Summary: Draco and Y/N get caught by Harry, Hermione, and Ron
Requested: Yes… “Heyyyyy can I have imagined where the reader and Draco get caught my the golden trio? You’re writing is awesome btw.”
No mine, But this had me dead ^
You sat in the great hall laughing with your Ravenclaw and Gryffindor friends. They were talking about a recent test that Professor Snape has asked you to study for. So naturally, everyone assumed the worst. But instead of talking about the test, you were daydreaming about Draco. You turned your head towards the Slytherin table and locked eyes with him. He was sitting next to Pansy and Blaise. He smiled and gave you a quick wink. Draco was the school bully, better yet, Slytherin Prince. But somehow, being with you changed him. He no longer bullied Hermione, Harry, and Ron, he didn’t bully anyone. In fact, he tried his best to be a better person for you. Although you guessed he talked bad about people, at least he kept it behind closed doors. You turned your head back to the conversation, but Padma caught on.
“Why is Draco looking at you!” Padma wiggled her eyebrows at you. You turned back to him again, this time he gave you a dirty look. He knew they were all looking, you didn’t mind it. Hermione sighed next to you.
“Don’t worry about him, he’s nothing anyway.” You smiled at Hermione. She turned back to them and began again. “He hasn’t bullied anyone in months! Maybe something changed him.” Hermione always tried to see the best in people. Seamus, however, did not, instead, he grimaced at Malfoy.
“He should learn how to gel his hair.” Seamus retorted. His hair was horribly gelled and the only time it looked nice was when you did it for him. However, he never let you do it. Hermione laughed.
“He’s an evil slick headed rat.” Dean laughed after Seamus, the boys high-fived each other before turning back to everyone else. You’re Y/H, so naturally, you tried to fit in with everybody. You were a well respected and liked student at Hogwarts.
“Oh no!” Neville stammered. “Malfoy’s coming over.” You all turned to match his gaze, your heart skipped a beat. You watched him angrily walk towards the Ravenclaw table. You turned back to the table and looked over at Hermione. ‘What do we do?’ you mouthed to her. But before she could respond, Seamus had other ideas.
“He won’t do anything I promise!” Seamus whipped out his wand, causing all of you to beg him to put it away. Reluctantly he gave Hermione his wand as Draco just got to the table.
“Get up Y/N, we need to talk.” You turned back to the kids at the table confused.
“She’s not going anywhere!” Hermione shot back, grabbing onto your arm and pointing her wand at him. Draco shifted on his other leg. You sighed, this would turn into a very big argument. You got you and turned back to the group. If you didn’t go Draco would be angry with you. Especially since you haven’t hung out with him since Christmas. But if you left, Hermione would be showering you with questions when you got back.
“Guys lets not start an argument, I can take care of myself.” Hermione gave you a warning stare before you scurried off with Malfoy. As the doors closed to the great hall you both looked behind to see if they were following. After, you both started sprinting up the stairs to the astronomy tower. You ran down the deserted hallway, hand in hand, while you both laughed. He pulled you up the stairs longingly. This was your place
You loved the astronomy tower. It was so beautiful and calming up there, and with Draco, it was magical. As soon as you got and walked around gazing at the view. Draco pushed you up against the column. You looked over at the landscape, it was so beautiful. Draco held your waist while you both admired the view.
“I missed you,” You smiled at Draco while you wrapped your arms around his neck. He leaned down and kissed your forehead.
“I missed you too,” he slid his hands up your thighs and smiled. “But you shouldn’t let you friends call me an evil slick headed rat.” You giggled at him. You messed up his gelled hair and ran your thumb over his lips. You caressed your hand against his cheek. He slowly took your hand in his and placed a soft kiss on your hand. He looked delighted to see you so close so him. You hadn’t been together for some time.
You weren’t ready, it had been so long since you could do that. His lips worked against yours. Your fingers knotted in his hair. As you pulled apart your breath came in a wild gasp. You breathed in his sweet scent as you smiled at him. This was the kiss that stirred in your chest making you want more.
His lips were warm as he pressed them gently on yours again. The afternoon wind blew around you as he pushed his lips against yours more roughly. Draco grabbed your thighs, making you shiver. You pulled at his shirt as he deepened the kiss and wrapped his arms around your waist.
“You know,” he smiled, pulling away. “You can undress me if you want,” He smirked at you while setting his hands on your hip bones. “I know you want to anyway.” he grinned mischievously. And never, ever in Malfoy’s life has he felt loved until you come along. You made him a better person. You brightened his mood and even Narcissa thanked you for making him so happy. Being half-blood didn’t bother him anymore. It didn’t even bother Narcissa.
“What makes you think I would ever undress you?” You chuckled quietly as you rested your hands on his shoulder.
“Because you’ve done it before,” he shrugged playfully. A big smile came radiating from his face.
“Draco!” You laughed, smacking him in the chest. He has pushed away from you. “Well,” you began, reaching for Draco’s tie and pulling him into you. “If it makes you feel any better, you don’t need to undress yourself to turn me on.” You pulled him closer by his tie and captured his lips in a kiss. He slid his tongue into your mouth and again, slid his hands down your thighs. His hands traveled down your robes and over your skirt. His lips moved against your cheek, brushing it lightly—the light touch sent shivers down your body and through your nerves. “If you want me to stop, tell me now,” he whispered. You said nothing, Draco brushed his lips against your temple, as his hands slipped under your skirt. “Or now.” He kissed your cheek lightly, his lips stopped right at the corner of your mouth. “Or now.” His hands began to inch closer to your underwear. “Or—”
You reached for his neck and brought his head down to kiss you. His hands slipped into your panties as you moaned out. You knotted your fists in his shirt, pulling him harder against you. He groaned softly, low in his throat. He rubbed circles on your heat causing you to whine out. He slipped his hands out of your skirt and into your mouth.
“Good girl,” he hummed in your ear. That sent you off the edge.
He continued to kiss you.
“What the bloody hell?” Your heart stopped, that voice had to be Ron. Draco whipped his head around while you slowly looked over at your friends.
“You didn’t!” Hermione gasped “You went with Draco to snog!?” You looked over at Draco and then pulled away from him.
“I wanted to tell you.”
“Then why didn’t you, Y/N?” Ron asked angrily. Harry stood there silently, he looked disappointed.
“Because you would react like this!”
“How could you!” Harry finally spoke up. “He bullied us for years! He bullied you!” Draco stood behind you calmly. He rested his hand on your shoulder. Hermione looked taken aback from Draco’s gesture and ran away, you could hear her crying. Ron sighed and ran off after her. “I never saw this coming,” Harry sighed, “At least not from you.” Harry disappeared behind the corridor just as the wind blew. You hoped just as easily as the wind blew, your problems would go with it. Instead, they stood still, just like you did when you had been caught minutes before.
~warnings: fluff, angst, swearing, fighting, and crying.~
Prompt: You and Michael get into a fight.
A/N: This probably isn’t the best thing I have ever written but I’m honestly just trying to get back into the swing of things. Either way, I hope you enjoy it. I didn’t really know where to end it but the next part will probably be a Michael POV of getting the reader home and putting the reader to sleep. I still keep getting loads of followers, so welcome if you are new and thank you for all the support if you are a recurring reader. Feedback would be so much appreciated as I kind of feel like my account died and am feeling pretty unmotivated as of right now. Besides that thank you all for the likes/reblogs feel free to comment or send in a request. I have a prompt list floating around somewhere on my blog. (I’m pretty sure it’s tagged prompt list.) The next thing I’m thinking of writing is probably a smut of some kind. (One of the John requests I’ve received.) Okay, now I’m just rambling haha. I hope you all enjoy. Leave Feedback :)
Your body was pressed between the random man and a tall standing table, as you stared up at him. He was quite handsome and seemed like the business type. A kind guy with little to no dirt on him. The type of guy who worked a clean job, having not done a single illegal thing in his life. His name was Frank or Fred or something of that caliber, but it didn’t really matter. Too bad you didn’t aim for the nice and neat guys because this one seemed quite the catch. All you knew or cared about was that it was getting to Michael and that’s all you were looking to do. Your hand played at his arm as you made flirty conversation. Leading the conversation into one that allowed you to put your hands in his blonde hair. Complimenting him on his glassy blue eyes and his white-toothed grin. His words were smooth like a salesman but with the genuinity of a boy. You leaned up to whisper into the man’s ear looking across the room at Michael to see how much of his attention you had. Michael’s eyes didn’t move from you, observing your every move.
Within a few seconds, Michael was walking toward the two of you. Michael had this unwavering confidence, something you always found super alluring about him. If he was on edge he did a good job hiding it. He was fearless ever since he had become a more active member of the Peaky Blinders.
The man placed a kiss on your hand while he continued to talk sweet nothings to you. His hands moved to your hips as he gave you a twinkling smile. It wasn’t until when he felt Michael’s eyes on the two of you, that he shifted his focus to Michael.
“Did you need something?” The man questioned, not rudely but genuinely wanting to know what he wanted, looking at Michael who just stood leaning against the table you were pressed against.
Summary: After spending the night at home with Jiyong and having a few drinks, the two of you decide to share some more intimate details that you’d never told each other before…(includes smut, minor kinks- specifically: spanking, hair pulling, ‘Oppa’, bondage and voyeurism.)
AN: If you dislike the ‘Oppa’ kink DO NOT READ. I am well aware that some people dislike the fetishising around it and i do not promote the act, but i have used it as an element of this story so be warned!
You didn’t hear him the first time he called you; the
music pouring into your ears as it reverberates throughout the apartment being way too
loud and the way you were concentrating on dancing around the kitchen
as you made yourself another cocktail meant him calling you went
You pause in your dancing, taking a moment to listen
when you think you’ve heard something, but when you hear nothing
after 2 seconds, you carry on shuffling across the kitchen floor as
you head to the glass cabinet.
You jump when there are hands suddenly on your hips,
almost dropping the glass that was in your hand- that he thankfully
catches- and turning your head to see Jiyong behind you, smirking at
your reaction as he slides his hands around your waist.
'Ji, you scared the shit out of me.’ you chuckle as you
retrieve the glass from him and place it on the counter, proceeding
to hold your hand to your head as you try to get your heartbeat to
stop crashing against your skull from the fright.
'I was calling you, but you didn’t answer.’ he slurs,
dipping his chin into the curve of your neck and letting his lips
trail over your skin, prompting you to frown in suspicion at his
movements, trying to ignore the way pinpricks jab all over your body
'What did you want?’ you ask, voice coming out
unintentionally shaky as you register the way his fingers kept
dipping below the hem of your short shorts, letting the tips brush across
the tops of your hips whilst he presses himself up against your back.
Georgina shoots Roy a look of cold hatred. She speaks to Patrick in a clear, controlled voice. Georgina: Roy has this idiotic idea in his stupid thick skull that something happened between me and his friend Joël the last time I was staying here. Just because he saw Joël walking out of here one morning. Not that I should be under any obligation to defend myself, but for the record, Joël did crash here once after we’d been out together one night as a group, but he slept on the couch. She turns to Roy, stabbing her finger at him. He notices that her hand seems to be trembling. Georgina: I’m tired of your baseless insinuations, Roy, and I’m sure Joël is too. Joël and I have been friends almost as long as you have. Platonic friends. Stop trying to stir up trouble. It’s childish and petty and just because your own marriage is a sham doesn’t give you the right to try and destroy other people’s. I don’t want to hear any of your ridiculous assumptions ever again. Roy stares at her, a grudging admiration replacing his incredulity. Patrick scratches his head. Patrick: Not very cool, Roy. You can’t go around making wild accusations like that without proof. It’s bloody dangerous. Outside they can hear horses whinnying, the whirr of an idling tractor. Georgina puts her hands on her hips and glares at him. Georgina:Anyway, we came to tell you that we’re going to the hospital to pick up mother. They just rang and said she can come home. Do you want to come with us? Roy: I need to sh- shower and shave first. Where’s Dad? Georgina: I don’t know. Working. I tried ringing him but he’s not answering his phone. You know what he’s like when he’s with his horses. Roy: Yeah. It’s a fucking joke. No wonder Mother’s the way she is. Georgina: You can’t blame Dad, Roy. Roy: Yeah? Why’s that? Patrick: I’m going to make some coffee. We’ll leave in 20 minutes. Georgina nods. As soon as Patrick’s footsteps have receded up the gravel path Georgina hurls herself at Roy, her fists flailing at his chest. He grabs her by the shoulders. Georgina: I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! Why do you always try and ruin everything- Roy: Calm the fuck down. I didn’t know Patrick was there, did I? Anyway, how is any of this my fault? You’re the one who cheated. I’m just calling it as I see it. Georgina: I didn’t cheat! Roy: Bullshit, Georgina. Joël told me the truth. So you can just climb down off your fucking high horse already. This is me you’re talking to, not your dumb gullible husband- Georgina: Nice try. But I know that Jo said nothing and that you’re bluffing. How do I know you’re bluffing? Because NOTHING. HAPPENED. Roy: Really? Did you forget I saw you kissing in the club? Georgina: That was nothing. We’d just had a bit too much to drink, that’s all. She marches past him to the door, her chin in the air. Roy calls after her in a singsong voice. Roy: ’When he lay down beside me he was so strong and assertive, but so tender. I will never forget the feel of his smooth mahogany skin, his soft, sweet kisses…’ You know what?That doesn’t sound very platonic to me. And I’m sure it wouldn’t to Patrick, either. Georgina: Fuck you, brother dear. The door slams and she is gone.
Not my gif. Gif credit goes to the amazing creators!
Requested By: Anonymous.
I just saw your post, so I hope it’s okay to request. I would love to read something with Fili. Maybe Fili getting jealous of someone else flirting with the reader and him making the reader a courting braid later.
A/N: Of course it’s okay to request! You can request anything as long as you’ve read the rules and if the requests are open, sweetie! I would love to make this imagine, I really love writing Fili stuff; he’s pretty much my favourite dwarf. haha! I hope that you enjoy what I’ve come up with, lovely: And send in as many requests as you would like. (Sorry if it get’s shitty half way through, I really tried my best with it, anon: And I hope that you really, really like it. It was a pleasure for me to write such an imagine!) - Kat
Word count: 1,754
Warning’s: Reader is drunk and dancing in the bar at Lake Town, jealous Fili, protective Fili, fluffy Fili, cute Fili, possessive as hell Fili. A really bad fight between Fili and the reader, but they make up in the end. Courting Braid! Probably heaps of spelling, punctual and grammatical mistakes.(If I have missed anything then please let me know).
Disclaimer: I do not own Fili, Bilbo, The Company or Lake Town (unfortunately); but Tolkien does!
Midnight’s moon swayed and strutted loosely over the cheerful chatter that was Lake Town. Mimicking; swinging just like the moon, your hips fluctuated to the lively tune supplied by a man with a fiddle. Guffawing blared from your extensive ajar lips, a pint of ale accompanying you; soothing you of each and every one of your troubles. “Those are some gorgeous moves, if I were to say so for m'self, lass.” a deep tone vibrated into your eardrums, leaving you dizzy as you spun to face whom in which had uttered the bold compliment.
“You recon?” a quirk of your delicate brow sent shivers through the dashing man.
“I recon as swell as I can eye a lovely lassie such as yourself!”
“Such an attempt at flattery shall get you nowhere, kind sir.” you winked, humor spreading fondly upon your complexion.
From across the rundown bar, Fili stared at your whimsy fluctuating hips with a sense of alluring desire. He had not witnessed such a side to you, even with the flirtatious advancements he’d pursued upon you. ’It’s probably just the ale getting to her head.’ he thought humorously, his heart stirring vividly within his strong chest. Though, melancholy captured him as he took in the grinning man, obviously making flirtatious verbal advancements upon you. His heart seemed to sink to a lower level, dampening his cheerful state as he saw in which the way you giggled and responded. There was obviously something going on, and Fili did not approve.
Honorary tag: @tesseractbucky because I somehow seem to keep kicking you off this thing (not on purpose, I promise!) This way it’ll hopefully not happen again!
“Sam, will you calm down?” Steve rolls his eyes to the man who’s eyes are still wide with shock. He’d been yelling for the last five minutes in the kitchen about how he found Bucky and Y/N in a compromising position as they weren’t even trying to be quiet about it.
“No! I’m scarred for fucking life!” Sam yells throwing up his hands dramatically. “She’s been like a sister to me for as long as I can remember, and this is not how I want to see my siblings!”
Steve can’t hold back a grin, “But she isn’t your sister, Sam. You should be happy for them. We’ve all been waiting for this to happen”
“I surely wasn’t waiting to come busting through her door when she sounds like she’s in trouble and find her fucking Barnes” Sam grumbles.
Steve doubles over with laughter. “Knight in shining armour” he giggles uncontrollably, making Sam all the more agitated.
“Screw this. I’m going to the gym” he mutters under his breath, leaving Steve in his fit of giggles.
Secretly he’s happy for them. They seem made for each other, in a strange way, but still. He exits the building with a smile plastered on his face, thinking of how his shy, timid friend could finally be happy.
They’re almost gone, he notes with dismay: the bruises.
He stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, at the barely-there marks of Daiki’s lips and teeth dotting the line of his neck, along the breadth of his shoulders, down the planes of his chest, at the even fainter outlines of Daiki’s fingers around his wrists and on his hips.
He sighs. It’s barely even been a week, and all the proof Daiki has left on his skin from their night together has all but disappeared. Even the scratches on his back have stopped stinging under the spray of the shower. And the soreness… that’s always the first to go.
Small request that consisted of just sex with angry Joji (so it may not be everyone’s cup of tea, I warn you, this might be a little unhealthy so please don’t throw stones at me). I hope I did it right, seems kind of exaggerated to me but oh well…
“Why are you ignoring me?!”
You stop in your tracks, surprised to see Joji here.
Your eyes are wide and you feel the anger rising back up into you again. You
had tried to forget what has happened in the morning between the two of you,
when Joji has snapped at you for whatever reason; but seems like he had the brilliant idea to haunt you. It wasn’t your fault that he
has stayed up all night and hadn’t slept a minute; you didn’t put him to it! In
fact, you told him to stop and get some rest, but he only shooed you away
rudely. This has happened so many times that you honestly got sick of his
shit—so you left him alone. Joji was to blame for his mood and he had no right
to yell at you if you slightly burnt his eggs in the morning. You wanted to
forgive him, but instead, you had had enough. ‘I DON’T WANT TO SEE YOU ALL DAY!’
and with that, you left for school.
When you turn your head to look in the direction of the voice, you see an old woman hitting her cane against the store’s yellowing tiles. The employee attempts to help her by presenting a bag of apples as an alternative, but the irritated woman only grows more impatient.
“Poor guy,” you mutter, expecting to hear a response from Jumin. To your surprise, there isn’t any, and when you turn around, you’re standing alone in the middle of the store. You call out to Jumin as you survey the area, but if he can hear you, he doesn’t call back.
Your shopping cart rolls steadily along the shelves of various baking supply, clicking noisily, until you come to a stop. You wonder where they could have gone as you add a can of frosting to your cart, but figure it’s nothing to worry about. Instead, you begin pulling up your mother’s shopping list from your phone.
The items gradually fill up your cart as you stroll through the store. Your mind naturally wanders to your life before you left as you realize that so much has stayed the same. The walls and floors are as worn as ever, the fishy smell still lingers in the air, and you still have to ask where to find the peanut butter. All of it leaves you in a reminiscent mood, and you find yourself feeling quite sensitive for no reason in particular.
Eventually, you’re hovering around the produce section looking for the last of your items. You add some kale, grapefruits, and bananas to your cart, and do a last check to make sure you have everything before you leave. According to your list, you do, but there’s an itch at the back of your mind telling you that you’ve forgotten something.
You try hard to jog your memory, but even after you recheck your checked-off list you can’t seem to think of what it could be. As you begin leaving the area, however, it clicks. You need to grab a couple of tangerines! You begin turning to find them before stopping dead in your tracks. The realization of what you’re doing, and why, blindsides you.
Tangerines are Z.G.’s favorite, and the last time you remember buying them was years ago.
When you had first moved in together and money got tight, you took on your second job waiting tables to keep Z.G.’s snacks coming instead of cutting him off. You can clearly remember the feeling of sore feet from working a double shift, but somehow you would force yourself to head to the store where you would fall asleep standing up. The basket handle would dig into your arm and the cashier would have to wait as you dug up the last of the change from your pockets, but somehow you would convince yourself the snacks were worth the effort.
So, like any dutiful wife-to-be, you would arrive home with just enough energy to greet Z.G. after school, cook dinner, ask about his day, and then pretend to be awake until he eventually left for his nightly drinking. Things rarely got any easier after he left, though. You often had to stay up to clean, prepare lunches, and iron your uniforms for work. Some nights, you would even have to go out and pick up Z.G., because he had either ran out of money, or gotten himself kicked out of a bar.
You swallow harshly, and blink rapidly, as you remember the first time you needed to do that. Your heart had completely deflated seeing him so drunk and out of his mind that you couldn’t help but cry. To any onlooker you were probably just as drunk as he was, but in reality you had never felt more sober. Z.G., however, didn’t seem to care very much about your crushed spirit. Often, when the next morning rolled around, he would get up and act as if nothing had happened.
Whether it was due to embarrassment, guilt or drink, you still don’t know. It’s clear to you now, though, that what was going on between you was nothing short of dysfunctional. At the time, however, seeing as you were trying to fit the mold and expectations of a wife, you had felt like it was your duty to protect him. That alone kept you coming to his rescue night after night, but perhaps you had also done it because you were afraid of being alone.
It’s true that Seoul scared you at first. The fast pace wasn’t something you were used to, and so the first few days ended up being a big headache. Z.G. did try to help you, but he let go of your hand as soon as you said you were fine.
Forgetting these things was easy up until recently, but it’s understandable that you’re remembering them now. This grocery store isn’t the one you used to go to in Seoul, but there are enough similarities to trick you into recalling something as trivial as tangerines.
With a small sniffle, you set off in search of Jumin. After wandering through the store twice, you come across him in the snack aisle examining a small can. He’s completely absorbed in this, and you can tell because his lips are moving wordlessly. Jumin tosses the can from hand to hand before addressing Driver Kim, and after they exchange a few words, you see Driver Kim make a few notes on a tiny yellow notepad.
“Hi” you say, just loud enough to be heard. Jumin raises his head as you approach, smiling at first, but something in your face quickly tells him you aren’t well. Driver Kim seems to notice it too, but you distract them both by asking what they’re up to. As driver Kim steps forward to show you the notepad of fragmented thoughts, Jumin steps closer. “Is this what you’ve been doing?” you say, catching his eye. “You could have at least helped me with the list before running off, you know.”
Jumin apologizes, gently taking the notepad from your hands. “I was doing market research,” he explains. “One of our partnered companies has decided to release a line of snack foods intended to compliment our new line of sports drinks, so I have to prepare a few suggestions for Assistant Kang at tomorrow’s meeting. As you can see, I’m running a bit short on time.”
“Is that the call you had to take this morning?” you ask, remembering how eagerly he slipped out of Ms. Yoon’s living room. Jumin nods, and you sigh. “Well, I’ll be at checkout if you need me,” you say, beginning to turn the cart around. Jumin stops you.
“I have an idea. Why don’t we let Driver Kim make the purchases?” he says with a tight smile. Jumin lightly removes your hands from the cart and hands it off to Driver Kim, who accepts dutifully. “It would be wise to get another opinion on the snacks before sending the data off, and Driver Kim did mention that he was tired…” Driver Kim nods in agreement before strolling the cart away, but it doesn’t take a lot to guess that he’s just being sensitive to Jumin’s tone of voice.
So, after Driver Kim goes, you don’t hesitate to point out Jumin’s pushiness. “It isn’t on purpose,” he grins, shrugging slightly, “I’m worried about you. What’s going on?” Jumin steps closer as you shake your head. He leans over you and takes your hands, lacing his fingers with yours. As you look up at him, into his clear face, you wonder what he’s thinking.
You pout and wonder where to begin. “Jumin,” you say, eyes prickling. His face gets blurrier and blurrier until the tears have nowhere to go except down your cheeks. You begin to let go of Jumin’s hand to wipe your face, but he beats you to it with a look of concern. His hand delicately cups your jaw, and he swipes his thumb gently over your skin.
“Why are you crying?” he asks, lowering his voice. You pout, and try not to look at him directly as thoughts of Z.G. flood your jumbled mind. Jumin, of course, doesn’t know this, so he takes your silence as a sign of hesitance, and lightly kisses you before repeating the question. He looks pained from your distress, but remains patient as you work up your courage.
“I remembered something while I was on my own,” you sigh. “I used to grocery shop by myself when I was with Z.G., and being here kind of reminded me of that.” You pause and look up into Jumin’s worried face. “I don’t know why it’s bothering me,” you admit, “but I guess it might have something to do with the way things went with his mom.”
Jumin lets out a gentle sigh. “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do to make it better?” He stares at you intently, and you wonder if it would be inappropriate to ask him never to leave you. “What is it?” he says softly, not quite understanding why you’re beginning to tear up again.
“It’s nothing,” you say, shaking your head and pulling away. Jumin watches you wipe the corners of your eyes with a meek smile, and the edge of his mouth curls into a confused smirk. He tells you that he thinks you’re strange. “I’m not trying to be,” you laugh, reaching for his hand. “I just think it’s nice that you want me to be okay, and honestly Jumin, that’s all I need right now.”
He smiles and squeezes your hand. “I’m glad.”
Your mother stands in the kitchen with pursed lips, her sharp eyes squinting in distaste as you snuggle to reach the top shelf of the pantry. “You’ll break something if you jump up like that. Go and get your father’s step stool from the closet,” she orders.
You turn to look back at her. She has one hand on her hip and the other stirring a large blue pot with a wooden spoon. “I thought you told him to get rid of that. Did you get a new one?” you ask. She nods and tells you to hurry. However, before you can put down your canned peas and dash off, Jumin and Driver Kim enter the small space with the last of the groceries.
It quickly becomes crowded, but your mother doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, she puts on a nice smile as she welcomes Driver Kim into her home, which makes you laugh. Coming from a strict family with traditional values, she’s always emphasized to you the importance of respecting elders, and Driver Kim’s shiny, balding head clearly gives away his age. You’re sure your mother will be extra nice to him.
“How old is Mr. Kim?” you ask as Jumin comes over to help. He sends you a funny look at first, but shrugs as he admits he doesn’t know. “Oh. I was just wondering,” you laugh, waving your hand for Jumin to get closer. He leans in with a tiny smile. “I think my mom is gonna give him special treatment just because he’s older than us,” you whisper. Jumin smiles and takes a peek over his shoulder. Your mother is now offering Driver Kim cookies and tea. “See,” you hiss. “Totally unfair.”
“What about it is unfair?” Jumin chuckles. You hand him a box of macaroni and shrug, which he shakes before adding to the shelf. “Isn’t she just being polite, dear? I don’t think age has much to do with it.” You look away and shrug, also beginning to absentmindedly pick at the label of a can.
“I guess,” you admit, “But it wouldn’t kill her to be nice to us too. She didn’t even say ‘welcome back’ or ‘hey, how are you’ to me when I walked in.” You pout and turn the can over before asking, “Did she say hi to you?” Jumin frowns slightly. “I thought so,” you sigh. “Maybe we should just make up an excuse not to stick around for dinner…”
Jumin gently takes the can from you and places it on the shelf. “We can’t do that. The fact that you’re upset is all the more reason to stay,” he says, softly. You know he’s right. You really should talk to your mom, but it’s hard not to feel nervous about it.
Glancing over his shoulder, to make sure your mom is still busy, Jumin gently, almost shyly brushes his hand against yours. It’s brief, but he hooks his pinky with yours before saying, “I think it would be good for you to talk to her. Given what happened, I’m sure you have plenty to say.” He raises his eyebrows to ask what you think.
“I don’t know, Jumin,” you sigh, uneasily. “What if she kicks us out of the house or something?”
“Then we’ll have dinner at the lodge,” he smiles, matter of factly. “But don’t you think it would feel better to enjoy your meal knowing you spoke to your mother?” You hesitate to smile back, and Jumin shrugs. “It’s up to you, but keep in mind that you were once the one telling me to open up to my father, once. He and I get along better because of that, so I suggest you take your own advise and face this head on.”
He does have a point. And Mom will probably find out anyway.
“Fine,” you agree. “I’ll do it later though, okay?” Jumin nods approvingly, and you both fall silent as you finish shelving the cans. Things go along smoothly until you’re once again faced with the struggle of reaching the top shelf. “Jumin?” you say. “Could you help me?” You tiptoe to show him were you want him to place the cans, and he smiles.
“Of course. Just let me-” Instead of taking the cans, Jumin gets closer and leans down to place his arm against the back of your knees. His hand rests itself on your shoulder and you laugh as he makes a clumsy attempt at scooping you up. “Hold on,” he says, letting you down and trying again. You do your best to make it easy, but there’s a lot of laughing and awkward hand placement before he has you in a bridal carry.
“Oh wow,” Jumin breathes, leaning back to support your weight. “You’re heavier than I thought…”
“Jumin!” you laugh. “Stop! Please put me down before you drop me!” He shakes his head and tells you to hurry and reach the shelf. “Alright then,” you say, proceeding to do it extra slowly. Jumin sighs and bounces you up to readjust his hold. The sudden weightlessness makes you yelp, and your father rounds the corner to discover you and Jumin, both pink-faced and laughing.
“Hi, Baba,” you wave. “Don’t worry, I’m fine. Jumin was just helping me.” You pinch Jumin’s nose lovingly, and laugh at the way he reddens. Your father sighs in relief, and says he thought you fell off the stool.
“We should really stop using that shelf,” he laughs, shaking his head. “None of us can reach it…” Your father watches as Jumin lets you down, and you make a big show of dusting yourself off. “One of these days we will, but for now I think I’d better warn you not to turn around. Unless you want to face the beast, that is!”
“Is that any way to talk about your wife?” your mother’s voice demands. As you turn to face her, Jumin does the same. “And you two! If you’re going to act like kids, go play in the yard! The kitchen is no place for fooling around!” You quickly apologize, and so does Jumin, but he smirks when you glance over at him. “And here I was thinking that you’d grown up,” your mother continues, stirring the pot angrily, “I swear, the second I turn away you’re-”
“Hey, hey,” your father laughs. “If you stir like that, you’ll ruin it.” Your mother freezes and retracts her hand mid-sentence. The wooden spoon continues to swirl for a moment before your father catches it to resume stirring, slower this time. He smiles at your mother, who seems concerned for the food and asks if everything’s okay. “Yes, dear. Why don’t you go check on the laundry? I was going to fold it myself, but you’re much better at it than I am.”
Your mother places a hand on his shoulder with a soft look. Then, as she exits, she glares at you and Jumin in annoyance. As soon as she’s gone you notice a tenseness leave your body, and Jumin lets out a soft sigh. Nothing but the bubbling of the soup can be heard. You feel a lecture coming on.
“You know better,” your father says, tapping the spoon on the rim of the pot. He places it down and proceeds to take out a knife and cutting board, not looking up until he’s chopping vegetables from the fridge. “And Jumin, I must say I expected more of you.” Your father’s careful tone, combined with his steady gaze and long pauses, makes you feel guilty.
Instinctively you look to Jumin for reassurance, but his eyes are focused on the floor at your father’s feet. “Now I know it’s wonderful to be young and in love, but your mother and I are old. That means we get jealous when we see you acting all lovey-dovey in our kitchen.” Your father takes on a serious face, and raises his knife. “So if it ever happens again…” he pretends to slit his throat and throw his head in the soup, adding in a plopping sound effect.
You raise your hand to cover your smile, and your father squints dangerously. “This is no laughing matter, girl! It looks like I’ll have to show you just how horrible I can be!” Your father sets down his knife and raises his hands, dashing at you before you can twist away. Jumin, wide eyed, backs himself into the counter as your father reaches around you to dig his wiggling fingers into your sides.
“No! Stop! I promise to be good!” you laugh in huffed bursts.
“Oh thank god. I thought we were in real trouble,” Jumin chuckles.
“Who said you weren’t?” your father responds, releasing you and turning on Jumin. You take the opportunity to twist around and attack your father’s side, which Jumin is grateful for. He lets out a laugh, that’s actually more of a scream, and darts away from your sneaky hands with a smile. “Ah! You got me! I really am getting old. I should know better than to turn my back on you!”
He stands upright to catch his breath. “Wow I’m out of shape…” You giggle and assure him that it doesn’t show. “Good,” your father says, resuming his work. “Anyway, be good while you’re here. Don’t go doing things that’ll break a neck, or upset your mother. It may not seem like it, but she means well.” He looks up at you with raised eyebrows. “You know she loves you more than she loves me, right?”
Rolling your eyes, you grin. “Yes, Baba. I do.”
“Then go make up with her! I’ll keep Jumin busy while you’re gone.”
“No excuses. You promised to be good, remember?”
Your father smiles kindly, and instructs Jumin to wash his hands. You raise your eyebrows, but Jumin shrugs and says, “How hard can it be to stir a soup?”
Turning on your heel, you exit the kitchen and head down to the laundry room. The door is open, but you knock anyway to announce your presence. “Come in,” your mother says, not looking up from folding the laundry. Her movements are robotic, creating perfectly creased edges and smooth folds.
“I came to help,” you say, reaching for a freshly washed towel. Your mother nods stiffly. “Or, I could just watch, if you want.” She shakes her head. No response is needed. You simply begin working, pausing briefly to watch her before mimicking the process. As expected, your folds aren’t as neat, but it’s your best. And your mother gives a nod of approval once the job is finished.
She quickly moves onto separating the whites of another load of laundry, and you smile a little at the familiarity of the scene. Your mother’s expression is cool and unfazed, her lips moving quietly as she separates the clothes into two bins. You had always admired how efficiently she worked as a kid.
You feel calm watching her, and you slowly work up the courage to ask a question. “What if I told you that Ms. Yoon invited me to her house?”
Your mother sighs deeply, and you lean back against the side of the dryer for support. “I don’t know. When did you talk to her? I hope you weren’t being nosey.”
“I wasn’t,” you say. “Jumin and I ran into her near the dog park yesterday night. She seemed pretty lonely.” Your mother raises her eyebrows in a disinterested way, and continues sorting. “She told me she wanted to talk to you. I think maybe you should, Mama.”
“Think I should do what?”
“Talk to Ms. Yoon.”
“Because she feels terrible.”
“So? She hasn’t come and spoken to me about it. Why do you care anyway? It isn’t your job to be monitoring who my friends are.”
You go quiet, and realize that your mother’s grudge runs far deeper than it looks. “Don’t you ever miss her, Mama? You guys used to do everything together!” As you remind her of their weekly picnics and salon trips, your mother becomes more tense. She stands upright and roughly begins tossing the freshly sorted colors into the wash, carefully measuring out the detergent before jamming her thumb into the buttons on the machine.
The washer comes to life with a familiar hum, and your mother turns around to reveal a huge frown. “Ms. Yoon broke a lot of promises, ___. The wedding was the last straw, and that’s all I’ll say about it to you. Do not bring this up with me again.” Her tone of voice tells you that the conversation has ended, and she begins walking away.
“I visited her this morning.” you blurt. Your mother stops to look back. “She’s hurt, Mama.” Your mother turns to face you, her frown deepening into a scowl. “Her son doesn’t want to see her, even though he’s back in town,” you explain, “And she broke down in front of me for the first time since I’ve met her! She needs help.”
Your mother crosses her arms defiantly. “That’s her problem. I’m not going to let her dictate my life just because she needs someone to look after her. And you shouldn’t be doing that either! You did more than your share every hour you spent engaged to that deadbeat son of hers! So drop it!”
“Mama,” you say, growing concerned. Your mother looks away. She’s just as startled as you are. It’s true that your mother had always been stern with you, especially as a child, but she’s never raised her voice like this before.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you,” she says, more gently. Something in your mother’s expression keeps you unable to reply. “I always feel like what happened to you was my fault. None of this would have happened if I bothered to find out who Ms. Yoon and her son really were. I don’t think you ever noticed, but she babies him. And he expected the same treatment from you.”
Your mother holds up a hand when you open your mouth. “I know,” she says. “You don’t think she’s like that, do you? But the truth is, and she told me this herself, is that she’s afraid of losing her son. I don’t know why, but you have to understand that it’s not our place to fix that. It never was.”
You fumble to speak, but your mother continues. “I’m glad that you’re so kind, but don’t hang onto problems that aren’t your responsibility. Ms. Yoon and Z.G. will be fine, just like you are now, but I need you to think about what I said. Please, ___.” Your mother begins exiting the room, and doesn’t look back. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I must check up on that nice older gentleman you brought along.”
She pauses to flick off the light, and you know that you’ve lost. Your mother isn’t going to stand for any of your worrying since you went against her wishes, but the better part of you admits she’s right. Sure, it’s a little harsh to stop talking to someone altogether, but you can’t say with confidence that you know what you’re doing.
Disappointed, you exit the laundry room and head in the direction of your old bedroom. On the way, you pass the kitchen, where you can see Jumin laughing with your father. A small smile passes over your lips, but it quickly fades. You drop onto your old bed with a heavy sigh, already kicking yourself for creating an unnecessary fuss.
You roll over so that you’re facing the window and stare out at the snow. Your mother’s words echo in your mind. You can see her upset mouth and concerned eyebrows as clearly as if she were being reflected in the glass. You close your eyes, burying your face deep into the pillow.
Why didn’t you stop yourself? You mull over the question for a long time, but eventually peel yourself from the bed and take a seat at your desk. You pull out a pen and scrap piece of paper from the top drawer, clicking the top as you think of what to put down.
At first you think you want to draw, but then you realize you’re not in the right mood. You begin writing a few words, but scribble them out. You sigh and rest your head in the crook of your elbow. You’re suddenly overcome with a feeling of frustration. You wish everything would fix itself for you, so that it could all disappear.
As you think more about what your mother said, and try to pinpoint the root of your problems, you realize that it might not be anyone’s fault but your own. You showed up expecting things to be the same, and now that they aren’t you’re scrambling to patch up the holes in those relationships. Especially with Ms. Yoon and her son. It was childish to have any expectations at all.
More thoughts roll around, and you figure that now’s a good time as any to give Saeyoung a call. You pull out your phone and begin scrolling down to his contact before you stop. Once you make this call you’ll know exactly where Z.G. is. More importantly, you’ll be closer than ever to knowing the truth behind his thinking.
You don’t feel sure about your decision, but you dial the number anyway and wait for Saeyoung to pick up. The line rings for a long time before going to voicemail, so you go ahead and leave a short message asking him to call you back. He probably won’t get to it anytime soon, but you’re not out of hope. You dial his brother.
Saeran picks up almost immediately. “What do you want?” he says, stiffly. “I’m in the middle of work.” You quickly apologize and ask how he’s doing. “Fine,” Saeran spits. “If you just wanted to chat I’m going to have to hang up.”
“No, wait,” you sigh. “Look, I need to know what hotel my ex is staying at. Can you get the info for me?” The line goes silent, and then it sounds as if Saeran’s phone is being jumbled around. You hear some low voices, one of which you recognize as Saeyoung’s, before you hear Saeran curse and grow distant. “Saeran? Are you still there?”
“Hey!” another voice shouts. You pull the phone away from your ear as Saeyoung proceeds to speak loudly. “So, it’s the same ex, right?” You confirm it and he laughs. “You know, I’m beginning to think you’re a stalker. Alright, give me a sec. Let’s see…” He hums pleasantly, and you wonder if it’s safe to put the phone back to your ear.
A couple moments later, you decide to ask Saeyoung about his brother. “What’s he so grumpy about? I know it’s still kind of early, but he seemed really upset.” A laugh comes through the phone, and Saeyoung explains that he hired Saeran to help him with his hacker work for the night. “Really?” you say. “I thought you worked on top secret stuff, though.”
“I do, but Saeran doesn’t really care if I can’t tell him everything. And it lets us spend time together, you know? Anyway, does the name ‘Fairway Inn’ sound familiar? I tracked your guy’s credit card there.” You think about it for a second, and then recall the tiny inn. It’s located in a quieter region of town, away from the tourists and their cameras.
“Yes! Do you know what room he’s in?”
“213. It’ll be near the East entrance.”
You thank him again, but Saeyoung doesn’t allow you to slither away so easily. “So, what’s going to happen now? Are you gonna go and talk to this guy?” You hesitate to answer, and Saeyoung hums knowingly. “I thought so. Well, good luck. I’d better get back to work before Saeran gets angry. Tell Jumin I said hi.”
“Will do,” you say, and he hangs up. You slump back into your chair feeling pretty guilty. “Am I really being a stalker?” you whisper. You try to justify it to yourself, but you do have to admit that your method of getting information isn’t exactly ethical. “Ugh,” you groan. “I shouldn’t have done this.” You wish that you could undo your actions, but the reality of the situation grips you tight and doesn’t let go.
Room 213 of Fairway Inn is Z.G.’s room. And you’re going to see him there tomorrow.
“Have you seen, ___?”
Jumin raises his head and meets your father’s eyes. “No? I thought she was helping with the laundry.” Your father explains that your mother is chatting with Driver Kim, and that he checked the laundry room for you twice. “Oh,” Jumin says, slightly concerned. “Well, I don’t think she’s left the house. She would have told me if she had.”
Your father nods, and then sighs. “Well, I guess I could go check her room, but I think I’ll just leave it for now. She might be upset.” Jumin hums thoughtfully and asks your father why he thinks you’re feeling that way. “Mm, I don’t know. Call it father’s intuition. You get really good at picking up emotions when your daughter is a quiet girl.”
Quiet, Jumin thinks, is not a word he would use to describe you. “Is that so?” Jumin chuckles. “Then, I think you’ll be amazed to hear that ___ is extremely popular.” Your father raises his eyebrows, and Jumin smiles. “It’s true. My colleagues all agree that she’s a great conversationalist, which is why they always want to see her. Her attitude really brightens up the office.”
“That is amazing,” your father laughs. “When she was young she was always very shy. I’m glad to hear she’s grown out of it. But I’m sure you have a lot to do with that. She probably felt like she was a burden to you at first, right?”
“Yes, I think she did,” Jumin says, taking a moment to think about it. “I remember how worried she was about everything. The constant media coverage, all the parties and meeting people from my work made her nervous. But she never said anything, so I assumed she was fine,“ Jumin sighs softly. “I was surprised when she told me she was worried about effecting my public image…”
The thought trails off, and Jumin can see the concern in your father’s eyes. “We’ve come a long way from that,” Jumin says, looking away. “She used to feel embarrassed about her education and her job, even the way she looked, but I think she’s come to terms with herself. I still think it’s strange that she worried about it so deeply. If anything, I’m not enough for her.”
Your father smiles a little, easily recognizing Jumin’s sincerity. “What makes you say that?” he chuckles. “You’re a successful young man. What more could she have asked for?” He leans back against the sink and crosses his arms, smiling as Jumin fumbles to come up with an answer. Jumin wonders if he should tell your father about the mess his love life had been before he met you, but somehow it seems wrong.
“I suppose that’s one way of putting it,” Jumin smiles. “But I do notice her disappointment when I have to work late or reschedule a dinner. A few weeks ago I was away in Hong Kong for business, and the voicemails she left me sounded so lonely. Of course she didn’t admit that she was, but I’m seriously beginning to consider working from home.”
Your father laughs a little and stands upright. “I wish I could say that my wife and I are the same, but honestly it’s a blessing when she leaves for work.” He says it loud enough to receive a scolding from your mother in the room over, which makes your father laugh. “I’m joking. I really do love my wife, but she’s still as fiery as the day we met. Anyway, if you’re up for it I have some pictures of ___ I’d like to show you.”
“What about the food?” Jumin asks.
“I’ll just lower the heat for a bit,” your father says, bumping Jumin out of the way. His square fingers turn the knob in a delicate way, semi-extinguishing the flame before leading Jumin out of the kitchen. The walls along the halls are decorated with framed photos and a single tall plant leaning against the entryway of the master bedroom. Your father switches on the light and heads inside, immediately beginning to scour the shelves of a bookcase so tall, it nearly touches the ceiling.
Jumin takes his time absorbing the room. He notices the sturdy quality of the furniture, the fresh sunlight coming in from a large window, and the flowery smell of detergent. His eye is drawn to photo on the nightstand, which seems to be a younger version of you. One of your front teeth is missing, and he smiles at the way one of your pant legs is rolled up and the other drags behind.
“Oh, I think this one is it! Come look at this, Jumin.” Your father waves him over, and Jumin peers over his shoulder at a thick book with a leather cover. He opens it to reveal that it’s actually a well-made photo album. There are pictures of all sorts arranged with matching captions, and your father smiles as he flips through.
“My wife likes to take pictures. She used to be a big scrapbook person, but these days she hasn’t had a lot of reason to put them together.” Jumin nods thoughtfully. Maybe that’s where you get your creativity from, he thinks.
Jumin’s eyes eagerly scan the photos in search of your face, but you don’t seem to be in many of them. Mostly it’s a collection of nature shots mixed with photos of your parents. Your father seems to realize this too. “Oh, that’s strange. I could have swore this was the one. Here, why don’t you hold this while I look for a better one?”
The scrapbook is heavy in Jumin’s hands, but he continues to flip through its pages nonetheless. He sees the mountains and trees you probably grew up seeing, and the smiles of your parents as young adults. He comes across several wedding photos and notices the resemblances between you and your mother, which freaks him out to be perfectly honest. Among other things, there are pictures of an ocean, pictures of farms, and pictures of what Jumin can only assume are your extended family members.
Occasionally Jumin stops to offer your father help. “No, it’s alright. Actually, I think the one I’m looking for is up there. Do you see it? No, the one over…the one to the left of that one. Higher up, now left again…” Jumin stretches his hand further up, his fingertips brushing over the spines uncertainly. “Okay, it’s definitely the green one. I remember it.” Jumin nods and stands on his toes to reach.
The book has a smooth cover. Jumin hands the other scrapbook to your father before attempting to wedge the green one loose. He stands on his toes to make it easier, but it’s not. In fact it’s a long time before Jumin has a solid grip on the thing, and even then it takes a great deal of tugging to get it to budge. Eventually, Jumin comes to the point where the book is half-in-half-out, and your father laughs and sighs.
“Just leave it. I’ll get it down sometime later.”
“Hold on, I think I almost have it,” Jumin says, reaching up once more. Instead of moving the scrapbook itself, Jumin begins removing the surrounding books. He hands them off to your father, who begins placing them at the edge of the bed, and then there’s just enough room for the scrapbook to wiggle free. Unfortunately the success is short lived.
This scrapbook is thicker than the last, and therefore heavier. With all the other books your father is trying to hold, his grip is strange and everything starts falling. Jumin swipes the air to catch the books, but the green scrapbook falls to the floor with a heavy thunk and spills its contents everywhere.
Unpasted papers litter the floor indefinitely, with some of the smaller pieces floating away under the shelf. There’s a glue stick, a pencil, and even a tiny roll of decorative tape at the feet of your father, and Jumin immediately squats to pick them all up. As he begins collecting the photos, he sees a lot of your smile. You’re with your mother, your father, some friends. He can’t help but smile back.
Your father straightens out the rest of the fallen books as best he can, and tells Jumin to keep a lookout for your mother. “If she sees this I’m sleeping on the couch for the rest of the month.” Jumin thinks he’s joking at first and laughs, but it’s clear from your father’s face that he’s completely serious.
“Oh, I see,” Jumin says, clearing his throat. “In that case I’ll make sure to put everything back where we found it.” Your father nods in agreement, and gets down on one knee to help Jumin with the rest of the mess. Everything goes well, and your father even stops to point out a few of his favorite pictures until he sees something that halts his cheery mood.
A strip of white lace is poking out from underneath a photo of your mother. Your father pulls the end and finds that it’s attached to a beautiful photo of you in a white linen dress.
It looks like it was taken outside during the day, when the sun was at its highest. You’re standing in a grassy field, holding a purple bunch of flowers in one hand with the other holding down your floppy sun hat. You look awfully made-up to be outside, and the quality of your dress has a fluidness that makes you seem like a princess.
To both your father and Jumin’s horror, there are more photos accompanying it.
A young man stands beside you in one of them, holding you very close. His hair is dark and his suit is a light tan color. The love in his eyes is unmistakable, and Jumin frowns as he comes across a photo of a kiss. Your father sighs heavily, and begins apologizing. “I had no idea these were in here. I told my wife to get rid of them years ago.” Jumin nods numbly. He can’t stop looking at you.
You look so happy. He’s never seen you smile so big. The way you hold Z.G. is unmistakably tender, filled with enough love to last you both a lifetime. It breaks Jumin’s heart. As he tears his eyes away, he notices another professional-looking picture peeking out from the pile.
It’s printed on the front of a card, glossy enough to get smudged by his fingers. Your groom is pedaling fast on a bicycle, standing upright with the wind in his hair. You’re perched neatly on the rack behind him, legs tucked to one side as you smile into the camera. When Jumin opens the card he feels his heart drop.
Thank you for attending! Our wedding couldn’t have taken place without the kindness and generosity of our friends and family. We’re grateful for all of your blessings and love.
Sincerely, Mr. and Mrs. Choi
Jumin’s eyes run over the fancy print again and again. He closes the card and tucks it back where he found it with a pained, yet neutral, expression. Your father eyes him curiously. “You alright? I can finish this up myself if you need a minute.” Jumin shakes his head. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, thank you. I’m fine.”
You lean against the doorframe as Jumin digs through his wallet for the room key. The hotel interior feels homey and inviting, and you notice that Jumin seems tired. “So, how’d you like the food?” you ask. Jumin glances up at you before returning his attention to the door.
“It was very good,” he says, holding the card to the keypad. A green light flashes and Jumin swings the door open. He doesn’t bother to stop and take off his shoes. Instead you follow him into the bedroom and watch as he falls, face first, onto the bed.
“Take off your jacket, at least,” you laugh. Jumin lets out a muffled groan. “You want me to help you?” He nods slightly and mumbles something you don’t quite catch. “What’s that?” you ask, coming to sit beside him. He turns his head so that his mouth isn’t obscured, and sighs.
“I’m tired. I feel like going to sleep, but I have to check emails and call Assistant Kang about the snacks. Oh, remind me to thank your father, too. He came up with a lot of good suggestions.” You nod and ask him to roll over, which he does with a sigh. You raise your eyebrows as you begin unzipping his jacket.
Jumin’s gaze is extremely present. You can feel his eyes burning into your face, like he wants to tell you something. “What’s wrong?” you ask, not looking up. You focus on peeling the coat from his shoulders, and then place it neatly to the side before turning your attention to him. Jumin says nothing. He shrugs and shakes his head, running one hand through his hair.
You figure he must be stressed. With all the family issues that you’ve faced today, including your ex-fiance’s, it’s not a surprise that Jumin is tired and acting strange. “You can tell me if you’re upset, Jumin, I won’t hate you for it.” He looks away, and you know immediately that you’ve hit the nail on the head.
“That’s good to hear,” he mutters. “I suppose I am feeling upset.” You reach out to take his hand, and Jumin pulls you closer. You fold down neatly beside him, your head finding its place on his shoulder as he shifts to give you some room. His legs and yours dangle freely from the edge of the bed, and when you point your toes you can just reach the carpet.
Jumin leans his head off toward you and kisses your hair. You can feel the heat of his breath when he speaks, and your jacket crinkles as he plays with its zipper. “I had so many thoughts earlier, but now all I want to do is hold you.” He scoots closer and sighs, his voice dropping to a faint whisper. “I wish we could go home.”
“I’m sorry I made you put up with so much today,” you sigh. “Did you at least enjoy dinner?”
“Mostly,” Jumin admits. “I enjoyed the meal, but I get the feeling that your parents were expecting me to say more about myself.” You ask why and he says, “Well, I’m not exactly sure. I know that we planned this trip so that I could meet them, but now that I have, I’m not sure what I expected. We don’t seem to have much in common, and their questions are mostly related to my work and our personal lives.”
You furrow your brow and ask why it bothered him. “It felt like an interview. I may be overthinking it, but I’ve noticed that your mother only asks questions she already knows the answers to. I think the only thing she didn’t know were the names of my youngest step-siblings.”
A slight laugh escapes you. “Yeah, she can be pretty invasive, but that information’s out there if you look for it, right?” Jumin reluctantly agrees. “So, what about when she asked about your mom, then? I know you kind of brushed over it, but I’m curious. What’s she like?”
Jumin inhales. “She’s…very particular. I haven’t seen her since she started traveling for her tourism magazine, but I’ve heard that she’s doing well and that she’s happy. Occasionally she’ll send a gift, or make a call, but I haven’t received anything as of late. Not even for Christmas, but I suppose it isn’t unusual,” Jumin laughs. “I’m almost thirty, and it’s been a long time since I needed anyone to look after me the way she did.”
He pauses to think, and then says, “I’m sure she didn’t fall out of contact purposefully. She’s probably thinking that I don’t need her guidance anymore.” Jumin rests his head against yours. “But I think I’m going to need her help with this new stage of life soon.”
You ask Jumin to explain why, and he laughs. “I think I could learn a lot from my mother’s insight to marriage. My father wasn’t faithful to her at all, but she found a way to put up with him until things started falling apart.” He thinks about it for a second, and then sighs. “I’ve never said this to anyone, but I’m afraid of making the same mistakes.”
Jumin sits up, taking you with him. His arms embrace you. “I’m not making any sense, am I?” he laughs. “Well, either way, I hope you’re willing to stick out this month with me.” You pull back and look at him with concern. “What’s wrong?” he asks. “I can assume that you’ll be here awhile longer, can’t I?”
“Jumin,” you say, seriously. “Why are you talking like that? You’re making it sound like I’m leaving.” His arms fall away and he slouches with a sigh. “I don’t get it. Is something wrong?” Jumin shakes his head and wets his lips.
It’s quiet. You want to ask him, again, if something is wrong, but it suddenly occurs to you that he might be trying to let you down easy. Your heart aches and your hands ball into fists. “Jumin?” you ask. “You’re not trying to break things off are you?”
“No, I’m just-” he stands, wandering away from you in distress. “I’m worried. I feel like things aren’t going the way they should.” He turns to face you with a frown. “I intended for this trip to be something to bring us closer, but I feel like I’ll lose you if we stay any longer.”
You want to ask why, but there’s a bigger question on your mind. “Okay, well, what do you mean ‘I hope you’re willing to stick out this month with me?’” Jumin’s posture slackens, and he shakes his head. “Honey,” you sigh, “I understand that things didn’t go well for us today, but you can’t just say something like that and expect me not to worry about it!”
“I know, I’m sorry,” he sighs. “I didn’t say it to worry you. I’m just not feeling well at the moment. I should probably finish work and go to sleep.”
“No, Jumin,” you say, catching him before he can walk away. “Tell me what’s wrong.” He looks at you with worry. Your hand clutches tighter to his, and begins breaking his spirit. The longer you stare into his eyes, the less he feels inclined to resist. Finally, he sighs and looks down at the floor.
“This thing with your parents….I don’t dislike them, but I saw something that changed the way I feel about both of them. I’m not even sure you’re aware of this, but they still have photos of your engagement to Z.G..” Your eyes widen. “I saw the ‘thank you’ cards that were supposed to be sent out as well. You seemed happy.”
You realize instantly, with your face burning, why Jumin is acting so strange. “You read them, didn’t you?” He nods, and a thick silence materializes between you. You wonder what to say about it, but no thoughts come to mind except to defend your past self, and to comfort Jumin.
“I was young,” you mumble. “Those pictures meant everything to me once, but there’s no reason worrying about it now. I have you, honey, and the only reason my family still has the photos is because we spent a lot of money on them.”
Jumin furrows his brow. “That’s not exactly the reason I’m worried. I don’t mind that I saw the pictures, or that they exist in the first place. I’m worried that when you go to see Z.G. tomorrow, you’ll remember all the things you used to like about him.”
“So, you think I’ll leave you?” Jumin shrugs sheepishly, and you smile a little. “I wouldn’t be here if I had any spare feelings for him, Jumin. You’re the reason I came back at all, remember?”
He nods, because Jumin does know. He’s been nothing but proud to be the strength you needed these past days, but youknow there’s a limit to what he can carry. “Jumin,” you say, “I’m not expecting you to solve my problems by making them your own. I should have taken care of this a long time ago.”
“Darling, you’re impossible. First you ask me to be there for you, and the next minute you’re telling me not to worry about you…”
“I’m asking you not to worry about Z.G., Jumin. You can worry about me as much as you want, if it makes you happy.”
Jumin, despite the tenseness of his brow and his serious eyes, cracks a smile. His whole face relaxes, and this reaction strikes an adoring laugh from your lips. “Sometimes, I forget that you can be stubborn,” Jumin chuckles. You reach up to take his face in your hands, and then squish his cheeks together.
“I’m stubborn? Look at you! You’re so worried about everything.” He takes your wrists and pulls his head away with a laugh. “I’m serious,” you say, tiptoeing and leaning forward. “I want you, only you.”
You raise your eyebrows delicately, as if to ask what he thinks. “Darling,” he smiles. “I-”
Suddenly, Jumin stops, blinking in surprise. You lean into him a little more, and he clears his throat. You think you know what he wants to say. “Yes, honey?” you ask. The sweetness of your voice is unnerving to him.
1 cup peony water (1 cup water per ½ cup fresh peony petals, bruise them and steep in COLD water for 30 mins, cook petals and water on low heat for 10 minutes, let cool)
approx 3-5 drops rose hip seed oil
a scent of your choice (optional, put in how much ever you want, i don’t determine your smelling capabilities, but i put in about 5 spritz of my favorite perfume that makes me feel v angelic since im making it for Angelic Purposes™ but you can put in p much any scent here)
luster dust/fine FINE glitter (optional, but personally i like the sparkles)
food coloring (optional, add last and add one drop at a time if you use it and stir to see how it comes out)
mix all that together in ya spray bottle, if you want more just multiply that recipe I trust you know how to do so
rose hip seed oil is VERY good for your skin- rivalling coconut oil for it’s benefits! you can also substitute rose water here if you want i just don’t have the roses to make rose water currently, scents and the coloring/luster dust are really want makes this stuff a+ because you can change it to fit any need you have!
want to move but he also doesn’t want Mandy or Juan or a hapless
early customer to walk in and find them naked and spooning on the
“Time to shift
Ian kisses the
back of his neck in response and tightens his arms around Mickey’s
chest, strumming the firm bud of his nipple with the pad of his
thumb. Mickey has no idea how such a small touch can make him feel so
damn good but he finds himself grinning into the crook of Ian’s
arm, practically giddy with happiness.
you let me up, I’ll get you a sandwich.”
“You a nineteen
sixties housewife now?”
swats the hairy thigh slung across his hip, laughing, a sweet sound
that stirs parts of Ian that are still throbbing from their last
“I’m a modern
man and I can feel your belly rumbling through my back, but fuck it,
get your own damn food or starve, see if I care.”
“I got all I
sleepily and blithely bites Mickey’s shoulder, pulling the flesh
slightly with his teeth before letting go and pressing a kiss to the
cannibalism has drawbacks so …”
Mickey rolls over
so that his forehead rests lightly against Ian’s own and runs the
back of his hand from Ian’s shoulder to hip and back again,
lingering slightly on the convex swell of his ribcage.
“… Get your
Mickey pats the
object in question affectionately, kisses Ian’s forehead and sits
up. He finally has the presence of mind to lock the door to the bar
and then pads out to the kitchen, not bothering with his clothes and
realises with a start that he is humming.
ain’t fuckin’ happening.”
berating himself quietly as he pulls bread, chicken, mayo and various
salad bits out of the fridge. He loves the bar, restoring and
transforming the battered old dive into ‘Galagers’ is most
definitely the best work Mickey has ever done, but perhaps his
favourite thing, besides the beach location, is the kitchen.
He keeps it
stocked with fresh fruit and vegetables and there is always good
quality meat in the fridge. Mandy asked him if he had a Martha
Stewart fetish when she first opened the fridge, expecting to find
not much beside beer and candy. Mickey had played it gruff but the
truth was that whilst he was in prison, he had access to candy and
bitter grog that passed for a sort of hellishly strong beer; what he
didn’t have was any sort of vegetable that crunched.
The beans were
always cooked to a dull greenish slop, the carrots fell apart on his
fork and the one time Mickey managed to get an apple, it was like
biting into sponge. Meal times turned his stomach in jail and decent
food is almost sacred to Mickey now.
encircle Mickey as he is slicing tomatoes and hands that are warmer
and bigger than Mickey would have thought possible, cup his genitals, shielding
with that knife.”
resting his chin on Mickey’s shoulder, watching him work and
pressing his chest flush to Mickey’s back. He begins to sway slowly
back and forth and Mickey sways with him, a little less sleek than
Ian but radiating blissful contentment all the same.
Ian starts to hum
a low tune, something Mickey knows but can’t quite place. He stops
worrying about it as Ian’s dick slips between his cheeks, hard and
“I like a man
who’s good with his hands.”
Mickey’s earlobe between his teeth and suckles it, moving his
tongue against the sweet curve of skin, feeling Mickey’s cock
stiffen and thicken in his cupped hands.
Mickey makes a
soft ‘Mmm’, humming it out between his lips and Ian has to
squeeze the base of his dick hard and fast to stop himself cumming
right then. Ian used to wake up in the middle of the night, sweaty
and sticky, the mere memory of that happy little hum buzzing in his
head enough to bring him to the edge. Hearing it again for real is
more wonderful than he can describe.
Ian’s voice sounds whiny even to his own ears and he makes a mental note to man the fuck up just as soon as Mickey gets off of him in what Ian guesses will be approximately two and a half minutes time.
“Does it seem
like I’d say no?”
in Ian’s hand, grinning as he turns and pushes him backwards. Ian’s
thighs bump against the short dining table and he cocks a slender red
eyebrow at Mickey in question. Mickey has his bottom lip twisted in
that way which tells Ian this is going to be over quickly and nods
Ian lays himself
back and Mickey straddles him, already slick from their earlier
frolic. Ian dips his fingers into him, curling them until Mickey
gasps and rounds his shoulders as if blocking an invisible assailant.
Ian removes his
hand and as Mickey slides onto his cock in one smooth movement, Ian
slides his hands down the front of Mickey’s thighs, digging his
heels into the floor and contorting his face in ecstasy.
Mickey rides him
slowly, one hand braced on Ian’s chest, his head tipped upwards to
“Look at me,
Ian urges and
slowly, like the sun coming out from behind a lazy summer cloud,
Mickey’s eyes meet with Ian’s and hold. This time neither gives
voice to the words that thrum in the air between them and the silence
is filled only with the sound of mingled breath, each listening for
the hitch or catch that will signal their lover is near. Ian gasps
first and props himself up on one elbow, his free hand working Mickey
with expert precision. They linger for the space of two or three more
heartbeats and then the universe tilts on its axis and scatters them
both into perfect nothingness.
By the time Ian
comes back from the customer bathroom drying his hands on a paper
towel, Mickey is washed up and back with the tomatoes. Ian peers over
his shoulder, arms once again coming round Mickey’s middle, higher
this time but no less insistent. He knows he is being clingy but he
can’t seem to help it and Mickey clearly doesn’t mind. One of
Ian’s favourite things about Mickey has always been that he leaves
you with no doubt when he minds something.
like a really healthy sandwich. I remember when you used to just
chuck a poptart at me.”
“Yeah and that
was only if you fuckin’ earned it.”
Mickey smirks and
lifts a slice of the red fruit from the chopping board, quietly
touching it to Ian’s lips without looking at him.
“Mmm. Damn! Is
that some sort of Mexican super tomato?”
Ian licks his
lower lip and glances down at the rest of the slices hungrily.
makes them sweet. You know I like ‘em sweet, Firecrotch.”
Mickey lays the
slices across the top of each sandwich, the pride in his voice
unmistakable even through the teasing tone.
“Did you grow
Ian nuzzles his
nose into the hollow of Mickey’s collarbone and feels the reluctant
nod his lover gives. Mickey’s shoulder twitches beneath his cheek
and Ian fights back a grin. Mickey always gets squirrely when he is
caught in something harmless but contrary to his image of himself.
“Yeah, no, I
mean, there were a couple stringy plants left in the upstairs
bathroom, they seem to like the light or whatever and I accidently
fuckin’ sprayed ‘em with the showerhead thingy a couple times …
anyway next thing I know, there’s fuckin’ tomatoes sprouting
everywhere. It’s not like I tend a fuckin’ garden or any shit
Mickey can feel
the vibration of Ian’s suppressed laughter and turns his head
slightly to give him a mock-stern look, eyebrows arched.
at me, Gallagher?”
“No … Yes.”
Ian snorts and
gives in to the fit of giggles, letting go of Mickey and stepping
away, hands raised defensively
“I was just
picturing you … with one of those purple, wide-brimmed hats old
ladies wear to do their ro…roses …”
He is gasping for
breath, backing away from Mickey as quickly as he can whilst the
brunette stalks after him, nodding along with a sardonic little smile
at the corner of his own mouth, fighting back his own amusement for
all he is worth.
… in the shower w…w…with your tomatoes all scandalised …”
“So you know
you’re fuckin’ dead, right? Like, I’m gonna kick your ass.”
Mickey raises his
hands in a gesture of inevitability as Ian ducks behind the stumpy
little kitchen table. He is not really even close to annoyed but he
knows Ian enjoys teasing him and Mickey enjoys seeing Ian flushed
with laughter, so they are both happy.
“I’m sorry …”
too late for that, man.”
Mickey feigns to
the left and then chases to the right, but Ian is quicker.
The last word is
cut off with a squeak as Mickey lunges after him, they’re both
laughing now, though Mickey’s eyes are large and dark with arousal
and that more than the laughter is making Ian’s knees go weak.
“Was that girly
little squeak you or have I got rats?”
“I did not …”
catches him and uses his body to box Ian into the corner, placing his
hands on the wall on either side of Ian’s grinning face.
“You gonna show
me who’s boss?”
He asks, running
his hands lightly down Mickey’s forearms and linking them around
the back of his head.
“Do I fuckin’
need to? Cause I don’t think I do, bitch.”
Ian had almost
forgotten just how much that soft, arrogant, Southside drawl turned
him on when Mickey used it like this. Hot and teasing and so damn
sexy it was unreal.
It reminds him of
the teenage menace who fought dirty and half-smothered Ian in his
bedsheets and came within seconds of breaking his face before they
fucked for the first time. There isn’t much similarity between that
boy and the man Ian sees before him now, but the memory still gives
him shivers and he kisses Mickey deeply, suddenly desperate to be
Mickey pulls back
from Ian after a minute and gives him a lopsided smile
“Yeah, I was
just … I was remembering the way you used to be when we were kids.”
Ian whispers and
twitches his nose a couple of times, lifting glazed eyes to the
ceiling. Mickey lets go and backs off immediately, misreading Ian’s
sudden mood swing as fear.
“Woah … Ian,
I know I was an asshole back then but …”
snaps back down and he seizes Mickey’s upper arms in a grip that he
knows will leave bruises tomorrow but neither of them seems to really
“You were not
an asshole! You were just a kid dealing with more than anyone should
have to and I am so fucking sorry I didn’t see it. I was so wrapped
up in my own shit … everything that went down with my illness and
before … the stuff with Sve…”
“No, shhh. Not
surprised expression morphs into one of unshakable authority as he
cuts across Ian, pressing a hand firmly over his mouth for good
measure. He holds Ian’s gaze, keeping him steady with a look
“I know we have
some things to talk through and later, I will hear out whatever you
want to tell me, I promise I will. But just let us have this,”
around them; their naked bodies, the playful chasing, the sandwiches
waiting to be eaten at the hastily cleaned table.
“for a little
bit longer, okay? I have missed the shit out of you, Gallagher.
Ian nods and
Mickey removes his hand, rubbing Ian’s shoulder instead.
“You want your
Ian nods and
Mickey smiles encouragingly at him, patting his face and gripping his
you ain’t eaten a post-cum snack til you’ve eaten it on a sandy
beach with the wind in your hair.”
Ian feels the
jealousy bite back at him but nudges it aside with a little more ease
than last time. They’ve both lived their lives the best they could
in the years apart, and he also knows that Mickey might just be
talking about jacking off, or at least that is what Ian tells
part he casts a concerned glance at Ian’s back and rubs his upper
lip, wondering if Ian is really alright. He doesn’t want to ask
about the medication, he does’t want to ask about Ian’s condition
at all until Ian brings it up but Mickey knows that this is all a
Hell of a lot to take in and that dealing with emotions can be beyond
draining for Ian.
They will deal with whatever they have to deal with later. Grabbing
his plate he follows him out, hastily tugging on his clothes and
waiting for Ian to catch up before throwing the front door wide open
and gesturing at the pristine beach before them.
Requests: 2nd one - college!au imagine where michael has been trying to get u to go out with him for a long time and u finally agree to a first date but he stands you up so u go somewhere else and meet luke and u guys hit it off and u end up going back to his room with him but it turns out his roommate is michael and after michael catches u doing to walk of shame he tells u his (really good) excuse for not showing and just lots of angst pls.
A/N: So I am FINALLY posting this, I changed it a little bit but I hope you still like it. Sorry it took so long, life has been busy and shitty these past few days. Let me know what you think! xx
“Michael,” You groan in annoyance, banging your forehead against the table as he watches you with big hopeful eyes, “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not interested; do you enjoy getting rejected or something?”
“I just know that you’re worth the trouble,” He flashes you a big smile before becoming serious again, “C’mon, just one date and I promise that if you’re still not interested after that I’ll leave you alone.”
“I just don’t think that we have that much in common,” You explain as nicely as you can, “Wouldn’t it be better if we just stay library buddies,” You joke lightly, referring to your daily study meetings.
“Can’t we be, like, dinner buddies for one night, though,” He asks softly as a last attempt to convince you, “Please?”
You sigh loudly, looking into his wide hopeful eyes, “You promise that you’ll let it go if I decide that I don’t want a second date?”
“Yes!” He answers loudly, earning a few glares and shushes from nearby students, “I mean, yes,” He eagerly whispers this time.
“Okay,” You nod, gathering your books and offering him a kind smile, “Meet me at Bonsai’s tomorrow night at 6.”
“Don’t you want me to pick you up,” He furrows his eyebrows as you shake your head ‘no’.
“I never get picked up on the first date,” You tell him, sliding out from under the table and standing up, “Don’t be late Clifford,” You warn seriously, walking away, the exchange leaving a smile on both of your faces.