#f: where there is no temptation there is no glory | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pooma-bible · 7 months

Text

Greetings in the matchless Name of our Lord Jesus Christ.

VISION 04: The Eternity of God: The New Heavens and Earth and the New Jerusalem (Part 03) – The New Jerusalem, The City of God (Part B): Its Citizens and Provisions!

Rhema Word: Revelation 22:1-2 (NKJV) “And he (angel) showed me a pure river of water of life, clear as crystal, proceeding from the throne of God and of the Lamb. In the middle of its street, and on either side of the river, was the tree of life, which bore twelve fruits, each tree yielding its fruit every month. The leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations.”

Let us pray. Our Gracious Loving Father, thank You for giving us an opportunity to meditate Your Word today along with Your children who have been called to live a holy life, Father. I commit everyone who are all meditating this message into Your mighty hand Father. Bless them and give them the oneness of Spirit and make their heart as a good land to receive each Word which is living and active Father. Thank You Holy Spirit for helping us to understand the in-depth treasure of Your Word and helping us to live a life as per Your Word Lord. We give all the Glory and Honour to You only Father. We pray in the mighty Name of Your beloved Son Jesus Christ. Amen.

DIVISION OVERVIEW: What will eternity be like? What will it be like to live with God forever and ever? This chapter of Revelation tells us. All the bad and negative things of this world are going to be conquered and destroyed. All the pollution and impurities, all the ungodliness and evil, all the suffering and pain, all the corruption and death – it is all going to be erased, eliminated, and done away with. The day is coming when there will be no more (a) impure government; (b) corrupt religion; (c) bad leaders; (d) painful suffering; and (e) sin and temptation.

This is the glorious message of Revelation. God is going to take satan and all the ungodly and evil of this world and destroy them. God is going to make a new heaven and a new earth. God is going to make all things new. And when He does, there will be (a) no more tears; (b) no more mourning; (c) no more crying; (d) no more pain; and (e) no more death.

We have been meditating this great chapter of Revelation in following three parts, since last two weeks:

VISION 04: The Eternity of God: The New Heavens and Earth and the New Jerusalem (Part 01) – The New Heavens and Earth and the New Jerusalem!

VISION 04: The Eternity of God: The New Heavens and Earth and the New Jerusalem (Part 02) – The New Jerusalem, The City of God (Part A): Its Description!

VISION 04: The Eternity of God: The New Heavens and Earth and the New Jerusalem (Part 03) – The New Jerusalem, The City of God (Part B): Its Citizens and Provisions!

The new heavens and earth will have a capital city, a specific place where the presence of God will be centered and where the Lord Jesus Christ will live and rule the universe. Scripture gives us the city’s name: it is the New Jerusalem. Actually, Scripture gives several names by which the capital city will be known (a) The New Jerusalem; (b) The Heavenly Jerusalem; (c) The Holy City; (d) Holy Jerusalem; (e) The City of My God; and (f) The Great City.

What will the city be like? It is indescribable. How could anyone possibly describe the city of God and of Christ? Think of the stars in the sky, the billions of galaxies scattered throughout the universe. Picture them for just a moment: the vastness, the enormity, the endlessness of the universe. Remember that God is the Creator and Force of the universe, the Sustainer of all things. He is the Intelligence and Power that made all things and keeps all things operating. How could human language describe God? How could human language describe the city where God’s presence is centered and where Jesus Christ dwells? This is the problem that John had in trying to describe the New Jerusalem. The city and the presence of God within the city are so glorious that they are just indescribable. There are no earthly things beautiful enough nor valuable enough to be a part of God’s city. Therefore, John did all he could: he used the most beautiful and precious things upon earth to describe the city. This passage tells us about the city of God. It tells us what God showed John, what God wants us to know about the New Jerusalem, the city of God, the city where Christ will live and where the presence of God will be centered in the new heavens and earth. Note how it stirs our hearts when we study this passage knowing that we shall be a part of so glorious a future. God has given us the wonderful privilege of being a citizen of God’s great city, the wonderful city of Jesus Christ. This is the description of the New Jerusalem, the city of God.

We have meditated the First two parts in last two weeks. Let us try to meditate on the Third part VISION 04: The Eternity of God: The New Heavens and Earth and the New Jerusalem (Part 03) – The New Jerusalem, The City of God (Part B): Its Citizens and Provisions! on the following, with the help of our Holy Spirit, today:

Yes, the new heavens and earth will have a capital city, a city where the throne of God and of Christ sit. The city is being prepared in heaven and it is beyond description. Its name is the New Jerusalem or the Heavenly Jerusalem. This was shown in the previous passage. Now, Scripture shows us the “Citizens and the Provisions of the great city of God”.

(1) The Citizens of the City:

(2) The Provisions of the City:

(1) The Citizens of the City:

The Bible says in Revelation 21:24-27 “And the nations of those who are saved shall walk in its light, and the kings of the earth bring their glory and honour into it. Its gates shall not be shut at all by day (there shall be no night there). And they shall bring the glory and the honour of the nations into it. But there shall by no means enter it anything that defiles, or causes an abomination or a lie, but only those who are written in the Lamb’s Book of Life.”

There are the citizens of the Heavenly Jerusalem. Six things are said about the citizens:

(i) The citizens are from earthly nations (v.24). They are the saved from all the nations of the earth. This again shows us that the gospel is universal; anyone from any nation can be saved. God does not discriminate between people nor show partiality to any person.

(ii) The citizens walk in the light of the city. This would mean…

=> that they walk in the light of the glory of God;

=> that they walk in the light of the knowledge glory of God, the full and perfect knowledge of God;

=> that they walk in the light of perfection, perfection of purity and righteousness and perfection of wisdom, knowing exactly what to do and how to do it.

(iii) The citizens are kings who bring their glory and honour into the city (v.24). This says two things:

(a) Believers will rule and reign with Christ. They will reign as kings for Him, probably serving Him and overseeing the universe for Him. Remember: the heavens will be created anew as well as the earth. The billions of heavenly bodies will apparently be made alive and fruitful. Whatever the case, Scripture clearly teaches that believers will rule and reign with Christ and serve Him in responsible positions as kings.

Our Lord Jesus Christ said in Matthew 19:28; 25:23; Luke 12:42-44; 19:17,19 “So Jesus said to them, “Assuredly I say to you, that in the regeneration, when the Son of Man sits on the throne of His glory, you who have followed Me will also sit on twelve thrones, judging the twelve tribes of Israel.” … “His lord said to him, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant; you have been faithful over a few things, I will make you ruler over many things. Enter into the joy of your lord.’” … “And the Lord said, “Who then is that faithful and wise steward, whom his master will make ruler over his household, to give them their portion of food in due season? Blessed is that servant whom his master will find so doing when he comes. Truly, I say to you that he will make him ruler over all that he has.” … “And he said to him, ‘Well done, good servant; because you were faithful in a very little, have authority over ten cities.’” … “Likewise he said to him, ‘You also be over five cities.’”

The Bible says in Revelation 1:5; 5:10 “And from Jesus Christ, the faithful witness, the firstborn from the dead, and the ruler over the kings of the earth. To Him who loved us and washed us from our sins in His own blood.” … “And have made us kings and priests to our God; And we shall reign on the earth.”

Apostle Paul says in Romans 8:17; 2 Timothy 2:12; 1 Corinthians 6:2-3 “And if children, then heirs—heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ, if indeed we suffer with Him, that we may also be glorified together.” … “If we endure, we shall also reign with Him. If we deny Him, He also will deny us.” … “Do you not know that the saints will judge the world? And if the world will be judged by you, are you unworthy to judge the smallest matters? Do you not know that we shall judge angels? How much more, things that pertain to this life?”

(b) Believers will bring their glory and honour into the heavenly city and give all their glory and honour to the Lord who bestowed it upon them. Believers owe everything they are going to acknowledge and praise God and Christ for giving them so great a salvation. Note that believers will bring their glory and honour into the city.

=> This speaks as though believers will be serving as kings of nations outside the city.

=> This speaks as though there will be special occasions when believers will gather in the heavenly city, gather to bring the glory and honour of their nations to God and Christ. One thing is sure: no matter what we may describe, it is going to be far beyond anything we could ever describe or ask or even think. God’s Word emphatically declares this:

Apostle Paul says in 1 Corinthians 2:9; Ephesians 3:20; Romans 11:33-36 “ But as it is written: “Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor have entered into the heart of man the things which God has prepared for those who love Him.” … “Now to Him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that works in us.” … “Oh, the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are His judgments and His ways past finding out! “For who has known the mind of the Lord? Or who has become His counsellor?” “Or who has first given to Him, and it shall be repaid to him?” For of Him and through Him and to Him are all things, to whom be glory forever. Amen.”

(iv) The citizens will have constant, unbroken access to God (v.25). The gates are never closed and there is no night in the spiritual world. There is always perfect access into the presence of God, and there is no need for sleep or rest. We will have perfect bodies with perfect strength. In addition, the Holy Spirit of God will fill us to the fullest. The Holy Spirit will give us a perfect knowledge and consciousness of God’s presence. He will focus our hearts and minds upon God in a constant, unbroken worship. He will give us an unbroken fellowship and communion and worship of God.

Lesson: In the new heavens and earth, no matter what work and service we may be doing for Christ, our minds and hearts will be conscious of God’s presence. Every thought of our mind will be a righteous and pure thought, a thought that is either upon God Himself or upon something that has to do with our daily lives (like our service and work or fellowship with other believers), a thought that will please God.

Apostle Paul says in 2 Corinthians 10:3-5; Philippians 4:8 “For though we walk in the flesh, we do not war according to the flesh. For the weapons of our warfare are not carnal but mighty in God for pulling down strongholds, casting down arguments and every high thing that exalts itself against the knowledge of God, bringing every thought into captivity to the obedience of Christ.” … “Finally, brethren, whatever things are true, whatever things are noble, whatever things are just, whatever things are pure, whatever things are lovely, whatever things are of good report, if there is any virtue and if there is anything praiseworthy—meditate on these things.”

(v) Believers will bring the glory and honour of their nations into (eis auten) the city. This is a continuation of what was said in point 3. This shows that believers are the kings being spoken about, that believers will be coming from various rules or nations to bring the glory of their nations to God. Again, the picture seems to be periodic celebrations of great worship. There will certainly be times when all believers come together from all believers come together from all corners of heaven (the spiritual world or universe) in a great celebration of worship. We would think that the Wedding Supper of the Lamb will not be the only time we will all be brought together to worship our dear Lord.

Note again: Scripture says that as kings we enter “into” the city. It is as though we are coming from the far reaches of the spiritual would to bring the honour of nations to God and Christ. But we must also repeat: whatever the case – wherever we are coming from – our minds could never imagine the glory and majesty of what will really happen.

(vi) Believers will be guaranteed a perfect life and service. Believers never have to worry about heaven being imperfect or defiled. God is not going to let an imperfect person into heaven, no matter who he is. He is not going to let heaven become contaminated with a single sin. Heaven will always be heaven – perfect, absolutely perfect. No person who has ever sinned will ever enter the city, not until the person accepts the cleansing of Jesus Christ. Unless he accepts the cleansing of Jesus Christ, he is guilty of sin. He still bears his own sin and the pollution of it. Therefore, if God let the polluted person into the heavenly city, the person would contaminate heaven. Heaven could no longer be perfect, clean, or pure. Therefore, God will always keep out any person….

=> who defiles (is unwashed from his sin);

=> who does what is shameful (detestable, immoral things);

=> who lies or deceives.

The only person accepted into the heavenly city are those whose names are written in the Lamb’s book of life. The person who accepts the sacrifice of the Lamb, the Lord Jesus Christ, for his sins – that person will have his name written in the Lamb’s book of life. He will be a citizen of the great Heavenly Jerusalem.

Our Lord Jesus Christ said in Matthew 5:20; Mark 10:15 “For I say to you, that unless your righteousness exceeds the righteousness of the scribes and Pharisees, you will by no means enter the kingdom of heaven.” … “Assuredly, I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will by no means enter it.”

Apostle Paul says in Galatians 5:19-21; 1 Corinthians 6:9; 15:50 “Now the works of the flesh are evident, which are: adultery, fornication, uncleanness, lewdness, idolatry, sorcery, hatred, contentions, jealousies, outbursts of wrath, selfish ambitions, dissensions, heresies, envy, murders, drunkenness, revelries, and the like; of which I tell you beforehand, just as I also told you in time past, that those who practice such things will not inherit the kingdom of God.” … “Do you not know that the unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived. Neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor homosexuals, nor sodomites.” … “Now this I say, brethren, that flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God; nor does corruption inherit incorruption.”

(2) The Provisions of the City:

The Bible says in Revelation 22:1-5 “And he showed me a pure river of water of life, clear as crystal, proceeding from the throne of God and of the Lamb. In the middle of its street, and on either side of the river, was the tree of life, which bore twelve fruits, each tree yielding its fruit every month. The leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations. And there shall be no more curse, but the throne of God and of the Lamb shall be in it, and His servants shall serve Him. They shall see His face, and His name shall be on their foreheads. There shall be no night there: They need no lamp nor light of the sun, for the Lord God gives them light. And they shall reign forever and ever.”

There are the provisions of the Heavenly Jerusalem. The provisions are seven:

(i) There is pure river in the city, a river that has the very water of life (v.1). Is there a real river in the heavenly Jerusalem or is this to be taken symbolically? Probably both. Certainly, the New Jerusalem, being 1500 miles cubic, will have the beauty and refreshment of a running riven and of many other bodies of water. We took often spiritualize when we think of heaven, imagining that we will be in some kind of dreamy, unreal world instead of a real world. We must always remember the teaching of Scripture: God is going to recreate this earth and the heavens of this universe. This is what He explicitly teaches in the Scripture (2 Peter 3:10-12; Rev.21:1).

A recreated world would certainly have the same features that this world has with one exception: it will be perfected. The Heavenly Jerusalem is said to have a particular river flowing through it, and the river has the water of life in it. What does this mean? The verse tells us. Note where the source of the river is: “the throne of God and of the Lamb”.

The water of life flows from God and Christ: they are the source of all life that lives in the city. There will be no life there, no person there, other than those who have drunk of the life that God and Christ give. Therefore, the river symbolizes the life that flows out from God and Christ. It will be a constant reminder to us that Jesus Christ is the living water who gives us life…

=> Who quenches our thirst for life;

=> Who satisfies our thirst for life;

=> Who fulfills our thirst for life;

=> Who completes our thirst for life;

Our Lord Jesus Christ said in John 4:10; 14; 7:37-38 “Jesus answered and said to her, “If you knew the gift of God, and who it is who says to you, ‘Give Me a drink,’ you would have asked Him, and He would have given you living water.” … “But whoever drinks of the water that I shall give him will never thirst. But the water that I shall give him will become in him a fountain of water springing up into everlasting life.” … “On the last day, that great day of the feast, Jesus stood and cried out, saying, “If anyone thirsts, let him come to Me and drink. 38 He who believes in Me, as the Scripture has said, out of his heart will flow rivers of living water.”

The Bible says in Revelation 22:1-2; 17 “And he showed me a pure river of water of life, clear as crystal, proceeding from the throne of God and of the Lamb. In the middle of its street, and on either side of the river, was the tree of life, which bore twelve fruits, each tree yielding its fruit every month. The leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations.” … “And the Spirit and the bride say, “Come!” And let him who hears say, “Come!” And let him who thirsts come. Whoever desires, let him take the water of life freely.”

(ii) There is a tree of life in the city (v.2). Remember: the tree of life was also planted in the Garden of Eden (Gen. 2:9). As long as man remained sinless, he was allowed to eat of the tree; but as soon as he sinned, he was not allowed its fruit. The fruit was the nourishment of life; it infused eternal life into Adam’s body. Or else, it symbolized the perfect and life-giving environment God had given Adam. Whatever the case, the tree of life is now in the heavenly Jerusalem. Note that two things are said about it:

(a) The tree of life bears twelve crops of fruit – one crop each month. The tree bears fruit year-round. This symbolizes continuous fruit or continuous life. There is no time that the tree does not bear fruit. It always bars fruit; it provides eternal fruit. Therefore, the person who eats of the tree of life is nourished by its fruit eternally. He lives forever.

(b) There is also another symbol here: bearing the fruit of God’s Spirit. The person who eats of the tree of life will bear the fruit of the Spirit eternally.

The leaves of the tree of life are for the healing of the nations. That is, they provide a perfect life. The leaves prevent sickness and disease. They give the person who eats them a perfect body. This symbolizes the perfection that Jesus Christ gives, the perfect healing and deliverance from all suffering that He gives, the perfect body He will provide in that glorious day.

The Bible says in Revelation 22:2; 2:7; Genesis 2:9; 3:22; Ezekiel 47:12 “In the middle of its street, and on either side of the river, was the tree of life, which bore twelve fruits, each tree yielding its fruit every month. The leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations.” … “He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches. To him who overcomes I will give to eat from the tree of life, which is during the Paradise of God.” … “And out of the ground the Lord God made every tree grow that is pleasant to the sight and good for food. The tree of life was also in the midst of the garden, and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.” … “Then the Lord God said, “Behold, the man has become like one of Us, to know good and evil. And now, lest he put out his hand and take also of the tree of life, and eat, and live forever.” … “Along the bank of the river, on this side and that, will grow all kinds of trees used for food; their leaves will not wither, and their fruit will not fail. They will bear fruit every month because their water flows from the sanctuary. Their fruit will be for food, and their leaves for medicine.”

(iii) There is no more curse in the city (v.3). The earth is cursed. How? Cursed to aging, corruption, deterioration decay, death, suffering, evil, disturbance, division disasters, and on and on. It is cursed because man has chosen to make his own life in this world and to reject God’s life. God’s life is, as stated above, eternal, His life alone in eternal. Therefore, when man chose to make his own life, he chose to die. Consequently, man brought death and all its evil into the world. Man cursed the earth by his rejection of God and God’s life.

But note, the Heavenly Jerusalem has no curse. This means that it is free of evil and death. It is perfect and will last eternally. There is no curse of evil or death in the city. Its citizens are free of the curse; they are perfected forever and ever.

The Bible says in Genesis 3:17; Galatians 3:17; Zechariah 14:11 “Then to Adam He said, “Because you have heeded the voice of your wife and have eaten from the tree of which I commanded you, saying, ‘You shall not eat of it’: “Cursed is the ground for your sake; In toil you shall eat of it all the days of your life.” … “And this I say that the law, which was four hundred and thirty years later, cannot annul the covenant that was confirmed before by God in Christ, that it should make the promise of no effect.” … “The people shall dwell in it; and no longer shall there be utter destruction, but Jerusalem shall be safely inhabited.”

(iv) There is the throne of God and of the Lamb in the city (v.3-4). This means two things:

(a) The Lord’s servants will serve God and Christ, operating out of the city. That is, the Heavenly Jerusalem will be the capital city of the universe, the headquarters of the Lord’s government and rule and reign. The idea is that we will receive our instructions and do our reporting from the very throne of God and Christ. We will have access to the very throne of heaven itself. The Bible says in Revelation 21:24-27 “And the nations of those who are saved shall walk in its light, and the kings of the earth bring their glory and honour into it. Its gates shall not be shut at all by day (there shall be no night there). And they shall bring the glory and the honour of the nations into it. But there shall by no means enter it anything that defiles, or causes an abomination or a lie, but only those who are written in the Lamb’s Book of Life.”

(b) The Lord’s servants will see His face (v.4). We will see Him face to face, stand face to face with our wonderful Lord and God: talk with, share with, serve, discuss, worship, praise, and offer thanks; and we will have the right to see Him face to face throughout all of eternity. O the preciousness of the hope! The glory and majesty of the hope! The stirrings and excitement of the hope! Our wonderful Lord has given us a hope that explodes all imagination! We will have the glorious privilege of living face to face with our wonderful Lord!

Our Lord Jesus Christ said in Matthew 5:8; John 17:3 “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.” … “And this is eternal life, that they may know You, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom You have sent.”

Apostle John says in 1 John 3:2 “Beloved, now we are children of God; and it has not yet been revealed what we shall be, but we know that when He is revealed, we shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is.”

Psalmist David says in Psalms 17:15 “As for me, I will see Your face in righteousness; I shall be satisfied when I awake in Your likeness.”

(v) There is the name of God written in the forehead of believers (v.4). This means possession and security. We shall be wholly possessed by God. We will be His servants and be enabled to serve Him totally and wholly. We shall belong to Him and be under His care and love, direction and guidance, security, and safety – eternally.

The Bible says in Revelation 14:1; 22:4 “Then I looked, and behold, a Lamb standing on Mount Zion, and with Him one hundred and forty-four thousand, having His Father’s name written on their foreheads.” … “They shall see His face, and His name shall be on their foreheads.”

Apostle Paul says in 2 Corinthians 1:21-22; Ephesians 1:13-14 “Now He who establishes us with you in Christ and has anointed us is God, who also has sealed us and given us the Spirit in our hearts as a guarantee.” … “In Him you also trusted, after you heard the word of truth, the gospel of your salvation; in whom also, having believed, you were sealed with the Holy Spirit of promise, who is the guarantee of our inheritance until the redemption of the purchased possession, to the praise of His glory.”

(vi) There is eternal light in the city (v.5). The Bible says in Revelation 21:11; 23-27 “Having the glory of God. Her light was like a most precious stone, like a jasper stone, clear as crystal.” … “The city had no need of the sun or of the moon to shine in it, for the glory of God illuminated it. The Lamb is its light. And the nations of those who are saved shall walk in its light, and the kings of the earth bring their glory and honour into it. Its gates shall not be shut at all by day (there shall be no night there). And they shall bring the glory and the honour of the nations into it. But there shall by no means enter it anything that defiles, or causes an abomination or a lie, but only those who are written in the Lamb’s Book of Life.”

(vii) There is eternal rule – work and service – for God and Christ (v.5). The Bible says in Revelation 21:24-27 “And the nations of those who are saved shall walk in its light, and the kings of the earth bring their glory and honour into it. Its gates shall not be shut at all by day (there shall be no night there). And they shall bring the glory and the honour of the nations into it. But there shall by no means enter it anything that defiles, or causes an abomination or a lie, but only those who are written in the Lamb’s Book of Life.”

Let us introspect ourselves.

Shall we thank our God for infusing us a hope – a picture of victory of the Lamb of God, of His beloved Son Jesus Christ?

Shall we thank our God for showing visions that show the glorious triumph that lies ahead for those who follow His beloved Son Jesus Christ and endure to the end?

Shall we thank our God for giving us victory through His beloved Son Jesus Christ over evil and bringing righteousness and godliness and His Kingdom to reign upon earth?

Shall we thank our God for revealing the fact about the citizens of Heavenly Jerusalem, who are saved from all the nations, who walk in the light of the city, who are kings bringing their glory and honour into the city reigning with Christ and giving all their honour to the Lord who bestowed it upon them?

Shall we thank our God for revealing the fact that the citizens will have constant unbroken access to the presence of God and the Holy Spirit will fill us to the fullest and give us perfect knowledge and consciousness of God’s presence besides giving us unbroken fellowship and communion and worship of God.?

Shall we thank our God for revealing the fact that the believers will be guaranteed a perfect life and service and the only person accepted into the heavenly city are those whose names are written in the Lamb’s book of life?

Shall we thank our God for revealing the fact that there will be a river that has the water of life flows from God and Jesus Chrit, a tree of life bearing twelve crops of fruit, no more curses in the city and there will be the throne of God and the of the Lamb in the city?

Shall we thank our God for revealing the fact that the name of God written in the forehead of believers, there is eternal light in the city besides there is eternal rule for God and Christ?

Shall we submit ourselves to our God for helping us to TURN TO HIS BELOVED SON JESUS CHRIST FOR SALVATION BEFORE THE END COMES?

Let us Pray: Our Heavenly Gracious Father, we thank You for helping us to understand about VISION 04: The Eternity of God: The New Heavens and Earth and the New Jerusalem (Part 03) – The New Jerusalem, The City of God (Part B): Its Citizens and Provisions, today, Father. We thank You Father for infusing us a hope – a picture of victory of the Lamb of God, of Your beloved Son Jesus Christ, showing visions that show the glorious triumph that lies ahead for those who follow Your beloved Son Jesus Christ and endure to the end, giving us victory through Your beloved Son Jesus Christ over evil and bringing righteousness and godliness and Your Kingdom to reign upon earth Father. We thank You Father for revealing the fact about the citizens of Heavenly Jerusalem, who are saved from all the nations, who walk in the light of the city, who are kings bringing their glory and honour into the city reigning with Your beloved Son Jesus Christ and giving all their honour to the Lord who bestowed it upon them, Father. We thank You Father for revealing the fact that the citizens will have constant unbroken access to Your presence and the Holy Spirit will fill us to the fullest and give us perfect knowledge and consciousness of Your presence besides giving us unbroken fellowship and communion and worship of You Father. We thank You Father, for revealing the fact that the believers will be guaranteed a perfect life and service and the only person accepted into the heavenly city are those whose names are written in the Lamb’s book of life, for revealing the fact that there will be a river that has the water of life flows from God and Jesus Chrit, a tree of life bearing twelve crops of fruit, no more curses in the city and there will be Your throne Your beloved Son Jesus Christ’s throne in the city, Father. We thank you for revealing the fact that the Your Name will be written in the forehead of believers, there is eternal light in the city besides there is eternal rule for You and Your beloved Son Jesus Christ, Father. Father, we commit ourselves wholeheartedly today and help us to TURN TO YOUR BELOVED SON JESUS CHRIST FOR SALVATION BEFORE THE END COMES. We thank You Father for filling us with Your joy, peace, and hope, for accepting us when we approach You through Your beloved Son Jesus Christ besides being merciful on us and loving us so much and predestined us to receive Your promise of glory through Your beloved Son Jesus Christ, Father. We give all praise, glory, and honour to Your Holy Name. In Jesus name we pray. Amen.

God bless you all.

0 notes

miajolensdevotion · 1 year

Text

May 21, 2021

Verse: matthew 6:11-20 Write/ Copy Gods words :

11 Give us this day our (A)daily bread. 12 And (B)forgive us our debts, As we forgive our debtors. 13 (C)And do not lead us into temptation, But (D)deliver us from the evil one. [a]For Yours is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever. Amen. 14 (E)“For if you forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. 15 But (F)if you do not forgive men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses. Fasting to Be Seen Only by God 16 “Moreover, (G)when you fast, do not be like the [b]hypocrites, with a sad countenance. For they disfigure their faces that they may appear to men to be fasting. Assuredly, I say to you, they have their reward. 17 But you, when you fast, (H)anoint your head and wash your face, 18 so that you do not appear to men to be fasting, but to your Father who is in the secret place; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you [c]openly. Lay Up Treasures in Heaven(I) 19 (J)“Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal; 20 (K)but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal.

What is your Favorite verse(s):

14 (E)“For if you forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. 15 But (F)if you do not forgive men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.

Explain in your own words what you just read:

The quiet, unassuming prayer life of the Lord Jesus was very different from the showy pomposity of Israel's religious leaders, whose presumptions prayers were designed for the ears of other people and were not offered to our Father in heaven.

Commitment / what will i do : I will care must be taken that familiarity with the beauty of these words do not cause them to become empty, meaningless phrases, which are repeated by rote, and become futile, pagan-like babblings.

0 notes

honeysidesarchived · 3 years

Text

WHERE THERE IS NO TEMPTATION, THERE IS NO GLORY.

⊱ a santino d'antonio / oc short-fic

interlude ii ( read on ao3 ) ( masterlist )

words: 2.4k

warnings: none really! just an impending, pervasive sense of doom.

rating: m/t

notes: so happy to have finally gotten this little interlude edited and pieced together! just more soft moments because they deserve it considering what's going to be coming up. thank you everyone who has been reading/interacting with this little love project of mine; it took a minute to get myself dug out of the trenches and posting bite-sized chapters because this is a short-fic is definitely doing something to me (lmao) but we're here!

as always you can find translations on ao3, where it's easier to store them in a place that doesn't get in the way.

There is very little time between when Santino cooks her dinner and when he moves her into his apartment. It happens without much acknowledgment from her; she finds herself swallowed up in moments of casual intimacy that break her down to nothing except a girl in love.

Santino wakes her up by kissing her neck and pulling her against his chest; she makes him dinner barefoot in the kitchen, all of the recipes that her mother taught her, and he drags his hand along her hip to reach over her into the cupboard; he stands still and obedient while Euphemia slides his tie into place, and when he zips her dress for her, he peppers her shoulder with kisses. He tolerates taking a walk through the park, even in the chilliness of late Fall or Winter, because Euphie can’t stand to not get some fresh air once a day. When one of her friends asks why he lets her bully him into the cold weather, he wraps his arms around Euphie with a sly smile and says, “How could I not, when I am the one who gets to warm her up after?”

He is an exceptionally tactile man. There is always a reason for him to touch her, trace each line of her, put his lips against her skin. Santi isn’t a man who loves; he covets. And Euphemia shouldn’t like it as much as she does, but she does. Her therapist says that it isn’t uncommon for a girl who grows up without touching to crave it, desperately, like an addiction.

So, she finds herself living in his loft to feed that addiction—which becomes their loft—and teaching him words in French, and feeding him olives while sauce simmers (and does not boil), and kissing the red-wine taste from his lips. It’s all very romantic and greatly overshadows the moments where Santino comes home raging mad, or when his bad mood takes over their conversation and stirs a fight between them. They’re both hot-headed—her more so than he—and he knows all of the ways to diffuse her while she knows none about him.

But it doesn’t matter, in the end; because Santino always kisses her, and always says, Mi dispiace, cara mi, ti amo, ti amo, ti amo, lip-locking between each break in words until her lungs ache.

Euphie has never wanted to be loved sensibly, anyway.

Making money stops becoming an issue. Santino might have been fine letting her wrap up her loose ends, so to speak, encourages her, even—“You should never leave business undone, my Euphie,”—but he’d never tolerate her continuing to skim out of the pockets of his associates. Not out of respect for them, of course, but because Santino is more than happy to provide.

“I have to do something,” Euphie insists, often. But Santino clicks his tongue and shakes his head, inspiring indignation in her. “That money goes to my mother, Santi.”

“Princesa, what are you worrying for?” He replies every time. In this instance, he is reading over some documents, his voice casual, simple, effective at bringing her to heel. “If your mama needs money, she’ll get it. Tutto quello che vuoi è tuo.”

Euphemia used to think that he was doing it to be generous, but as time goes on, she knows that isn’t the case. If Santino didn’t think he was benefitting from sending her mother money every month, he wouldn’t do it: but he does. Euphemia stops playing at arm candy for other powerful men; he endears himself to her by taking care of her mother; he endears himself to her mother; he’s afforded a sense of control. There is no facet of it where he isn’t getting something out of it. And she thinks, too, that maybe Santino likes it like this, where she is completely reliant on him for everything.

She doesn’t mind so much.

She would, if Santino didn’t drench her in his longing, if he didn’t make her feel, every day, that he is desperate to treasure her. She has always heard about this kind of love—and it is love—and never thought she would have it for herself.

But she does now, and she doesn’t want to let it go.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Tea or coffee, mama?”

Santino is busying himself in the kitchen. They’ve been together for a little over a year now, and they’re on a tour of Italy—not for fun, necessarily, but for integration. They have just spent the last week with Santino’s father and sister, and now they will spend the next two days in the Tuscan countryside with her mother.

Two days for her mother, instead of the week that they gave Santino’s father and sister, in part because his father deserves more time and in part because Euphemia doesn’t think she can tolerate her mother in much more than two-day increments.

“Coffee, please,” her mother says, very charmed by Santino.

“Tea,” Euphemia interjects. She looks at her mother—her face is tired, and older than she really is. Euphie knows that this is a side effect of heavy, abusive drinking and years spent in emotional terror, not the passage of time. Still, she finds it hard to drum up anything except distant pity in her heart. “You don’t need the caffeine.”

“Oh, you always ruin my fun.”

Santino re-enters the room with a small cup—it’s an espresso cup, but he’s poured it with regular coffee.

“A compromise,” Santi explains, handing the cup to her mother, smiling handsomely. “To make both of my girls happy.”

Her mother preens, glows under the affection. “You are so sweet, Santi. A perfect son-in-law.”

He has always called her and her mother his girls. His own mother had passed since before Euphemia; and while he knows that Euphie’s relationship with her mother is strained at best, he does what he can to ease it. Because it makes her happy, he says, and if she’s happy, he’s happy.

“Not yet a son-in-law,” Euphie corrects, and Santino flashes her a quick, amused little smile.

“You see how cruel she is to me, madonna? I have asked her to marry me, you know.”

“Santi,” Euphemia sighs, but it has had its desired effect; her mother looks scandalized, mortified at her daughter’s resistance to marrying a man as good and handsome and charming as Santino.

“Effie, tell me that you haven’t been bullying Santino like this?”

“Mama, there is no reason—he is just teasing. Ascoltami, you don’t need to look so horrified.”

“I do not know where I went wrong with you, Euphemia Sancia.” Her mother clicks her tongue, muttering something under her breath and taking a drink of the coffee Santi made her, and Euphemia can’t bring herself to say that not everything she has done wrong in her life is a slight against her mother’s parenting skills.

Santino smiles and leans across to Euphie, bringing her hand up to kiss it.

“Don’t worry,” he says to her mother, his voice blooming with practiced warmth. “I will ask her as many times as it takes for her to say yes.”

Euphemia feels her heart stutter painfully in her chest. She knows that he means it; he’s suggested it to her three times, now. It seems to be the only thing he doesn’t mind asking more than once.

“She’s always been fussy, my Euphemia,” her mother says, breaking the magic of Santino’s eyes on her. “Never happy with what she has, just like her father. Except for you, Santi—you are the only thing she holds onto.”

Exasperation and disgust flood over her. Both the mention of the man considered to be her father and any similarities they might share has her mood souring. “Mama—”

But Santino is sweeping in, like he always does when he can tell Euphie is getting tired of her mother, coming to a stand and asking her, “We should get started on dinner, cara mia, don’t you think?”

Just like that, he’s taken control of the conversation again. He sees her flailing and steadies her. Euphemia is certain that he doesn’t love her mother—that he doesn’t even like her—but that he can spend his time tolerating her with charm and grace despite knowing what her mother allowed to go on under their roof is indicative of the man that Santino is.

“Yes,” she replies, standing as well. “You look tired, mama. Take a rest while Santi and I make dinner.”

She wanders into the kitchen with Santino trailing after her. As soon as they’re alone, he winds his arms around her waist and kisses the juncture between her shoulder and neck.

“Is it true?” he asks coyly. “That you don’t hold on to anything except for me?”

She doesn’t want to tell him very much, because he knows already, and because to say it out loud will give it legs. A year together, and she still doesn’t want her feelings for him to have legs. Santino splays his fingers against her sternum and kisses her jaw.

“You know that it is,” she says at last, her voice a little unsteady. She can feel Santi smiling against her skin.

“Euphie,” he purrs, “marry me.”

Yes, she wants to say, as her eyes flutter shut. Yes, I’ll marry you, Santi. Anything that you ask. I’ll do anything for you, if you would just keep saying my name like that.

She wants to say it but the words won't come out. There is nothing quite like the feeling of Santino peeling back each individual layer of her defenses, piece by piece; so close, she knows, he is so close, but not quite. Not yet. She is most comfortable keeping him at arm’s length as much as possible—to kiss and to fuck and to let someone hold you at night is one thing. To let someone in past the barbed-wire of defenses is yet another, impossibly reckless. To be seen feeling anything deranges you, as the poets like to say.

“Sancia, hm?” he continues instead, when she can’t bring herself to answer, as the words stick in her throat. It’s one of those things where Santino seems to exercise a surprising amount of patience, this whole ordeal of to marry or not to marry; later, Euphemia will come to understand that it is because Santino believes their life together to be inevitable, that she will always say yes to him, one way or another.

For now, she turns in his arms, cocking a brow at him. He continues, “It means sacred.”

Euphemia nods sagely and props herself up on the counter. “Buon ascolto, my love. I suppose that means you should work very hard to worship me well.”

Santino laughs. He leans in, trapping her against the counter—though it isn’t much of a trap if she’s a willing participant—and noses the slope of her jaw.

“Yes,” he murmurs, “I suppose that it does.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━

On the last leg of their tour of families, Santino insists that they spend a few days in Rome by themselves.

The days are used mostly for doing a lot of nothing; neither of them are particularly interested in sight-seeing, but rather interested in seeing each other, a thing which they don’t seem to tire of particularly quickly. Instead, they shop, or lay in bed together until the afternoon, or go out to eat when street lights kick on and the city takes on a life of its own.

“You are much happier, Euphie,” Santino says one evening, smoothing out his napkin on the table absently, “when you are not around your mother.”

It’s not a question, per se, though she knows that he expects an answer. But she is still young and a little petulant, and she likes to push his buttons and make him say exactly what it is he means, so she takes a sip of her wine and replies, “Yes.”

He arches a brow at her. He looks particularly handsome like this, she thinks—not around his family, just eating dinner in a streetside restaurant in Rome, illuminated in warm candlelight and the glow of the streetlights outside.

“Are you going to tell me why?” he asks, amusedly.

“If you ask.” Euphemia sets her wine glass down on the table, and when Santino reaches for her hand, she lets him take it, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “But it is so boring, Santi, to talk about my mother. Why don’t you ask me about something else?”

The brunette’s mouth is curving in a little smile. “Like…?”

“Like…” Euphie gestures with her free hand, like she has to really think about it. “Euphie, how did I get so lucky to have a woman like you? That is a good place to start. Or, what will you do with me once you get me back to the hotel? Or, Euphie, will I ever be so fortunate as to call you my wife?”

Santino laughs, leaning into their conversation, bringing her fingers up to kiss them. He has long lashes; soft, and dark, and they brush the tops of his cheekbones when his eyes close. Santino glances from her fingers up to her, that boyish grin on his face.

“I already know the answers to the first and last question,” he says casually, like it’s no big deal, but he’s grinning wickedly at her when he says it. She scoffs.

“Dimme poi,” Euphie insists. “I am dying to know, Santi.”

His expression is very sage, very wise, and he nods his head. “Il destino,” he says, winding their fingers together, “e tra un anno.”

There is something very heart-stopping about the way Santino articulates il destino, as though it is fact, as though there is something undeniable about their coming together.

“How do you know?” she asks. “In a year?”

“Because if you do not want to marry me by then,” Santino replies matter-of-factly, “then I am certainly not suited for marriage at all.”

She rolls her eyes, taking a drink of her wine and savoring the way his eyes trail over her, admiring, drinking her in.

“Well?” he prompts. She looks at him expectantly, and he reiterates, his gaze set on her, “What will you do with me once you get me back to the hotel, belladonna?”

Euphemia feels her heart stutter painfully in her chest when he looks at her like that; like she is the only person in the entire universe, like she has become the sun that snags him in her planetary pull, like he will never, ever grow tired of looking at her. It sweeps the breath out of her.

“Anything, mio amato,” she murmurs. “Anything you want, if you promise to never stop looking at me like that.”

#john wick fic #santino d'antonio/original female character #santino d'antonio #c: euphemia volpe #f: where there is no temptation there is no glory #spilled ink #john wick oc #i'm fine we're fine this is all fine nobody panic #gonna #q #this so that i can pretend i don't see it djhfbjdf #x: senza tentazioni senza onore

54 notes · View notes

fckinsupreme · 3 years

Note

can u do andy jacking off while thinking abt the reader and what he would do to her? love ur writing btw <3

A visit from Andy’s old friend Y/F/N Y/L/N was long overdue, and it was one that Andy had been counting down.

How many years had it been now, since they last saw one another? Two? Three? Andy couldn’t remember; all he knew was the happiness at seeing her again. A visit from her, it seemed, was just what the doctor had ordered for his limited joy nowadays. When she finally came, the pay off for years’ absence was worth it. Seeing Y/N in all of her glory, noticing the glow in her skin, that smile on her face, was more intoxicating than any drink or drug could ever hope to be.

Their days of acting together left Andy joyful, and while his own career was in the tank, hers was thriving. He was happy for her, another rarity for him these days. Usually he was bitter for what he had lost, but not where Y/N was concerned. She was one of the very few people he allowed in and didn’t close out, and one of the few who stuck by him through all of his bullshit. If that wasn’t a true friend, then what was? Then there was the feelings he had always harbored for her, and the way he felt with her every time they were together. He had no idea how deeply his feelings for her truly ran, but he knew that he must act quickly.

Tonight, he was lying in his bed after they spent the day swimming and drinking afterwards, watching the setting sun from the pool deck. His mind began to turn to the day’s events, and how good Y/N had looked. He could see the bikini she wore—one that left very little to the imagination on both the top and bottom. It was probably as scantily clad as he had ever seen her, and it was something that he had not expected. He knew her body was probably amazing, but he had no idea how true that was until he had seen it like that. And at the very thought of that alone, his boxers grew tight, and his balls began to throb uncomfortably.

“Shit,” he hissed, palming himself over his boxers with a soft whimper.

Scenes of the day play in his mind, and he closes his eyes against them. He can see her, with her skin shining in the sun, her breasts glittering with a sheen of sweat and almost fully exposed in the bikini top. He can see her standing up to get a drink of water, walking away from him, her ass shaking as if on purpose as she moved. He whines softly, hissing as he gives in to the temptation to touch himself even more. He keeps palming himself, but applies a bit more pressure, his eyes still closed as his breathing comes in tiny pants.

And then he is imagining her in the pool. He can see the water dripping from her breasts, the way it dipped into her collarbones, the way the sun shone in her wet, slicked back hair. He could also see clearly, in his mind, her hard nipples poking through the fabric of her bikini. He groans again, tugging his full erection from his boxers and beginning to jerk himself off to the very thought of it. He can still smell her skin, an intoxicating mix of chlorine and floral perfume, and can feel the way her fingers brushed against his skin. This caused an influx of other thoughts, ones that weren’t entirely unwelcome. He imagined himself pulling her body close to his, feeling the wet warmth of her skin against his, smelling the sun-kissed scent of her skin. He imagined burying his face in her neck, kissing it roughly as she moaned her appreciation in his ear, her hands clawing at his hair. He imagined feeling her breasts pressed against his chest, now completely out as her movement & the water of the pool finished removing the bikini top. He can see himself taking her nipple between his lips, sucking and tugging with his teeth, hearing her mewl and feeling the nipple hardening under his relentless touch.

“Fucking shit,” he moans, increasing the speed of his movements as he feels his balls begin to tighten.

The scene in his mind changes, and now she is lying back on one of the poolside chairs. He is kneeling between her legs, tasting her, relishing in the way she moaned and pulled his hair. He wondered if she tasted sweet, if she would be the best tasting pussy he ever had, and he had an inkling that she could be. He pictures how good she would look from his position on the ground, her breasts heaving, her face twisted in pleasure, and his hand works faster. He makes a neat fist around his hard, throbbing cock, moving it up, then back down, slowly at first and then increasing the pace.

It isn’t the image of him eating her pussy that gets him off, nor is it the one that immediately follows of her sucking his cock. The winner was the image of him fucking her, of how warm, tight, and wet she would feel bouncing on his cock by the side of the pool. How fast she did it, how hard, how her tits bounced with every slam of her hips. His hands ran over them, then down her hips, then her clit as he thrust up to meet her movements, and then he was cumming, thick ropes of it spurting between his fingers and into his fist as he groans filthily. His lashes flutter, his chest moves, his eyes squeeze shut, and he rides out the aftershocks with her on his mind.

He takes several minutes to himself, coming back down from his high and enjoying the ride. The thought of her still would not leave his head, despite his orgasm, and a smirk dances across his face as he lights a cigarette. He inhales, slowly breathing out the smoke as the smirk widens. She had several days left of her visit; what if he invited her over tomorrow, and tried his luck? There was a chance she would not be on board, but what if she was? Why let that opportunity pass him by so easily and so foolishly?

He flicks his ashes into the ashtray, his mind turning over the many beautiful possibilities.

———————

Baby taglist: @littledemondani @with-dandelions-in-her-hands @codyfernmorelikedaddyfern @wroteclassicaly @lovelylangdonx @melodylangdon @dark-mei-rose @xavierplymptons @angelicmichael @bloodcoatedeclipse

#I’m sorry this turned out so bad!!#it was also my first time writing for Andy!#andy dolan #andy dolan x reader #andy dolan blurb #andy dolan imagine

112 notes · View notes

smoochkooks · 4 years

Text

—lost stars, part 2 (m.)

⟶ pairing: jeon jungkook/reader

⟶ genre: smut, angst, bits of fluff, (troubled) idol au, childhood friends to lovers

⟶ word count: 20k

⟶ summary: in dead hours of the night he stumbles upon the bars, reaching, searching, trying to feel something, for once forget about consequences and taste the bittersweet freedom. between sips of addiction and faint touches of nameless lovers he finds you again: his own long-lost star on a blackboard sky.

⟶ warnings: explicit sexual content, soft dom!jk but also bit possessive!jk, sub!reader, oral (f receiving), praise kink, jk calling oc his pretty girl, unprotected sex (stay safe kiddos!), creampie, implicit car sex, mentions of infidelity, smoking, both oc and jk are emotional mess sometimes.

✔ read part one here!

a/n: i’m sorry i keep you waiting for so long but it’s finally here. as i promised, by the end of october. this story has a really special place in my heart, i’ve had it in my drafts for over a year now. i hope you’ll enjoy it!

Twenty-two. No, twenty-three. Or maybe it was actually twenty-two? Jungkook starts counting again.

Various, different certificates are aligned on the wall in front of him, every single one dedicated to the same man, sitting across the table with crossed arms and stern expression. It’s rather obvious his ego reaches far beyond the printed sheets of paper with his name written in swirly fonts. They are here just to make an impression, to fool people into believing that the pastel blue shirt he’s wearing and expensive watch on his wrist are the outcome of his hard work.

He opens his mouth to say something, but it doesn’t reach Jungkook’s ears. He starts counting again; this time the number of letters on the first certificate.

“What do you suggest we should do then?”

The man whose achievements in marketing and public relations Jungkook currently attentively analyzes, is Lee Ilsug, or at least that’s what those diplomas indicate. To be honest, Jungkook couldn’t care less about his name or the list of accomplishments that made him be employed here.

He’s new in the company, that’s certain. Jungkook didn’t have to deal with him before but Yoongi had the unpleasantness though, when he needed to deny the rumours going all around the Twitter about his slightly too close friendship with a female singer he had collaborated with.

Quoting Yoongi, Ilsung was pain in the ass.

“The photo is blurry. It’s debatable whether it’s Jungkook-ssi or not.” Another voice, this time female, cuts in. Jungkook remembers her face fleetingly from some PR meeting he had attended before. It looks like she’s now Ilsung’s assistant. “I checked SNS. Fans are on Jungkook’s side, they don’t believe what that girl had written, which is a good situation for us to interfere and release a statement.”

“What do you think, Jungkook?”

It’s Sejin. He was the one who contacted Jungkook about the ruckus in the company that has been going on since morning. The case is simple: on the day he did his walk of shame out of your apartment, he stopped to light up a cigarette that happened to be another one of his cardinal mistakes he’s made in span of 24 hours. What started with getting the temptation and alcohol got better of him and sleeping with you, ended with someone taking a picture of him while smoking.

It’s truly a miracle the photo’s quality is moderately vague. His mom always tells him he was born under the lucky star but for Jungkook it’s more like fate was playing hide and seek with him. This time, he managed to blend into the shadows in time.

Ilsung clicks his tongue. It’s not a secret he hates his job yet cherishes the money he earns. He pushes his thick-rimmed glasses up his nose and leans over the table. He’s close enough for Jungkook to notice the fresh cut from shaving on his cheek and a small, golden cross hanging on his neck.

He raises his brow, eyes trained on Jungkook. Cold, emotionless. Clearly, his ambitions don’t end on dealing with some idol’s reckless shenanigans. “Well? What’s on your mind, Jungkook-ssi? We are ready to release the statement denying rumours about the incident in an hour.”

Jungkook bites the inside of his cheek. “But that will be a lie then. I did smoke, it’s me on that picture.”

Next to him, he hears Sejin clearing his throat uncomfortably. “Jungkook, I know it’s unfair but we can’t let it affect yours or boys’ reputations right now. We are a month before the comeback.” he says and no matter how much he tries to make it sound neutral, pulling the ‘what about the rest of the members?’ card is usually the last straw to bend Jungkook.

Jungkook releases a long sigh at that. He feels unworthy. He let down his brothers again, made them worry about him countless times before and that’s what he offeres in return: disappointment. He cannot risk his bandmates’ good name because of his incautious behavior. They sacrificed too much to be where they are now to lose it over a silly scandal.

“Do what’s best for the team.” he decides after a while.

Once he’s out of the office, his thoughts drift instinctively to you. Do you already know about the mess he created? Do you even search through social media, looking for the updates about him? No, you wouldn’t go there, he tells himself. He’s almost sure. He hopes those revelations won’t ever reach you.

Sejin breaks his chain of thoughts, stepping into the elevator after him. “What were you even doing in that part of the city so early?” he asks, staring at Jungkook’s reflection in the mirror.

“Does it really matter?”

Sejin’s features soften a little. He’s been with them practically since the beginning. Seen their best and worst, always by their side even when the whole world seemed to be against them. Piggybacking Jungkook out of the practice room because he complained about his feet being sore, joking behind the stage about trivial things when no cameras where around. They trusted him. And he’s never stopped believing in them.

“I told you that million times before. You are allowed to lead your life the way you want, Jungkook. I know how you feel, but as a public figure you have to be extremely careful, first and foremost. People don’t forget, nothing ever disappears from the Internet,” he says, or rather repeats the same mantra he’s been telling them since they broke into the mainstream and started being overly recognizable. “I am here to protect you but I won’t be able to do that if you don’t take care of yourself first.”

He places a strong hold on Jungkook’s shoulder and squeezes reassuringly. Jungkook releases a sigh and the door slides open behind them. “Thank you, hyung.”

“Always, Jungkook-ah. I’m feeling like a father of rebel teenager now.” Sejin laughs lightly to clear the heavy atmosphere, making Jungkook snort.

“Hey, I’m twenty-two!”

Sejin ruffles Jungkook’s hair, ignoring younger’s grumbling protests. The walk into the spacious parking lot of the company and Jungkook suddenly stops in his tracks.

“Does Bang already know about this?“ he asks matter-of-factly, although he’s sure what the answer will be. The confirmation he needs comes with a nod from Sejin. “Is he pissed?” he adds then.

Sejin raises his brows, looking down at him. “His golden boy let him down, what do you think? He might not be mad but he’s sure as hell disappointed.” He gestures to his car and Jungkook follows him without a word, imagining his boss’ sour expression next time he sees him. In Bang’s self-made ranking he’s sitting at last place right now probably.

“Want to grab a proper breakfast with me? I’ve been called into the company while I was in bed. I didn’t even have time to finish my coffee.” Sejin offers, pulling Jungkook out of his thoughts.

“Okay.” Jungkook says, hopping in Sejin’s car. “You’re buying?” he asks, mustering a snickering smile even though he’s definitely not in the mood for joking.

Sejin rolls his eyes, fastening his seatbelt. “Don’t you think you own it to me for saving your ass once again?”

“But I’m your rebel teenager kid, remember?” Jungkook pouts. When he sees Sejin hesitating, he opts for another strategy. The one that never fails. “Rock-paper-scissors?”

“Deal.”

Tonight, Jungkook pulls up in front of the club you’re working in with his car. It’s Friday night and he recalls you saying you work here every two weeks. He counted the days three times. There’s no way he made a mistake. He’s sober. And he has no intentions of getting drunk.

You’re surprised when you see him. You haven’t spoken a word for a whole week since he walked out of your apartment. He seems happier when he approaches you, flashing a bunny-toothed smile like nothing ever happened. Maybe he’s good at pretending. That’s exactly what you told him to do - act like the night he stripped you bare and fucked you silly was merely a mirage.

In a way, you’re relieved he makes everything seem ordinary, even though it’s anything but normal.

He waits for you to finish your shift. Tells you he drove here with his car and your eyes involuntarily widen. When you’re standing in front of his black Mercedes Benz, you can’t help but gawk.

“I don’t even want to know how much money this cost.” You take in the all-polished, black glory of his car, muttering “Holy shit” under your breath.

Jungkook chuckles to himself, gesturing for you to get in. You do it without a word, making yourself comfortable on the leather seat. If he manages not to make things awkward, you can do it to, acting as though he isn’t a well-known persona in your country with an addiction for unhealthy lifestyle.

He starts the engine and drives in the direction of your neighborhood, humming to himself the tune playing in radio. It’s awfully domestic, the way he navigates through the streets like he knows them like the back of his hand although you’re aware he’s glancing at his phone once in a while to check the directions. You catch yourself watching him from the corner of your eye with curiosity, biting your lip to suppress the urge to ask him million questions at a minute. Instead, you let him do whatever he has in mind. You can’t ruin this, you remind yourself.

Later that night, you’re sitting in his car in the darkness, parked on the rundown parking lot where no one’s standing expect for you. The only source of light is coming from the single street lamp nearby, illuminating delicately Jungkook’s features in dim, yellowish lighting.

He doesn’t say much. He fumbles with the hem of his jacket almost absentmindedly and you know him well enough to sense there’s something plugging his thoughts. You call his name and he turns his head to the side. It’s too dark for you to spot the tiredness on his beautiful face, too dark to read from his eyes and find all the needed answers in them.

“Is everything alright?” you ask and it sounds awfully loud in a small space of his car. Despite the silent promise you made to yourself about keeping things between you civil, you can’t help but interfere.

Jungkook then whirls on his seat so he can face you fully, flashing you a smile meant to throw all your former worries away. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just wanted to sit with you for a while like that, if you don’t mind.”

If anything, it doesn’t cure your concerns but you shove it to the back of your head for now. Nodding at his words, you fall into the distressing silence. The street lamp nearby goes out and if it wasn’t for the digital dashboard in Jungkook’s car, you would have been surrounded by darkness completely.

Jungkook chuckles under his breath and you follow suit. The sudden change in the atmosphere should be taken as a sign to abandon this damned parking lot and go somewhere else, but he looks like he has other plans in mind. Hearing the soft whisper of your name, you start feeling like it all was meant to happen. Him appearing in front of the club, the lights going out and enabling you to read the true emotions from your faces – it’s all like fate is again playing tricks with you.

You don’t know who moves first, crossing the invisible oceans between you and reaching homeland, but the next thing you feel is his lips on yours.

He tastes like the non-alcoholic beverage he drunk earlier, mixed with faint bitterness of his beloved cigarettes and something akin to mint, yet you’re drowning in it, in him, in the warmth of his breath on your wet lips.

You feel the world spiraling in front of your eyes, despite your soberity. You’re moving automatically; leaning into his touch and accepting the kiss with raw passion, welcoming his tongue in your mouth willingly. It should be alarming how good it feels to have him like this, in your arms, teeth scrapping your neck until you’re writhing in your seat. Breathless, he takes the hint, maneuvering your body until you’re straddling his lap.

It feels dangerously familiar. You know what’s going to happen next, when he unzips your jacket and places his hands underneath your sweater, relishing in the way you shiver at the coldness of his touch. When he sinks his teeth in your neck and withdraws seconds before leaving a blossoming mark. Yet you make no vow to stop him.

From this exact moment, it’s just a blur of hushed whispers, broken moans and quick caresses that leave you yearning for more. Jungkook acts like he knows your body inside and out, thrusting his fingers knuckle-deep into your heat until you’re keening and begging him for more. And he gives it to you with earnest, coaxing you into an orgasm with one last, final flick of his thumb on your sensitive bud.

Jungkook groans when you palm his bulge through the material of his pants, but he’s too desperate to feel your wetness around him to let you tease him any longer. When you sink down onto him, all of your rational thoughts fly away with the breathy moan you let out in unison with his choked gasp.

It’s fast and ragged, chasing the high that it’s both forbidden yet so craved. And it hurts, when tears well in your eyes, when you’re at the brick of pleasure and you know there’s no way in the world you’re going to experience a desire so raw and overwhelming with anyone, ever again. It hurts when Jungkook picks up the pace and fucks into you with ferocity and anger, because the world is unfair and he’s a slave in the system in which freedom means fucking you dirty in his car when it’s dark out.

And he hates it, hates it so much when you unveil in front of him, whimpering his name hoarsely and tightening around his cock deliciously. He swallows every sound you make with his mouth, clenching his teeth because the pleasure is right there, but he needs an extra push to throw himself over the edge. It’s his name on your lips and the whimper of “Inside, please” that finally makes him snap.

Then, there’s only guilt and laboured breaths. In his self-made list of mistakes, you’re aiming for the top.

Grocery shopping has never been your favourite thing to do.

You would never quite enjoy doing it, not due to the constant anxiety of forgetting about buying something even if you make a list of products beforehand, not when you don’t have enough money to buy a little extra than needed (thanks to the dear capitalistic world we live in).

Right now, you’re standing in the middle of an aisle with cereal, trying to look as much casual as possible so people passing by wouldn’t suspect you to be a wanna-be thief. The cause of your distress sits at the very top shelf and there’s no way in hell you’ll manage to snatch that Reese’s Puffs without knocking everything over.

Defeated, you raise your hand to take your second option (good, old Corn Flakes), but a familiar voice coming from the right stops you in tracks.

“Need some help?”

Twirling on your feet, you’re now standing face to face with Kihyun – Minho’s friend from work. Smiling sheepishly, you nod. “I do, actually. Can you pass me these ones, please?”

You feel stupid asking that but fortunately, Kihyun doesn’t seem to mind your awkwardness. You talked to him briefly a few times before thanks to Minho, who took his friendship with him as far as to go on a double date together.

“So, how are you?” Kihyun asks, placing the cereal box in your cart.

“I’m good, thanks. I assume you’ve been also doing well,” He raises his eyebrows at that and you clarify, “Minho told me you got promoted lately. Congrats, chief Yoo.”

“Ah, yeah, thank you,” There’s a tiny bit of pink covering the apples of his cheeks when he waves his hand dismissively at your comment. “But it’s not that big of a deal.”

“I’m sure working in a homicide department is a big deal,” you say. “And I heard it requires some extra shooting training as well.” you add, alluding to what Minho has told you the day you read the message on his phone from someone named Soyeon.

To your surprise, Kihyun furrows his brows in a manner that could only mean he’s confused. “I don’t know what you mean by that.”

Hiding your astonishment with a light laugh, you explain, “Don’t you go to the shooting range with Minho after work? He told me so a while ago.”

Something akin to realization crosses Kihyun’s face. He shakes his head. “Yeah, we went there together once or twice but recently he’s training there our new recruit, Soyeon.”

His words punch you right in the guts. Minho lied to you. He wouldn’t come up with that shitty excuse if he didn’t have something dirtier to hide, right? Maybe you’re exaggerating, but he certainly hasn’t been truly honest with you for a while now. It must be a reason behind his strange behavior.

“Are you okay?”

For a moment you’ve forgotten you’re in the middle of the grocery store with your boyfriend’s friend. Shaking yourself off your unpleasant thoughts, you send Kihyun an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry. I just remembered I need to go to the pharmacist’s and they’re closing soon so I gotta hurry now.” you lie. He doesn’t look like he entirely bought your story but nevertheless, he bids you goodbye.

You leave the store with half-empty shopping bag, raging headache and a torn heart.

They say silence can speak more than any exchanged words.

It hovers in the air, heavy and overwhelming, a tension primed to snap at any moment yet it has never happened before. There’s always quiet, no hushed sentences, half-lies or stuttered confessions leaving quivering lips.

Sometimes you wonder when will you have enough. When will you be able to resist, to say you’re hurting so bad it aches right in your heart, like there are tons of bricks lying on your chest, suppressing your breathing. And maybe this is the night.

A few unread messages on your phone, next one popping up and the screen lights up.

[1:23pm] jungkook:

i need you

It pains, a dull ache and suddenly there isn’t enough air in the room. [1:24pm] jungkook:

please

He never begs. It doesn’t suit him. There is too much pride and power inside him to crawl in front of you, to fall to his knees and plead. Yet, you falter, shaking fingertips typing a quick response. When brain screams fuck you, you don’t deserve me, a sight of him makes all the rational thoughts go to hell.

He stands in your door, slender body leaning against the frame. You haven’t seen him for a while, a week or maybe two. His skin is pale, sheer and delicate you worry it might break if you trail your fingers over it. There are bangs under his bloodshot eyes and you know he had trouble sleeping again. It hurts seeing him like this, beautiful and broken but you’ve always loved picking up the damaged pieces.

He smiles, a lopsided smirk you know oh so well, a dark amusement because here you are, pliant under his gaze, vulnerable under his every command.

“Hello, doll.”

It’s the ‘doll’ that makes you grimace. Nickname he uses only when you’re stripped bare for his liking, bend to his will. It means he’s been drinking. Probably the expensive whiskey you hate the taste of so much when it lingers bitterly on your tongue after each swipe of his mouth against yours. “Will you let me in?” he then asks although he already knows the answer.

It’s cruel of him how he uses your weakness. You hate seeing him like this, hate when he’s thrown apart and you’re the only one who knows how to fix him. That’s why you move away from the door in a silent invitation, biting your lip when you see his slouching posture and unsteady walk.

It hurts when you help him sit on your bed and he smiles at you lazily, in all his beautiful yet broken glory. You almost don’t recognize him. It’s not your Jungkook. Your Jungkook would never drown his misery in alcohol, he would never sit in your room barely conscious, smelling of cheap bars and cigarettes.

But you accept your fate the way it is.

“I need to sober you up a little. I’ll go get you a glass of water, okay?” He hums in response, although you’re worried it might have not reach his ears at all.

Jungkook looks up when your back, accepting the water and drinking it with eagerness. “You’re too good to me, you know that right?” he slurs a little once he’s done. “I don’t deserve you.” he adds after a moment, cupping your cheek with his unoccupied palm.

You squeeze your eyes shut because you fear you might break down in front of him if you look him in the eyes. He strokes your skin, murming “I’m so sorry” all over again.

You stay like that for a few beats of silence, breathing in each other’s presences until you hear Jungkook’s phone buzzing in the pocket of his jacket. Taking it out, you see ‘Jimin-hyung’ written on the screen. “Your friends are worried about you.” you murmur, nudging his side.

“Tell them to go to hell.” You hear him muttering under his breath. Sighing, you decide to exit the room and answer the call.

“Jungkook? Where the fuck are you?!” Jimin’s angered, thick with Busan dialect voice rings in your ears, making you flinch. “You should’ve at least answer my text once so I would know you’re okay!”

Mustering the courage, you take a deep breath and say, “Hi, it’s Y/N speaking. Jungkook’s friend.”

There’s a pause on the other side, until your hear Jimin clearing his throat. “Oh, hi. Is Jungkook maybe with you?” he asks and you smile to yourself involuntarily noticing how his voice has changed once he realised he’s not speaking to his friend.

“He is. Drunk, but in one piece.” you reply, sparing a glance at aforementioned Jungkook who’s now slumped down on your bed, probably fast asleep.

Jimin sighs with relief. “That’s good then. You know, we got into a little fight today and he suddenly disappeared without a trace, and we are right before the comeback so–”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to explain anything to me,” you interrupt his rushed rambling. “I’ll take care of him.”

“Thank you, Y/N-ssi. It means a lot.”

‘’I’ve been taking care of his ass practically since we were kids, so it’s not a big deal for me,” you chuckle lightly, even though you’re definetely not in the mood for jokes. “Well, maybe not in that way but still.”

“I know. He told me about you.”

Your eyes widen. “He did?” you ask, failing to hide the surprised tone of your voice.

“Yeah, he did. When he first told us he met his childhood friend accidentally in the club he got drunk in, we didn’t believe him at first. But then he slowly started opening up more about you and even showed me some picture of you and him when you were kids.” Jimin says. “You know, Jungkook hasn’t been himself for quite a while. He kept pushing us away but ever since he met you, he’s started smiling again. Please, promise me you’ll never hurt him.”

You release a shaky breath. “I promise.”

It’s easy to promise such thing. Because you’re for sure going to end up being hurt first.

It’s your alarm that wakes you up the next morning.

The sight of Jungkook is long gone, the only proof he’s been here in your bed last night is an empty glass on your bedside table and a small note written on the napkin.

Thank you for everything. I really don’t deserve you.

Jungkook.

Sheets have gone already cold underneath your fingertips where he laid beside you just hours ago. You didn’t get much sleep the night, watching his beautiful, pale features illuminated by the moonlight slipping through your window. He looked so peaceful with his chapped lips slightly parted and in that moment, you couldn’t think of any reason to hate him and what he’s doing to you.

Later, when you’re finally out of uni, you come home and take a quick shower. It’s Wednesday and Wednesdays are reserved for your small dates with Minho. The guilt you’re feeling while getting dressed and fixing your makeup is eating you from the inside. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you almost don’t recognize the shallow of a girl you’re seeing.

You are not a bad person, you keep reminding yourself, then why did you sleep with him that night? Let him crawl into your bed again and again after?

Minho waits for you outside in his car. He’s taking you to a new Thai restaurant and you manage to hide the frown on your face, because your dear boyfriend forgot you don’t like this type of food.

“You look pretty tonight, babe,” he says once you’re inside, waiting for your orders. You smile at him briefly. “It’s really been a while since we went out together, hasn’t it?”

At that, you nod curtly. It’s true, you haven’t seen each other last week at all. Minho ditched your usual Wednesday date in favor of staying at work for something important. It happened second or third time this month. You feel like you don’t have right to be mad at him. If anything, that’s what you deserve for lying to him behind his back.

The rest of the evening goes smoothly. Your food arrives, you act like you don’t feel nauseous chewing on your pad thai and trying to break out the taste with red wine. Minho babbles about the new Netflix series he’s started watching and you’re pretending to be intrested. Wednesday date at its finest.

Then, when you’re about to pour yourself another glass of wine, Minho stops you with his hand on yours. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something,” You fight an urge to roll your eyes. He wants to discuss serious matters? What a change. “We’ve been together for eight months. My parents keep asking about you.”

“Oh,” you blurt out. To hide your anxiety, you force out a breathy laugh. “So, what about them?” you ask, however you already know what the answer is going to be.

“I thought we could visit them soon in Daegu over some weekend when you don’t have work,” he proposes, squeezing your hand as if to calm your nerves. It’s not doing much to put you at ease. “My mom has already started making plans what food she should make. They’re really excited to meet you.”

You feign a smile. It should be a natural progression for couples to take things at a time, step by step but you can’t help but feel uneasy. Minho wants his parents to meet you, the girl who lets a certain raven-haired boy play with her heart and mess with her head. In a sick game where both parties are out of reach, you’re terribly losing.

“I’d love to meet your parents.” you say finally, almost breathless.

“You don’t look very excited.” Minho comments with a smirk and you know he’s joking but the lump in your throat only grows.

You smile meekly. “I’m just nervous, that’s all. What if they won’t like me?”

“I’m sure they’re gonna love you. You don’t have anything to worry about.” he dismisses your concerns, reaching for the wine bottle to pour himself a glass. “I’ve got one more thing to tell you. I know it’s a lot for one evening but I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it for weeks now so since we have this opportunity now, I’m gonna use it.”

Color drains from your face. What else is there to converse about all of a sudden? Biting the inside of your cheek, you give him a sign to continue.

“I’ll go straight to the point. I want you to move in with me,” The bomb explodes and you nearly drop your wine glass to the floor. “I know it might be a lot for your but I really, really want to see you every day in my bed. My apartment is big enough for both of us but once I get the promotion my boss talked to me about last week, we can look for something fancier.”

You stare at him blankly. First his parents, now this? Minho from the beginning of your relationship was the one who liked to take things slowly. He didn’t kiss you until your third date, he waited unnecessary amount of time to have sex even though you told him over and over again you were more than ready to do it with him.

The sudden rush feels weird. As if sensing your discomfort, Minho clears his throat and asks, “Don’t you want to move in with me?”

You notice the subtle change in his voice, the way he’s not as enthusiastic as he was a minute ago but you shove it to the back of your head. “I’m surprised,” you respond neutraly. “And of course I don’t mind living with you. I just thought you wanted to take things slow.”

Minho clicks his tongue. “This has nothing to do with that. I’m not asking you to marry me, Y/N,” he chuckles but you don’t mirror the sentiment. “I think it would be more comfortable for you to live with me than your current cubby-hole.”

He’s already irritated by your reaction and you know it’s better not to poke the bear but those three glasses of wine down your throat give you enough courage to disagree. “Your place is further from my university and work. Not to mention I have a five minutes long walk to the underground now and it would take longer for me to get there in your area.” you point out.

“You can get a driving license then finally.”

You frown. “What do you mean ‘finally’? You know damn well I can’t afford it now with the job I have and student loan. We talked about it before.”

Minho is aware that with your current financial situation you’re barely making ends meet and you can’t let yourself have another, bigger expenses. But you’re fine on your own, you don’t mind living where you do because that’s the result of your independence. You showed your parents you are able to study and work without their extra help. You’re proud of yourself for that.

“Now you’re literally making excuses. Just say you don’t want to move in.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” you try to reason. “I’m not ready for such a big step yet. I need more time to think about it.”

Minho snorts, rolling his eyes. “What else is there to think about? Either you say yes or no!” His raised tone catches attention from the family sitting nearby and they send curious glances in your direction.

“Stop being so loud, please. We are in a restaurant for God’s sake.” you whisper-shout.

“Do I look like I give a fuck?” he snorts, obnoxious and annoyingly snarky.

You stay quiet for a moment, debating whether you should give up entirely and hang a white flag or wait for the atmosphere to clear on its own. But you’re so, so tired. Tired of being lied to. Tired of always having to choose your words carefully and bending to his will.

“You know, I met Kihyun the other day at grocery store,” Minho doesn’t seem much interested in your inquiry, still deeply frustrated with your tantrum. He simply hums, unfazed. “I congratulated him on his promotion. He for sure needs to visist shooting range more now, doesn’t he?”

Minho arches his brow. “Yeah, I told you he goes there with me and that new recruit.”

It’s ironic, how easily he can lie to you straight in the eye. But you’re strong enough now to fight back. “That’s interesting actually, because Kihyun said something totally different.” you say languidly, watching your boyfriend narrowing his eyes.

“And what is that?”

“He said you’re going there only with your new recruit, Soyeon. The one sending you messages on your private phone.”

Minho gapes at you for a few short seconds and then, bursts into laughter. “What are you trying to insinuate here, honey?” he asks.

The petname sounds mocking this time. Ignoring his lighthearted approach to the situation, you dodge a bullet. “I’m not insinuating anything yet. I just pointed out that you lied to me.”

“Lied? That’s bullishit. I would never lie to you.”

“But you did, Minho. The day I asked you who Soyeon was after reading the message on your phone. You said you’re visiting shooting range with her and Kihyun after work sometimes. Turns out it’s just you and her after all. Isn’t that a lie?” you press.

Minho doesn’t like being backed into the corner. When you confronted him first, he thought he had everything under control. Now, he’s losing it and he isn’t used to being that helpless.

“So what? Maybe I told you that so you wouldn’t freak out and think I’m cheating on you. Because that’s all it is about, right? You think I’m fucking someone behind your back.” he snaps, making you wince.

“I didn’t say that.” you counter but there’s no use for that. You stepped into the lion’s den.

He aprubtly stands up from his chair and the cutlery on your table clutters. “You know what? I’m done. I’m not in the mood for your bullshit anymore.” He withdraws his wallet from the pocket of his jacket and throws a few bills onto the table.

A bitter chuckle escapes your lips. “Your’e leaving? Just like that?”

“Yeah. Are you going with me or not?”

You shrug your shoulders. “I guess someone has to finish this bottle. It would be a shame to waste such expensive wine.” you say, mustering a sarcastic smile.

Minho doesn’t utter anything more to you. He nods and exits the restaurant, leaving you sitting by the table alone. Despite the stares, hushed whispers and an urge to run away and hide from the audience, you stay a little longer and drink up that damned bottle of wine until there’s no droplets left inside.

Once you’re outside, you inhale greedily the fresh air. Your head spins a little and you’re debating whether to take an Uber home or just walk thirty minutes on your own to sober up a little. You choose the latter.

You don’t know what makes you dial his number. You’ve never done that before. He was the one calling you in the middle of the name and begging without words to tend his wounds. Tables have turned, and here you are.

You call once, twice. After the fifth attempt you give up, showing your phone into the pocket of your coat. As the first tear rolls down your cheek, you realise he would never be there to pick up your pieces.

Three missed calls from: Jungkook

[11:11pm] jungkook:

I’m so sorry y/n. I couldn’t pick up the phone cause we had late practice

Please call me back. I’m worried

Two missed calls from: Jungkook

[11:36pm] jungkook:

At least text me if you’re okay

Please

[11:39pm] me:

I’m fine

[11:39pm] jungkook:

Thank God

You sure you don’t wanna talk?

[11:41pm] me:

Maybe next time

[11:41pm] jungkook:

Okay

Night, miss grumpy

You’re sitting in your favourite cafeteria, typing furiously on your laptop the last paragraph in your assignment. Your philosophy proffesor has been a bitch lately, telling you to write essays about the most uninteresting stuff she could possibly think of. And here you are, writing about Hegel’s triads, reminding yourself the semester soon will be over and so will be your mandatory philosophy classes.

Taking a moment to sip on a caramel macchiato you ordered, you notice a message popping up on your lockscreen.

[10:45am] jungkook:

Do you have time now?

I need to tell you sth

It’s been two days since your date with Minho. You’re still mentally flogging yourself for calling Jungkook that night repulsively because of your tipsiness. In that exact moment, he was the only person on your mind you could talk to. Once the fresh air cooled down your emotions, you realised how stupid your idea was.

With slight resistance (and raced heartbeat), you type a response.

[10:46am] me:

I guess

[10:46am] jungkook:

Great. I’m gonna call you now

Eyes widening, you stare at your phone. What is so important that he cannot just text you instead? Not even a minute later, you hear buzzing. Exhaling shakily, you answer it.

“Hi, Miss Grumpy,” Jungkook says and you could tell by the tone of his voice he’s in a good mood. He sounds like the old Jungkook you know well. It’s a pleasant surprise. “What’s up?”

“You called me to ask how am I doing?”

Jungkook chuckles and something inside you flutters hearing that. “And what if I did?”

Rolling your eyes, you respond, “Let’s just say it’s unusual of you. Shouldn’t you be at some dance practice right now?” you ask.

“We just ended a company meeting. And this is exactly the reason why I’m calling you.”

“Should I be scared?”

”Not at all. I’m gonna move straight to the point,” he says and your pulse involuntarily quickens. “Are you free next weekend?”

You bite your lip. There’s a part of you that wants so bad to counter with “What? Do you need a booty call?” but you don’t let your facade break that easily. Instead, you tell the truth. “Yeah, I am.”

“Would you like to go with me to Busan then?”

You nearly spill the coffee onto your laptop. “Oh.” You can’t quite hide the surprise in your voice. You would never expect him to propose you such thing, yet here you are.

It’s been a while since you were home. Not like you don’t want to see your parents, it’s actually the opposite. The reason you haven’t been in Busan for months is simple: you don’t have extra cash on the side to afford a two-way train ticket.

Sensing your bewilderment, Jungkook takes your silence as a sign to explain further his sudden proposition. “Our company gave us few days off to relax before final comeback preparations so I decided I could go home,” It’s what he says and unsure of what to answer with, you only hum in response. “You told me some time ago you haven’t seen your parents since Christmas so I thought you might accompany me.”

Something squeezes in your chest hearing that. You fail to hide the smile creeping on your features and despite the many obstacles that should be a warning sign for you to say no, you find yourself reminiscing in the idea of spending a weekend at home with Jungkook. Just like old times.

“Okay. I agree.”

Upon hearing your response, Jungkook breathes out a sigh of relief to the phone. “I thought you would ditch me.”

“Excuse me? Who do you think I am? I wouldn’t miss an opportunity to eat my mum’s bulgogi.”

You can’t ignore how you’re feeling, cheeks flushed and a silly smile stretching on your lips. But there’s still that bugging thought present at the back of your head, reminding you of your illicit affair and every mistake you’ve made so far. Maybe agreeing to a small trip down childhood memory lane is one of them.

Right now, sitting in a cafeteria and talking on the phone with Jungkook about the details and your mum’s cooking skills, you pretend like you’ve turned back the time and everything else is a mere drawback to deal with later.

“I can’t believe I agreed to do that.”

That, is a blatant lie. You know damn well why you’re standing on the pavement in front of the building you live in as Jungkook pulls up with his high-priced, straight-from-the-salon black Mercedes. Something ignites in your lower stomach at the mere memory of what you’ve done there inside last time.

When he exits the car, you disregard as best as you can the aloof feeling in your chest, seeing him adjusting his bucket hat further down. This is the life he’s living, you remind yourself. If he wants to minimize the risk of people with preying eyes recognizing him.

Dressed in all black, he comes up to you and lifts his head up. That’s when you see him fully for the first time since he stumbled through your drunk and barely conscious. He smiles widely approaching you, not an ounce of uncertainty in his movements when he wraps his arms around you in a bear hug.

“What’s that for?” you mumble.

“Just missed you.”

He smells like the flowery fabric softener you know he likes. It almost lulls you into paying no mind to the thumping of your heart against your ribcage and redness blossoming on your cheeks.

It almost makes you forget he’s not yours, and you will never be his.

You’re the first one to withdraw, stepping away. “You’re such a sap.” It’s the first thing that comes to your mind to say after such intimate moment – twist it into something without depth and meaning you’re so afraid of facing.

He shrugs, still smiling. “I’m just happy we’re going to spend some time together with our families.”

You know he is. Jungkook has always been a family person. Moving out at a ripe age of fourteen paradoxically strengthened the bond he has with his parents and brother.

He picks up your bag from the ground and throws it into the trunk next to his. Getting into the car, you mutter, “You know, I tweet ‘eat the rich’ every two days but you are safe from my hatred for high class as long as you drive my ass with this expensive car to Busan.”

Jungkook chuckles, starting the engine. “Thanks for your kindness, love. Good to know I’m pardoned.”

“Jokes aside, I mean it though. I might want Jeff Bezos to rot in hell but at the same time I think you deserve that money because I know you worked hard to achieve it.” you say, buckling your seatbelt.

He spares you a quick glance and arches his eyebrow. “I didn’t know you are actually a fellow comrade Y/N, Miss Grumpy.”

“Oh, boy. Follow me on my private account. You’ll see then how radical I can get.”

You earn another laugh from him and you find yourself getting more and more comfortable in the situation, sitting in his car and venturing onto a weekend trip to your hometown. The perspective of spending a couple of hours with Jungkook in the same car doesn’t seem to bother you as much as it did the whole week before.

Tapping the unknown rhythm on your thighs, you reach to press what you think might be the radio button. Your aren’t good with modern technology, so you smile triumphantly to yourself, hearing the first tunes blasting from the speakers.

The slow pop-ballad ends and radio host announces next song as ‘fan favorite’. You look out of the window for a short while just to be brought back to the reality by the sound playing in the background. You know this song more than well.

“No. We are not listening to this.” Jungkook reaches to change the radio station with a speed of light, but you swat his hand away.

“Jesus christ, stop being so dramatic. I love Blood Sweat and Tears! It’s a masterpiece.” you protest.

“I thought you don’t listen to our songs.”

You gasp, placing a hand on your chest. “Excuse me? I’ve been to your concert twice, dumbass. And I’m saving up money for another.”

That, is true. You like listening to BTS not because of Jungkook (though he might one of the reasons you fancy them) but it’s their music and message in general. Now, since they’re over their badboy phases and objectifying women in every ‘love song’, you’re fond of them even more.

You start humming Namjoon’s part when Jungkook cuts in. “Okay, then. Who’s your bias?” he asks.

You don’t miss the way he seems to grip the steering wheel tighter. Of course he would be that petty to ask you this. To entertain yourself a little, you quip, “Take a wild guess.”

“It has to be Jimin-hyung.” he says right away.

You shake your head. “Boo. Try again.”

“Namjoon-hyung. You bit your lip when he started rapping his part.”

“That’s bullshit. Namjoon’s hot but not my type. And you should keep your eyes on the road, buddy.” Placing your fingers on his chin, you turn his head away.

Jungkook sighs. “Who is it then?”

“Taehyung.”

Hearing your response, he snorts. “I should’ve known that.”

“And why is that?” you ask, trying to hide your amusement.

“Because he’s the most good looking from us all. He dresses stylishly,” You could tell by the tongue in his cheek you’re irking him right now. Adding to the irony, Taehyung’s part in the song comes blasting from the speakers. “He has a nice, deep voice.” Jungkook adds and before he can name another positive trait of his friend, you chime in.

“Is somebody jealous?”

Though you’re clearly making fun of him, he decides to chuckle like he doesn’t give a fuck anyway. “Jealous? Of Tae? Please. I have no reason to be.”

Smirking to yourself, you find his demeanor too entertaining. “That’s good then. Because I think you’re handsome too. And I love your voice when you sing.” you say, turning your head to the side to observe his reaction.

No matter how much he tries to hide it, clenching his jaw and giving you an eye roll, there’s no use for that. The blush covering his cheeks gives him anyway. His agony ends with one last beat of the song.

Hiding a yawn behind your palm, you lean back onto your seat. Last night you didn’t get as much as you’d like to and your four hours long drive to Busan seems like a great opportunity for a compensatory nap.

Drifting off to sleep, the last thing you remember is Jungkook’s hands on the steering wheel and his soft voice humming the song playing in the radio.

“Hey, sleeping beauty, wake up. We’re almost there.”

Slowly opening your eyes, you’re met with familiar-looking streets of your hometown, Busan. You jerk abruptly, straightening your posture. “Why didn’t you wake me sooner?” you ask, looking to your left at Jungkook.

He shrugs in response. “You looked like you didn’t want to be waken. And trust me, I know what it feels like to be brought back to reality from a good nap too early.”

You don’t dwell on that more. Instead, you look out of the window, greedily drinking in the city. You’re now driving through downtown, passing by shining skyscrapers. Both yours and Jungkook’s houses are situated in a more peaceful area of Busan, closer to the sea. That’s why you spent most of your childhood and teenage days there as long as the weather was merciful.

Spring has always been your favourite time of the year but spring in Busan hits different. You don’t have an occasion to sit by the sea and watch the sky burning in orange and red in Seoul. Here, where you used to grow up, spring is the cherry tree blossoming, your mum planting vegetable seeds in her small garden behind your house, you and Jungkook smoking cigarettes underneath the pier while the sun hides behind the horizon.

“Did you tell your parents you’re coming?” Jungkook’s voice pulls you from your thoughts.

“No, I didn’t. I want it to be a surprise for them.”

“Oh, that’s cute.” he comments curtly and turns right. You’re approximately thirty minutes until you reach your destination. “I need to talk with you about one more thing before we get there.”

You focus your sight on him, however he seems to avoid your eyes. You give him a sign to continue. “Go on.”

Jungkook rubs his forehead with his hand and then sighs. It’s a nervous habit of his, you recognize. “I just want to apologize for causing you so much trouble. Not only last time but in general,” He stops at the red light and cocks his head to the side to look at you. “I acted like a complete dick and you don’t deserve to be treated like that. I’m sorry for everything. I thought this small trip here would be some sort of redemption for me, I don’t know.” The lights turns to orange, then to green and he focuses his eyes on the road again.

Reaching over the gearshift, you place a hand on his thigh to get his attention. When he peeks at you with the same, round, sparkly eyes you’ve grown to adore, all you can do is smile softly. “I’m okay, Kook. If that’s what you need, I don’t mind helping you. If only it means you’ll be okay too.”

Perhaps he notices the sadness in your eyes when you say it. Perhaps he can tell your smile is not the happiest he’s ever seen. If he does, he chooses to stay silent. Instead, he nods. Taking his action as a sight to withdraw, you straighten on your seat.

“There’s one more anything, actually,” Jungkook adds after a while.

“What is it?”

“You’re invited to a party.”

“What party?” you ask, brows furrowed.

‘’We are celebrating Junghyun’s engagement.” he says casually.

Eyes widening, you let out a shocked gasp. “What?! Your brother got engaged?”

Jungkook sends you a look. “Jealous, buttercup?”

You roll your eyes. “I told you I had a crush on your brother when I was ten. It’s been twelve years since then. Twelve!” you exclaim, but he only smirks in response.

The reason you liked Junghyun as a kid was simple: he was your best friend’s older brother. He was just there yet unreachable at the same time.

(And he didn’t have as many pimples as Jungkook.)

But Junghyun getting married? That is a news to you. You clearly remember him telling you one day he would never form a serious relationship before he reaches thirty. Looks like he made up his mind.

“I’m just pleasantly surprised he decided to settle down. Junghyun has always been more of a free soul when it comes to dating. I even remember your mum throwing him a tantrum during barbecue because of this.” you say.

“Honestly, I’m not that shocked. You should’ve seen him looking at Hyerin during our Christmas dinner. This boy is whipped.” Jungkook chuckles.

“Your parents must be happy.” you comment absentmindedly.

He nods, the corners of his mouth stretching in a small smile. “Yeah, they are. They really like Hyerin. And considering they won’t be getting grandchildren anytime soon thanks to my line of work–” he trails off, “–they are even happier that hyung is settling down.”

The air seems heavy now inside Jungkook’s car. He said an obvious thing you were aware of but something aches in your chest at the thought.

You will never understand why there’s so much stigmatization surrounding idols dating other people. Wanting to be loved by someone is a natural, human need. Prohibition won’t magically stop them from catching feelings.

But there’s also another side of the story – the one Jungkook referred to. In his line of work even if there are no obstacles, it’s hard to maintain a long-lasting relationship. And he knows that.

You still remember vividly his first girlfriend. Her name was Eunbi and she was one of their manager’s daughter. Her dad used to take her to the MV sets, introduced her to the boys because she was a fan of them. And that’s how she met Jungkook.

Jungkook, age seventeen, was too shy to hold a proper conversation and keep eye contact with a girl at the same time but somehow, him and Eunbi got along pretty quickly. They shared a sympathy for the same video games and for Jungkook back then it was enough to fall head over heels for her. She was his first kiss as he told you (”First real one, because I don’t count that peck Jisoo gave me in fifth grade as a kiss.”)

After that moment you decided you’d never like Eunbi. Not because you were furiously in love with him, no.

You just didn’t want to see him form such a close bond with anyone else but you.

Their fairytale love story ended when Eunbi’s father found out about their secret randez-vous. Jungkook sulked for a week and then eventually got over Eunbi.

(And he was again texting you about that video game you had no interest in but you pretended to be a good substitute for Eunbi and her nerdiness you lacked.)

“What are you thinking about?”

You’re standing on the red light again. Glancing at Jungkook, you find him staring right back at you. “I’m wondering whether I’m invited to the wedding.” you lie.

“Of course you are. I’m sure hyung is going to do it officially tomorrow,” he answers with a grin. “I think Taehyung is coming too. He loves weddings.”

Narrowing your eyes, you reply with a saccharine sweet voice, “It’s about time you introduce me to your bandmates. Especially Taehyung-oppa.”

“Oppa?”

You bite your lip. There’s no doubt you did that on purpose. You find it rather amusing to see Jungkook so worked up over such a silly thing. You wonder how far you can go before he finally snaps.

Smirking to yourself, shrug your shoulders. “The light’s green. Watch the road, Kookie.”

Jungkook huffs, shaking his head. It’s approximately fifteen minutes until you reach your destination. “I’m sure you will be delighted to meet him.” he says with enough amount of sarcasm for you to know he’s irritated.

“Oh, I will be over the moon.”

“Good.”

“Amazing, even.”

You hope he doesn’t notice you failing to maintain a serious expression.

You moved with your parents to your new house in Busan at the age of eight, two ponytails, overalls and sparkly sneakers every kid wanted to have adoring your small frame, a look of pure concern worrying your childish, chubby features.

It was a quiet neighborhood, on the suburbs of the town, a row of similarly looking terraced buildings and small gardens in front of them, every single one akin to the other. There was nothing distinctive about the area, it screamed dullness and tedium but for years you have grown to call this place home.

You know every corner here inside out. A local grocery store owned by a lovable, elder woman known as Miss Kim, who always has spare candies underneath the counter for children who come to buy something for their parents. Next to the store, there is a florist’s. Your first, high school part-time job. The intense smell of roses makes you nauseous to these days.

There is also your primary school, huge backyard behind it with a run-down playground. You never minded it though, spending there probably too much time for your parents liking. Many memories were made there. First, innocent childish peck placed on your cheek from a 6th grader named Jinyoung. Twisted ankle, tears, pain and regret because you decided to jump off the highest step of the climbing frame one Friday afternoon after classes. A punch to the face of school’s bully Dongin, who called your new pair of Converse trainers ugly.

It was exactly fourteen days before the end of August when you met Jungkook.

You had been living in the new house for almost a month but still felt too insecure to explore the neighborhood. Most of your time you were spending inside, missing your old friends and reading books to distract your attention from the approaching start of the second semester in school.

It was probably one of the last scorching-hot days of the year and you were sitting in your garden alone, family’s cat named Leo purring on your lap, when all of a sudden a ball bounced on the grass right in front of you, landing perfectly at your feet and almost scarring Leo to death.

And then, you looked up and saw him.

A pair of big, black doe-like eyes hidden behind a fringe of onyx hair staring at you through the fence curiously. The boy was not much older than you, probably around your age. He was wearing a striped football t-shirt with some popular team name.

You fidgeted slightly on the pavement where you were sitting, glancing at the boy shyly like you didn’t know why he was looking at you so intensely. You noticed a small scar on his left cheek, his knees were bruised, splashed with dirt just like his sneakers.

“Can you give me my ball?” he asked suddenly, startling you.

Your eyes widened. Of course he would talk to you, you scolded yourself, he wants his ball back.

When you didn’t answer immediately, he continued, “I kicked my ball here by an accident. Can you give it to me?” He pointed at the object lying at your feet.

You nodded and picked up the ball from the ground. You threw it over the fence, so it landed directly on the other side.

“Thanks.” the black-haired boy said. “I’m Jungkook, by the way. What’s your name?”

“___.” you responded and the boy, Jungkook, grinned at you friendly, showing his bunny-like smile. He looked cute.

“Bye, ___! See you tomorrow!” he beamed and headed back to his house.

Tomorrow. He wanted to meet up with you and what? Play football? You were petrified, as the eight-years-old girl should be after hearing such thing from a boy.

And just like he promised, Jungkook visited you the next day. He took you to that playground behind your new primary school. You came home with bruised legs and splotches of dirt on your skirt, to your mother’s dismay.

You also came home with a content grin plastered on your face and a new friend.

Unexpectedly, Jungkook appeared to be a pleasant company and you found yourself enjoying his boyish bickering while fulfilling the rest of the summer break doing things your old friends would consider inappropriate for a girl.

You never thought you could be friends with someone like Jungkook. He was a boy, for God’s sake, and your eight-years-old-barbie-phase-self absolutely despised boys. But months passed quickly and you both found yourselves stuck to each other sides. Something in your relationship simply clicked.

The neighborhood you grew up in isn’t a suburban area but it definitely seems more peaceful than busy streets of downtown. You pass by local church, miss Kim’s store and the big, luxurious house owned my Gwon family you dreamt of living in when you were a kid.

And then, approximately two hundred meters further, there is your house.

“Here we are.” Jungkook says, pulling up at his parent’s driveway. They left the gate open, anticipating their son’s arrival.

Jungkook hands you your belongings, offering you sheepish smile. “I thought that once you unpack and eat dinner, we could go to the beach together,” he says, scratching the back of his head. “Of course, only if you want to.”

You don’t give his proposition a second thought. “I’d love to.”

He grins in response and you take it as a sign to leave and finally meet your parents. From the distance you see your mother in the garden, dressed in her usual clothing – black and red checked shirt and cropped denim pants she wears while gardening.

She doesn’t notice you yet, too busy pulling weeds from her precious tulips. You know her better not to creep behind her like that, so you take a deep breath and shout, “Eomma! It’s me!”

She stands up and twirls around to face you. Her eyes visibly widen, like she actually thought her mind is playing tricks on her and she might have misheard you.

“Good Lord, Y/N, sweetie, is that really you?” She throws away her gloves and jogs up to you, enveloping you immadietly in a bear hug. “I missed you so much. Why didn’t you say anything you’re coming?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” you mumble. “Jungkook took me with him.”

At that, your mother pulls away. She arches her brows. “Jungkookie is home as well?” she asks, earning a nod from you in response. “You’re talking with him again?” Her voice is laced with apparent bewilderment but that’s exactly what you expected her reaction to be like.

Your mother is aware you and Jungkook haven’t been keeping in touch for three long years. She was basically your only source of information about him (besides Twitter) thanks to her close friendship with his parents.

“That’s quite a long story. I will tell you everything later.” you say. Well, maybe not entirely everything. You’re for sure going to miss out the parts you’re not proud of.

Your mother doesn’t press you more about it. Instead, she puts her arm around your shoulders and pulls you to her side. “It’s your lucky day sweetie, because we have your favorite bulgogi for dinner. Honey, come here quick!” she shouts and you chuckle, hearing your father responding with: “What is it again?”.

The door to your house creak open, revealing your flustered dad. His expression morphs into a genuine smile when he spots you. “Is it really my daughter or are my eyes deceiving me?” he asks.

‘’Your eyesight is fine, appa. It’s really me.” You come up and give him a small hug. He was never the affectionate type of parent but once you moved out, he let his facade break a little.

From where you’re standing now, you have a clear view of Jeons’ house. Here, fourteen years ago, sitting on your porch, you met Jungkook for the first time. You see his window upstairs, alligned perfectly with yours. You wonder if he’s already there, inside, unpacking in his blue-painted childhood room.

(What if it isn’t painted blue anymore?)

“Come on, let’s go. You’re probably starving.” your mother says, pulling your mind back to the present.

Walking into your house, all you can think about are his tears-filled eyes when you were bidding him goodbye almost ten years ago in his blue bedroom.

It takes you more or less thirty minutes to reach the bay.

When you were younger, you used to ride there by bikes practically every single day during summer. You loved sitting on the beach and observing people enjoying their time; swimming in the sea, kids building sand castles and their mums trying to relax among childlike chatter and the smell coming from nearby fishmonger’s store.

It was Jungkook who discovered the spot underneath pier. His curiosity only a twelve-year-old can posses led him there one day after school. At first, you were rather reluctant to go and didn’t mirror his excitement but once he actually showed you it, you changed your mind completely.

It was a perfect place to hide from the world. You called it a ‘temple’ because it really felt like no one beside you knew about its existence, and that’s what made it sacred to you. When Jungkook moved away you were left to go there by yourself. Without him, it always felt like it was something missing.

Right now, sitting here feels like you’ve you’ve turned back the time.

It’s like you’re eighteen again, running away from the whole world, starting your own rebellion with a cigarette caught between your lips and sun disappearing behind the horizon. Listening to the songs Jungkooks had saved on his old iPod and catching up with everything that happened during the last few months when he was absent in your life.

When you were eighteen you didn’t even know how to smoke properly, blowing out the fume too quickly and stiffing a cough so Jungkook wouldn’t laugh at you. Now it’s a different story.

Looking at him from the corner of your eye, you notice how much he’s changed physically over these five years that have passed. Gone is the baby fat on his cheeks, replaced with sculpted jawline and prominent nose. His hair is longer, falling on his forehead. There’s more piercings on his ears, an expensive watch wrapped around his wrist.

He looks breathtaking. It never occurred to you before just how beautiful Jungkook really is up close, when there’s no flashing cameras around and make-up covering every imperfection on his face with concealer.

This is your Jungkook. The same one whose competitive nature never let you win any of his computer games, who called you after their debut showcase with quivering voice, who always treated you as his equal even when other boys were making fun of him for being friends with a girl. Your Jungkook, who’s too good for this world to be treated so unfairly.

“I think Minho is cheating on me.” you blurt out.

It’s been sitting on your tongue for weeks and now you finally let the words slip. You don’t see his reaction but from the sharp intake of breath you assume it’s not something he’s expected to hear from you.

“Few weeks ago I read a message on his phone from some girl asking when he will be free next time,” you continue before you could stop yourself. “He’s been meeting with her alone behind my back this whole time and I didn’t notice anything until now.” A pair of arms wrap around your frame. Jungkook presses a fleeting kiss to the crown of your head. “I don’t even know if that’s true or I’m overreacting but I just can’t understand how he can lie to me one day and the next propose to move in with him.”

You don’t realise you’re crying until you feel Jungkook hugging you closer to him. You burry you face into his chest as sob after sob shakes your body. “Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he whispers, stroking your hair. “I’m here.”

Few minutes pass until you calm down, wiping your tear-stained cheeks with your hand. Jungkook offers you a tissue and you thank him with a small smile. You can only imagine how ridiculous you look right now, with smudges of mascara underneath your eyes and red nose. Not a sight for sore eyes.

“I’m sorry. I just needed to get it off my chest.” you say after a moment.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, Y/N. If you need to talk about it, I’m here for you. I’m still your friend, right?” Jungkook asks, meeting your eyes.

You nod, although he’s anything but friend for you. “Right.”

Because friends don’t console each other with burning touches on bare skin. They don’t give into carnality and submit to pleasure, putting it before everything else.

From the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook’s jaw clenching. “I’m gonna kick his ass when I meet him.”

Before you could stop yourself, you mumble, “He should probably kick yours, too.”

Jungkook visibly stiffens, hearing your words. He avoids your eyes, staring down at his lap instead. You wonder what he’s thinking about now. Does he regret his actions? Do you regret letting it happen? No matter how much you know you did wrong, there’s a part of you longing for more. Because with Jungkook, you felt alive. Minho could never compare.

Reuniting with Jungkook after three years made you realize just how much you needed him back in your life. You actually stopped being mad at him the moment he stood in your room for the first time that night, disheveled and sleepy.

You could love him. Perhaps you’ve always did. But he cannot give you more. Nothing besides bitter-sweet pleasure between the sheets.

It’s Jungkook who speaks first.

“I might not be the best man in the world but I would never, ever hurt you like Minho does,” he says and you know he means it. He stares at you intensely. “You do believe me, right?”

“I do.” you whisper truthfully.

He then leans closer and when you think he might actually kiss you, he places a small peck on your forehead. ‘’Good,” he murmurs, still inches from your lips. “Come on, let’s go. It’s getting late and I can practically hear my mum already complaining she doesn’t have enough time to spend with her son.”

You nod aabsentmindedly at his words.

There’s a tough conversation for you to have once you’ll be back in Seoul again. Finding out about Minho’s lies was a point of no return for you. It made you realise you’ve been on this path with your relationship for a while now, missing signs or not paying enough attention to the details.

But what is even more disturbing to you, is that you didn’t let Jungkook warm your bed out of simple frustration or heartache. You did it because you wanted him. And that thought scares you the most.

The first thing Jungkook hears in the morning when he wakes up is the high-pitched chatter and the clutter of pots coming from the kitchen.

He sighs to himself, staring at his blue ceiling. The clock on his bedside table reads 10am and at this rate, it looks like he won’t be getting any more sleep, not when his mum and soon-to-be sister-in-law are making a fuss downstairs preparing for the party.

The strong smell of homemade food invades his senses as soon as he enters the kitchen. He spots his mum putting something in the oven, her usual red and white polka-dot apron adoring her form. Hyerin is right next to her, busy cutting some vegetables and listening tentatively to her mother-in-law’s babbling.

“Good morning.” Jungkook says in a groggy voice followed by a yawn.

“Morning.” Hyerin quips, flashing him a smile.

Jungkook’s mother barely acknowledges his presence, too busy moving around the kitchen and making sure nothing is burning or overcooking. Feeling the first rumble of his stomach, Jungkook opens the fridge and stares blankly at its contents.

Miss Jeon runs her house by the rule the more, the better when it comes to preparing food for special family occasions. Hence why there’s so many different type of products lined up in front of him, just begging to become a remedy for his empty stomach.

“Nu-uh, don’t even think about it!” she chimes in, closing the fridge in front of Jungkook’s face and crushing his dreams about having egg toasts for breakfast. He stares at her with confused expression. “Order yourself something for breakfast, please. We need kitchen to ourselves right now.”

Knowing better not to argue with his mother, Jungkook sighs in defeat and opens the food delivery app on his phone. He chooses the first option that comes to his mind that won’t take too long to make and slumps down onto the couch.

“Eomma, where’s dad and hyung?” he asks, debating whether to turn on the TV or not. He decides on leaving it silent.

“I sent them to the grocery store. They should be back in two hours,” she responds. “Hyerin-ssi, please make sure to keep an eye on the soup. I’ll be right back!” The door to bathroom slams behind her and Jungkook chuckles under his breath.

“Is she giving you hard time?” he asks Hyerin once he knows his mother cannot hear them.

Hyerin looks up to peek a glance in his direction. “Your mum is a lovely person, really, but she can be… a lot sometimes. Especially when she’s stressed.” she says, smiling coyly.

“Tell me about it.”

She lets out a laugh that quickly dies down when aforementioned woman emerges from the bathroom. Instead of heading straight to the kitchen, she makes her way to Jungkook. “What are you planning to do after breakfast, Jungkookie?”

Jungkook shrugs because honestly, he hasn’t given a thought it yet. “I don’t know. Maybe I can help you with something here.” he proposes, although cutting onions and cabbage is the last thing he would like to do.

Fortunately, the grimace on his mother’s face tells her she’s not quite fond of his proposition. “Oh, no, no, no. We’re perfectly fine on our own with Hyerin-ssi. We don’t need extra pair of hands. Why do you think I told Junghyun to go with dad?” she asks rhetorically with raised eyebrows.

Of course Jungkook knows why. Kitchen is his mother’s kingdom. No one steps a foot there while she prepares food unless she permits it herself. Today she’s even more uncompromising about it because it’s the first time Hyerin parents are meeting Junghyun’s. It’s the matter of making a good impression as the host.

“Maybe you could call Y/N and ask her what her plans are? I’m sure she won’t be very busy.” Jungkook’s mother prompts and he feels like he’s ten again, bored on Saturday and wondering what to do with himself. Then, an idea pops in his mind.

“Yeah. You’re right,” he agrees. “I’ll call her.”

Maybe a literal trip down memory lane is everything he needs to feel like himself again.

As predicted, at first you welcomed his idea with a little bit of qualm, yet you said yes nonetheless.

And now here you are, hanging out together at the playground behind your old primary school. Getting there wasn’t an easy task, it required some parkour abilities and jumping over the fence because the place is apparently being locked on weekends now. Ten years ago it used to be your life estate on Saturdays.

You’re currently sat on a swing, watching Jungkook doing pull ups. You have a nagging suspicion that he chose to go on with his daily workout routine right now on purpose but you’re not better yourself, doing rather poor job at ignoring the way his hoodie rides upwards with every move he makes, revealing his toned abdomen.

“Okay, I’m done.” he grunts, letting go of the bar. He plops down on the other swing next you with a heavy exhale. “How many was it?” he then asks, referring to the number of pull ups you were supposed to keep a track off.

For a moment you forget you’re supposed to answer, eyes focused on Jungkook’s throat as he chugs down the whole water bottle.

“Hmm?” he repeats and you quickly snap out of your trance.

“I lost count.” Truthfully, you didn’t even make an attempt to do so. You were too distracted by the act itself to pay attention to anything else, let alone do basic math. Now you do understand all these girls going crazy when they get a glimpse of his sculpted body.

Jungkook rolls his eyes in response and starts swinging himself back and forth. It you recall correctly, he lost one of his front baby teeth here, jumping off the swing.

“I thought a lot of would change here after so many years. But it looks exactly like I remembered it.” he says, slowing down to a halt.

You nod at his words. Apart from a little painting and renovations done here and there, it’s like it all got stuck in time. You’re about to add that your mother told you the infamous principal Choi is still consistently running the school, but Jungkook doesn’t let you vocalize it.

“Wait,” He stands up suddenly and walks to the seesaw swing. You furrow your brows as he crouches on the ground and attentively observes the object, presumably searching for something. “A-ha! Here it is! I knew it still would be there.” he exclaims excitedly after a few seconds.

Confused, you come up to him. “What are you doing?”

“Look,” he says, pointing at the wooden base of the seesaw. At first glance you don’t notice anything but as you get closer, you see what he meant.

Jinyoung + Y/N = ♡ engraved on the swing.

“Oh my god.” you groan, covering your face in embarrassment.

Jungkook ignores your whining and actually snaps a picture of his finding. “You know what’s actually funny? It was me who did this because you didn’t have enough strength.” He giggles, making your cheeks heat up in bright shade of red. “I stole my dad’s pocket knife for it. Such a shame your love story lasted only a week.”

“I’m not listening to you!” you announce and quickly come back to your previous spot on the swing.

Jungkook doesn’t give up easily though, enjoying tormenting you with your pre-teen love life. He follows you, asking, “Wasn’t he your first kiss as well?” You keep your mouth shut, avoiding his eyes. He then clasps his hands. “Yeah, I remember now. Sixth grade. He kissed you here, am I right?”

You wish you could wipe off that smirk from his face.

“I never liked Jinyoung,” he continues, sitting down next to you on the second swing. “But I always wanted to have that black range rover his dad drove.”

Your face heats up even more at the mere mention of Jinyoung and his dad’s car in one sentence. Jungkook can make fun of your silly crush as much he wants, but he doesn’t know one thing.

That your little infatuation had a sequel.

Taking a deep breath, you lean closer to him and ask, “Wanna know a secret?” He sends you a curious look and nods. You brace yourself for what is about to come. “I lost my virginity at the back of that range rover.”

Jungkook chokes on air. His eyes widen in pure shock and you have to fight an urge to laugh at how ridiculous he looks right now, gaping at you with mouth wide open. “What the fuck, Y/N?! Tell me you’re joking, please.”

You sigh, shaking your head. “I wish but unfortunately, that’s true. We went to the same high school and somehow… our paths crossed together again.” you explain.

“And you decided to fuck him in his dad’s car?”

“No, dumbass. We were dating. For whole six months.”

Jungkook sends you a look. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“It’s not like we were talking back then,” you reply sheepishly, toying with the edge of your sweater. Suddenly it’s hard for you to meet his scrutinizing stare. “You stopped responding to my messages a little before I started dating him.”

The atmosphere between you tenses. Jungkook’s expression morphs from astonishment into guilt and you curse yourself for ruining the mood.

Jinyoung is just a mere memory, one of many mistakes you made during your teen years. He wasn’t anyone special to you anymore, he never had been. Not even when he deflowered you on the backseat of his dad’s car one night after some party. You were too drunk to care and too inexperienced to do more than just lie there and take it. With your skirt hiked up and blouse mid-open, wondering if Jinyoung was just as clueless as you when it came to sex or he simply didn’t know how to pleasure women.

What Jungkook doesn’t have to know, is that you jumped into the relationship with Jinyoung to fill the void your best friend created three years ago with unanswered messages and never returned calls. You were lonely in high school, you couldn’t manage to form a close bond with anyone after Jungkook. You hoped Jinyoung was good enough for a replacement.

“What about you then?” you ask to clear the atmosphere. “I told you my secret, now you reveal me yours.”

To loosen up the tension a bit, you decide to play the quid pro quo card. Partially out of curiosity, but mostly because you feel like you’ve exposed yourself too much in a short period of time. It will only be fair if he gives you the same in return.

Jungkook smiles bashfully. For the person who had done many dirty things to you before, he sure looks shy now. “I was nineteen as well. She was a friend of a friend, four years older than me. We met a party, flirted a little and one thing led to another,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. “I’ve never seen here after that. She tried to contact me but I just… I didn’t want to commit to something more.”

Is he ready for more now? you wonder silently. The question stays at the tip of your tongue though. You can’t wish for more when everything he’s able to provide is a few, quick moments of blissful relief between the sheets when sun goes down.

But what if you want more? What if you’ve always, subconsciously, felt like you belonged together but universe decided to split you apart? What if you’ve always been in love with your best friend?

The realization hits you like a tsunami. All these years, you spent denying your feelings for him. And when there’s a chance for you act on them, you back away.

Because even if he’s now inches from you, he seems out of your reach.

By the time you gulp down your third glass of champagne, Jungkook’s brother’s engagement party is in full swing.

Junghyun and Hyerin didn’t invite many people to celebrate. It’s a small, family gathering. Your parents were invited thanks to the almost twenty-years-long friendship with Jeons, which started when you moved into the new house next to theirs.

Jungkook looks painfully handsome dressed in black suit pants and emerald green button-up shirt. His raven hair is styled the way you like the most, parted in the middle and revealing his forhead. You, on the other hand, are wearing a simple, long-sleeved navy blue dress you’ve had on multiple occasions before but it’s still your top go-to garment when you have nothing else to put on.

“Have I told you look great tonight, buttercup?”

Turning around, you’re met with Junghyun’s smiling face. Of course he would approach you with his childhood nickname for you that used to make your heart flutter.

Besides his hair color, there’s little resemblance between him and Jungkook when it comes to appearance. While Jungkook took a lot after their father, Junghyun is almost a cardboard copy of their mum. Even their characters are two polar opposites. Junghyun is the more outgoing, boisterous type but Jungkook still tends to act introverted towards strangers.

And paradoxically, it’s the younger brother who’s making a career in entertainment industry.

“Shouldn’t you be complementing your fiancée instead?” you ask, accepting another glass of Martini Junghyun hands you.

“As you can see, she’s busy being interrogated by my mother.”

From the corner of your eye, you see Hyerin nodding along to whatever miss Jeon is telling her right now, expressively gesturing. It’s her brand to do so. Your father says that she talks with her mouth and hands simultaneously.

“I’m sure Hyerin-ssi went through it already when they were preparing food together earlier today.” you joke.

Junghyun chuckles, having a seat next to you. He sends quick, supportive thumbs-up to to his girlfriend when she glances at him from the spot she occupies on the couch. You can’t help but coo at the sight.

“So,” you quip, “when’s the wedding?”

“Next year in August,” Junghyun answers. “You’re obviously invited as well.”

You smirk around the champagne glass. “I wouldn’t miss seeing my childhood crush getting married.”

Junghyun laughs at that, throwing his head back. After a moment he adds, “It’s funny though, how you were gushing over me when the boy who had heart eyes for you was right under your nose.”

You arch a brow. “You mean Jungkook? He had a crush on me?”

“If course he did. You were the only girl who talked to him and moreover, you always helped him with his homework and you know how bad he was at algebra,” Junghyun says, sending you a knowing look. That much is true. Jungkook did suck at Math and could not, for crying out loud, interact with girls. “If he could, he would’ve taken you with him to Seoul all those years ago.”

Your eyes involuntarily drift to aforementioned boy, standing with his father in the kitchen. They are looking at something your dad is showing them on his phone, probably pictures of the car he recently renovated.

(A classic Chevrolet Camaro 1969. For all you know it looked like Damon’s car in Vampire Diaries.)

You can see Jungkook’s eyes growing big as he stares down at the screen. Obviously, he’s genuinely amazed with what he sees. You can only hope your dad won’t try persuading him to sell his luxurious Mercedes and buy something vintage instead.

“Why didn’t ever tell me that?” you ask, your voice quivery. You take another gulp of your drink to soothe the emotions bubbling in your chest and you barely succeed.

Junghyun shrugs his shoulders in response. “Would it change anything? You were thirteen-year-old kids back then and he was moving out to another city to make his big dream come true.”

Pursing your lips, you nod. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

You don’t know exactly what Jungkook feels for you right now. Back when you were teenagers, it was just a fleeting attraction. Perhaps he thought about you this way because you were a girl who liked spending time with him.

“I know him giving up your friendship was a dick move but you have to believe me that this boy has been really lost these past three years. Now he’s trying to find himself again, to become a better version of himself,” Junghyun remarks. “He needs his best friend to help him do so.”

Turning once again to look at Jungkook, you catch him staring right back at you. He flashes a cheeky grin and completely fails winking at you. You’re lips automatically stretch into a smile seeing his goofiness. You like that side of him. It suits him.

“I think I need to go save my fiancee from my mother.” Junghyun whispers, catching you off guard. He follows your line of sight and smirks to himself. “Go talk to him. I’m sure your dad wouldn’t mind snatching Jungkook for a bit.” Unlike his younger brother, he lands a perfect wink.

Like beckoned, Jungkook approaches you when Junghyun leaves the table. “Aren’t you a little sad he’s getting married, buttercup?” It’s the first thing that night he says to you.

Fighting an urge to snort, you ask, “Aren’t you tired of being jealous I chose Junghyun-oppa as the object of my affection and not you when we were kids?”

Jungkook bites the inside of his cheek, manifesting his irritation. You relish in it even more now, having the knowledge he used to pin after you. He ignores your witty retort though completely.

“Want to get out of here for a while?”

Your heart skips a beat. “Where?” you blurt out, looking around the room for any place comfortable for you to stay in for a while.

“Isn’t it obvious?” When you raise your brows in question he adds, “To your house, of course.”

“But–”

He shooshes you with a finger on his lips. “No buts, Miss Grumpy. It’s been ages since I’ve been in your room. Do you still have that Edward Cullen’s poster above your bed?” he asks and this time, you actually land a punch to his arm.

Downing the rest of your champagne, you get up from the chair. “Shall we?”

“Ladies first.”

“I still can’t understand why did you really hang a poster of some pale dude above your bed.”

You’re climbing up the stairs to your room, and Jungkook is in the middle of his rant about Why Twilight Has Ever Been A Thing. You’re ten seconds from pointing out his teenage female crushes one by one, starting with IU just to rile him up.

“It’s just weird for me,” he huffs upon taking one last step to the top.

You whip your head to send him a glare. “Do you really want me to say the same thing about your fans worshipping your posters?” you ask, eyes narrowed. “You’re out of their reach just like Edward Cullen was out of mine when I was fourteen.”

He points his finger at you. “But he’s a fictional vampire and I’m real.”

“Exactly!”

You leave him with that, eyebrows scrunched in confusion, and open the door to your room.

“So you did get rid of him after all.”

Nothing really much changed in your childhood room since you moved out four years ago. Your walls are still painted in lavender but the posters are long gone, much to Jungkook’s dismay. There is a bookshelf with all your favorite positions (Twilight included) standing directly next to the desk which is now pearl white, just like the rest of your furniture.

Before you can say anything, Jungkook plops down onto your bed. “You still got them though,” he murmurs and you glance in his direction, waiting for him to elaborate on what he means. He raises his finger to the ceiling. “Those yellow stars that shine when it’s dark. You have the same in your apartment in Seoul.”

“Oh, yeah,” you awkwardly reply, looking up. “I put them there so I can have something reminding me of home.”

Truth to be told, you are a sentimental person. The very best evidence of your heart’s weakness is the corkboard with old photos in your apartment. As cheesy as it might sound, it gives you a sense of comfort.

Jungkook hums at that and pats the spot next to him with his hand. “Come lay with me.” he proposes.

“Why?” you ask, although you sit down on the bed anyway.

“Because I want you to,” he grumbles and places his palm on your stomach, pushing you to lay flat. “There you go.”

It reminds you of old days, how you used to lay down with him like that on your bed and just do nothing, simply staring at the constellations on your ceiling in silence or speaking about trivial things.

Life was much easier back then, when there was no cameras flashing around and capturing every move your best friend makes. When you were just two kids with head full of dreams and dragging on forever doing your Chemistry homework. When you were each other’s beginning and end, yin and yang, sun and moon and the starry sky above you.

It slips off your tongue eventually, what have you been meaning to ask him since the beginning of your illicit affair. And now it seems like you’ve finally reached the point of no return. “What are we, Jungkook?”

You turn your head to the side, staring at his right profile. His chiseled jawline, black lashes ghosting the skin of your cheeks. He opens his eyes slowly, focusing his sight on you but you quickly look away.

“You know damn well that we aren’t just friends anymore. Maybe we’ve never been,” You sit up straight from your position, finally gaining enough courage to face the matter. “You can’t play with my emotions like that and expect me not to catch any feelings for you. You’re confusing me so much, Jungkook. I don’t think I can go on like that any more.”

You feel his palm on the small of your back, comforting and bringing you a brief wave of solace. He follows suit, getting up from his position as well. “Look at me,” he murmurs and you jerk your head to the side. You don’t want him to see you like this again - vulnerable and exposed. “Please, ___.”

It’s his pleading voice that makes you succumb to his request. Hesitantly, you accept his touch on your cheek and meet his doe eyes, two black charcoals shining in the dim lighting of your childhood room. He has the same look in them as you saw the first time he kissed you. If the teeth worrying his bottom lip are anything to go by, you could mistake it for nervousness.

“I shouldn’t feel that way about you,” Jungkook finally says. “I shouldn’t wake up with an urge to text you because if I didn’t, my day would be incomplete. I shouldn’t picture us doing mundane things like cooking ramen in your apartment or picking you up from work,” he recites, voice laced with an emotion you can’t quite put the name on. Or maybe you do.

It’s longing.

“I shouldn’t imagine us being together because I can’t give you all of these things, ___.” Lone tear slides down your cheek and he catches it with his thumb. “I’m so, so sorry.”

You’re shaking your head, because no, he shouldn’t apologize for the world’s unfairness, for wanting to have more of you, of freedom. “Jungkook–” you start but he’s quick to interrupt you.

“I told you this before and I’m repeating it now: you deserve so much better than what I can give you, ___.”

He tries to distance himself, to back away and leave because that’s what he’s a master of but you beat him to it, extending your index finger and poking him right in the middle of his chest. “Now you listen to me, Jeon Jungkook,” you urge, not caring about your tear-strained cheeks and shaky voice. “I’m a very stubborn person, and you know that. If I wanted to leave you, I would’ve kicked you out of my apartment the day your drunk ass stormed back into my life.”

He smiles sheepishly, putting a strand of hair behind your ear. “And why didn’t you do that?” he asks, his palm not leaving your cheek.

“Because more than anything, I’ve never stopped caring about you,” It’s almost a whisper. “No matter how hurt I was, I couldn’t let you slip away from my reach again.”

And then he’s leaning even closer, lips almost touching yours yet it feels like it’s not enough. It’ll never be. “___,” he murmurs your name softly, breath smelling of champagne hot on your skin. You feel dizzy, drunk on him. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

You both know it’s a white lie, that as soon as you’re back in Seoul the reality will brutally kick you in but you let yourself for a moment indulge in this fantasy – that you’re his and he’s yours. You’re on the opposite sides of the spectrum, yet you cannot be separated.

And you need to hear him say it.

“Promise?”

Jungkook seals it with a kiss, the one that leaves you breathless and pliant in his arms, blindly reaching for him and pulling him closer with your hands on his neck. “Promise.” he whispers, eyes trained on yours.

For now, it has to be enough.

Then, as if he can’t hold himself back any longer, he dives in for more, hands finding purchase on your hips. He’s tugging you closer until you’re perched on top of his thighs, feeling the hard flesh flexing underneath your weight. It feels familiar; that funny, pulsing sensation building up in your core when he swipes his tongue over your bottom lip to meet yours. It makes you tangle your fingers in his black locks and pull, just to hear him groan into your mouth.

But there’s another pressing matter on your mind and before you can go any further, you’re pulling away from his lips with a light smack. Jungkook doesn’t take the hint though, anchoring your hips over his crotch.

“Wait,” you mumble in between kisses, biting down the moan that almost tears from your throat when he uses the grip on your body to grind down on him. “What about the party? What if parents will come home and–”

“Shhh,” He silents you with a peck on your quivery lips. “They won’t. The party has barely started. And even if they do come home, you’ll just have to be quiet, right?” Something about his tone makes you nibble on your bottom lip to suppress a whimper. He sees it, and leans down to kiss your throat. “Can you do that for me, baby?”

“Mhm,” you mewl, angling your neck to give him more access. He sucks a mark right above your sternum and it almost distracts you from asking him one more thing. “Jungkook,”

He licks a stripe up the column of your throat and looks at you, lips shining with saliva. “What is this?”

Despite the urge to kiss him stupid right here and there, you cup his cheeks and repeat the same question that led you to this very moment. “What are we?”

Jungkook looks like a living sin with his blown out pupils and disheveled hair yet his gaze is nothing less than affectionate. He brings one of your hands to his lips and places a kiss on your knuckles. “Whatever you want us to be,” he responds, sincere. “You know I never give up without trying.”

You nod, a small smile dancing on your features. “I know.”

He captures your mouth in another kiss, like he’s trying to prove his statement with actions; sucking, biting, kneading your supple flesh just right. Suddenly there’s too many clothes separating you and your fingers grip his silk shirt in faint attempt to satisfy your yearning to feel him fully.

As if reading your mind, Jungkook stops mid-decorating your neck with yet another red mark. “Get up and take off your dress for me, baby.” he says, all soft but still demanding enough to make your knees wobble. As much as you love the dominant side of him, you’re enjoying this new-found softness of his.

You comply to his request in an instant, raising from his lap to a standing position. Your fingers travel to your backside and pull the zipper down. Your dress falls on the floor with light thud, leaving you in your underwear. It’s matching but not your best pick nonetheless; simple black lace bra and cotton panties. Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind though, two antsy hands gently pulling you closer to him until you’re in between his thighs.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, leaning down to press a feathery kiss on your belly. You let out a shaky sigh, trying to avert your gaze away from his burning stare but he destroys your attempt. “Don’t shy away from me now.” A squeeze to your hip is a warning. You give in, looking down just to see him smirking right back at you.

“I won’t if you take off your clothes as well.” you challenge despite your trembling voice.

He gets up, towering over your figure. “Undress me then.” Your shaky fingers reach for the buttons, opening one by one. He watches your movements attentively, lets you run your palms over his broad chest. His silky shirt joins your dress on the floor as you fumble with his belt buckle.

There’s something intimate about this moment. It’s not the first time you’re seeing each other naked yet everything feels new, unchartered. You’re exploring each other again, mapping your bodies with subtle touches and observant eyes.

Jungkook strips off his slacks, steps off his shoes along with socks. He sends you a cheeky grin. “Now we’re even.” He swallows your giggle with his mouth, not wasting any more time and pressing you against his body.

You moan when you feel his erection touching your hip. He uses it as an opportunity to slither his tongue inside, each experienced lick making it hard for you to follow his tempo. You go lax in his hold, letting him snap your bra open. He maneuvers your body until you’re laying on your back and he’s straddling your waist.

“So pretty,” he marvels, palms caressing your breasts. Your nipples harden under his ministrations, breathy moan escaping your lips when he pinches them. “Such a pretty baby.” he repeats, lost in touching every part of you he can reach.

Jungkook peppers kisses on your belly, hands travelling to your thighs. He leans to kiss you on your panty-clad mound. You mewl at the sensation, unconsciously sliding your legs wide open and giving him more access to your center. “Can I eat you out?” he asks, continuing mouthing over your pussy. When you don’t answer him in time, he slaps your thigh in reprimand. ‘’Hmm?”

“Please,” you whimper, mind send into overdrive. Minho rarely went down on you and you almost forgot how good it feels to have someone’s mouth on you.

Jungkook grasps your underwear and pulls it down your legs, revealing your dripping pussy to his hungry eyes. His breath tickles your folds, sheets grasped tightly between your fingers. Jungkook kitten-licks your pulsing clit, eyes trained on your face to see every small reaction he emits from you.

“Jungkook,” you keen, hips rising to chase after his mouth.

He nibbles on your thigh playfully, flashing you a sly smile. “What do you want, doll?”

It’s the ‘doll’ that makes you whine pitifully at him. He relishes in it, sucking your clit into his mouth as an apology for his teasing. You whimper, “Please, I want more. Give me more.”

‘’Demanding, are we?” he snorts but complies anyway. No matter how much he loves hearing you beg, he enjoys eating you out more. He covers you your pussy with his mouth, tongue swiping over your sensitive numb. He licks up clean your soaking slit, not missing a single drop of your pearly arousal.

He groans at the taste and throws your legs over his shoulders. He pulls you even closer to him until his face is burried between thighs. Your fingers wander to his hair on their own accord, threading into his silky strands. After a harsh suck he abuses your clit with, you pull. It spurs him on even more, a groan mouthed against your pussy causing even more slick to drip down your opening.

“Tell me how good it feels.” he mumbles, glancing up at your face. You focus your sight on him, his chin is shining with translucent substance, hair tangled and sweaty against his forehead.

“So good,” you mewl.

“Yeah? That good?” Jungkook asks, tone almost mocking. You’re now only nodding in response, your cunt pulsing with a need to release. “Can you cum for me like this, baby?” he mouths along your folds.

“Please, please,” You’re nearly crying, tears pricking in the corners because the pleasure is too much to bear. Your clit throbs, eyes rolling to the back of your head. “Oh my god–Kook!”

“Good girl,” He rewards you with two slender fingers pushing inside your pussy, searching for that one stop that makes your insides flutter. “My pretty baby, tastes so sweet for me.” he rasps before licking a stripe up your cunt.

His digits slide even deeper into you. It sounds sinfully wet but you don’t care, accepting whatever he gives you. And give does he, plunging his fingers repeatedly inside and flicking his tongue against your bud – a perfect symphony to finally send you over the edge.

“There you go,” he murmurs, feeling your walls tightening around his fingers. More juices leak out of your hole and he drinks them up eagerly. “My pretty girl doing so good for me.”

He prolongs your orgasm until you stop him with a breathy whimper of, “’m sensitive.”

Jungkook gets up to hover over your shaking body. He opens your mouth with a deep, wet kiss. You taste your arousal on his tongue, feeling no longer foreign and eliciting a moan out of you. His length presses against your hip, hard and straining his briefs. With a surge of boldness you reach down, rolling his underwear off his body. His cock slaps against his abdomen, curved tip leaking precum.

Nibbling on your bottom lip you watch as his hand encloses around his member, giving it a few pumps. He groans, head thrown back. Your eyes focus on the sweat dripping down his sculpted body all the way from his neck down his chest. Jungkook is a sight for sore eyes– slim waist, toned thighs. Everything about him is mesmerizing.

He settles between your legs, cock prodding at your folds. “You sure?” he asks, searching for your eyes.

You don’t answer him verbally this time and he doesn’t press about it. Instead you open your legs even wider, a small smile dancing on your features as you nod. You’re welcoming the stretch with a drawn out moan. He pushes himself inside slowly, until he’s flushed against your pelvis, his neatly trimmed pubic hair tickling your skin.

“Fuck,” he curses, hands coming up to grip your sides so tightly you’re sure they’ll leave fingertip bruises. “You’re so perfect, baby. Made for me.” He leans to press a kiss on your mouth, tongue lazily lacing with yours. It’s messy, saliva trickling down your chin but you don’t care, reciprocating with vigor.

Jungkook pulls away and places one last peck on your cheek. “Ready?” he murmurs.

You couldn’t be more than. “Ready.”

He picks up the pace, blindly reaching for your legs to make you encircle his waist. You’ve never fucked in this position before, with him so close to your face you could practically taste the sweat dripping off his body on your lips. He relishes in having you like this, palms caressing every square inch of your flesh.

‘’God, I missed having you like this, doll,” he grunts. He props his hand next to your head and it gives him leverage to hammer himself faster into your cunt. “Do you like how I’m fucking you?” he asks and you keen in response. He doesn’t seem to be satisfy with your reaction. “Too fucked out to speak?” You hear him chuckling evily into your ear.

“Shit, Jungkook,” you whimper, throwing your hands over his neck. His skin his hot and slippery under your touch. He rams himself even harder into you, hips never losing the rhythm. You feel the pressure building up in your abdomen already, reducing you to mewling mess underneath him. “I-I love it. So, so much.” you stammer out.

“Yeah?” he prompts, fingers slipping down your belly to toy with your clit. “Love how my cock is fucking you?”

“Yes, yes–fuck,” you chant. “So good.”

He loses himself in you, in the way how tight you feel around his cock. He tells you this, spits filthy obscenities into your ear and punctuates it with deep strokes inside you. He wants to have you like this forever, keep you to himself and hide from the whole world.

It’s selfish of him to think that way but he can’t help it, not when you’re moaning so pretty when he tightens his grip on your waist and rails you harder into the mattress. Not when you’re there when he needs you, when you’re his lifeboat bringing him back to the land (sanity).

He wants to see you smile for him, because of him. Wants to call you his. And that’s what he asks you to, begs in stranded voice. “Say you’re mine,” You’re shaking your head, tears threatening to spill from your eyes but he needs to hear you say it even if it’ll be just this once. “Please, tell me you’re mine, ___.”

Your whole body shudders from pleasure. You open your quivery lips but nothing comes out of it except for a broken whimper of his name. “J-jungkook–”

“Please,” he pleads once again, entangling your hands from around his neck and pinning them over your head instead. “Say nobody will ever make you feel this way. Fuck you until you cry,” he continues, fingers circling your nub with ferocity. “Fucking say it!”

You sob, pleasure rippling through your body and throwing you off the edge. “I’m yours,” you whisper hoarsly, staring into his dark orbs. “Yours, yours, yours!” you repeat, creaming his cock with your release.

“Fuck,” Jungkook groans and you don’t know it’s because of your confession or your walls constracting around his member. Maybe it’s the mixture of both. “You’re mine just like I’m yours.” he spits as the orgasm approaches him, shuddering through his whole body. He comes with a call of your name, spilling himself inside.

You whimper at the sensation, your arousal mixing with his and dripping from your hole. Jungkook lets go of your wrists, pressing a peck on each of them. His palm cups your cheek and he leans down to kiss you. It’s lazy, your mouths barely moving but it feels good anyway.

He’s in the middle of pulling his softening cock out of your core when you hear your mum’s voice.

“___, honey, are you here?” She’s downstairs, approximately forty-five seconds from reaching your room.

Jungkook sends you a panicked look. “Go lock my door!” you hiss.

He obliges quickly, naked butt jogging across the room to twist the key. You can’t help but giggle as he tiptoes to the bed again. He puts a hand over your mouth and murmurs, “Shhh, be quiet.”

Your mum’s heels clink on the stairs. Few seconds later she’s knocking on your door. “___, are you there?” she asks. You’re praying she won’t twist the handle because in that case you’ll have a lot of awkward explaining to do. Fortunately, she gives up. “I guess they went for a walk.”

By ‘they’ she means you and Jungkook who’s currently stifling a laugh against your shoulder. “Well, maybe not for a walk but something equally energy-draining.” he whispers. You elbow him in the stomach, making him chuckle even harder.

When you hear the door to your house closing, you let out a breath of relief. “I knew fucking in my childhood bedroom wasn’t a good idea.”

Jungkook smirks. “You sure about that?” he teases, squeezing your hip. It makes you roll your eyes but you don’t hide the smile on your face afterwards anyway.

Jungkook reaches for your panties and rolls you onto your back, carefully cleaning you up and then himself. He tucks you beneath the covers, encircling your body with his arm. You relish in the heat radiating of him, pressing your cheek right where his heart beats.

“You’ve never told me what would be my biography’s title.” Jungkook says after a moment.

You smile to yourself, fingertips drawing patterns on his skin absentmindedly. “I’d call it ‘Lost Star’.” you answer.

“Because I’m a troublesome celebrity?” he chuckles and you shake your head.

“Well, of course you can interpret it like that but for me it has more of a metaphorical sense,” you explain. “You’re a star, like those on the sky, which got lost and came to Earth instead. That’s why you’re so special. Because you’re out of this world.”

“I’m no special,” Jungkook grumbles, pouting.

You sit up from your position to look him in the eyes. “You’re wrong, Jeon Jungkook. And I think I’m not the only person who thinks the same,” you urge. He meets your gaze and you realise how young he looks right now. Young and boyish. “You make thousands of people smile because of your music. That’s a special ability to me.”

He flashes you a small smile. “I’ve never thanked you for believing in me from the very beginning.” he says, cupping your cheek in his palm.

“Always.”

You drift off to sleep with his voice humming softly in your ears.

[4 months later]

“Bangtan Sonyeondan are currently at the Incheon International Airport, leaving for their upcoming world tour. Their first show will be held this Saturday in Los Angeles and–”

You walk into the living room and sit on the sofa, staring at the pictures Korean press took of Jungkook and his bandmates while they were departing to US. They are dressed in their casual clothing and you know the fans are going to freak out seeing Jungkook’s hair has gotten long enough to tie it in a man bun. You’re almost sure the news have already spread on Twitter.

The TV is too big for your liking but Jungkook insisted on buying it anyway. You can almost see the pimple on his cheek he woke up with this morning. It makes you smile involuntarily.

Rest of the design in his–now yours as well– apartment was mainly your idea. He bought it without telling you because he knew you would freak out. And you did, obviously, call him crazy. But he didn’t mind. Told you he needed a space for himself for a very long time and now he has someone to share it with.

The house feels empty without him. It’s too spacious for one person and when he’s not around, you feel like intruder. But you’ve put on your big girl shoes this morning after a passionate round of love making and teary-eyed goodbyes. You won’t slip them off until he will come home to you in two months.

He promised he would show you Paris and London. You know he will keep that promise, although you aren’t sure you’ll be able to make it with your new job. After breaking up with Minho, Jungkook encouraged you to try sending your drafts to different publishing companies. And one of them responded positively.

You check your phone–your smiling face meeting you on the lockscreen. Jungkook’s smooching your cheek, but prying eyes wouldn’t be able to tell it’s him from that angle. His last text message is from fifteen minutes ago.

[5:55pm] jungkook:

We’re departing in 20 minutes

I’m missing you already so much:(

You reply, although he’s probably fast asleep like he always does during flying.

[6:01pm] me:

Miss u too!!

And you mean it. You’re missing him when he’s at his dance practice, when he’s in the studio. But it has to be enough for now.

The dates he takes you for have to be in the confines of your apartment. You can’t go for a walk and hold his hand or kiss him in public. He said you needed to wait for the tour to end to discuss publicly announcing your relationship. You’re wondering what’s better: forever hiding or being judged for every step you take.

You’re a strong girl, he once told you. And you’ll continue being one. For the two teenagres on the beach smiling to the camera in the framed photo next to your TV.

However long it takes.

#jungkook smut #btswritingcafe #ksmutclub #bangtanarmynet #smutcentralnet #maknaesmutsociety #bangtanhq #btsbookclub #btswriterscollective #jungkook angst #bts smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook fanfic #my writing #lost stars

864 notes · View notes

consulaaris · 3 years

Text

star light, star bright

shepherds of haven ( @shepherds-of-haven )

red antiqua x f! MC (rhiannon vasi)

2.9k words, pre-relationship fluff

Falling is a strange thing, Red decides.

Falling in love is more so.

He’d never meant to fall, not really; it had just happened, as natural as breathing. Little by little, detail by detail, until before he knew it his heart was in so deep he couldn’t stop it if he tried. It was like he’d merely woken up one day and known. For everything that’s come easy to Red in his life, he’s never fallen often- has never opened himself fully to all that many people. Rhia was the first, all those years ago; he thinks of secret letters and laughter, and all of the stolen kisses that feel now like they were taken on borrowed time. The memories are sweet, even if tinged with the sharp ache of realizing she hadn’t felt the same.

Yet now Rhiannon has wandered right back into his life, waltzing into the space in his heart he’d never quite filled since she’d left- like the missing piece of a puzzle he hadn’t even known was incomplete.

To be fair, right now he should probably be more focused on trying not to fall off the roof of this building just outside the Shepherd’s compound than on his theoretical romantic prospects. But there’s a fire in his chest and his thoughts are running wild and Rhia’s presence ahead of him certainly isn’t helping on either front.

Red scrambles up onto the roof, wincing at the roughness of the shale on his knees, and Rhia turns to him, lips curling up in a wider grin than he’s seen from her in a while- one which he can’t help but return. “Need a hand?” she says lightly, reaching out to offer him a lift up to his feet. She’s not wearing her usual gloves, and he catches a glimpse of the jagged scars spanning the length of her hands. But her skin is calloused, cool to the touch, and he finds himself lingering, unable to resist the temptation of holding onto her for maybe a few seconds longer than he should before pulling away.

(He’s in too deep again, and he knows it; feels a truth lingering in his heart which he’s not quite yet ready to voice.)

The building whose roof they’re on isn’t particularly tall, but it’s still larger than many of the surrounding ones and the landscape of Haven unfolds before them, windows and alleys lit here and there by lamplight. It’s a city of layers that Red hasn't even begun to fully explore. Somewhere behind them, he knows, the Sun Palace lies in all its glitter and glory, but here in the night when he feels like he’s on top of the world, the Autarchy doesn’t seem to matter quite as much. The air is crisp, cold; the bitter chill of winter clinging to life even as it begins to give way to spring. Both moons are narrow crescents in a sky wreathed by thin clouds, yet though he can see the faint flickering of the stars they’re largely obscured by light emanating from the city.

But his gaze is drawn in particular to Rhiannon, silhouetted against the night as she takes in the view. Enough of a nearby streetlamp illuminates where they now stand, and its orange glow flickers across her face. Dark hair- normally kept in a loose braid- hangs in loose waves tonight, the strands teased into a gentle dance by the wind and its white streak seeming almost to glow in the dim light. She looks more at peace than he’s seen her in a long time.

“Beautiful,” Red says quietly. He’s not entirely sure what he’s referring to.

Rhia turns, but doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “Isn’t it?” A rueful expression crosses her face. “I used to come here a lot in the beginning, when I was first conscripted. I needed my own space to think.”

It takes him a moment to process that. “You were conscripted?” The words leave his mouth before he can stop to think, and though he curses himself inwardly for ruining the moment Red’s not sure he’s able to keep the note of surprise from entering his voice. He’d always thought that she’d joined willingly, and nothing she or any of the other Shepherds had said had indicated otherwise.

She winces. “I… yes.” Rhia’s mouth tightens slightly at the admission, and he can see the rest of her body tensing. “The Inquisitors would’ve killed me otherwise. I’d used magic to save Caine-” her expression softens slightly at the mention of the boy “-but declined to join the Shepherds after they’d taken me to their compound, and those dogs were waiting for me as soon as I’d left.” Although Rhia’s voice is light, he knows her well enough to know that that’s a facade. Gone is the relaxation of her previous posture; trembling hands bely the emotions she tries so hard to conceal, but there’s a vaguely defiant set to her shoulders, a glint in those stormy eyes- like she’s on the defensive, justifying her actions not just to him, but to herself. There's a sharp hurt in his chest as she realizes that she’s scared.

Red opens his mouth to respond, to reassure Rhia that he doesn’t blame her, that he doesn’t think any less of her for it, when she speaks again in a rush.

“I’d like to think I would’ve gone back to them, joined up later. But I guess we’ll never know.” A laugh bubbles out of her, sounding more desperate than amused.

“You would have,” Red says earnestly, stepping forward to take her hands in his. “I know it.” Of that he’s certain, because if he knows Rhiannon at all, he knows she cares. Even if it seems like she’d tried so hard to bury that part of herself over the years they’d been apart; even if it seems like she’s still burying it, sometimes.

“Maybe,” she whispers, looking down at their hands. Something in her feels fragile, small, an expression fixed on her face that reminds him of broken glass. All at once she’s the Rhiannon he knew and someone else entirely; she’s sharper now, quieter- all lines and angles and expressions that are oh so strange, yet achingly familiar. He knows what would’ve helped Rhia then.

He’s not as sure he knows what would help her now.

It’s harder to tell than it used to be, since she’s wrapped herself in that angry mask, since she’s hidden herself away beneath layers upon layers he’s only just begun to unravel again. And though Red’s seen deeper than most, he thinks, there’s… something still hidden. Something new just under the surface of her, like she’s full of secrets that seem to be eating her alive.

Or maybe it’d been there this whole time, and he just hadn’t been able to see it. (He’s not quite able to suppress the lump of guilt that rises in his throat at the thought.)

Red just hopes she’ll share it with someone someday. Even if not him, if only to ease the burden on herself.

“You’re with them now, though- and that’s what matters, right?” He pauses, searching for the right words. Gray eyes cling to his every move like he’s a lifeline in the night. “We just have to do the best with what we have, and make the best of the choices we’ve already made. It doesn’t make you a bad person. I think you’re a very good person, as a matter of fact.”

Rhia shakes her head once, as if in vague disagreement, and a few strands of dark hair fall into her eyes before she brushes them back again, swallowing thickly. “I just… I want to do something good, y’know? For once.” Red feels his brow furrow at her wording, can’t help but wonder. But he must not be as good at hiding his reactions from her as he’d hoped because a wry smile crosses her face.

“I’m sorry. I ruined the mood, didn’t I?”

“Never,” he says, the corners of his lips tugging up in a crooked grin- chasing his curious thoughts away as he brushes his thumb across her cheek. “A moment with you could never be ruined.” (A brief moment of internal panic hits him like a jolt when he realizes how that sounds, but the expression on her face is soft enough to make his heart beat just a little too fast. And when his smile is rewarded with a small one in reply... he can’t bring himself to regret having said it.)

She lets out a shaky breath, one Red hadn’t realized she’d been holding. It feels like a weight has been lifted off of Rhiannon, but there’s a tension that lingers between the two of them, so thick it seems like he could reach out and cut it with a knife. He can see it in the set of her shoulders, feel it in the grip of his hands on hers, the look in her too-bright eyes, and her lips part as though she’s about to say something more.

But then Rhia shivers.

Her whole body jerks slightly with the force of it, pulling her hands away from his, and he can sense rather than see her surprise that mirrors his own. An instant of silence passes between them as their eyes meet… and suddenly they’re both keeled over laughing, the tension shattered and given an outlet by the suddenness and unexpectedness of the motion. It’s not funny, it really isn’t, but it’s the nature of people to do strange things under stress and so they laugh until they run out of breath, only to look at each other and succumb to the peculiar hilarity of it all over again. Spots of color bloom high in Rhiannon’s pale cheeks, her head tossed back even as she tries to cover her mouth to suppress her giggling (and if there’s something that looks suspiciously like tears glistening in the corners of those lovely gray eyes, Red decides he’s not going to press the matter).

When he’s finally calmed down enough to speak, Red grins at her from where he’s half bent over with his hands on his knees, his chest sore from their fits of laughter. “You always have run cold, haven’t you?” he says teasingly.

Rhia glares at him playfully, but the pout on her lips is easily overtaken by a smile of amusement and another chuckle. “Some things never change.”

A lot of things, Red thinks. But he merely settles himself down to the roof, beckoning Rhia towards where he’s now sitting. She complies, but frowns as he opens his cloak in an offer to share.

“I’m not-”

“You’re not what? Not cold?” He raises an eyebrow. “I think you clearly proved the contrary just a minute or so ago.”

Watching Rhia’s face go completely scarlet is probably more satisfying than it should be, but Red can’t stop the little smirk that grows on his face as she splutters in protest. “That’s not true! I just-” she falters at Red’s expression, her resignation punctuated by another shiver “-fine. Fine. You win.” Still grumbling, she scooches herself closer until they’re practically huddled together, the cloak wrapped around them. Despite wearing her own cloak and even a knitted scarf- one he’s sure he saw Caine buying not so long ago- Red’s surprised at how cold to the touch Rhiannon is still (even if having her pressed to his side has him feeling warmer than ever).

“See, isn’t this better?” he says teasingly, and though Rhia makes a little face at him, still blushing, she doesn’t deny it. He’s reminded suddenly of all those nights at the Circle when they’d snuck off to the rooftops or the lake, and how easy things had been then. How strangely difficult they feel now. It’s hard to resist the urge to put his arm around her; part of Red wants to hold Rhia, pull her close until there’s nothing left between them and he’s lost in the touch of her skin and the heady lavender-and-snow scent of her. But the more logical side of him shies away. Red has always been confident in his relationships, but he knows all too well how this ended last time.

Not like his heart has ever listened to logic, though.

Unaware of his internal struggle, Rhia’s gaze shifts upwards, a little sigh escaping her. “I know it’s just part and parcel of living in a city as big as Haven is, but I do wish we could see the stars better. That’s one thing I miss.”

An idea lights itself in Red’s mind and he purses his lips, tilting his head slightly to the side in consideration. “Well, it's not the stars, but…” He lifts his hand up, palm raised to the sky, and a little mage light appears there. Then another. One by one the sparkling lights- in faint shades of gold, and white, and red, and blue- rise into the air around them, held aloft by the power of Red’s concentration. Glittering around them in various sizes and pulsing with a gentle glow, amidst the lights it seems for a moment like they’re sitting in their own personal galaxy. Just the two of them in their own little world, their own set of stars. Rhia’s lips are parted ever so slightly as she takes in the scene, eyes wide in an expression of wonder- and when she turns to him she’s brimming with an emotion he can’t quite interpret, peering at him as if maybe he holds the answers of the galaxies in his eyes.

“Show off,” she whispers affectionately. There’s something almost painfully fond in her gaze, in her voice.

Red doesn’t even bother to deny it, but it doesn’t curb the smile on his face as he winks at her. Yet while Rhia’s attention returns to the lights dancing slowly above them, enraptured by their glow… his focus is entirely on her. And when Red looks at her, really looks at her, it crosses his mind that maybe some of the worlds he’s been trying so hard to find are right here next to him, hidden away in a heart for which he hasn’t quite yet found the key. Something builds, aches, growing in his heart and throat until he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he wants to learn the shape of her all over again, relearn every little piece of her he’d already known and more. Even if there’s the fear he’s going to get burned, again every instinct of his urges him to reach out, to hold her close. But he refrains. For now. Time is one thing they have, and he’s never been one to rush the important things.

(His heart sings with the quiet joy of it, the quiet hope.)

Lost together in the silence they sit with no need for words between them. Eventually Red lets the mage lights fade from existence, winking out one by one until they’re left just with the soft half-darkness of the city and the warmth of each other. Rhia leans into him ever so slightly. He swallows nervously, but though he doesn’t- can’t- look at her then, keeping his gaze fixed towards the sky, he can’t keep his lips from curving upwards. The breeze sweeps his hair back from his forehead, and he inhales deeply- relishing this, relishing the moment like some fragile thing he’s not sure will last.

Movement at the edge of his vision causes him to frown, turning a little to better make out whatever it is, and when he does Red’s mouth opens in a perfect “o”.

“It’s a shooting star! Quick, make a wish,” he says, grinning, and he feels Rhiannon stirring at his side. The star’s movement is faint but clear across the sky and they trace its path until it disappears beyond the horizon, although the sense of elation Red feels at having seen it remains. Maybe it’s a little silly, but there’s a sense of childlike wonder that fills him at such a small thing, and it feels… fitting, for tonight.

“What did you wish for?” he says cheekily, turning towards Rhia (who merely stares at him with one eyebrow raised, unimpressed).

“You know you’re not supposed to tell your wish,” she sniffs. “Otherwise it won’t come true.”

“Ah, so it’s something you really want, huh?”

She rolls her eyes, shoving his shoulder playfully, and the familiarity of the gesture warms him. “Would I have wished for it if I didn’t?”

Red laughs then, and she joins in, and again it’s just the two of them in their little bubble above the city, just the two of them like he’d once hoped it would be. And he knows they’ll have to rejoin the rest of the world, that it’ll have to be soon because he can feel the heaviness of sleep tugging at his body, but in that moment he doesn’t really want to.

Something in tonight has made it all feel a bit like a new beginning- because though he doesn’t say it aloud, he knows what he wished for, tucks it away in his heart until the time is right.

Part of him can’t help but hope that maybe, just maybe, Rhia had wished for the very same thing.

#shepherds of haven #shoh #shoh mc #red antiqua #red x mc #shepherds of haven fanfiction #rae writes #oc: rhiannon vasi #otp: rhiannon/red #this whole thing is just incredibly self indulgent pre-relationship fluff aslkfhsljjs #BUT it is the second longest thing i've written since 2017 so i shall take it <3 #rhia & red live in my head rent free i cannot change this #i’m not sure how in character red is but i tried asdfghjkdgjj

43 notes · View notes

just-another-self-shipper · 2 years

Note

Hey Carmen.😀

For the ask game: dahlia, marigold, orchid and hydrangea for Randall?

I gotta go with the obvious, the one that his tag came from

Any one where he's sitting.

Maybe it's weird, but I think the way he sits is cute 🥺

Yes, he's my favorite character. Dean Hardscrabble from Monsters University is a close second because I may or may not have a crush on her, even though centipedes terrify me

Before I do, let me just say that I have more heart cells than brain cells, so I'll add any love song I hear to my self-ship playlists. Also, quite a few of them are explicit. More than I thought, anyway 🤣

El Sueño - Linda Ronstadt

Just The Two Of Us - Grover Washington Jr.

Don't Go Breaking My Heart - Elton John and Kiki Dee

Can You Feel The Love Tonight? - Elton John

The World - Brad Paisley

That's What I Like - Bruno Mars

My Boyfriend's Back - The Angels

Poison - Alice Cooper

Monster - Lady Gaga

Teeth - Lady Gaga

I'm A Believer - The Monkees

Deeper Than The Holler - Randy Travis

I Touch Myself - The Divinyls

Fast Cars And Freedom - Rascal Flatts

To Know Him Is To Love Him - Dolly Parton, Linda Ronstadt, and Emmylou Harris

Dreaming Of You - Selena

Paparazzi - Lady Gaga

More Than Words/ Heaven Isn't Too Far Away - Julianne Hough and Diego Boneta

Without Question - Elton John

I Love You For Sentimental Reasons - Linda Ronstadt

Can You Feel The Love Tonight - Lion King Soundtrack

Right Here Waiting - Richard Marx

Summer Nights - Grease Soundtrack

Unchained Melody - The Righteous Brothers

My Baby Loves Me - Martina McBride

The Real You - Three Days Grace

Happy Together - The Turtles

The Name Of The Game - ABBA

Crazy He Calls Me - Natalie Cole

Suki Suki Daisuki - Jun Togawa

Can't Help Falling In Love - Elvis Presley

Peppermint Creams - Ninja Sex Party

Flawless - Studio Killers

All I Ask Of You - Patrick Wilson and Emmy Rossum

Is This Love? - Bob Marley

Somebody Like You - Keith Urban

Total Eclipse Of The Heart - Bonnie Tyler

The Shoop Shoop Song - Betty Everett

Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You - Frankie Valli

Ain't No Woman (Like The One I Got) - Four Tops

Mambo No. 5 (A Little Bit Of Monica) - Lou Bega

Love Is A Crime - Anastacia

Just The Way You Are - Bruno Mars

The Way You Look Tonight - Tony Bennett

How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You) - James Taylor

Let's Get It On - Marvin Gaye

Fever - Varrick Frost and Lawrence Lea

I Got You, Babe - Sonny and Cher

Breathe - Faith Hill

(You Make Me Feel Like) A Natural Woman - Aretha Franklin

Jake + Olive - Mac Lethal

My Girl - The Temptations

Digital Love - Daft Punk

For Once In My Life - Stevie Wonder

I Want To Know What Love Is - Tom Cruise and Malin Ackerman

The Way You Love Me - Faith Hill

Flowers and Beads - Iron Butterfly

At Last - Etta James

I Can't Help Myself (Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch) - Four Tops

Just One Look - Linda Ronstadt

(What A) Wonderful World - Sam Cooke

Glory Of Love - Ninja Sex Party

Kiss From A Rose - Seal

Heart Boner (Part II Of The Boner Trilogy) - Ninja Sex Party

Te Amo Y Más - Gustavo Santaolalla and Diego Luna

Quiereme Mucho - Linda Ronstadt

I Love You Too Much - Gustavo Santaolalla and Diego Luna

Creep - Radiohead

Someday, We'll Be Together - Diana Ross

True Colours - Studio Killers

In Der Stille Der Nacht - OOMPH!

I Put A Spell On You - Queen Latifah

Time Of Dying - Three Days Grace

Kiss From A Rose - Dan Avidan and the Super Guitar Brothers

Closer - Nine Inch Nails

Reunited - Peaches & Herb

Lonely Rolling Star - Gamechops

Waterloo - ABBA

T.L.C. A.S.A.P. - Alabama

Stirb Nicht Vor Mir (Don't Die Before I Do) - Rammstein

...Baby One More Time - Britney Spears

Rock You Like A Hurricane - Julianne Hough and Tom Cruise

FYI I Wanna F Your A - Ninja Sex Party

Endless Love - Lionel Richie and Diana Ross

All My Life - Linda Ronstadt and Aaron Neville

Can't Fight This Feeling - REO Speedwagon

Te Quiero Dijiste - Linda Ronstadt

Thanks for the ask, @goldie90 ^^

#ask game #🦎: reunited and it feels so good

3 notes · View notes

yeojaa · 4 years

Text

( GHOST IN MY BED. )

Sometimes, hating someone is the only thing you can do.

pairing. jjk x named f!reader. jhs x named f!reader makes a lil (big) appearance.

genre + rating. rockstar!au. e2l (exes n enemies!). angst. general.

tags / warnings. this starts surprisingly soft! and then it gets... sad. no real tags, though. just... mentions of butts? also kicking butts? jungkook is a bit of a manipulative dingus. the usual.

beta reader(s). @hobi-gif and @periminkle! i would be nothing without them. 💛

wc. 2.7k

chapter two.

“Are you okay?”

It’s a question that doesn’t beg an answer. He already knows you aren’t - that there’s no way you possibly could be - but he asks anyway. He offers the words like a hand in the dark, a light on the horizon. A reminder that you’re not alone and he’s here.

He, with sunbeams in his smile and a dependable heartbeat. He, who is melted and never frozen, a calm sea to your raging storm. Jung Hoseok.

He holds you delicately, with utmost care, as if he’s worried you might shatter into the same pieces he’d found you in three years ago. Or worse. He cradles you to his chest, tracing stories into your skin; his fingers press against the brassy ladders of your rib cage, fitting care between the spaces and double checking your heart still beats there. Every beat reminds him that you’re stronger than he gives you credit for. He offers his support anyway.

“I’m…” The words don’t come. They’re barely realised, hardly tangible - sailors who’ve died with no names or wives.

You falter, just a little, where gold thread fails. There’s only so much someone can take.

It isn’t asked of him - it never is - but he does it anyway: catching the splinters in his hands. He pretends like they don’t hurt him just as much and the truth is, they don’t. He’s faced enough hurt that yours is nothing - simply a stroll through a rose garden, barely a blip on his radar. So he does this for you, because he can and he really doesn’t mind.

Where he’s able, he fills the cracks with the glory of his smile, with passes of his hands and lips and breath. He does his best to keep you from catching your hands on those sharp edges - turning them round with a trail of tenderness against your temple. Then another. Then one more. Touches passed in tandem with the tears that spill from your eyes, far too full to stop. “It’s okay. Take your time.”

He’s not going anywhere.

You apologise and hope the saltwater doesn’t rust your insides that he’s worked so carefully to scrub clean. The downpour continues, relentless and miserable. He waits and for that, you’re grateful.

“I didn’t think it would be that hard.” Not quite true. You’d expected it to be worse - an entire blackhole devouring your universe. It still hurts more than it should.

Hoseok laughs. It isn’t cruel. It exists only in sound and even then, hardly at all.

“Did you think it would be easy?”

“Not easy.” Different, maybe. A pain less sharp. Pressure on a healing bruise rather than a festering wound that’s been poorly, wrongly stitched together. You didn’t get it - you’d had time to heal. Why was there still this cut-out in the centre of your heart, shaped exactly like Jungkook and torn around the edges?

“Did you think he’d changed?”

It feels silly to say yes. It feels sillier to lie. “Maybe.”

He tries again. “Did you believe he would’ve changed?”

Had you hoped for it? Wasted wishes on pennies and stars? “Yes.”

“Vi.” So soft you almost miss it, coloured in melancholy and sympathy. You’ve heard it enough times to recognise what follows. From Hoseok and your brother and your best friend. “You need to let him go.” You know he’s right. More than that, you know he cares. He doesn’t want to see the same shell of a girl from years ago - a house without any lights on inside.

“I’m trying.” You are, truly. You’d left, hadn’t you? Not once but twice! Two whole times.

You’d never thought you would.

“I know.” Hoseok is kind - kinder than you could ever hope to be. Stronger, too. You feel it in the way he holds you, keeps you afloat when you’re so close to being pulled under. “Just know I’m here.”

You can’t count how many times you’ve said it. You repeat it again, earnest and heartfelt. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me.” It means more than the words, more than it’s fine . It’s everything in between, unspoken but understood. It’s his way of reminding you that you - exactly as you are, a little broken and bruised - are everything you need. That you are exactly as you should be, with the people that love you most.

“What would I do without you?” You can’t quite picture it. You don’t want to.

The arms holding you tighten, warm grip holding you tight against his chest. His lips are dry upon your cheek, his breath ticklish over the shell of your ear. “You’d be fine,” he insists, so assured you can’t help but believe him. “Colder, probably, but you’d be just fine.”

You laugh for the first time since you’ve been in his bed, the sound still a little wet but far better than it was. More you, with sunshine peeking out from behind the rain clouds.

“You really think so?”

“I know so.”

You peer at him from your periphery, reminded once again of how lucky you are. You might’ve had your heart broken but it was whole again, if not a little worse for wear.

His was gone - buried six feet under.

You can’t help yourself. “Really, Hobi. Thank you.”

“What’d I say?” It’s a little huffy - all for dramatic effect, you know.

“I know but—”

“No buts.”

“But—”

“No buts!” You catch the look of mischief before you catch something else - a playful palm that lands with a quiet smack. “Unless it’s yours.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re laughing, so who’s really the winner here?”

He might think it’s him, but you know it’s you. Because he’s everything you’ve ever imagined. Calm, cool, collected. Shoulders carved from boulders and a heart made of pure gold. He’s the solid foundation you’d never thought you’d needed but that steadies you now - a reliable foundation for the home you’ve been rebuilding. A friend who gives everything and asks for nothing.

You wonder if you’ll ever be able to repay him.

Don’t bother, you know he’d say. It’s nothing, he’d insist. You’ll still try.

“Let’s eat.” You beat him to it, tossing whatever words he’d levied out the window as you extract yourself from the tangle of his limbs and linen sheets. His expression shifts - swings from pouting at the loss of your body to delighted at the prospect of food in the span of three seconds - and he’s kicking his way to freedom alongside you.

“Should I make pancakes? Or are you in a waffle mood?”

Truthfully, you’re in a drown-your-sorrows-in-wine mood but you figure at ten in the morning, carbs might be the better option. Especially if they come in the form of his chocolate banana pancakes, third on your list of favourite comfort foods. “Pancakes.”

“Pancakes it is, then.”

The shirt he pulls on falls mostly into place before he offers a hand to you, one of his various hoodies - baby blue with Supreme emblazoned across the front - held in the other. “Put this on and let’s get cookin’, good lookin’.”

Your brother joins the two of you for breakfast, the temptation of free food too strong - even for him. He shuffles out of his bedroom, a sleepwalking zombie that only perks up at the smell of coffee and sizzling bacon. He steals a piece before it’s even fully done, jumping out of the way of your wayward chopsticks when he nearly leaves a trail of pork fat over the counter.

Knives and forks clatter across kitchenware and steam curls out of ceramic. Caught in this little piece of Sunday morning paradise, it’s easy to imagine this is just another day.

“How’re you doing?” It comes around a careful mouthful of batter and chocolate chips, Yoongi’s expression soft and expectant across the table. There’s no hesitation in his question, even as Hoseok shifts in his seat beside you, free hand dropping to rest - inconspicuously - over your knee.

Yoongi notes the motion with an imperceptible tick of his stare but says nothing. It’s an unspoken agreement between the three of you.

If you don’t acknowledge it, it doesn’t exist.

“I’m…” The words fall short, yet again, but none of you are in a rush. The quiet sound of chewing fills the void until you’re able to, in your soft and measured way. “I’m okay. I’ll be okay.” That’s what matters.

He hums an acknowledgement before digging further into his plate, slicing through a perfectly cooked yolk with the edge of his knife. “You’re not going to see him again, right?” You can tell he’s trying to be conversational - ask without demanding, understand without judging. You know it’s hard for him. It’d be hard for you too, if the roles were reversed.

“No.”

It’s punctuated by a squeeze of your thigh and the tiniest nod from the corner of your eye. Hoseok knows it isn’t his place to butt in but he offers his support where he can, in the little ways you can’t miss. Like the sun in the sky, you can’t always see him, but you know he’s there.

“Good.” The relief is palpable, fully formed and bright as it pops off Yoongi’s tongue in a pronounced exhale.

You can’t help but smile, though you’re not entirely sure it meets your eyes. It’s hard to remain chipper when faced with your nightmares. If only you could leave them in bed, far away. “Don’t worry.”

“You’re my little sister - I have to.”

You catch the grin that forms across Hoseok’s mouth, heart-shaped and hidden behind the rim of his coffee cup. “She’ll be fine, hyung.” It takes a lot for him to say it but you appreciate that he does. Sometimes, it feels like you and Yoongi are fighting over the wrong things; he recentres you both when that happens.

Feline eyes train on you, indecipherable in their depth. The bond you share with your brother is unparalleled, despite the oft forgotten fact that you aren’t actual siblings but a chosen family. You sometimes wonder if you’d be able to read him better if you shared the same coding - if his thoughts might slip into yours one day. Not that it’s necessary. He’s always been honest with you. “I know she will. She’s strong.”

“Thanks, Yoongs.”

He nods - a short, curt thing that’s diffused by the way his mouth moves, lips curling into the peculiar gummy smile he’s had since he was a kid. “Just know if he comes within ten feet of you again, I’ll kick his ass.” With the laughter that sprouts around his words, it could easily be mistaken for a joke. A bit of nonsense between friends.

You know better, though. Yoongi would throttle Jungkook with his bare hands if he ever hurt you again. He’d told you enough times, drilled it into your mind that first year when he’d had to pick up all the pieces. You can’t blame him; they’d hurt him, too, just in different ways.

You’d lost the love of your life. He’d almost lost his little sister. It was hard to come back from that.

“I know you will.” Because while decidedly slimmer - a good, maybe, thirty pounds less than your former love - Yoongi would, with no doubt in your mind, obliterate the boy who’d done the same to your heart. It was a family thing.

“Does he know that, too?”

You’re sure Jungkook does. He’d be stupid not to, right? “Yeah.”

“Good.”

It’s a whole three days later when you realise how wrong you are and how stupid Jeon Jungkook is.

The familiar number flashes a total of four times, glaring up at you like a neon sign that demands your attention. Even when you blink, they’re seared against the back of your eyelids - a highlight reel of your worst moments encapsulated in a simple ten digits.

Letting the calls ring through, untouched, is almost impossible. You can do it, though. You know you can.

You repeat that over and over again until the vibrating stops and the screen is black.

That wasn’t so hard, you think.

Then the missed call reminders are replaced by a voicemail notification and all of your pride sinks like a weight to the bottom of your stomach. Unease bubbles up in its place, fizzles and snaps - a movie theatre fountain pop. You hate pop.

Deleting the message without listening to it is what you should do. Pretending like it never happened is what Yoongi would want you to do. Neither of those things happen.

You know you’re going to regret it the moment you press play and his voice fills your ears, reaching all the way into your chest as if that’s where it belongs. You only repeat it for a second time because you’re not sure you’ve heard right. You can’t believe the words he’s left.

But Jungkook is Jungkook and you really shouldn’t be surprised.

After all, he certainly isn’t when you swing open the front door. In fact, he’s almost smug, cheeks pressed into that heartbreaking smile of his. Even the cuts on his nose and his bruised eye do little to detract from the charm of it. He could wear a brown paper bag and he’d still, somehow, have your heart racing a mile a minute.

“Hi, Pumpkin.”

You barely react when he closes the distance and pops a sweet, chaste peck to your forehead. You don’t know how to react.

It’s like having a bomb dropped on you - a cataclysmic shift that tips your entire world on its side and leaves you scrambling for purchase on a tilted axis. All at once, everything returns to revolving directly around the boy standing in front of you.

Just as he had three years ago - how he almost had, only three days ago - Jungkook becomes the centre.

The realisation is sobering, startling you into action.

“What are you doing here?”

He blinks once, twice, doe-eyed and adorable. It’s impossible not to see what he’s doing - see right through the facade he crafts so well, with such practiced hands. It’s even harder not to fall for it.

You’d thought you wanted nothing to do with him - not since he’d bumbled his way through his last lie, too guilty to even properly correct the mistake he’d made. You’d been certain that would be the final straw. Hoped it would be, with every last tired breath.

“I wanted to see you.”

He looks so pretty on the outside. A picture perfect dream come true, plucked straight from your afternoon fantasies. The boy you’ve wished for forever, wrapped up in hyperactive laughter and black silk.

But you know he’ll break you from the inside out, turn your heart to ash. He’ll articulate his love in the form of unnecessary bouquets and drunken voicemails that come too late. He’ll disappear for weeks at a time then come crawling back, begging for your help as if he hasn’t tripped over his own two feet. You’ll be too weak to say no, wrapping him in the bandages you should be keeping for yourself.

You know all of this - and yet you wait, hope, pray , that this time might be different.

You wonder if he can tell. If he can still read you in the ways he used to, between the lines and in the dark. You think he must by how he stares at you, relentless and restless, searching your expression for any sign of forgiveness.

“Pumpkin?” If words held weight, you’d be crushed beneath it.

“You can’t just… come here.” Where I have nowhere to run.

Jungkook shifts his weight, dances from foot to foot. He’s peering down at his shoes - Italian leather, polished within an inch of their life - mouth rounding in that pout you recognise so well. “You want me to leave?”

Don’t answer that.

“I’ll leave. Just tell me to go.”

Tell him. It’s one word. Hardly a feat.

“Vira, tell me to leave and I’ll go.”

You can’t. You can’t. There’s no anger now - nothing to spring you to your feet in a fit of rage. It’s only sadness, all-encompassing and blue, enough to swallow you whole and spit you out. It’s so heavy it aches in your bones and all the way through to your toes.

“Tell me to leave — or let me in. One or the other.”

author note. another short chapter but one that lays some important groundwork. further pain will be forthcoming! xoxo

tag list. @jalexa83 @aa-ronpa @kookiesbreaky @celestialflamefairy @xjoonchildx

249 notes · View notes

pooma-bible · 8 months

Text

Greetings in the matchless Name of our Lord Jesus Christ.

VISION 04: The Eternity of God: The New Heavens and Earth and the New Jerusalem (Part 02) – The New Jerusalem, The City of God (Part A): Its Description!

Rhema Word: Revelation 21:9-11 (NKJV) “Then one of the seven angels who had the seven bowls filled with the seven last plagues came to me and talked with me, saying, “Come, I will show you the bride, the Lamb’s wife.” And he carried me away in the Spirit to a great and high mountain, and showed me the great city, the holy Jerusalem, descending out of heaven from God, having the glory of God. Her light was like a most precious stone, like a jasper stone, clear as crystal.”

We have been meditating this great chapter of Revelation in following three parts, from last week:

VISION 04: The Eternity of God: The New Heavens and Earth and the New Jerusalem (Part 01) – The New Heavens and Earth and the New Jerusalem!

VISION 04: The Eternity of God: The New Heavens and Earth and the New Jerusalem (Part 02) – The New Jerusalem, The City of God (Part A): Its Description!

VISION 04: The Eternity of God: The New Heavens and Earth and the New Jerusalem (Part 03) – The New Jerusalem, The City of God (Part B): Its Citizens and Provisions!

The new heavens and earth will have a capital city, a specific place where the presence of God will be centered and where the Lord Jesus Christ will live and rule the universe. Scripture gives us the city’s name: it is the New Jerusalem. Actually, Scripture gives several names by which the capital city will be known (a)The New Jerusalem; (b) The Heavenly Jerusalem; (c) The Holy City; (d) Holy Jerusalem; (e) The City of My God; and (f) The Great City.

We have meditated the First Part last week. Let us try to meditate on the Second part VISION 04: The Eternity of God: The New Heavens and Earth and the New Jerusalem (Part 02) – The New Jerusalem, The City of God (Part A): Its Description! on the following, with the help of our Holy Spirit, today:

(1) The Last Vision Given to John:

(2) The Glory of the City:

(3) The City’s Walls: Perfect Security:

(4) The City’s Twelve Gates:

(5) The City’s Twelve Foundations: The Names of the Apostles are Inscribed in them:

(6) The City’s Shape and Size:

(7) The City’s Materials are Precious and Priceless:

(8) The City’s Worship is Focused Upon God Himself and the Lamb:

(9) The City’s Light is Provided by God’s Glory and the Lamb:

(1) The Last Vision Given to John:

The Bible says in Revelation 21:9-10 “Then one of the seven angels who had the seven bowls filled with the seven last plagues came to me and talked with me, saying, “Come, I will show you the bride, the Lamb’s wife.” And he carried me away in the Spirit to a great and high mountain, and showed me the great city, the holy Jerusalem, descending out of heaven from God.”

This is the last vision that God gives John, and it is the most glorious of visions. God shows John the New Jerusalem, the great city of God that will be the capital city of the new heavens and earth in the recreated universe. Note who it is that God sends to take John the city: one of the seven angels who had cast one of the bowl judgements upon the earth. There is symbolism in this: God has a message of warning for the earth – judgement is coming. But God also has a message of hope and glory for the earth: the New Jerusalem, the city of God’s very own presence, is also coming to earth; and every person can live with God in the glory of that city. Citizenship is available to all if they will believe in the Son of God, the Lord Jesus Christ, and seek to live in the city with God and His Son.

The angel carries John away in the spirit to a high mountain and shows him the glorious city of God. Eight descriptions are given.

(2) The Glory of the City:

The Bible says in Revelation 21:11 “It shone with the glory of God, and its brilliance was like that of a very precious jewel, like a jasper, clear as crystal.”

There is the glory of the city. The glory is the very glory of God Himself.

The glory of God gives light to the whole city. God’s glory is full of so much light and shines so brightly there is no need for the sun nor for any other heavenly body to give the city light. Just imagine the power and radiance of God’s glory – so bright that it is more forceful than the laser beams of light flowing from the sun! It is the glory of God that gives light to the city.

=> The glory of God shines all throughout the city, the city shines and has a sparkling sheen to it.

=> The city shines like the green of a jasper, but it is as clear as crystal.

=> The glory of God glitters off the city as though the buildings are crystal clear – everything glitters in the most beautiful green of the jasper.

Lesson: If you have ever walked in a mountain forest when everything is covered with ice from an ice storm, you have walked in the midst of a crystal ice palace. Everything sparkles and glitters – the green needles of the pines, the bare branches of the trees, the small branches and trunks of the saplings, the bushes close to the ground, the leaves lying on the ground. As the glory of the sun strikes the mountain forest, the ice crystals that cover everything in the forest sparkle and glitter just like a crystal ice palace. This is one of the most beautiful sights on earth, a crystal ice forest. Imagine how beautiful the green jasper glistering off the ice crystals would be. This is a faint idea of the sparkle and glitter of the glory of God throughout the crystal-clear city of God.

The Bible says in Luke 2:9; Acts 7:55; Psalm 19:1 “An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified.” … “But Stephen, full of the Holy Spirit, looked up to heaven and saw the glory of God, and Jesus standing at the right hand of God.” … “The heavens declare the glory of God; the skies proclaim the work of his hands.”

Apostle Paul says in 2 Corinthians 3:18 “And we all, who with unveiled faces contemplate the Lord’s glory, are being transformed into his image with ever-increasing glory, which comes from the Lord, who is the Spirit.”

(3) The City’s Walls: Perfect Security:

The Bible says in Revelation 21:12 “It had a great, high wall with twelve gates, and with twelve angels at the gates. On the gates were written the names of the twelve tribes of Israel.”

There are the city’s walls (v.12). The walls are great and very high. The idea is that of protection, of perfect security. When believers reach the Heavenly Jerusalem, they will be behind the walls of perfection. They will be secure from all the evil and enemies of the physical world.

Our Lord Jesus Christ says in John 17:11 “I will remain in the world no longer, but they are still in the world, and I am coming to you. Holy Father, protect them by the power of your name, the name you gave me, so that they may be one as we are one.”

Apostle Paul says in 2 Timothy 1:12; 4:18 “That is why I am suffering as I am. Yet this is no cause for shame, because I know whom I have believed, and am convinced that he is able to guard what I have entrusted to him until that day.” … “The Lord will rescue me from every evil attack and will bring me safely to his heavenly kingdom. To him be glory for ever and ever. Amen.”

Apostle Peter says in 1 Peter 1:5 “Who through faith are shielded by God’s power until the coming of the salvation that is ready to be revealed in the last time.”

The Bible says in Jude 1:24-25 “To him who is able to keep you from stumbling and to present you before his glorious presence without fault and with great joy— to the only God our Savior be glory, majesty, power, and authority, through Jesus Christ our Lord, before all ages, now and forevermore! Amen.”

(4) The City’s Twelve Gates:

The Bible says in Revelation 21:12-13 “It had a great, high wall with twelve gates, and with twelve angels at the gates. On the gates were written the names of the twelve tribes of Israel. There were three gates on the east, three on the north, three on the south and three on the west.”

There are the city’s twelve gates (v12-13). Three things are said about the gates.

(i) The gates have the names of the twelve tribes of Israel upon them. This symbolises that the only way to come to God is through the Messiah of the twelve tribes, the Messiah of Jews, the Lord Jesus Christ. Scripture says in John 4:22 “Salvation is from the Jews” (John 4:22). God sent His salvation, His own Son, into the world through the Jews. Therefore, the entrance into the Heavenly Jerusalem is only through the Messiah of the Jewish nation. No person can enter the heavenly city unless he comes through the gates of salvation provided by God.

Our Lord Jesus Christ said in John 4:22; 3:16; 6:35; 67-68; 14:6 “You Samaritans worship what you do not know; we worship what we do know, for salvation is from the Jews.” … “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.” … “Then Jesus declared, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never go hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.” … “You do not want to leave too, do you?” Jesus asked the Twelve. Simon Peter answered him, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.” … “Jesus answered, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.”

The Bible says in Acts 4:12; Hebrews 8:6; 9:15; 24; 12:24 “Salvation is found in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given to mankind by which we must be saved.” … “But now He has obtained a more excellent ministry, inasmuch as He is also Mediator of a better covenant, which was established on better promises.” … “For this reason, Christ is the mediator of a new covenant, that those who are called may receive the promised eternal inheritance—now that He has died as a ransom to set them free from the sins committed under the first covenant.” … “For Christ did not enter a sanctuary made with human hands that was only a copy of the true one; He entered heaven itself, now to appear for us in God’s presence.” … “To Jesus the mediator of a new covenant, and to the sprinkled blood that speaks a better word than the blood of Abel.”

(ii) The gates are guarded by twelve angels: this symbolizes that the entrance to the city is protected. No person is allowed to enter the city unless they are approved by God. A person can enter only if he comes through the salvation that God gave through Israel, through His own Son, the Lord Jesus Christ.

(iii) There three gates on each of the four walls of the city, twelve gates altogether. Every direction on earth has three gates:

=> The east has three gates.

=> The north has three gates.

=> The south has three gates.

=> The west has three gates.

This symbolizes that everyone on earth is invited to enter the city. There is a wall that faces everyone in the east, and everyone in the north, and everyone in the south, and everyone in the west. And there are three gates facing everyone. Everyone on earth can enter the city. There is no discrimination or prejudice, no partiality or favouritism shown by God. All can come and live as citizens of the city. The only requirement is that they come through the Messiah, the Saviour of the world, the Lord Jesus Christ.

The Bible says in Acts 10:35; Romans 1:16; Galatians 3:28 “But in every nation whoever fears Him and works righteousness is accepted by Him.” … “For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ, for it is the power of God to salvation for everyone who believes, for the Jew first and also for the Greek.” … “There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is neither male nor female; for you are all one in Christ Jesus.”

(5) The City’s Twelve Foundations: The Names of the Apostles are Inscribed in them:

The Bible says in Revelation 21:14 “Now the wall of the city had twelve foundations, and on them were the names of the twelve apostles of the Lamb.”

There are the city’s twelve foundations (v.14). They have the names of the twelve apostles inscribed upon them. Note: the twelve apostles are clearly identified as the apostles “of the Lamb”. This means that the foundation of the city is the testimony of the twelve apostles, the testimony that declares Jesus Christ to be the Lamb of God. It is the sacrificial death of Jesus Christ as the lamb of God that makes the city available to people.

=> Unless Jesus Christ had died for man – unless He had taken the sins of man upon Himself and sacrificed His life for those sins – no person would ever be free of sin and made acceptable to God. No person could ever enter the city, for every person would still be bearing his own sins.

=> Unless a person believes in the Lamb of God believes that Jesus Christ did sacrifice His life for his sins, that person is not acceptable to God. He will never be allowed to enter the city.

The very foundation of the city is the testimony of the Lamb declared by the apostles. Therefore, a person must build his life upon that testimony.

Apostle Paul says in Ephesians 2:19-20; 1 Timothy 6:19; 2 Timothy 2:19 “Now, therefore, you are no longer strangers and foreigners, but fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God, having been built on the foundation of the apostles and prophets, Jesus Christ Himself being the chief cornerstone.” … “Storing up for themselves a good foundation for the time to come, that they may lay hold on eternal life.” … “Nevertheless, the solid foundation of God stands, having this seal: “The Lord knows those who are His,” and, “Let everyone who names the name of Christ depart from iniquity.”

(6) The City’s Shape and Size:

The Bible says in Revelation 21:15-17 “ And he who talked with me had a gold reed to measure the city, its gates, and its wall. The city is laid out as a square; its length is as great as its breadth. And he measured the city with the reed: twelve thousand furlongs. Its length, breadth, and height are equal. Then he measured its wall: one hundred and forty-four cubits, according to the measure of a man, that is, of an angel.”

There is the city’s shape and size. Three facts are given:

(i) The city is square. There is one side each facing to the east, north, south, and west. Again, the city faces in every direction. Citizenship within the city is available to every nation, city, tribe, language, and person upon earth – available if a person will approach the city through the salvation God Himself has provided for the earth.

(ii) The city is enormous and, as we would expect of the heavenly city, its size is beyond anything we would ever dream (v.16). It is 1500 miles long and wide and high. It towers 1500 miles high! This is a total of 22,50,000 square miles or 337.50 Crores cubic miles (almost 3.5 billion cubic miles)! Picture a huge space station that man might build in a century or two and orbit around the earth. If Jesus Christ delays His coming long enough, the idea that man might be forced to build a large city in outer space to handle the population has already crossed the mind of man. Yes, the God who created a moon to orbit around the earth and planets to orbit around the sun has created a city that is far more beautiful than any city man will ever build. It will someday descend from heaven to earth and be the capital city of the universe. God is going to reclaim the earth from all the evil that has engulfed it, and He is going to do the most marvellous thing: make the earth the center of the universe, the place where His very presence will be centered. The earth will be the throne of the Lord Jesus Christ. And the capital city of His rule and reign will be the New Jerusalem. What a glorious picture of the great salvation and sovereign majesty of God!

(iii) The thickness of the wall and gates is 144 cubits or 216 feet thick (v.17).

The Bible says in Isaiah 45:22; 55:1; Revelation 22:17 “Look to Me, and be saved, all you end of the earth! For I am God, and there is no other.” … “Ho! Everyone who thirsts, Come to the waters; And you who have no money, Come, buy, and eat. Yes, come, buy wine and milk without money and without price.” … “And the Spirit and the bride say, “Come!” And let him who hears say, “Come!” And let him who thirsts come. Whoever desires, let him take the water of life freely.”

Our Lord Jesus Christ said in Matthew 22:9; John 7:37 “Therefore go into the highways, and as many as you find, invite to the wedding.’” … “On the last day, that great day of the feast, Jesus stood and cried out, saying, “If anyone thirsts, let him come to Me and drink.”

(7) The City’s Materials are Precious and Priceless:

The Bible says in Revelation 21:18-21 “The construction of its wall was of jasper; and the city was pure gold, like clear glass. The foundations of the wall of the city were adorned with all kinds of precious stones: the first foundation was jasper, the second sapphire, the third chalcedony, the fourth emerald, the fifth sardonyx, the sixth sardius, the seventh chrysolite, the eighth beryl, the ninth topaz, the tenth chrysoprase, the eleventh jacinth, and the twelfth amethyst. The twelve gates were twelve pearls: each individual gate was of one pearl. And the street of the city was pure gold, like transparent glass.”

There are city’s materials. Note the spectacular beauty and variety of colour in the city. The stones seem to be as follows:

(i) The walls are made of jasper: a crystal-like rock that is green in colour. The crystal green walls sparkle with the most beautiful colour as the reflection of God’s glory strikes them.

(ii) The city is made of pure gold, a gold that is as clear as glass. There is no gold on earth as clear as glass. Imagine a city many times bigger than any major city being made out of pure gold, a gold so pure that it would be crystal clear. Imagine the dazzling gold colour of the New Jerusalem as the glory of God strikes it.

(iii) The twelve foundations are decorated with every kind of precious stone (v.19-20).

(iv) The twelve gates are twelve huge pearls. What magnificent beauty!

(v) The streets are made of pure gold, but again the gold is transparent, as transparent as glass.

Lesson: This is a staggering picture of beauty and variety. Imagine the fiery brilliance and splendour as the gory of God reflects off the glistening stones. The beauty is bound to be the most dazzling and staggering sight in all the universe. Do the stones and colour symbolize anything? There is bound to be at least this meaning behind such magnificent beauty: the heavenly city is worth any price to enter. It is priceless. No matter what a man has to sacrifice, he is a fool if he does not give up everything, he has to enter the heavenly city of God.

Our Lord Jesus Christ said in Matthew 13:44-46; 6:20; 19:21; Luke 12:33 “Again, the kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which a man found and hid; and for joy over it he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field. “Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant seeking beautiful pearls, who, when he had found one pearl of great price, went and sold all that he had and bought it.” … “But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal.” … “Jesus said to him, “If you want to be perfect, go, sell what you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow Me.” … “Sell what you have and give alms; provide yourselves money bags which do not grow old, a treasure in the heavens that does not fail, where no thief approaches nor moth destroys.”

The Bible says in Revelation 3:18 “I counsel you to buy from Me gold refined in the fire, that you may be rich; and white garments, that you may be clothed, that the shame of your nakedness may not be revealed; and anoint your eyes with eye salve, that you may see.”

Apostle Paul says in Philippians 3:8; 1 Timothy 6:18-19 “Yet indeed I also count all things loss for the excellence of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord, for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and count them as rubbish, that I may gain Christ.” … “Let them do good, that they be rich in good works, ready to give, willing to share, storing up for themselves a good foundation for the time to come, that they may lay hold on eternal life.”

(8) The City’s Worship is Focused Upon God Himself and the Lamb:

The Bible says in Revelation 21:22 “But I saw no temple in it, for the Lord God Almighty and the Lamb are its temple.”

There is the city’s worship (v.22). There is no temple in the heavenly city, for both God and Christ are there. Their presence will be so manifested….

=> that the very atmosphere will be heavy with their spirit;

=> that every person will be filled with God’s Spirit, perfectly filled;

=> that every person will be perfectly conscious of God’s continued prence.

No believer will be without the full and perfect knowledge of God’s Spirit and presence. Therefore, there will be an unbroken worship, communication, and sharing with God and Christ. No matter what service or work the believer will be performing, and no matter where the believer is serving throughout the universe, he will be in unbroken fellowship and communion with God. Therefore, there is no need for a temple and its ceremonies and rituals to pull the human mind into the worship of God.

Our Lord Jesus Christ said in John 4:24 “God is Spirit, and those who worship Him must worship in spirit and truth.”

The Bible says in Psalms 1:2; Isaiah 26:3; Revelation 19:1 “But his delight is in the law of the Lord, and in His law, he meditates day and night.” … “You will keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on You, because he trusts in You.” … “After these things I heard a loud voice of a great multitude in heaven, saying, “Alleluia! Salvation and glory and honour and power belong to the Lord our God!”

Apostle Paul says in 2 Corinthians 10:5; Philippians 4:8 “Casting down arguments and every high thing that exalts itself against the knowledge of God, bringing every thought into captivity to the obedience of Christ.” … “Finally, brethren, whatever things are true, whatever things are noble, whatever things are just, whatever things are pure, whatever things are lovely, whatever things are of good report, if there is any virtue and if there is anything praiseworthy—meditate on these things.”

(9) The City’s Light is Provided by God’s Glory and the Lamb:

The Bible says in Revelation 21:23 “The city had no need of the sun or of the moon to shine in it, for the glory of God illuminated it. The Lamb is its light.”

Yes, the glory of God gives light to the whole city. God’s glory is full of so much light and shines so brightly there is no need for the sun nor for any other heavenly body to give the city light. Just imagine the power and radiance of God’s glory – so bright that it is more forceful than the laser beams of light flowing from the sun! It is the glory of God that gives light to the city.

=> The glory of God shines all throughout the city, the city shines and has a sparkling sheen to it.

=> The city shines like the green of a jasper, but it is as clear as crystal.

=> The glory of God glitters off the city as though the buildings are crystal clear – everything glitters in the most beautiful green of the jasper.

Let us introspect ourselves.

Shall we thank our God for infusing us a hope – a picture of victory of the Lamb of God, of His beloved Son Jesus Christ?

Shall we thank our God for showing visions that show the glorious triumph that lies ahead for those who follow His beloved Son Jesus Christ and endure to the end?

Shall we thank our God for giving us victory through His beloved Son Jesus Christ over evil and bringing righteousness and godliness and His Kingdom to reign upon earth?

Shall we thank our God for giving a vision of warning of judgement and hope and glory for the earth?

Shall we thank our God for revealing the fact that citizenship is available to all without any discrimination or prejudice or partiality or favouritism to live in the New Jerusalem, the city of God’s very own presence and glory, if they would believe in the Son of God, the Lord Jesus Christ?

Shall we thank our God for making it very clear that unless a person believes in the Lamb of God and believes that Jesus Christ sacrificed His life for his/her sins, that person is not acceptable to Him and will not be allowed to enter the city?

Shall we thank our God for revealing the fact that His glory is full of so much light and shines so brightly there is no need for the sun nor for any other heavenly body to give the city light?

Shall we submit ourselves to our God for helping us to TURN TO HIS BELOVED SON JESUS CHRIST FOR SALVATION BEFORE THE END COMES?

Let us Pray: Our Heavenly Gracious Father, we thank You for helping us to understand about VISION 04: The Eternity of God: The New Heavens and Earth and the New Jerusalem (Part 02) – The New Jerusalem, The City of God (Part A): Its Description, today, Father. We thank You Father for infusing us a hope – a picture of victory of the Lamb of God, of Your beloved Son Jesus Christ, showing visions that show the glorious triumph that lies ahead for those who follow Your beloved Son Jesus Christ and endure to the end, giving us victory through Your beloved Son Jesus Christ over evil and bringing righteousness and godliness and Your Kingdom to reign upon earth Father. We thank You Father for giving a vision of warning of judgement and hope and glory for the earth, for revealing the fact that citizenship is available to all without any discrimination or prejudice or partiality or favouritism to live in the New Jerusalem, the city of God’s very own presence and glory, if they would believe in Your beloved Son Jesus Christ, Father. We thank You Father for making it very clear that unless a person believes in the Lamb of God and believes that Your beloved Son Jesus Christ sacrificed His life for his/her sins, that person is not acceptable to You and will not be allowed to enter the city, for revealing the fact that Your glory is full of so much light and shines so brightly so that there is no need for the sun nor for any other heavenly body to give the city light, Father. Father, we commit ourselves wholeheartedly today and help us to TURN TO YOUR BELOVED SON JESUS CHRIST FOR SALVATION BEFORE THE END COMES. We thank You Father for filling us with Your joy, peace, and hope, for accepting us when we approach You through Your beloved Son Jesus Christ besides being merciful on us and loving us so much and predestined us to receive Your promise of glory through Your beloved Son Jesus Christ, Father. We give all praise, glory, and honour to Your Holy Name. In Jesus name we pray. Amen.

God bless you all.

0 notes

matsuoclan · 4 years

Text

you and me and this temptation

Pairing: Morgan x Det. Lucy Liang (f/f) Rating: Explicit (MINORS DO NOT INTERACT) Content: explicit sexual content, kissing, fingerfucking, dirty talk with mentions of exhibitionism/voyeurism, d/s undertones

Summary: The detective attempts to lay down some ground rules. Morgan does her best to sidetrack her.

Notes: Takes place sometime shortly after book 2, before book 3. Also brownie points to whoever can tell me who the mentioned siren is and what series they’re from!

[ read on ao3 ] [ masterlist ]

–

She’s doing this on purpose.

Lucy shoots another look at Morgan from across the table. All Morgan does is grin shamelessly and lick her lips, not at all paying attention to Nat’s mini lecture on various supernatural species.

“Sirens are incredibly rare that we know of. Most of them keep to themselves and try to interact with humans as little as possible until they have full control of their powers. There used to be a great family of them in Greece, and they’re probably still there, but the only one I know of is in Houston, Texas…Lucy, you still with me?”

Lucy jumps in her seat and smiles sheepishly at the vampire next to her. Morgan snickers. “Sorry Nat. Continue, please.”

“Hmm.” Nat trains a suspicious eye on Morgan but then turns back to the massive tome open in front of her. “Anyway, when they’re exercising their powers, some sirens can manifest translucent wings. The color will vary depending on the siren, and some are even said to have…”

Morgan shifts in her seat and once again Lucy’s gaze is drawn helplessly in her direction.

Every. Fucking. Time.

It’s been like this for over an hour. She watches as Morgan runs a slow hand through her hair and it’s not hard to imagine those fingers in her hair instead, tugging to give her that slight flash of pain. Morgan leans in like she knows exactly what Lucy’s thinking, eyes falling to her mouth, and even though there’s an entire table width between them, the heat that spikes through Lucy is enough to make her breath catch.

“Morgan, I am right here,” Nat snaps.

Lucy stifles a groan. Caught. Again.

“Yes, but can you blame me when the detective’s sitting there looking good enough to eat?” Morgan’s eyes haven’t moved, still trained on Lucy’s mouth, and Lucy shivers.

Nat splutters. “That’s hardly appropriate. Stop distracting Lucy, this is important knowledge for her to have.”

“If the detective wants me to stop distracting her, she can tell me herself.” Morgan smiles lazily at her. “Right, sweetheart?”

Lucy opens her mouth to respond. Mortifyingly, nothing comes out. Nat takes pity on her and sighs.

“We can pick this up tomorrow, Lucy. I don’t think we’ll get much further today.” She stands and closes the tome, setting it off to the side. “And Morgan, I’m serious, I want you nowhere near the library tomorrow.”

“We’ll see.”

“Nowhere. Near. The. Library,” Nat growls.

Morgan leans back in her chair and winks at Lucy. “Like I said. We’ll see.”

Nat takes her leave with an exasperated shake of her head and a muttered good-bye. With Nat gone, there’s nothing stopping Lucy from feeling the full weight of Morgan’s attention, and she shoves back from the table to put more distance between them before she does something incredibly stupid, like jump her bones in the middle of the library.

“I think we need to establish some ground rules if we’re going to keep this up,” Lucy says, gesturing between the two of them.

Morgan raises an eyebrow. “This is just sex. And you’ve liked everything so far.”

The arrogance. Lucy grabs a stack of books to reshelve them, just to give her hands something to do. Fortunately these books belong on the opposite side of the room and it’s with half relief, half disappointment that Morgan doesn’t reach for her when she walks by. “Yes, but—”

“You’ve liked every single thing I’ve done to you. Don’t pretend you weren’t remembering all the places my mouth and fingers have been just now.”

Lucy whirls around. “You can’t keep saying stuff like that when I’m working!”

“But you like it when I do.”

“That is so not the point.”

“It’s completely the point.”

“Fine,” Lucy grits out. “I do, but it distracts me, and I can’t afford to be distracted at work. Nat was right, this is important knowledge for me to learn, and I can’t learn any of it when you’re looking at me like...like that!”

“I want you,” Morgan says, shrugging. Like it’s as simple as that. “I don’t see any issue with letting that be known.”

“Morgan.”

“All right.” Morgan rises from her seat and slowly saunters over, collapsing into an armchair a few feet away. Lucy’s throat goes dry. “How about...I cut back by twenty-five percent?”

“Excuse me?” Lucy squints. Unbelievable. “Are you negotiating?”

“Yes. And sweetheart, I suggest you take it because you’re not going to get a better offer.”

Lucy turns on her heel and starts aggressively placing the books back where they belong. “Is it that hard for you to keep your comments behind closed doors?”

“Just my comments?” Even without a visual, Lucy knows exactly which infuriating smirk Morgan’s sporting as she speaks. “So you’re fine if everything else is out in the open?”

“Morgan.”

“You let me fuck you at the carnival where anyone could’ve seen, so the lady doth protest too much about this, methinks.”

Lucy drops a book.

“Actually, given our track record, I’m inclined to believe you have a thing against closed doors.”

The conversation has spiraled so completely out of control, but she shouldn’t have expected anything different when it comes to Morgan. It takes a massive effort for Lucy to turn back around and adopt a calm, pleasant expression. “Fifty percent and I’ll kiss you after we finish this conversation.”

Morgan’s eyes darken. “You’ll kiss me anyway.”

“You seem awfully confident that I’m a sure thing,” Lucy says shakily. A hysterical laugh threatens to bubble up inside her. She already knows she is. The slow smile unfurling on Morgan’s face says she already knows Lucy is, too.

“...aren’t you?”

Lucy doesn’t respond. She can’t.

“Fine, fine.” Morgan rolls her eyes and extends a hand in Lucy’s direction. “Come here.”

Lucy eyes it suspiciously. “Why?”

“A show of good faith. Kiss me so I know you’re good for it, and you’ll have your forty percent.” She pats her lap and motions again.

“Fifty percent.”

“That’s what I said.” Morgan is unrepentant in all her glory. “Come here, Lucy.”

One day she’ll figure out how to resist Morgan’s pull. It’s not good for her dignity that Morgan has all but figured out she only has to crook a finger and Lucy will come running despite herself. But until then...

Lucy takes two steps in Morgan’s direction. Instantly Morgan reaches out and pulls her in to straddle her lap, hands resting on her waist as she smirks up at her. The feel of Morgan’s warm hands through the thin fabric of her dress gives Lucy a full body shiver.

“Show me my good faith,” Morgan murmurs, and then Lucy’s kissing her.

Morgan doesn’t bother with easing into it. As soon as Lucy parts her lips, Morgan’s there, licking deep into her mouth until Lucy’s dizzy with want.

Everything about Morgan overwhelms her. Her scent, her taste. The way she sucks on her tongue kicks Lucy’s pulse into overdrive and she whimpers, body on fire. Morgan’s hands tighten at the noise and then she’s running them along Lucy’s shoulders, up into her hair, down her back to squeeze her ass...

Lucy jolts and bites down on Morgan’s bottom lip in retaliation. Morgan laughs roughly against her mouth.

“I like this tart side of you, sweetheart.”

“Saved it just for you.” Lucy leans back with monumental effort, panting. “Is that enough good faith?”

“It’ll do for now.” Morgan bumps her nose against Lucy’s. It shouldn’t be so charming, but fuck, it is. “Anything other ground rules you wanted to go over?

“No. Wait, yes.” This one hasn’t come up yet in the limited time they’ve been doing...whatever it is they‘re doing, but Lucy figures now is the best time as any to get it out there. She makes to get off Morgan’s lap to allow herself some distance for actual thought, but Morgan catches her waist and maneuvers her so that she’s sitting with her back against Morgan’s chest. “What are you doing?”

“Relax, sweetheart. It’s just more good faith.”

Lucy squirms. It feels remarkably like the time on the carousel, when Lucy thought she might explode from the tension. “I think you’re getting more out of this negotiation than I am.”

“Then get better at negotiating.” The hand Morgan has resting on her thigh tightens just a bit but it’s enough that Lucy has to fight from spreading her legs. “What’s the next rule?”

“...No one else.” Lucy swallows. “No one else if you’re fucking me.”

Morgan stills so suddenly Lucy wonders if she just made a huge misstep. Maybe that’s too much to ask, too soon. She’s not ignorant of Morgan’s past exploits. What was she thinking, asking Morgan something like that? They haven’t known each other all that long, and even if they could probably be called friends on the best of days, they don’t have a relationship where she can ask something as brazen as this—

“No one else,” Morgan agrees quietly. It takes a moment to register, and then the relief is dizzying. Morgan’s hand on her stomach curls and Lucy’s not stupid enough to think it’s possessive but she can pretend it is, for a moment. “That goes for you too.”

Lucy snorts in surprise. “Oh please. Did you forget who you’re talking to?”

“That ex of yours keeps sniffing around.”

It can’t possibly be jealousy she’s hearing, but Lucy calls on whatever bravery she has left to poke. “Worried you have competition?”

Morgan has the gall to chuckle. “Sweetheart, I’m the best you’ve ever had.”

“You are incurably arrogant,” Lucy grumbles.

“And one hundred percent correct. Is that it? All the ground rules?”

“For now.”

“Hmm.” Morgan ghosts her mouth over Lucy’s ear. “Before I agree, I think I need one last show of good faith. Just to know you can uphold your end of the bargain.”

“Morgan, you have a supremely skewed idea of what a negotiation is.”

“Maybe. But for some reason I don’t think you’re complaining.” Morgan slowly spreads her hand across Lucy’s stomach, brushing along the underside of her breast. Lucy fidgets in the cage of her arms and squeezes her thighs together as her breath quickens. “This feel familiar to you at all?”

“...The carousel. When we were undercover at the carnival.”

“Mmm. Made the entire mission worth it, having you perched so sweetly on my lap.” Morgan slides the straps of her dress down her arms, baring her bra. Lucy’s nipples instantly go tight.

“You made the most delicious little gasp when I put my mouth here.” She seals her mouth over the scars of Murphy’s fangs on Lucy’s neck and sucks hard. And even though she should’ve expected it, Lucy gasps all over again, body going taut.

“And that fucking little skirt, teasing me all night long.” A hand idly strokes up the inside of her thigh, close to where Lucy’s pulse is pounding between her legs. And just like that, Lucy parts her thighs. “If I had reached under your skirt like I’m doing now…” Morgan draws a finger over the front of her panties. “...would I have found you just as wet?”

“Y-yes.” Her voice comes out breathy.

“Would you have let me do this?” She pulls Lucy’s pantiest to one side. There’s no urgency in Morgan’s movements as she traces her fingers over Lucy’s entrance, circling her clit, seemingly content to just explore with featherlight motions. “Touch your pussy with all those people around? No closed doors to speak of?”

She palms the front of Lucy’s bra with her other hand and yanks it down, baring her breasts. “Would you have let me do this?” Morgan cups one of her breasts and tugs at her nipple and Lucy almost comes on the spot. “There’d be no hiding what I was doing.”

Fuck. Lucy shouldn’t want what Morgan’s describing in her ear. It’s way too public, way too filthy. But when Morgan touches her like that, all rational thought flees and the only thing left is the image of Morgan spreading her open in front of the carnival and not stopping until she’s screaming.

It’s more than a little scary how much Morgan can make her want.

Morgan sinks her teeth into Lucy’s earlobe at the same time she slides a finger inside her. “I think they’d be jealous of me, if they saw. It’s me who gets to touch you like this. My arms around your tight little body. My fingers fucking your pussy.” She slides another finger inside and strokes a finger directly over Lucy’s clit. Lucy spreads legs even wider, letting them drape over Morgan’s thighs. “It’s me who’s getting you off, and all they’d be able to do is watch…”

Oh god. Lucy lets her head fall back against Morgan’s shoulder and moans as Morgan fucks her with her fingers. Morgan keeps the pace aggravatingly unhurried, like she’s that certain her words are enough to wind Lucy up.

She’d be one hundred percent correct.

“Would you put on a show for them, sweetheart?” Morgan sounds supremely unaffected and Lucy hates her for it, just a little. “Let them see how wet you get at the idea of an audience? Moan when you come so prettily around my fingers?”

“Please. Please, Morgan.” Lucy writhes in her lap, not even sure what she’s begging for, but as always, Morgan knows exactly what she needs. She shifts the hand at Lucy’s breast to hold tight across her stomach and pushes a third finger into her. The pleasure building inside Lucy spikes sharper when Morgan finally, finally, speeds up.

“I’d let them watch if you asked. They can watch as much as they want and imagine they’re the ones you’re desperate for, but at the end of the day they’ll know it’s only me who’s allowed to do this.” Morgan pinches Lucy’s clit and the tiny shock of pain sends Lucy careening.

She cries out when she comes, grinding down on Morgan’s fingers as Morgan continues her strokes. Distantly she registers Morgan’s mouth on her neck again, and something that feels suspiciously like fangs dragging on her skin.

“Beautiful,” Morgan murmurs against her ear when she finally slumps back against her, completely spent. “So fucking beautiful.”

Lucy turns her head to get a look at Morgan but Morgan just kisses her, gentler this time. It’s a kiss without a goal, and Lucy’s happy enough to sink into it and be swept away. When Lucy finally draws back for breath, Morgan’s grinning at her in that self-satisfied way of hers and even after everything Lucy’s heart still skips a beat.

She leans in to press another kiss to the corner of Lucy’s mouth. “Sweetheart, we have a deal.”

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc #twc morgan #specialist agent morgan #morgan #wayhaven #myfic #n/sfw #lucy x morgan

52 notes · View notes

honeysidesarchived · 2 years

Text

WHERE THERE IS NO TEMPTATION, THERE IS NO GLORY.

⊱ a santino d'antonio / oc short-fic

pt. v: and birth is the death of us ( read on ao3 ) ( masterlist )

words: 4.4k

warnings: mentions of murder/patricide, lots and lots and lots of sads, major character death. but u knew that.

rating: m/t

notes: well,

thank you @shallow-gravy for proofing this bad boy for me, thank you @starcrier for being my og cheerleader/proofreader/lore expert/euphie stan, thank you everyone who has read this far or read at all or thought about reading. this has been a lovely little passion project/thing to post for my dopamine only, but without your love and such it probably wouldn't have gotten posted at all.

Blessed be they whose lives do not taste of evil.

But if some god shakes your house,

Ruin arrives.

Ruin does not leave.

Euphemia hates the lake house. It used to be her favorite thing; once the weather in the city turned and started getting hot and muggy, they’d head upstate until they got to the lake. She’d spend almost all of her day in a swimsuit, sunbathing on the dock or goading Santino into the water with her. Some of her fondest memories are here: Santi, carrying her piggy-back from water to the house; the way he’d lean in to steal a piece of fruit from her, humming and licking the pads of her fingers with a sly glimmer in his eye; the way they’d sit around the fire at night, her legs hooked over his lap, and how he would still smell like woodsmoke the next day.

Now, the house is empty, and cold, and there’s five men that she barely knows the names of lingering around the edges of the property outside.

It’s pointless, she thinks, absently. It’s not me that Wick wants. It’s not me that harmed him.

It should be unforgivable, what Santino’s done. It is unforgivable; he’s left her in a position to feel alone, to raise their child alone. It should be, and all she can think to do is cry.

She spends most of the evening wandering aimlessly, trying not to think about what it is that Santino’s doing. If Wick has come for him, there is a chance—a very small chance—that Santino could survive. A small, minuscule chance, riding purely on the idea that Santino would be capable of ever saying he’s sorry to a man like John Wick.

Euphemia knows he would not. Why would he? He did what he thought was necessary. Whatever that was.

Briefly, the idea that Gianna might have sent John Wick back to them crosses her mind. But she knows that can’t be what it is; he is Baba Yaga. He would never leave a job undone. If John Wick gets called in for a debt he owes, he finishes the job, or he dies. The only thing that could stand, then, is that Santino has done something. That Santino has done something to John Wick that is not calling him to fulfill a debt.

There are pictures of them, littered throughout the house. Hung on the walls, on hallway tables, in the bedroom and the living room. The kitchen is fully stocked despite the fact that the house is technically out of season, for them—a luxury, she thinks, that her husband must have been willing to indulge in case she decides she wants to come up, for whatever reason. Because he knows she likes to cook.

Santino calls her a few hours after she’s arrived, when she’s tucked herself into one of his old shirts and curled up in the bed on the second floor. The shirt still smells a little like his cologne, and the sheets have the faded smell of her favorite fabric softener, but nothing feels good. Nothing feels comfortable, or happy.

“Euphie,” Santi says, his voice feeling very far, “are you all settled in?”

He sounds breathless, and a little stressed. It makes her stomach plummet.

“Yes,” she whispers. “But I want to come home, Santi. I want—”

“Do not argue with me,” he says firmly. There it is; it’s a different edge to his voice, a strange fervor lingering beneath the timbre of his words. “Are you listening to me? I will get everything fixed here, and then you can come home.”

She wants to tell him he is wrong. She wants to tell him that he is stupid—that John Wick is, well-known, a man of perpetual neutrality; that he does nothing that is not done unto him. That John Wick wants nothing of her, for her, from her. That John Wick perhaps does not even factor her into his equation.

She says none of these things.

“Would you at least tell me what’s wrong?” she asks instead, her voice catching some wind. There is a sick part of her that wants him to say it to her. “Let me know, so I can—”

Do nothing. She knows there is nothing she could do; nothing in her power. He has crippled her, sending her away.

“—so I can know.”

“Euphie, Euphie,” Santino says, in that way he always does. “I don’t want you to have to worry about it, cara mia. Hey.”

It feels, almost, like he’s there. But there are no hands to take her face, no kisses to wash away her stress. Only the cold, faint white noise of the phone call when silence stretches between them. Euphemia swallows thickly, closes her eyes and wills the image of him, laying there next to her in bed, away.

“Are you listening to me?”

Euphie swallows. “Yes, Santi.”

“I love you, Euphemia D’Antonio.”

She feels the sting and burn of the tears at the edges of her eyes, and reaches up to push at them with the sleeve of Santino’s old shirt. It’s sitting there, locked just in her jaw, in the cavity of her chest; all of the things she wanted to tell him. That she thinks she loved him from the minute she laid eyes on him. That she wasn’t as soft with him as she would like to be, so maybe if he would like to stay a little longer, she could be.

That she thinks she knew all along he was going to ruin her, ruin her, ruin her.

“Mio amato.” She whispers into the phone the affectionate term she so rarely uses with him, her voice hoarse, thick with unshed tears. “Please, you’re scaring me.”

“Don’t cry, cara mia. Say it back.”

There is a spiteful, vicious part of her that doesn’t want to. Suddenly, the wedding ring on her finger and his shirt on her shoulders feel heavy, like they’re pulling her down, down, down, and she wishes that it would so that she could fold up and disappear.

If she says it, she will be accepting something terrible.

Santino’s voice comes through the call, urgent. “You know I hate to ask twice.”

She does.

“I love you, Santi,” she manages out, and it’s pushed and pulled out of her; this is high-tide in their love, now, the waves full-throttle and raking her beach clean. “I love you, I love you—Santi, mi amato, I love you—”

“Good girl.” His voice sounds tight. It sounds fraught, in a way that it never is, with her.

He pauses a moment; the words sit there, in her mouth. I love you, I love you, I love you. She has never been good about saying it. She has never thought, really, that she would need to. She has always known what he is, but has never acted better for it.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, when I’m on my way to pick you up. Si?”

For a second, it almost feels normal. It almost feels like she really is just away, at the lake house, getting some time alone after a stressful few days. And then tomorrow, she’ll eat her breakfast out on the porch facing the lake while it’s still a little chilly outside, and Santi will come and pick her up; he’ll tease her about wearing his shirt, and lean over and kiss her, and say, don’t you feel a little ridiculous, Euphemia, worrying about me? Don’t you, now?

“Okay,” she says, on autopilot. “Okay, Santi, if you promise to—”

“I promise, more, I promise. I love you. Euphie?” Another pause. It’s almost too heavy to bear. “Get some sleep, yes? And tell baby Viola I said goodnight.”

Gutted. Emptied. Hollowed out.

“We don’t know the baby is a girl,” she protests weakly.

“I can tell.”

She laughs, the sound bleak and ringing empty when it comes out of her. Euphemia closes her eyes tight and breathes in deep. “Okay, yes. I will tell baby Viola goodnight from her daddy.”

“Goodnight, my darling.”

The call clicks off before she can answer. As though she would have anything to say; a moment longer, maybe, I love you, perhaps you could just say it again, once more, one more time for me.

Euphie tucks herself under the blankets with the phone pulled against her chest and rolls his words over and over again in her head.

I promise. I love you. Tell baby Viola I say goodnight. I’ll call you tomorrow, when I’m on my way to pick you up. Goodnight my darling.

I love you

I love you.

Goodnight, my darling.

She wishes his goodnight did not feel so much like goodbye.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

When she wakes up in the morning, it’s to the sound of a knock at the front door.

That’s how she knows, really, that it’s something bad; it’s just a knock. Once, twice. Knock knock. There are no voices, there are no sounds of gunfire, nobody is calling for her. For a second, upon waking—in that special realm where sleep still clings to the edges of her vision, willing her back under the covers—she might trick herself that it’s Santino knocking at the door, waiting patiently for her to let him in.

But Santino would let himself in. He would walk upstairs, and kick off his shoes, and snake under the covers with her; bury his cold hands beneath her shirt, his face into the base of her neck. Piccola volpe, he would say, against the back of her neck, you’re wearing my shirt. Did you miss me so much?

Hurriedly, she looks at her phone, thinking—once again, foolishly—that Santino must have called her and she’s slept through it. But her phone is empty of notifications. The screen glows a luminous mockery at her: a photo of them, in Italy. That last night. Il destino, Santino had said.

Euphemia pulls herself out of bed, despite the overwhelming desire to pull the covers over her head. For a tiny moment in time, there is only the sound of her footfalls against the wooden flooring of the master bedroom and her own heartbeat. Peaceful. Tranquil. As the lakehouse is meant to be.

But then she hears the door open—it always creaks—and the sound of murmured voice a floor below. She puts her hand on the doorknob to the hallway, and stops.

If she opens it, it will be real. If she opens it, whatever is on the other side will be precisely what it is. Right now, in this moment, it can be anything. Santino. Baba Yaga. Her mother. Schrödinger's Cat, as the case may be. As long as she stays right here, and the door stays closed, she is perfectly unaware of the state of things—

That’s not true, something inside of her says. We know.

Euphie turns the doorknob and heads downstairs. Methodically, she moves; step after step, one foot in front of the other. Ten seconds, and then another ten seconds, and another, forcing her body’s natural processes to function as normal instead of come to a grinding halt the way they want to. As she descends the stairs—into the eternal darkness, into fire and into ice—she is painfully aware of every physical sensation: the chilly wooden flooring beneath her feet, the brush of Santino’s shirt against the back of her thighs where it stretches past her shorts, the blood bounding through her body, begging for relief. Begging to see her husband when she reaches the bottom.

Please, she thinks, turning the corner to the landing. Please, please, please be my Santi.

It’s Winston.

He stands there, talking in hushed tones to Charon, and when she reaches the bottom of the stairs, he turns and looks at her.

There is something very grim on the man’s face. Euphie’s legs carry her off the final step and to where the two men are waiting for her, patient; as though they would have let her take all the time in the world to make her descent into Hell, with them. And it feels like a dream—some kind of feverish nightmare, goosebumps prickling along her skin in the early morning chill and her heart fluttering in unsteady, uneven bouts.

“Winston?” She swallows thickly, setting her phone on the counter. “Where’s Santino?”

Euphemia sees the way that Winston grimaces, like he’s bracing himself, and she knows the answer. She thinks she probably knew the answer when Santino called her last night. She thinks she probably knew the answer when she saw John Wick sitting in the museum.

It doesn’t make it any easier, and as if working to make herself suffer more—to keep up this impossible dream—her mind pushes the words out of her mouth, against her better judgment: “He’s supposed to be picking me up.”

Winston watches her with a quiet, careful gaze. She feels her throat tighten.

“He wanted me out of town,” she explains, her voice wobbling, “while he was finishing up some business. He thought—it would be better. For—for—”

For the baby, she wants to say, and the words will not come out of her. Silence lapses, tense and strung tight, binding her over and over, pulling pulling pulling. She thinks, I always knew. She thinks, I always knew, Santi, that you were going to—

The older man says, very gingerly, “I am sorry, my darling.��

Euphemia feels the nausea wrench iron-hot in her stomach. I always knew, Santi, that you were going to ruin me.

“I tried to tell him not to play this game with Wick.”

Somewhere, from deep inside of her, there is a rabbit. That rabbit she used to be. Tap-tap, that little rabbit heart says, tap-tap-tap-tap. We’re alive, but at what cost? That rabbit is snared in the steel jaws of a trap named agony, and it is screaming.

Alive. But at what cost.

My Santi, she thinks, my beautiful boy, sick to death with your own magic.

Winston doesn’t have to say it aloud for her to know what he means, and that confirmation sweeps through her, violent and unforgiving. She feels very suddenly as though she’s far away from herself, as though she’s not the Euphemia that Winston is reaching for, taking into his arms as though she were his own grandchild, as though she’s not the Euphemia that swallows a deep, stuttering lungful and then lets out a vicious, wrecked noise that emanates a bone-deep grief.

Against her hair, Winston murmurs, “I would have called ahead, Euphemia, but it didn’t feel right—”

She thinks maybe she is screaming, or moaning, or crying—it’s a guttural tear in her sternum that echoes hollowly in the cavity of her chest. Winston holds her very tight and says things like I wanted to be sure I could tell you in person and my girl, take a breath, won’t you, and she wants to die.

Euphemia closes her eyes.

She thinks about Santi, tasting like red wine when he kisses her; she thinks about the way that he would pick her up before they even made it through the door, growling playfully into her neck and kissing her and saying, look what I’ve caught, a gorgeous little fox, and all mine.

Santi, kissing her stomach and whispering to the baby in Italian, humming against her skin. Putting the stupid apron over his Versace suit to cook the sauce. Grabbing her around the waist, still wet from the shower, and telling her that he won’t be able to finish his shower alone and won’t she stop this cruelty and join him, already?

Santi, taking her hands when she feels like she’s breaking apart because she has to talk to the therapist about the feeling of the rope burn on her knuckles and the look on her father’s face as he struggles for breath, and he says, Euphie, Euphie, Euphie, don’t you know? I love you, all of you, all of this about you.

She is guided to the couch. She sits down on autopilot, and Winston takes her hands in his. That agony is still etching its way into her marrow—and it will be there forever, she thinks; she will think of this always, this moment in time precisely—and he does the kindness of letting her suffer through it, pulling the blanket off of the back of the couch and gathering her up in it. It feels, a little, like her chest might be collapsing over and over again; the way that a star burns out and dies in the great, blistering explosion.

“Take a breath,” Winston says, his hands on her shoulders. “In and out. Good girl.”

Lungs fill, and empty. Oxygen offers her a moment of visceral clarity.

“I have to kill him,” Euphemia manages out, biting the words between shallow, hazy breaths. Her fingers are clutching at Winston’s arms through his coat, desperate to anchor, but if it bothers him, he doesn’t say. “I have to—I have to kill John Wick, Winston, I—my Santi, he took my Santino away from me—”

“No.” Winston barks out the word so abruptly that it almost feels like a slap, firm and quick. “I don’t want to hear you saying that.”

She blinks, rapidly, the focus in her eyes fading. “You—what?”

“Look at me, Euphemia,” he says, and she blinks again, forcing the exhaustion from her vision to bring him back in to her eyesight. “John Wick did not take your Santino from you. Do you hear me? You banish the thought from your brain.”

The words are ludicrous, coming out of his mouth. She stares at him, and she wonders, for a second, that he’s here to tell her that John Wick is coming for her now—her, and Santino’s baby. To effectively wipe out the last of the D’Antonios.

Would he?

“What. Do. You. Mean, Winston?”

She punctures the words like a balloon; lets the feel of them swell in her mouth, bites down until they pop. The sadness is metastasizing inside of her, squirming and writhing before it latches into the slats between her ribs, sinking its fangs down until the sting becomes familiar, comforting. Anger, not sadness; that is fine. Preferred, even.

Euphemia feels more than she hears the way her voice rises in volume when she demands, “Tell me how it isn’t John Wick’s fault my Santino is dead?”

There is a tightness in Winston’s expression. He is trying to figure her; she knows the look. He is trying to figure her, conjure up some image of her that he is comfortable with, the way that Santino always does.

(Did.)

But he doesn’t know her well enough. Her background is a mystery to him, as far as backgrounds go; fake names and fake leads, all little threads woven into a sweater for a girl who can disappear at any moment. She has never wanted to have to try very hard, to disappear.

“You and I both know,” Winston murmurs, his voice pitching low, “that John Wick would have left him be.”

“Baba Yaga,” Euphemia grinds out, “would have left him be.”

“You didn’t hear him, Euphemia,” he tells her sharply. “You didn’t hear Santino, in the Continental. He was gloating over a victory he didn’t have. He was—”

“He is,” she snarls, “dead, Winston!”

“And you have the High Table to thank for that,” Winston snaps.

The words are effective enough to stop her rage in its tracks. Just for a minute. Long enough that the little rabbit inside of her stops screaming, long enough that wounded thing that wants to go on a warpath halts.

He is right, something inside of her says. He is right. Santino always wanted more. He always wanted what he thought he was owed. And we always knew it. We said it. Sick to death.

“I’ll tell you, it wasn’t John Wick who killed your man,” Winston reiterates, his voice ironclad, “it was the High Table, and what they did to him. What he was willing to do for them.”

So many times in the last few days, she has felt hollowed out. This time is different; she feels full. Bursting at the seams with some inexplicable, primordial rage that has just been sitting inside of her, all this time, waiting for someone to ignite it. She knows Winston is right, and still, she wonders: how will John Wick look, at the edge of death? Will there be anything, behind those shark-gray eyes, will she see a glimmer of the thing—the person—that the woman he loved had cultivated inside of him?

It is a comfort, to think maybe she would not. That maybe he would be a monster in death, too.

“Euphemia,” Winston says, “are you listening to me?”

She takes in a long breath. “I am so very tired, Winston,” she murmurs, “of listening to men.”

“I know.” He gives her hands a squeeze. There is empathy in his voice, she thinks, but it’s hard to identify for sure. “But you know that I’m right. Don’t you?”

She remembers how furious Santi was the night that his father named Gianna his successor. That seat at the High Table is mine, he had said. I deserve it, and I will take it back. Think of what I could do, Euphie, for the Camorra. For us.

She had never, ever cared about it. Euphemia had always told him that if he didn’t have it, what did it matter? They had each other. He had her. Wasn’t she enough? Didn’t she make him happy?

Winston says her name, very quietly. Her lashes flutter and she lifts her gaze from the cushion of the couch to where the older man is looking at her.

“Did you finalize the marriage?” he asks. “You, and Santino, with the paperwork?”

Her fingers curl and uncurl absently; the crescent-shaped marks her nails leave on her palms are a dull sting, but she wants them to be louder. To hurt more. To bite and sting until she can be sure she’s real. Winston smooths her hands flat, watching her patiently, not once rushing her answer.

He has always been kind to her. Before she was married to Santino, after, and now. In the wake of her husband’s death.

“Yes,” she manages out, at last. “We did. Three nights ago.”

“Good,” Winston murmurs, sounding relieved. “That’s good. And—it may have been mentioned...”

Euphemia blinks, hard and slow, trying her hardest to remember to do the things that keep her alive; blink and breathe, push blood through her veins, stay conscious. “I am pregnant, yes.”

He nods again. He’s silent for a moment. “You, Euphemia D’Antonio,” he begins, taking in a little breath, “have a seat at the High Table. The Camorra is yours.”

The words wash over her, but they land flat. These things don’t matter. They’re unimportant to her. She has never had any designs on some mythical seat, or ideas that she should be leading the Camorra instead of someone else. She has never cared anything about it; Santi has always been the one who wanted these things, and she was more than happy to support him.

And now, here it was. Sitting in her lap.

“We can get revenge for your Santino, my darling.” Winston’s voice is soft, gentle; it pushes and pulls, filtering through a sieve of light and color that she can’t quite cut out. “I can help you. You, and your baby. All you have to do is take that thought—that John Wick is to blame—and bury it somewhere deep inside of you, and hope that one day you die and that’s the end of it.”

I miss you, Santi, Euphie thinks, desperately, the tears stinging again at her eyes now that the target of her fury is no longer a man, but an entity; one that she’s a part of. One that seems so nebulous that she isn’t sure she will ever pin it down. This was always what you wanted, not me. How am I supposed to do this without you?

He’s right. If Santino hadn’t been hungry, starved for that seat at the High Table—if he hadn’t been seduced by the idea of the things that he believed were owed to them—he would be alive now.

She always knew that he would do something to put John Wick at war with him. She always knew it, and John was just a tangible, easy person to hate for what Santino had done to himself.

My Santi. Desperate and hurt and needing, sick to death with your own magic.

“Euphemia,” he murmurs, leaning down a little. “Do you want my help?”

“Yes.” Her voice feels like a stranger’s coming out of her body. “Please, Winston, help me get revenge for my Santi.”

He nods, and straightens up, turning to tell Charon to get the car started outside. Once the door closes, he shifts to face her again, a small, sad smile quirking the edges of his mouth upward.

She’s not quite sure, now, if she’s real—if what she’s done will mean anything, if she has an impact on the world around her. Winston’s hands on hers don’t ground her, the way that Santino’s did; she still feels very far away from herself, her soul and mind somewhere that isn’t this nightmare of a life she has now.

Winston says something, coming to a stand, and Euphie follows instinctively as she slides her sandals onto her feet and trails after him out to the car, her phone clutched loosely in her hand. When she gets back to the city, it will feel real, she thinks as she climbs into the car when Winston opens the door for her. When she gets back to the loft, where the reminders of her one greatest love will be everywhere, in his clothes and his papers and his cologne and the apartment that they decorated for the both of them, to be equal parts Euphie and Santi both, it will feel real.

But for now, she is somewhere else, very far away from this nightmare world that has become her life; her mind and soul are somewhere that she kisses her one greatest love, drenched in the gilt-gold burnish of his mortality, and she tastes the red wine on his lips and he says, Euphie, my gorgeous girl, perfetto e tutto mio.

Yes, she thinks, agony fresh and hot and wet in her chest. Sono tuo, Santi, always. Always.

“Well, my darling,” Winston murmurs from his seat next to her in the back of the car, “let’s get you home, shall we?”

She glances out the window, seeing the figures of Santino’s--her men, slipping into the house to lock up behind her. “Yes,” she says quietly, “home.”

Euphemia doesn’t know what that means, anymore, what it means to have one. But she also doesn’t think that it matters anymore.

She doesn’t need a home to get revenge.

#spilled ink #f: where there is no temptation there is no glory #santino d'antonio/oc #santino d'antonio x original female character #c: euphemia volpe #c: santino d'antonio #honorable mentions to grandpa winston & charon u da real mvps #john wick oc #i wanted to write like a big long thank you thing and wax poetic but instead i think perhaps i will lay on the floor

36 notes · View notes