. And Sena. Sena looks fucking mean as she walks through the glass doors, and Jungkook looks far too chipper considering it is 5:15 in the fucking morning.

…why are they carrying so much luggage?

Its funny, how Jungkook immediately starts looking around, surely looking for you. He spots you quickly, and you swear you can see his invisible tail wag when his eyes land on you. He starts sprinting over carrying two big bags of luggage, while Sena pouts and trudges behind him while she drags another large bag. When he finally gets closer, he lowers his face mask and smiles so big that his eyes crinkle up and dimples pop out prominently.

Fuck.

You try to stay neutral, give them both a friendly smile as they approach.

“Hey. Good morning.”

Jungkook fucking grins, “Good morning sunshine.”

For fucks sake, it is too early for this.

You get up, set your coffee down next to the bags and awkwardly ask, “Umm, my wallet? Kinda need it to board the plane.”

He nods at you, digs into his pocket and pulls it out, his deep ass pockets in those comfy sweats you recognize far too well.

He also pulls out a passport… no, two passports… why two…?

He hands you the wallet, “Here, I kept it safe for you.”

He winks playfully, and Sena just rolls her eyes. Barely even looks at you as she mumbles, “So Seojoon brought you? Guess it’s a fucking couples trip now.”

“Hm?”

You blink at her confusedly. Her rude tone doesn’t really phase you, you were a bitch to her last night (although it was well deserved,) so you don’t expect her to be happy to see you. But what the fuck does she mean by couples trip? Is someone else bringing their significant other?

God, Jungkook has that shit eating grin again, and if you weren’t so tired you would have probably put two and two together by now.

“Oh, I decided to tag along. There’s a photography expo coincidentally, and I wanted to check it out.”

No fucking way.

You don’t say anything at first as you put the pieces together. Two passports, the large amount of luggage, Sena’s grumpy face, Jungkook’s happy fucking mood.

Did he do this on purpose?

He won’t admit it to you, but yeah, he absolutely did. The moment you said you were going to New York, he decided he would too. He didn’t lie completely, there really is a Photography expo being held, but that isn’t the reason he’s coming; that’s just his excuse. The reason he’s coming is… well, you. To be near you. To coax you into letting him back in.

This actually started a lot of shit with Sena. She was in a bitchy mood last night after leaving Taehyung’s house, tried arguing with Jungkook about so many different things. And this morning, he invited himself, which she fucking hated. To her, he was a burden, almost embarrassing to bring along. This was her fucking job, she didn’t need her manchild husband tagging along.

She tried to tell him no, but he also wasn’t having that. He didn’t fucking care. He told her he was coming and she could get the fuck over it, she didn’t even have to share a room with him if it was that big of a deal.

She latched onto that quickly, said she refused to share a room with him because she was planning on having colleagues over to discuss the fashion expo over drinks. Rented a fancy pent house like room just for that. He knows damn well that’s not normal, she shouldn’t be so hesitant to share a room with her own husband.

But again, he stopped caring a while ago. They don’t even sleep in the same bed anymore, so it’s not that big of a deal to him. He has one goal in mind…

Be with his Aster. Even if it’s just as friends. He is determined to earn a place in your life again, and he hopes this trip will give him a chance to convince you to give him a chance.

You? Oh, you are in shambles, because this trip was literally supposed to get your mind off of him. Turns out, fate isn’t on your fucking side, fate really is just fucking with you.

Or maybe Jeon Jungkook is fucking with fate.

You nearly want to slap him, demand that he leaves. But you can’t. You have no proof that he did this in purpose, but your gut tells you that he did. He’s acting crazy, after a single night of seeing each other again, and he suddenly keeps popping up? Pushing you to communicate again?

He wasn’t lying when he said he isn’t done. He fucking meant that. In his perspective, this is a chance at redemption. He doesn’t know in what context, but fuck, you’re dating his wife’s coworker, who is also close friends with one of his best friends… it’s all connected.

It can’t be coincidence. He see’s it as a tragic gift, a fucked up second chance. He isn’t going to pass it up. Not until you explicitly say, ‘fuck off, I never want to see you or talk to you again.’

And you haven’t said that. You’ve told him to go away, but you’ve yet to seriously set the boundary.

Contradicting yourself, yet again…

It's at that moment that Seojoon shows up, places a hand on your back. Greets Sena politely, and then she informs him that Jungkook is joining as well. He makes some joke, too tired to feel some type of way about Jungkook coming along. But you aren’t paying attention, not really.

Because Jungkook is giving you those needy eyes again. Smile soft, eyes glittering with stars you were once so find off, skin almost glowing as if he just got laid.

He mouths at you ‘Unblock my number.’ And then fucking giggles.

Holy fuck. It is going to be a long weekend. You can’t catch a break, can you? Karma really is a bitch.

Karma or fate. Both you have grown to sincerely despise within the last 24 hours.

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