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yukkiji · 20 days ago

Note

Hi!!! Could I request a childhood bestfriends to lovers for Kenma? Like something cute where they’ve been neighbors forever and his mom loves you so you’re over at his house all the time sorta thing. I’d love it to be super fluffy. (I would also like nsfw added if it’s fits lol) I absolutely love how you write and I’m excited to read it!! ❤️❤️❤️

press start to fall

where you’ve known kenma long before he became kozuken, but it’s only after years of quiet yearning, messy dates, and lingering touches that he finally realizes he’s always been yours—and you, his.

starring. kozume kenma x fem!reader ft. tetsuro kuroo

genre. fluff, romance, slowburn, smut, timeskip!kenma

wc. 11.2k

cw. oral (f. receiving), missionary, cowgirl, cockwarming, doggystyle, nipple play, praise kink, possessiveness, hickeys/marking, jealousy, desk sex (semi-public vibe stream room), dirty talk, streamer!kenma.

author's note. alot of things happened and i want to update since life has been stressful after our hourse got robbed lol anyways i hope you guys enjoy this and i'll try to post my drafts as much as possible hehe but not much will be proofread since it's hard to proofread using a very ancient phone HAHAHAHA

you knew kenma before the world did.

before the name kozuken trended in every corner of the internet. before the arenas, the esports contracts, and the millions who watched him stream in real time.

you even knew him before he was the genius setter of nekoma high, before his hands learned to speak the language of volleyball better than his mouth ever could.

you knew him when you were just two—barely taller than a stuffed bear—when the moving truck pulled beside his house. cardboard boxes stacked high, unfamiliar faces everywhere. your parents busy with directions, while you wandered toward the boy next door.

he had a bowl cut and a long-sleeved shirt that looked too big for his small frame. he was hiding behind his mom’s legs, half of his face tucked into the fabric of her skirt.

his eyes peeked at you. cautious. watchful.

he didn’t speak.

but you walked up anyway.

you remember squatting down to his level, offering the worn-out bunny plush in your hand. he didn’t take it, but he didn’t run either.

that was enough.

his mom laughed softly and crouched down beside him. “kenma, say hi.”

he didn’t.

but he looked at you, and you looked back.

somehow, it was enough.

you became a regular fixture at the kozumes’ house after that.

not long after the move, it became natural—expected, even—for you to be there. at first, it was a few afternoons here and there. your parents said you were just making friends, but they didn’t know it wasn’t about friends, not really. not in the way kids usually made them. kenma didn’t like tag or chasing games. he didn’t like yelling or loud giggles or getting mud on his clothes. he liked puzzles. his game boy. the little pixelated cat game he spent hours on. and he liked you, in that quiet, instinctive way a child decides: this person is safe.

you didn’t need him to talk. you didn’t fill silences with noise. you’d just sit near him, legs folded underneath, sometimes handing him your extra crackers, sometimes placing stickers on his arm until he blinked and said, “i like this one.”

his mom—warm, doting, endlessly grateful—started greeting you like one of her own. she’d open the door before you even knocked, press a cup of cold juice into your hands, and say, “kenma’s in his room. go on up.”

she’d pack bentos with two sets of everything. tie your shoelaces if she noticed they were loose. once, when you caught a fever and couldn’t visit for two days, she called your house and asked if she could drop off homemade soup.

“he’s quieter than usual,” she said on the phone. “i think he misses his friend.”

you were seven, maybe eight, when she first said it—half-laughing, half-sincere:

“you know, one day you’ll marry my son.”

kenma turned red from his spot on the couch. you kept chewing on your senbei and didn’t respond. but a part of you tucked the words away and didn’t quite forget.

the years passed, but the routine stayed.

elementary school turned into middle school. his hair grew longer, his voice deeper, his hands steadier on the controller. you helped him set up his first real console. brought snacks during exam season. let him lean on your shoulder when he fell asleep mid-game. you never minded.

and then there was kuroo—loud, wild-haired kuroo, with his permanent smirk and too many volleyball flyers in his backpack. he burst into both your lives like an open window in a quiet room.

“you’re always here,” he teased the first time he saw you. “are you kenma’s girlfriend or something?”

kenma nearly dropped his game boy. you didn’t blink.

“someone has to get him outside,” you said, matter-of-fact.

kuroo laughed. kenma rolled his eyes. somehow, it worked.

the three of you became an unusual trio—one half-charged with sunlight and sharp teeth, one soft-spoken and screen-glowing, and you, always in between. the tether. the neutral ground. the quiet rhythm that pulled kenma outside and made kuroo slow down enough to listen.

by middle school, kuroo was already a year ahead and louder than ever, somehow always getting into trouble but never quite punished. he had a knack for persuasion and a voice that refused to be ignored. it wasn’t a surprise when he joined the volleyball club.

what was a surprise was how often he started poking his head into kenma’s class after school, smirking as he leaned through the door.

“practice ends at five. you coming today?”

kenma didn’t even look up from his console. “no.”

“we need another setter,” kuroo insisted. “and you’re annoying when you just sit there and don’t use your freakish brain for something other than combos.”

kenma clicked the next button. “i don’t like getting tired.”

kuroo groaned. “you’re such an old man.”

you watched this exchange happen three times that week. kuroo, persistent as ever, kenma brushing him off with all the energy of a sleepy cat.

then came the afternoon kenma skipped lunch and stayed in his room, lights off, blinds drawn. you knocked, once, then let yourself in—he never locked the door for you anyway.

he was on his bed, stretched out with a pillow over his face. his switch sat beside him, untouched.

you padded over and sat cross-legged on the floor beside the bed, resting your arms on the mattress. “kuroo’s not wrong, you know.”

kenma shifted the pillow just enough to peek one eye at you.

“you’re good,” you said. “really good. i’ve been watching you two play since we were ten. i know you don’t care about winning or any of that, but when you’re on the court, you move like you’ve already seen everything happen.”

he looked away.

“i hate running,” he muttered into the mattress.

“so don’t run. just set. you don’t even have to move that much,” you said with a small smile. “just stand there and be a genius like always.”

he didn’t answer, but you could tell he was listening.

“besides,” you added softly, nudging his arm, “if you join, i’ll be cheering for you. every game. even if you just stand there and blink dramatically while everyone else runs in circles.”

his lips twitched, just slightly. “that sounds annoying.”

you smiled. “you’re already used to me.”

he didn’t say yes. not right away.

but the next afternoon, he showed up to practice with kuroo, sleeves rolled up, hair tied loosely back, expression unreadable.

you cheered anyway—from behind the gym doors, pressed up against the cool metal, heart pounding when he made his first perfect set.

you clapped when he got it right, even if no one else noticed. and when kuroo shouted, “that’s what i’m talking about!” across the court, you saw the tiniest flicker of pride cross kenma’s face.

he wouldn’t admit it, but you knew he liked the feeling.

from then on, things started to shift—not suddenly, but slowly, like the way clouds roll before a storm. kenma started showing up to practice more. not every day. not without a complaint. but he came.

you were there for every step of it.

he’d grumble about drills and sprints, complain about how kuroo never shut up, and say he was quitting at least once a month—but then he’d glance toward the doors where you always stood, sometimes with a juice box, sometimes with a towel, always with a smile, and somehow… he stayed.

he never cared much for being known. never liked crowds or spotlights or people yelling his name. but you could tell volleyball made something in him click—not in the loud, flashy way it did for kuroo, but in the quiet way that matched his rhythm.

he wasn’t playing to impress anyone. he was playing because he’d learned how to move in a world that made sense to him. one full of patterns and choices. and for all the chaos, the court had rules.

and maybe—just maybe—because you promised to cheer.

by the time high school rolled around, everyone knew who he was.

kozume kenma. nekoma’s brain. the genius setter with a distant stare and hands so precise it looked like the ball just wanted to obey him. people talked about his court vision like it was magic. opponents started prepping strategies just to counter him. coaches praised him even when he barely looked up from his warmups.

you were still there, always watching from the sidelines. sometimes pressed against the gym wall, sometimes in the front row at nationals, wearing a red and black hoodie with his number scribbled in sharpie on the sleeve.

kuroo teased him endlessly. “our genius has a personal cheer squad. what a spoiled guy.”

kenma would shrug, eyes on his phone. but you caught the slight twitch at the corner of his lips.

he never needed the attention. but he always looked for you in the crowd.

and you never missed a game.

seasons blurred together—spring tournaments, fall practices, rainy mornings waiting at the gates of nekoma, and hot summer nights where kenma would walk you home, still holding a half-finished sports drink in one hand and his phone in the other.

you knew his every habit. the way he chewed the inside of his cheek when he was thinking. the way his fingers hovered before making a decision in-game. the way he didn’t speak unless it mattered—and how, when it came to you, sometimes he’d speak anyway.

and somewhere along the way, that familiarity became something heavier. warmer. confusing.

you didn’t notice it at first. not really.

until kuroo did.

it was a lazy afternoon after practice—one of those days where the gym felt too hot and the hallway vending machine refused to take your last coin. you, kuroo, and kenma sat outside the school gate, backpacks at your feet and drinks in hand. kenma had already zoned out, phone in his lap, game loading. his leg was almost touching yours. almost.

“you know,” kuroo said, too casually, sipping his drink. “for someone who’s not dating kenma, you sure act like you are.”

you blinked. “what?”

he smirked. “i’m just saying. you pack his towel, carry his charger, cheer at every game. that’s girlfriend behavior.”

you rolled your eyes. “i do that for you too.”

“yeah, but i’m not the one who looks at you like you’re the only real thing in the room.”

your breath caught.

kuroo grinned. “you didn’t notice? kenma likes you. has for a while.”

you laughed—awkward, quick, a deflection. “kenma doesn’t like anyone. he barely likes talking.”

“doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel anything.” kuroo leaned back, arms behind his head. “you’re just too close to see it. and he’s too dumb to realize it’s love.”

you didn’t know what to say after that. and kenma didn’t even look up. just quietly beat the level on his game while your entire world shifted three inches to the left.

you didn’t walk home with them that day.

instead, you wandered. just a few blocks. past the bakery that closed too early. down the street where the sakura trees used to bloom.

your heart was pounding for no reason. your hands were cold.

kuroo was teasing, right? exaggerating. reading too much into things.

but then you thought about the way kenma always sat beside you—not across, never far. the way he’d quietly tilt his phone screen toward you if something funny came up. the way he never said no when you asked him to do something, even if he grumbled while doing it.

and suddenly it all felt like too much.

because maybe… maybe you liked him too.

no. loved him.

and you didn’t know when it happened—maybe when you were seven and he let you put butterfly clips in his hair. maybe during his first match when you lost your voice from yelling his name. maybe every single time he looked at you like you were the only one who never asked him to be more than he was.

you got home and sat on the edge of your bed like the floor might give out. your brain was buzzing. you couldn’t focus on anything.

you were in love with your best friend.

and you didn’t know what to do with that.

and suddenly, your phone buzzed.

[kenma]: wanna come over

[kenma]: i found a co-op game i think you’ll like

[kenma]: you can bring snacks if you want

you stared at the message for longer than you should have.

usually, you’d be out the door in two minutes.

usually, you’d already be knocking by now.

usually, you never said no.

but this time, everything felt different.

your fingers hovered over the keyboard.

you typed. deleted. typed again.

then sent:

[you]: sorry. not tonight. kinda tired. raincheck?

three dots appeared. then disappeared. then nothing.

you turned your phone face-down and curled into your pillow, heart aching in a way that felt too loud for the silence around you.

kenma stared at the screen.

not blinking.

not scrolling.

just... staring.

the soft blue light of his phone screen lit up the corners of his face, painting his cheeks in quiet confusion. the controller in his hand had long gone idle—his thumb paused mid-button press, stuck in a half-played game he no longer remembered starting.

behind him, kuroo flopped onto the bean bag with a loud sigh, cracking open a canned drink like he’d been waiting hours to do it.

“you done sulking over there or what?” kuroo asked, raising a brow. “you sent that invite ten minutes ago. you haven’t even touched your game.”

kenma finally blinked.

he clicked the screen off and set the phone down face-first on the bed beside him.

it buzzed once. a notification. unread.

“she’s not coming,” he said simply, as if it didn’t matter. as if it didn’t sting a little more than he expected.

“wow.” kuroo sat up halfway. “she never says no.”

kenma shrugged. “she’s tired.”

“is that what she said or what you’re telling yourself so you don’t spiral?”

kenma reached for his switch and opened a different game. something mindless. no plot. no real need for focus.

“it’s not a big deal,” he mumbled.

kuroo didn’t respond right away. just stared at him with that unreadable, calculating expression—the one that usually meant he was about to say something emotionally annoying.

“you know, you act weird when it comes to her.”

kenma didn’t look up. “she’s my best friend.”

“exactly,” kuroo said, too quickly. “but like… you don’t act like she’s just that.”

kenma exhaled, slow. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“you ever notice how you only let her use your charger? or how you always check if she’s watching before you try something new on court? or how you’ll let her eat your fries but if i even look at them—”

“you double dip.”

“irrelevant.”

kenma sighed and leaned back against the headboard. his eyes were tired but stubborn, like they always were when he didn’t want to admit something—even to himself.

“we’ve known each other since we were kids,” he said. “of course i do that. that’s normal.”

kuroo scoffed. “kenma, i’ve known you almost as long. you’ve never once let me touch your charger without threatening to end my bloodline.”

kenma stayed quiet.

kuroo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “look. i’m not saying you’re in love with her—”

“i’m not.”

“sure,” kuroo said, voice tight with sarcasm. “totally. that’s why you looked like you got soft-blocked when she said she wasn’t coming over.”

kenma clicked too hard on the joystick.

the screen wobbled.

“she just always comes over,” he said, quieter now. “that’s all."

“and you always wait for her.” kuroo's voice lost its teasing edge. “you notice when she’s not around. you look for her after practice. you smile more when she’s here—not at her, but because she’s here.”

kenma didn’t answer. the silence stretched between them like an unplugged cord.

“you’re not in love, fine,” kuroo said finally, hands raised in surrender. “but maybe start asking yourself why she matters more than anything else does. and maybe—just maybe—think about what happens if one day, she stops waiting for you to figure it out.”

kenma’s jaw tightened. his hands curled around the switch.

but still, he said nothing.

because kuroo didn’t know what he was talking about. because you were his best friend. and that meant comfort. familiarity. someone who understood him without having to ask.

it wasn’t love. it was just… normal. wasn’t it?

the days that followed were strange, but you tried not to let them feel that way.

you still woke up to kenma’s messages about a patch update or a new co-op title you could try. you still saw him at school, still passed him his favorite snack during lunch, still walked with him after practice when he wasn’t too tired to leave early. you did all the same things. but everything felt… louder now. like someone had taken a magnifying glass to your every move and suddenly you couldn’t act without feeling watched. even if the only person watching was you.

and then there was kuroo.

kuroo, who had decided—apparently without your consent—that your entire emotional state needed to be unraveled and laid bare under gymnasium lights.

kuroo, who gave you the most insufferably smug look every time you crossed paths in the hallway.

kuroo, who winked at you during homeroom like he’d read your diary and now had leverage for life.

you cursed him under your breath every time he walked by.

sometimes you cursed him out loud.

a quiet, sharp “traitor” when he stole your seat beside kenma in the gym.

a hissed “you are the actual worst” when he raised his brows at you after kenma handed you a drink without being asked.

you almost tripped down the stairs once because he whispered, “he only does that for you.”

you told yourself it wasn’t real. that it didn’t mean anything. that everything was the same and the only problem here was kuroo and his dumb insight and his even dumber smirk.

except now you noticed every time kenma looked at you.

you noticed how his eyes would flick toward you when something funny happened on his screen—like he wanted to see if you were smiling too.

you noticed how his shoulder would lean a little too close when you sat side by side, how his fingers would twitch between you like he was thinking about reaching out but couldn’t decide if he was allowed.

you noticed how your heart beat in places it hadn’t before.

and it was exhausting.

a few days later, it happened.

the two of you were alone after class—something that should have been normal. something that was normal.

you were sitting on the edge of the school rooftop, swinging your legs against the ledge, the wind tugging lightly at your uniform sleeves. kenma sat beside you, back hunched slightly as he tapped away at his switch. the golden hour light softened everything, turned the edges of the sky into melted amber.

you weren’t speaking, but the silence had never bothered either of you before.

until now.

kenma didn’t look up from his game when he asked it.

“do you like kuroo?”

the question knocked the air out of your chest so fast you had to double-check if you’d heard him right. you turned to him sharply, mouth parted, but he was still focused on the screen. casual. unreadable.

you blinked. once. twice. then shook your head quickly, too quickly.

“no,” you said, too flat to be believable, too fast to be normal.

kenma paused. just for a moment. his thumb hovered over a button mid-press.

“he talks to you a lot,” he said. “and you glare at him even more now. isn’t that a thing people do when they like someone?”

you almost laughed. the audacity of kenma trying to be observant now of all times.

but instead, you swallowed, fingers curling into the hem of your skirt.

“i glare at kuroo because he’s annoying,” you muttered, “and because he says things he shouldn’t.”

kenma tilted his head slightly. “like what?”

you hesitated. then shrugged.

“just... dumb stuff,” you said. “stuff that gets stuck in your head and makes everything worse.”

he didn’t press you for details.

instead, he nodded once, slowly, and went back to his game.

you hated how relieved you felt.

you hated how your heart wouldn’t slow down.

and most of all, you hated that you couldn’t say what you actually meant.

that you didn’t like kuroo. you liked him.

you liked the way he never expected you to be more than you were. you liked the way his voice softened when he said your name. you liked that every version of him—quiet child, genius setter, slow texter, tired gamer—had always been yours in a way no one else’s was.

but you didn’t say any of that. you just sat beside him in the fading light, pretending nothing had changed.

even if it had.

you didn’t talk about the rooftop conversation again.

there was no follow-up. no awkward tension. no clarifying moments.

the next day, you passed kenma a snack during lunch, and he took it without looking up from his phone. everything moved forward as if nothing had been said. the silence wrapped around the truth, comfortable and untouched, just like it always did.

but something in your chest felt different.

and no matter how tightly you wrapped your routines around it, the feeling stayed.

college came before you were ready.

you didn’t go far. just a train ride away. a campus tucked inside a sleepy city that still had your favorite chain cafe and a bookstore you could disappear into for hours.

kenma didn’t go to college. he barely even considered it. his world had long since shifted toward screens and algorithms and a growing audience who knew him as kozuken—not kenma from class 3-b, not kenma who hated group work and only ever sat next to you.

streaming suited him. he could stay inside. make his own hours. speak when he wanted and vanish when he didn’t.

you still saw him often. maybe not every day, but enough.

you still had a spare key to his apartment. your place was just next door anyway.

you came over after classes, usually in oversized sweatshirts and socks that didn’t match, flopping down on his couch with takeout and half-finished group project complaints. he’d pass you a controller. you’d pick the map.

everything stayed the same.

until it didn’t.

you started dating.

casually, at first. group hangouts that turned into one-on-ones. classmates who were funny, charming, sometimes a little too confident. there were no sparks, not really, but you were trying.

maybe because part of you had finally stopped waiting. maybe because you were tired of hoping for something that might never happen. maybe because kenma never gave you a reason to believe he wanted you the same way you wanted him.

so you tried. you went to restaurants that felt too loud. bars that smelled like syrup and stale citrus. rooftops and study rooms and late-night walks that led nowhere.

and sometimes—more often than not—you still ended the night at kenma’s apartment.

he never asked why you were wearing perfume. never asked who had smudged the corner of your lipstick. never asked if your sighs meant disappointment or something else entirely.

but he noticed.

he always noticed.

kenma didn’t know when it started—this dull, unfamiliar ache in his chest.

he was used to quiet. preferred it, even. but lately, the silence after you left felt hollow.

and he hated how much he noticed the little things. the extra attention you gave your eyeliner. the way your hair framed your face differently. the soft, glossy color on your lips that wasn't there before you left for your date—but sometimes was slightly off when you came back.

he never asked. never commented.

but every time you opened his fridge in someone else’s hoodie, every time your voice had a softness to it that wasn’t meant for him, something boiled beneath his skin.

and yet, he couldn’t explain it. not really.

you were still his best friend. that hadn’t changed.

but something inside him had.

because part of him—the part that lived in flickers and stolen glances—started hoping.

hoping that maybe, one day, you’d get dressed up like that for him. even though he liked you best in pajamas, curled into his couch with your hair tied up and no makeup on.

it all cracked the night kuroo dropped by.

kenma’s apartment was dim, lit by the soft glow of his monitor and the blue light of a paused menu screen. he sat on his desk chair, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, thumb idly spinning the joystick even though the game was frozen.

kuroo let himself in, as usual, a convenience store bag hanging from one wrist.

“you look like you haven’t slept in years,” he said casually, tossing a bottle of tea onto kenma’s desk.

kenma didn’t glance up. “i streamed till 3. slept at 4.”

“right. and that has nothing to do with the fact that your best friend came home last night looking like someone kissed the soul out of her.”

the joystick stopped spinning.

kenma’s eyes flicked toward kuroo, narrow, unreadable. “what do you want.”

kuroo sighed and dropped into the beanbag, stretching like a cat before cracking open a soda. “just saying. it’s been a while since she came home looking that lit up. what if it works out this time?”

kenma didn’t answer.

kuroo tilted his head. “you ever think about that? what happens if some guy actually gets it right?”

silence.

“like, what if he’s nice and funny and brings her her favorite stupid matcha latte and doesn’t freak out when she gets clingy during horror movies?”

kenma’s jaw clenched.

kuroo watched him carefully now, his usual grin nowhere to be found.

“what if she starts going to his place instead of yours?”

kenma didn’t move, but his grip on the controller tightened.

kuroo leaned back, one hand resting behind his head. “what if someone finally takes her seriously enough to ask her to be his girlfriend?”

there was a pause.

a beat.

a breath held too long.

and then kenma spoke, low and quiet.

“…she can do what she wants.”

kuroo raised a brow. “so you’re just gonna sit there, pretend it doesn’t bother you, and hope she keeps orbiting you like she always does?”

kenma didn’t respond.

didn’t need to.

because something in his eyes—dark and heavy and sharp with realization—said everything.

kuroo saw it. caught it in the flicker of kenma’s stare, in the stiff way he dropped the controller on his desk like it had betrayed him just by being there.

but kuroo didn’t smile. didn’t tease. not now.

he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “so what are you gonna do?”

kenma didn’t answer.

not right away.

his fingers twitched once, useless without a screen or controller to fidget with. he glanced toward the hallway—the one that led to your apartment, the one he could walk blindfolded and still end up at your door.

“i don’t know,” he muttered.

kuroo tilted his head. “kenma. you’ve known her since you were kids. you’ve built your entire life around her without even realizing it. she’s in your house more than she’s in her own. she has your spare key. she uses your shampoo. you like her.”

kenma’s eyes narrowed. “she’s my best friend.”

“and?” kuroo challenged. “that’s not mutually exclusive.”

kenma’s shoulders tensed.

“you think i don’t see how you look at her?” kuroo continued, voice quieter now. not mocking. not pressing. just real. “you’ve never looked at anyone the way you look at her when she’s half-asleep on your couch or when she’s excited about something stupid like a 2-for-1 pizza deal.”

kenma exhaled slowly, like it hurt.

“she’s been going on dates,” he said after a moment, voice flat. “and she doesn’t talk about them.”

kuroo nodded. “yeah. maybe because she doesn’t want to hurt you.”

kenma looked at him, the corner of his mouth twitching. “or maybe she doesn’t think it matters.”

“it matters,” kuroo said firmly. “especially to you.”

kenma ran a hand through his hair, slow and dragging, like his thoughts were too heavy to hold up anymore. “what if i’m wrong? what if she doesn’t feel the same? what if i ruin everything?”

kuroo let out a soft, tired breath.

“okay. but what if you don’t say anything… and someone else does? what if the next guy she goes out with isn’t casual? what if she stops showing up here because she’s finally found someone who actually says what you won’t?”

kenma didn’t respond. just sat there, jaw clenched, staring at the monitor like it might have answers buried in the pixels.

the idea of you not coming back—of your key never turning in the lock again, of your voice not filling the quiet spaces between his routines—sank into his chest like a stone.

“look, i’m not telling you to run to her door with flowers or confess on stream or whatever,” kuroo said. “but if you’re gonna keep looking at her like that… eventually, someone will notice. and it might not be her.”

kenma said nothing.

but the silence wasn’t the same as before.

it was full of something unspoken. something rising.

something that finally had a name, even if he couldn’t say it out loud yet.

and this time, kuroo didn’t press.

he just stood, stretched, and clapped kenma once on the shoulder before heading for the door.

“think about it,” he said. “before it’s too late.”

then he left.

and kenma stayed still, staring at the hallway.

like maybe you were already halfway out of reach.

kenma couldn’t focus the next day.

he tried streaming. made it thirty minutes before logging off mid-match with a vague excuse about frame drops. he hadn’t eaten anything except instant miso and a handful of chips. the room felt stuffy. too quiet. too clean.

he didn’t know where you were. hadn’t messaged you since the night before. hadn’t asked.

because if you were out again—with him again—he didn’t want to know.

still, something made him reach for his hoodie and step outside. maybe it was instinct. maybe it was avoidance. maybe it was the thin hope that he could walk it off, or dull the noise in his head with the fluorescent hum of a convenience store.

he shoved his hands into his pocket, phone buzzing silently against his palm, and kept his eyes low as he turned the corner toward your apartment complex.

and then he saw you.

right there, in front of your door. key in hand, leather jacket hanging off one shoulder, mouth slightly parted like you’d just said goodbye to someone. maybe you had. maybe you were already watching them walk away.

your lipstick was smeared just enough to notice if you were looking.

kenma looked.

he froze in place for a second too long, eyes flicking from the corner of your mouth to the curve of your cheek where your makeup was just a little too faded, a little too touched. something in his stomach twisted.

you looked up and smiled like nothing was wrong.

like you didn’t look like someone had just had their mouth on you.

“hey,” you said, breathless, like you’d been moving quickly. or maybe you were nervous. he couldn’t tell. “you heading out?”

kenma nodded slowly. “convenience store.”

“can i crash at yours?” you asked, already crossing the short distance between you.

he wanted to say no.

he wanted to say, not tonight, not like this, not when you smell like someone else’s cologne.

but you were already in front of him, already kicking off your shoes at his door like you’d done a hundred times before. like nothing had changed.

he followed you in.

your leather jacket was draped over one arm, and underneath you wore a tight black tube top—nothing else covering your shoulders. nothing to hide the faint, purple mark just below your collarbone.

kenma saw it.

he wasn’t supposed to. you hadn’t meant to reveal it, probably. but his eyes caught on it and didn’t move.

a hickey.

small. shallow. recent.

the same twisting sensation returned—hotter now, sharper. it crawled beneath his ribs and sat there, simmering.

you flopped onto his couch like always, arms stretched behind your head, exposing more skin than usual. more skin that wasn’t his to look at, but he couldn’t stop. couldn’t not see it.

“you okay?” you asked, glancing up at him through tired lashes.

kenma blinked. nodded. “yeah.”

he walked past you without meeting your eyes, heart hammering somewhere near his throat.

he didn’t know what made it worse—the fact that someone had touched you like that, or the fact that you came to him afterward like it meant nothing.

like he was just the soft place you landed when the excitement wore off.

and maybe that’s all he was. maybe that’s all he’d ever been.

he went to the kitchen. didn’t know why. didn’t need anything.

he just couldn’t look at you anymore without giving something away.

you noticed it the second you stepped inside.

something felt different. not visibly. the room looked the same—same dim lights, same faint smell of shampoo and fabric softener, same low hum of his console in standby. but kenma’s silence was sharper than usual, pointed in the way he moved, careful in the way he didn’t look at you.

he always looked. even if it was just a glance. even if it was just to make sure you were really there.

but tonight, he wouldn’t meet your eyes.

he barely said anything.

he padded toward the kitchen without a word, hoodie sleeves tugged over his palms like they could hide whatever it was he didn’t want to feel.

you frowned, sitting up straighter on the couch, your fingers subconsciously reaching for the edge of your jacket before remembering you’d already tossed it by the door.

you didn’t think he saw the hickey.

you hadn’t even thought about it. it wasn’t that deep. it hadn’t meant anything.

but suddenly you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

the tension in the room crackled around you, invisible but heavy, and your voice came out softer than intended.

“kenma?”

no answer. the fridge door opened and shut.

you shifted, hugging your knees to your chest. “are you mad at me?”

he still didn’t answer right away.

then—

“why would i be mad?” flat. emotionless. the way he sounded when something did bother him, and he didn’t want to talk about it.

you blinked. “i don’t know. you’re just… being weird.”

kenma came back into the living room, not with snacks or a drink, just… empty-handed. like he’d gone in there to breathe more than anything else.

he stood across from you, arms folded loosely, and for a second you thought he might brush it off. say he was just tired. tell you you were imagining it.

but then his eyes met yours, and everything dropped.

“do you always come here after they’re done with you?”

the words weren’t cruel. his tone didn’t spike or snap. he didn’t shout. didn’t raise his voice.

but it cut all the same.

you stared, breath caught in your throat.

“what…?”

kenma looked away, jaw tense. “you go out with them. come back here like nothing happened. still wear their cologne. have marks on your skin. and then you sit on my couch like you’re—like this is still normal.”

you didn’t know what to say.

because you didn’t mean for it to be like that. it wasn’t intentional. this wasn’t some elaborate game to string him along or keep him close. he was your safe place. your best friend. and maybe that made you selfish. maybe you’d taken advantage of the fact that he was always there—always steady, always soft.

“kenma,” you said quietly, “i didn’t mean to make you feel like that.”

his throat bobbed. “you didn’t have to mean it.”

and that was what made it worse.

because it hurt anyway.

because somewhere along the line, he’d let you make a home in him.

and he didn’t know how to tell you it felt like you were burning it down every time you came back smelling like someone else.

you stood up slowly, unsure whether to reach for him or give him space.

“why didn’t you say anything?” you asked. “if it bothered you?”

kenma exhaled sharply, eyes still averted. “because you’re not mine.”

you froze.

the words hung in the space between you like smoke—thin, bitter, impossible to un-hear.

for a moment, all you could do was stand there. looking at him. really looking at him.

he wouldn’t meet your eyes now. his posture wasn’t angry. not defensive. just... drained. like he'd finally said something that had been sitting on his chest for far too long, and now he didn’t know how to take it back—or if he even wanted to.

and you realized—

this whole time, you’d been waiting for a sign.

a reason.

some shift in his voice or eyes that would make you feel less insane for loving him the way you did. you’d been so scared to lose the comfort, the familiarity, the normal—that you never considered he might’ve been holding back for the same reasons.

and now, here you were.

lipstick fading. breath shaky. a hickey from a boy whose name you didn’t even want to remember. and kenma standing in front of you, eyes low and voice tired, finally showing you the part of his heart he kept locked behind every silence he’d ever given you.

you swallowed.

“do you want me to be?”

his head lifted, just slightly. brows furrowed.

“what?”

you took a step forward.

voice softer now. smaller.

“yours,” you said. “do you want me to be?”

his mouth parted. no sound came out.

you didn’t wait.

didn’t let your heart overthink it.

you stepped close enough that he could smell your perfume—the one he said smelled like green tea and summer mornings—and gently, carefully, placed your hand over his.

“i didn’t know how to say it,” you whispered. “i’ve liked you for a long time. i didn’t think you felt the same, and i thought… maybe it would be easier if i stopped hoping. so i tried.”

his hand curled under yours. not tight. not desperate. just there—like it always was.

“i hated it,” he said quietly. “every time you left and came back like nothing happened. i didn’t want to be the person you landed on when no one else worked out. i wanted to be the one you picked first.”

your heart cracked in half and reformed all at once and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel unsure.

you stepped in.

closed the distance.

wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed your forehead to his shoulder, breathing him in—comfort, safety, and something warm that made your chest feel full to the brim.

“i’m here now,” you murmured. “and i’m not going anywhere.”

kenma let out a breath like he’d been holding it for months.

his arms came around you slowly. gently. like he was afraid you’d disappear if he moved too fast.

“good,” he said, barely above a whisper. “because you were never supposed to be someone else’s.”

kenma’s arms tightened around you, pulling you closer until you could feel the gentle thrum of his pulse against your chest.

you’d never realized how still he could be—how his presence could make everything else fall away, leaving nothing but the softness of his touch, the depth of his breath, the heat between you two.

it felt like time slowed as his hand brushed against the back of your neck, pulling your face up just slightly until his eyes met yours—eyes that held something unspoken. something you could almost taste in the air, sharp and heavy.

you didn’t move. didn’t know what to do except hold your breath and wait.

but then, without warning, kenma leaned in.

the kiss came soft at first. tentative. testing. lips barely brushing, like he wasn’t sure you were really here, really with him, or if this was some kind of dream he could wake up from. but then—something shifted.

the kiss deepened.

his lips found yours with more pressure, more need, as though he’d been waiting for this moment as long as you had. his hand gripped the back of your head, pulling you closer, tilting your face upward so he could kiss you like he wanted to memorize it—like he wanted you to be his. completely. unconditionally.

you could taste the faint edge of his possessiveness in the way he kissed you, in the way he held you so tightly like he was afraid someone would come and take you away if he let go. his lips moved against yours with a ferocity that was unspoken, a heat you hadn’t felt from him before, and it set something alight inside you.

his fingers tangled in your hair, tugging you closer still. his other hand slid down your back, pulling you into him, pressing the length of your body against his.

a quiet groan slipped from his throat when you kissed him back—soft at first, but eager. and it made something tighten low in your stomach, the need for him suddenly overwhelming, like you couldn’t get close enough.

when he finally pulled back—just enough to breathe—you were both still pressed together, chest to chest. his forehead rested against yours, his eyes dark, pupils blown wide.

“you’re mine,” he whispered, voice rough. low. possessive in a way that made your heart race. “always. don’t you forget it.”

you swallowed, your breath still coming in uneven gasps, and nodded slowly.

“i won’t,” you whispered back, a little breathless. “i won’t ever forget.”

and for the first time, you felt it in the way he kissed you again—this time deeper, slower, as if sealing the promise he’d made. the promise that neither of you would ever have to pretend again.

kenma's hands didn't stop moving. they slid down your spine, tracing the dip of your waist, then settled firmly at your hips, grounding you against him. his lips moved against yours with growing urgency, like now that he had you, he couldn’t risk letting go. not even for a second.

you barely noticed the way you were moving until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the couch, and he gently guided you down. you fell back into the cushions with a breathless laugh, your head tilted to watch him, lips kiss-swollen and eyes hazy.

he climbed over you slowly, deliberately—like he was giving you the chance to pull away, even if his body said he hoped you wouldn’t.

you didn’t.

you reached for him, fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie, pulling him down until his mouth met yours again—hotter this time, wetter, your bodies pressing flush. his weight on top of you felt like gravity. like something you'd needed for years without knowing.

when his tongue slipped between your lips, you let him in without hesitation.

you moaned into his mouth, fingers moving up to tangle in his hair. he groaned softly at the sound, grinding down against your hips in response—just once, enough to make your breath catch.

“kenma—” you gasped, breaking the kiss, eyes searching his. “are you sure?”

he nodded immediately, eyes blown wide, his voice low and rasped. “i’ve never been more sure of anything.”

his hand slid up your side, fingertips brushing the exposed skin of your ribs just above the edge of your tube top. his thumb ghosted over the faint mark on your chest—the hickey from someone else—and for a second, you thought he might stop.

but instead, he leaned down and kissed the skin beside it.

then lower.

and lower.

until his mouth pressed gently against your collarbone, teeth grazing the spot just enough to make you shiver.

his fingers slipped under your top, slowly pushing it up, watching you for any hesitation.

there was none.

he pulled it off over your head in one smooth motion and sat back for a second—just to look.

his breath caught.

you’d never seen him look like this before—like his entire world had narrowed to just you. every inch of his attention was locked on your skin, your expression, your body laid out beneath him like you were the most precious thing he’d ever been given.

“fuck,” he whispered, eyes darkening. “you’re perfect.”

heat pooled in your stomach. your thighs squeezed together on instinct.

“kenma—”

he leaned down again, capturing your lips in a kiss that left no room for doubt. this time, it was possessive. claiming. the kind of kiss that said you’re mine now and you’ve always been.

his hand moved down your stomach, over the waistband of your jeans, and paused.

you nodded once.

that was all it took.

he popped the button and dragged them down, fingers catching your underwear along the way. your breath hitched as cool air met your skin, and kenma settled between your thighs, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

he was quiet for a moment. reverent.

then—

“let me taste you.”

your body jolted at the request—at how low and deliberate his voice was. it wasn’t a question. it was a need.

you nodded again. couldn’t form words even if you tried.

kenma ducked his head, and the first lick was slow, deliberate, the flat of his tongue dragging through your folds with aching precision.

you moaned—sharp and sudden—one hand flying to grip the back of the couch. his hands anchored your thighs, thumbs rubbing soft circles into your skin while his mouth worked between your legs, tongue flicking against your clit until your whole body trembled.

“so sweet,” he murmured, breath hot against you. “better than i imagined.”

“kenma—” your voice cracked, hips rolling toward him, chasing the pressure. “please.”

he sucked your clit into his mouth, fingers joining in just as he moaned against you—and that was it.

your orgasm hit fast, sharp, stealing the breath from your lungs as your thighs clamped around his head and your hands buried in his hair.

he didn’t stop until you were shaking.

until your moans turned into whimpers, and even then, he pulled away slowly—kiss-swollen lips and flushed cheeks, his expression soft but hungry.

he leaned over you, wiped your tears with his thumb, and kissed your forehead.

“i’m not done,” he whispered. “i need to be inside you.”

his bedroom was quiet. still.

the only sound was your breathing and the soft padding of your bare feet against the floor as he led you inside, his fingers laced gently with yours. he didn’t say anything—just tugged you closer, pressing a kiss to the side of your head as he backed you toward the bed.

you sat on the edge, eyes fluttering closed when his hands ran over your arms, down your sides, settling at your hips. your jeans and top were already gone, and his hoodie was long forgotten somewhere in the living room.

he bent down, kissing your shoulder, your collarbone, your sternum, until you felt boneless beneath him again.

but still—something bubbled in your throat. a truth you hadn’t said aloud yet.

“kenma,” you murmured, fingers lightly curling around his wrist to pause him.

he looked up, immediately still. “did i hurt you?”

you shook your head quickly. “no. no, it’s not that.”

his gaze softened as he waited.

you hesitated. not because you were scared, but because it felt… fragile. this truth. like once you said it, it couldn’t be undone.

“i’ve never… gone this far before,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “it’s my first time.”

his eyes widened a little—but it wasn’t shock. or pressure. it was something gentler, something relieved. something like he was grateful.

you saw it in the way his shoulders dropped, the way he kissed you after—so soft, it felt like he was thanking you without saying the words.

“good,” he whispered against your lips. “i’m glad.”

your chest fluttered.

he kissed you again, longer this time, tongue sliding slowly into your mouth, his hand moving to cup your cheek like he needed to remind himself this was real. you were real. this was real.

when he laid you back, he took his time.

his clothes joined yours in quiet pieces—the hem of his shirt tugged over his head, sweatpants dropped to the floor, the sharp lines of his body slotting perfectly between your thighs. his skin was warm against yours, his breathing shallow but steady.

“you’re sure?” he asked again, voice husky as he hovered over you.

you nodded. “i want this. i want you.”

kenma let out a breath that trembled.

he reached between your bodies, guiding himself with slow, careful fingers, brushing the head of his cock between your folds—soft, wet, and aching for more.

his lips never left yours when he pushed in.

inch by inch, slowly, carefully, his cock stretched you open, filling you in a way that made your back arch, breath catching in your throat. he groaned low against your mouth, his grip on your hips tightening just slightly.

“fuck,” he breathed. “you feel—so warm. so tight.”

you whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders, every nerve lighting up. it didn’t hurt—not really. but it was overwhelming. full. new.

he stilled once he was all the way in, resting his forehead against yours.

“you okay?” he asked, voice soft, strained.

“yeah,” you nodded, voice breathy. “just—give me a second.”

his thumb brushed your cheek.

you’d never seen him look like this—so undone, so focused, so possessive even as he moved with so much care. this wasn’t a hookup. it wasn’t casual. it wasn’t something to forget in the morning.

this was kenma. your best friend. the boy you’d loved for years.

when your body finally relaxed, you whispered, “move.”

and he did.

slow, deep thrusts. his hips rolled into you with a rhythm that made heat pool in your belly and your eyes flutter shut. he kissed you through every moan, every whimper, every breathless plea.

his hands never left your body.

and his voice never stopped.

“you’re mine.”

“wanted this for so long.”

“gonna make you feel so good.”

your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper. your moans turned to gasps, body arching with each stroke as his pace quickened, building that heat, that pressure, that perfect friction right where you needed it most.

when you came, it was with a choked cry into his neck, your body trembling beneath him, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded.

he followed soon after—grunting against your throat, burying himself as deep as he could go before shuddering through his own release, filling you with warmth as he whispered your name like a secret.

he stayed there for a moment.

his body pressed close to yours, skin flushed, breath warm against your neck. you could still feel the slow thrum of his heartbeat against your chest—irregular, fast, like he couldn’t quite come down. like he didn’t want to.

you were the first to move, brushing his hair out of his eyes with trembling fingers. he lifted his head slightly, eyes meeting yours—dazed, hooded, a little wrecked. and still, still, there was something simmering beneath the softness. something deeper.

something possessive.

his gaze flicked down to your collarbone.

to it.

the mark.

that fading, unwanted bruise left behind by someone who didn’t matter—someone who never stood a chance.

kenma’s eyes darkened again.

his thumb brushed over the skin just beside it. not harsh. not angry. but there was something territorial in the way his touch lingered.

“i hate that it’s there,” he said quietly.

you blinked. “what?”

his voice stayed low, rough. “that he got to leave something on you first.”

your breath caught.

“it didn’t mean anything,” you said, gently.

his eyes met yours—sharp and heavy. “i know. but i mean something.”

then he leaned down and pressed his lips to the other side of your collarbone.

kissed it.

sucked at the skin just enough to make you gasp.

then a little harder.

“ken—”

he pulled back only to admire the small, blooming mark he’d left. then another. and another, this time on the swell of your breast as his hand palmed the soft flesh, thumb brushing your nipple until it hardened under his touch.

you were already aching again.

wet.

your legs shifted beneath him, thighs tightening around his hips instinctively.

he noticed.

“sit up,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “ride me.”

your body jolted at the request.

you moved to obey, sitting back on your heels first, watching as he leaned against the pillows with one arm behind his head, cock already semi-hard again—slick with your last release, thick and flushed and hungry.

you swung one leg over him, settling into his lap, hands braced on his chest. his hands immediately slid up your thighs, then your waist, then higher—fingers cupping your breasts, thumbs flicking over your nipples.

“fuck,” he whispered, eyes glued to your chest as you hovered just above his cock. “you’re so pretty like this.”

you lowered yourself slowly, both of you gasping as the head of his cock slid past your entrance.

your hands pressed to his chest for balance, and with a slow, deliberate roll of your hips, you sank all the way down.

“fuck—” he groaned, hands gripping your waist hard enough to leave shadows. “just like that. take it.”

you moved slowly at first—rocking your hips, savoring the stretch, the angle, the way he filled you deeper like this.

kenma's hands roamed freely now. squeezing your thighs. sliding up your back. but he always returned to your chest, like he couldn’t get enough. he cupped your breasts with both hands, thumbs flicking your nipples, watching them bounce as you moved.

his mouth latched onto one, sucking softly, then harder, teeth grazing before he kissed the skin again, leaving another faint mark just below the curve.

you whimpered. your rhythm faltered.

he caught your waist, steadied you, whispered, “keep going, baby. you’re doing so good.”

you picked up the pace—bouncing now, thighs burning, eyes glassy as pleasure built low and tight again. his cock rubbed perfectly against that spot inside you every time you came down, and the sounds—skin against skin, his groans, your moans, your name rasped under his breath like a prayer—wrapped around you like heat.

“you’re mine,” he whispered again, leaning up to kiss your neck, your chest, your mouth. “no one else gets to have you like this. no one gets to see you fall apart like this.”

“i’m yours,” you gasped, losing pace, your body shivering from how full you felt. “i’ve always been.”

that broke something in him.

he fucked up into you hard—once, twice, deep and fast—and you cried out, nails dragging down his chest as your orgasm ripped through you with sudden, overwhelming force.

he followed almost immediately after.

his grip on your hips tightened, head falling back, jaw slack as he filled you again, pulsing deep inside while your body trembled around him.

you collapsed onto his chest, still panting, both of you soaked in sweat, skin flushed, lips swollen.

his hands stroked your back gently. possessiveness melted back into quiet awe.

“i should’ve told you sooner,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“i would’ve said yes,” you whispered.

“say it now, then.”

the room was quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioner and your breathing, still slowing from the high you both rode just minutes ago.

you lay on kenma’s chest, cheek pressed to the warm skin just below his collarbone, listening to his heartbeat. steady. real.

his fingers brushed lazy circles into your lower back, and every so often, you’d feel him glance down at you—like he was checking. like he still didn’t quite believe it either.

you tilted your head up slightly, met his sleepy, half-lidded gaze.

“you okay?” you murmured.

he nodded slowly. “feels like a dream.”

you smiled. “feels like a good one.”

his arms curled around you tighter, burying his nose into your hair.

“hope i don’t wake up.”

morning came soft and golden, sunlight filtering in through the edges of his curtains.

you stirred first, body sore but satisfied, your skin warm under the blankets. there was a dull ache between your thighs—the kind that made your stomach flutter. you blinked blearily at the clock, then turned over in the sheets and reached for your phone.

except you weren’t wearing anything.

you looked around, found kenma’s hoodie crumpled at the foot of the bed, and pulled it on. it was far too big, swallowing you whole, the hem just barely covering your ass. it smelled like him—shampoo, cotton, and something deeper that made your stomach twist all over again.

you padded out into the hallway quietly, yawning into your sleeve, and heard the soft clicks of a keyboard coming from his stream room.

he was already setting up, headset pushed back, screen aglow.

“morning,” he said without looking up.

“barely,” you teased, stepping in and leaning against the doorframe.

kenma’s eyes flicked up—immediately zeroing in on you. or more specifically, the way his hoodie hung off one shoulder, your legs bare, and the way the soft fabric clung to your chest.

his gaze darkened just slightly.

“you’re not wearing anything under that, are you?”

you smirked, pushing off the wall and walking toward him.

“what do you think?”

he reached out and grabbed your hand, tugging you into his lap like it was second nature.

you straddled him, thighs pressed to the sides of his chair, your hands on his shoulders for balance. he tilted his head up to kiss you, slow and sweet at first—but quickly deepened it when his hands slipped under the hoodie and cupped your breasts.

“still sore?” he murmured between kisses, his thumbs rubbing slow circles over your nipples.

you moaned softly. “a little.”

he grinned, proud, kissing down your jaw. “good. i hope i left enough marks.”

“you did,” you breathed. “everywhere.”

his hips shifted beneath you, grinding up ever so slightly—enough for you to feel he was already half-hard.

you kissed him again, tongue sliding against his, slow and messy and a little too deep for early morning.

“i should make you breakfast,” you mumbled against his lips.

“you should stay right here.”

you laughed softly, brushing his hair back. “you have a stream.”

he groaned and let you go, reluctantly. “fine. food first.”

you made scrambled eggs, rice, and toasted seaweed—simple, warm, comforting. kenma sat at the table in his hoodie and sweats, hair still a little messy from sleep, eyes glued to your every movement as you moved around his kitchen like you belonged there.

he was quiet. but not the awkward kind.

just… content.

every time you turned around to pour water, grab utensils, or slide food onto his plate, his eyes followed you. and every so often, you caught him staring at your bare thighs peeking out from beneath his hoodie.

“you’re really enjoying the view, huh?” you teased, sliding his plate in front of him.

“i earned it,” he said, deadpan.

“fair enough.”

you both ate like it was any other morning, except every time your knees brushed under the table, every time his hand grazed yours, your skin buzzed.

and as he finished the last bite of egg, he leaned back in his chair, eyes flicking to the hallway behind you.

“i could still be a little late,” he said casually.

you raised a brow. “kenma.”

“just one more round.”

“where?”

he stood, slow and deliberate, chair sliding back.

“right there,” he said, nodding toward the stream room.

the door clicked shut behind you.

you stood at the entrance of his gaming room—half-breathless, half-excited, heart hammering.

his pc lights glowed in soft blues and purples. the two monitors displayed his open stream software. his chair still warm from earlier.

kenma came up behind you and pressed a slow kiss to the back of your neck, his hands sliding up your thighs, beneath the hoodie.

“bend over the desk,” he whispered, voice thick.

your breath hitched.

you stepped forward, placing your hands on the edge of the desk, pushing the clutter aside—his headphones, a controller, a few snack wrappers—until there was just space for you to lean.

kenma lifted the hoodie up just enough to expose your ass.

“fuck,” he muttered, palming it, watching the way you arched into his touch. “you really weren’t wearing anything.”

you looked over your shoulder, smirking. “surprised?”

he didn’t answer—just dropped to his knees behind you, spreading your legs.

you gasped as his tongue licked a slow stripe up your folds, teasing and slow. he groaned at the taste, burying his face between your thighs with no hesitation.

you moaned loudly, one hand gripping the edge of the desk, the other covering your mouth.

“quiet,” kenma said against your pussy. “don’t want the mic to pick it up.”

you whimpered, hips rocking back.

he ate you out until your knees were shaking, until you were dripping and gasping and begging.

and only then—only then—did he stand, undo his sweats, and slide inside you in one smooth thrust.

you cried out, your forehead pressing to the cool surface of his desk.

“fuck, kenma—”

his grip on your hips was tight, grounding, his pace deep and measured.

“look at you,” he said, voice low and reverent. “bent over my desk. letting me fuck you where i stream. where everyone watches me.”

you moaned, louder than you meant to.

“you like that?” he asked, slamming in deeper. “like knowing this is where i win games—where they all watch me—and now i’ve got you right here, taking my cock like you were made for it?”

“yes,” you gasped, shaking.

“i should turn the stream on,” he murmured, grinning against your shoulder. “show them what’s really mine.”

you clenched around him so tightly he groaned.

“but i won’t,” he whispered, kissing your spine. “because this—this is just for me.”

his hand snuck around to rub your clit, fast and skilled and maddening.

you came hard—loud, shaking, walls clenching around him.

he followed with a low growl, burying himself as deep as he could go, warmth spilling inside you.

after a moment, you both collapsed onto the desk, breathless and sweat-slicked.

his hand tangled with yours.

“stream’s late,” you muttered, cheek against the wood.

“worth it.”

you both stayed like that for a while—slumped over his desk, bodies sticky and flushed, his hand lazily stroking your side as your heartbeats slowed in sync.

the glow of his monitors lit the room in gentle color. outside, the day stretched on quietly, as if the world had given you a moment to just be.

after a while, he kissed the nape of your neck.

“i should stream.”

you made a sound that was somewhere between a whine and a laugh, still folded over the desk. “you’re the one who made us late.”

“and i regret nothing.”

twenty minutes later, he was in his gaming chair again—sweatpants barely tugged up, mic live, camera off.

you were straddling him quietly under his hoodie, your legs draped over the armrests, your face tucked into his neck.

his cock was still buried inside you, warm and thick and pulsing. he hadn’t moved. hadn’t let you go.

cockwarming.

you’d barely heard of it before this. but now—now it felt like the most natural thing in the world. like being as close to him as possible was the only way to keep the morning from slipping into a dream.

he played with one hand, the other wrapped securely around your waist.

the chat was already rolling.

“yo kozuken’s late lmaoo” “no cam again?? 😭” “he’s suspiciously calm today.” “wait… did he finally get laid???”

you bit his shoulder through the hoodie to keep from laughing.

kenma’s lips twitched. he didn’t respond to the chat. didn’t deny it either.

his fingers tapped calmly against his keyboard, the only betrayal of his pleasure being the slight hitch in his breath every time you clenched around him just to tease.

you felt him smirk.

his hand slid under the hoodie again, fingertips brushing the marks he’d left all over your skin.

he pressed a kiss just below your ear.

“you okay?” he whispered.

you nodded.

his voice dipped even lower—barely a breath.

“mine.”

and you smiled.

because you were.

you knew him before the world did—before the screen names, before the uniforms, before the stage lights and streaming queues and fan chats trying to guess what kind of girl could love someone like him.

you were there when he was just a quiet boy hiding behind his mother’s legs.

and now—after all this time—he was finally yours.

and you were his.

completely.

570 notes · View notes

societyfolklore · 4 months ago

Note

Oka soo I dare to send in a Bucky imagine <3 Maybe one where you're dating but you're not an avenger, so you sometimes feel not good enough for him even though he always makes you feel special and he loves you more than anything. One time while he's at a mission, you're back at the compound waiting for him, but then also Sharon comes up to you being a bitch again and makes you feel even more unwanted and leave before Bucky returns. Later then he's happily waiting to see you, but frowns when he finds out you're not there. So he calls you, asking you to come over and you reluctantly agree. As you finally confront him with your doubts he immediately tries getting this thought out of you and gives you also his dog tags to prove he's yours forever and it's all cute then and also some soft smut where he tells you how much he loves you ? ♥️

Here we go! Here's our boy making everything better when the doubts creep in and we can shut it down on your own. Title: Yours to Keep

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky Barnes x SHIELD Analyst!Female Reader

Summary: You feel like your not enough, and when Sharon gets in your head it makes it so much worse. But to Bucky you’re the reason to make it home.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: / Explicit Content /18+, Minors DNI, Insecurity, emotional manipulation (from Sharon because she's a mean girl), soft possessiveness, smut, unprotected sex, established relationship, oral (f- receviving), praise, dog tag kink, Angst with Fluff, Romance.

A/N: Something softer for everyone this weekend. Thank you for the ask @wintersoldierchronicles

The compound was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that seeped into your skin and clung to you like static. You sat curled into one of the deep leather chairs in the lounge, knees tucked beneath you, a tablet in your lap. The screen glowed softly, lines of mission data scrolling as you half-heartedly skimmed them, reading intel you’d collected yourself over the past few days. Every enemy movement tracked. Every building layout mapped. Every communication protocol updated and tested.

All to help keep the Avengers safe. To keep him safe.

You should’ve felt accomplished. Proud. Instead, you felt like a ghost in your own home.

No one had said anything, not directly. But they didn’t have to. The looks, the nods you didn’t get in the hallway, the way everyone seemed to talk around you instead of to you. It all added up. They were Avengers. Legends. Gods. And you were… what? Just the analyst who happened to be dating one of them. An ordinary woman in love with an extraordinary man.

And somehow, no matter how often Bucky looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky, the thought kept crawling back up your throat like bile: You’re not good enough for him.

You bit the inside of your cheek and tried to focus, tried to chase away the fog settling over your mind. But it was no use. The feeling had been a quiet whisper in the dark for months now, and lately… it was starting to scream.

You had seen the way people looked at Bucky- like he was a living monument to strength and survival. A relic of history wrapped in modern muscle and trauma, wearing his past like armour. People admired him. Revered him. And yet, he came home to you. You, who shuffled files and ran analyses. Who flinched when the training team sparred too close to your desk. Who once got winded jogging down the corridor when your badge lanyard snagged on a doorknob.

What could he possibly see in you that someone like Sharon, like Natasha, couldn’t offer in a more fitting package?

Footsteps echoed lightly down the corridor, the sharp click of designer boots hitting the polished floor like a countdown. You didn’t even need to lift your eyes. That cadence was familiar, the kind that always made your stomach twist with a mixture of dread and forced politeness.

Then came the voice. Smooth. Sweet. Laced with superiority.

“Still here?” Sharon Carter stepped into view, her tone dipped in passive-aggressive honey. She was perfectly made-up, of course, with not a single hair out of place, her sleek suit hugging her figure in all the ways that made people notice when she walked into a room.

She looked you up and down like you were something out of place, something small, insignificant. “Thought they kept the admin staff in the basement.”

It was a joke, probably. One of those faux-friendly jabs that everyone was supposed to laugh at. Except she wasn’t smiling. Not really.

You fought to keep your expression neutral, fingers tightening slightly around the tablet in your lap. You weren’t going to let her see how deep that cut went, not when she was already poised to twist the knife.

You gave her a polite nod, trying not to let your discomfort show. “Just going over the post-mission data. They’re due back in an hour.”

"Must be hard. Being with someone like Bucky." Sharon's smile was the kind that never quite reached her eyes.

“What do you mean?” You stiffened, your fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the tablet.

She stepped closer, arms folded casually like this was just idle chatter.

"I mean- he’s one of us. Field-ready. Weapon-trained. A living legend. And you… well, you make great coffee."

You swallowed hard. "I do more than-"

"I know," she said quickly, with that same dismissive tilt of her head. "You’re smart. Very behind-the-scenes. Essential in your own way, I suppose. But let’s be honest…Bucky’s built for war. He needs someone who understands that. Who can keep up. Who can be more than just a comfort waiting at home."

Your heart pounded painfully in your chest, each word driving in like a nail. It was everything you'd feared, laid out in someone else’s voice. Someone who was supposed to be on your side.

"He probably misses someone who can actually stand beside him out there," Sharon added with a shrug. "You know… someone who belongs."

The tablet in your hands blurred as tears threatened. You blinked hard and forced yourself to breathe through your nose.

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because if you opened your mouth, you weren’t sure whether you’d scream or sob.

So you just stood, quickly and quietly, and walked away- shoulders stiff, throat tight, eyes stinging. You had to get out of there before someone saw you fall apart.

You left the compound entirely, slipping out the back entrance and taking the long way home. Your mind ran in circles the whole walk. What if Sharon was right? What if everyone had just been too polite to say it out loud? What if the only reason Bucky was with you was because you were safe? Easy? A soft landing after years of running and pain?

~#~#~#~#~#~

Bucky came back two hours later, bruised and sweaty but grinning. The mission had been long, much longer than expected. But successful at least. He was covered in dirt and grime, dried blood flecked across one temple, the strap of his weapons bag cutting into his shoulder. His muscles ached, and the adrenaline had long since worn off, but one thing kept him upright, kept him moving: you. The thought of you waiting at the compound, probably curled up with your tablet and a warm drink, maybe looking up every time the door slid open- yeah, that thought had gotten him through worse days than this.

He slung his weapons bag over one shoulder, still covered in dirt and dust from the mission, and scanned the lounge immediately.

“Hey, Sam,” he called. “She around?”

Sam looked up from his protein bar, brow furrowing slightly. “She left a while ago. Didn’t say much. Looked kinda off, though.”

Bucky’s shoulders stiffened. “Off how?”

Sam stood, tossing the wrapper aside. “I dunno, man. Quiet. Real quiet. Didn’t even look me in the eye. Thought maybe she was just tired, but now…” He trailed off, reading the worry blooming on Bucky’s face.

“You think something happened?” Bucky asked.

Sam gave a slow nod. “Could be nothing. But you know her better than anyone. If it’s not nothing- you’ll fix it.”

Bucky’s heart dropped. Something was wrong. You always met him after missions. Always.

Without another word, he turned and pulled his phone out of his pocket, hand still a little bloodied. ~#~#~#~#~#~

You pulled your car over to the side of the road, the quiet hum of the engine the only sound breaking through your spiralling thoughts. You hadn’t made it home. It felt too far. Too final. The space inside your car was tight, suffocating, but it was still safer than walking through the front door like nothing was wrong.

The phone vibrated in your hand again, lighting up with his name.

You stared down at the caller ID like it was a bomb about to go off. You didn’t answer right away. How could you? How could you speak to him when all you wanted to do was disappear?

You were a coward. That much was clear. Running off like that, not even saying goodbye. You should’ve stayed. Faced it. Faced her. But the words Sharon had said... they hadn’t been new. They were just the same cruel thoughts you’d had about yourself, dressed up in someone else’s voice.

You weren’t right for someone like Bucky.

You were just an analyst. A desk jockey. A tagalong to the world of gods and heroes.

And he was... everything.

He was strength and legend and pain and hope, all wrapped up in that scarred, steady way he looked at you like you were worth the whole damn universe. And you? You couldn’t even look yourself in the mirror right now.

The phone buzzed again.

Guilt stabbed through your chest.

He’d just come off a mission. He was probably still aching, tired, maybe even hurt—and here you were, making it all about you. Selfish. So unlike him. He always made you feel like the only girl in the room. One look from him and the world melted away.

You swallowed hard, blinking back the sting in your eyes, and finally picked up.

“Hey,” you said, voice too quiet.

“Doll, where are you?” he asked, voice already softening. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. Just… needed some air.”

There was a pause.

“You lying to me, sweetheart?” he said gently.

You closed your eyes. He knew you.

“No.”

Another pause. “Come back to the compound. Please. I need to see you. You're scaring me.”

Your chest cracked open. He sounded so… real. So Bucky. You found yourself nodding, even though he couldn’t see it.

“Okay,” you whispered.

~#~#~#~#~#~

He was already waiting by the elevator when you arrived, walking slow, tense loops with his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His jaw was tight, lips pressed into a thin line, the lines around his eyes carved deeper than usual. Every few seconds, his gaze darted toward the entrance, like he couldn’t help but check again, hoping- needing- you to appear.

The moment his eyes landed on you, he stopped dead. Everything in him just stilled. Relief hit him like a wave, shoulders dropping, hands unclenching—but his expression didn’t ease completely. No, his eyes stayed cautious, flickering across your face like he was afraid one wrong move might send you running. Like you were something breakable he didn’t dare press too hard.

He didn’t speak. Just opened his arms.

You tried to fake a smile, to smooth the cracks in your mask. But it was shaky, barely there, and he saw right through it. You saw the flicker of sadness in his eyes at the attempt.

You stepped into his embrace slowly, almost shyly, as if uncertain you still deserved it. The moment your body met his, the dam inside you cracked.

You buried your face in his chest, exhaling like you’d been holding your breath since you left the compound.

“Hey,” he murmured into your hair, voice rough with emotion. “There’s my girl.”

You clung to him, fingers twisting in his shirt like you were afraid he’d vanish, afraid this was all a dream that would dissolve when you let go.

“Do you wanna tell me what’s going on?” he asked eventually, drawing back just enough to look into your face. His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth, like he wanted to catch the remnants of that broken smile.

You looked up at him, eyes glassy and aching. “You’re Bucky Barnes. You’re an Avenger. A war hero. And I… I sit at a desk.”

“Stop,” he said instantly, thumb now tracing your cheekbone like he could wipe the pain away.

“I don’t fight aliens. I don’t have powers. I’m just… support staff.” Your voice wavered, trembling like your heart might break in two right there in front of him. “Sharon said you’d get bored of me. That you’ll want someone who can stand beside you in the field.”

His jaw tensed like he’d been struck. A flicker of something dark and cold passed through his expression, steel sharp and silent. His entire body went still.

“She said what?” he asked, voice low and dangerous, but even as the fury gathered behind his eyes, he didn’t let it take hold. He inhaled slowly, grounding himself. Because right now, you were what mattered.

You looked down, ashamed. “Doesn’t matter. She’s not wrong.”

There was a pause. Not long. Just the space of a heartbeat and then the weight of metal settled into your palm with a soft metallic clink.

“Look at me,” he said, voice low but unwavering.

You looked up, surprised by the intensity in his gaze.

“You see these?”

You nodded.

“These?” he said again, his voice thick with meaning as the tags clinked quietly between you. “These don’t just mean soldier. They mean survivor. They mean second chances. They mean you, okay? I don’t give these to anyone. I want you to have them.”

You stared at them, too stunned to speak, too overwhelmed to breathe. They were warm from his skin. Heavy with meaning.

He cupped your face gently, both hands trembling slightly now.

“You’re not support staff. You’re the person I come home to. My person. You keep me grounded. You’re the one thing that’s real.”

Your lips trembled, voice caught in your throat. “Bucky…”

He leaned down, voice husky and sure. “Put them on. Right now.”

You slipped the dog tags around your neck, hands shaking, heart pounding so loud you could hear it in your ears.

“There,” he said, eyes gleaming- not with pride, but with something softer. Fierce, unyielding love. “Now everyone knows. You’re mine. Forever.”

~#~#~#~#~#~

In the hallway, without a word, he scooped you up into his arms. Not rushed. Just worshipful, like you were something sacred he’d been aching to hold all day. You wrapped your arms around his neck, face tucked into the crook of his shoulder as he carried you, his footsteps steady and full of purpose, all the way to his room. Every step was careful, intentional, his hold firm but gentle, like he wanted to shield you from everything that had hurt you today.

He kissed your forehead as he laid you back on the bed, then your cheeks, your jaw, each press of his lips like a vow.

“So beautiful… so smart…” he murmured with each kiss. “Couldn’t do any of this without you.”

His soft kisses pressing into your cheeks, the corners of your mouth.

“You’re everything to me,” he said, pulling your shirt over your head. “Every breath, every second.”

His mouth moved to your collarbone, your chest, trailing down your stomach , while his hand eased you out of your pants.

“You think I don’t need you?” he said between kisses, each one a soft promise against your skin. “Baby, I fall apart without you.”

His mouth moved lower, worshipful and unhurried, kissing every inch of you like he was reacquainting himself with something sacred. By the time his tongue slid between your thighs, you were already trembling.

He groaned when you gasped, the sound low and reverent. Not just desire but devotion. His tongue moved with slow, deliberate precision, savouring every soft, slick response he pulled from you. He licked a long, teasing stripe up your centre, then circled your clit with a maddening tenderness, his hands gripping your thighs just firm enough to keep you open and trembling beneath him.

He moaned into you, like the taste of you was salvation, like he’d starved for this and finally had permission to feast. One hand slid up your stomach, grounding you as your hips bucked gently, chasing every press of his mouth.

“So sweet,” he murmured against you, voice thick with love, his lips brushing your most sensitive skin. “Taste like heaven. My heaven.”

He didn’t stop. Not yet. Not when you were trembling so perfectly for him. His tongue moved in slow circles, each pass deliberate and precise, coaxing you higher with gentle persistence. His grip on your thighs tightened slightly as your breath caught, his mouth parting you with reverence.

He flicked his tongue softly, then flattened it, letting the heat of him soak into every nerve ending, every gasp. He alternated pressure and pace, reading every twitch of your body like scripture. When he sucked your clit into his mouth and moaned, the vibration made your entire body arch into him.

“You’re not allowed to think you’re not wanted,” he rasped between strokes, his voice wrecked with affection and need. “Not when I love you.”

You cupped his face as he kissed up your body again, pausing to nuzzle the dog tags now lying warm between your breasts. “You feel like home,” you whispered, eyes glassy, voice raw with truth.

When he finally pressed inside you, it wasn’t fast or greedy. It was achingly slow, like he was trying to carve a place for himself inside you, not just in body but deeper. He let out a low, unsteady breath as he sank in, his forehead dropping to yours, his hand tightening around yours like he couldn’t bear to let go.

He didn’t thrust. Not right away. He stayed there for a beat, deep and still, forehead resting against yours as his breath caught in his throat. His hand stayed tangled in yours, his vibranium one anchored at your hip, grounding you both. “I need this,” he whispered. “Need you. Like this. Just us. You make everything quiet.” Bucky needed you to feel every inch, every part of him that belonged to you.

And then he moved like a tide rolling in to soothe what had been broken, to wash away everything that hurt. His hips rolled back with unhurried grace, then pressed forward again in a smooth, reverent stroke, making sure to drag himself along your velvet walls with each motion, slow and devastatingly deep. The way he filled you, the way he moved inside you. Like he was writing his name into your soul with every breathless thrust, imprinting himself where no one else had ever reached. Every motion was a promise: that he was here, that he was yours, that you were loved in the most complete, carnal, and emotional sense of the word.

Every slow push and pull was deliberate, reverent, the kind of lovemaking that felt like a conversation without words. He kissed your cheek, your jaw, your temple, murmuring softly between each breath.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice cracking as you trembled beneath him. “So damn much it hurts. You make me feel like a man. You see me.”

You cupped his cheek, tears sliding down your temples. “You see me.”

He let out a soft, shaky breath and kissed you again, Bucky pouring everything he had into it.

His rhythm stayed slow but insistent, hips pressing into yours with aching tenderness, like he wanted to be memorized, like he never wanted to be forgotten. The friction, the closeness, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that had ever made him feel whole—it all built into something consuming, something soft and sacred.

When you came, your soft cries muffled into the curve of his neck, he held you tighter, like anchoring himself to you, like if he let go, the whole world would tilt. He whispered your name over and over again like a prayer, like a lifeline, like a vow, following close behind you with a quiet, broken groan into your skin.

And you knew, in that moment, that this wasn’t just sex.

It was coming home.

~#~#~#~#~#~

Afterward, he wrapped the blanket around you both, tucking you into his chest like he was trying to shield you from the rest of the world. His metal fingers traced soft, soothing circles against your spine, grounding you in the silence that settled warmly between you.

“You ever doubt your place again,” he murmured, lips pressed to your hair, voice rough with sleep and sincerity, “I want you to remember tonight. Remember how I touched you. How I looked at you. Remember this.”

You nodded against his chest, overwhelmed, your cheek pressed to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Your fingers curled around the dog tags still resting over your heart, the weight of them a quiet promise.

“I’m yours,” you whispered, the words small but certain.

He smiled, eyes closed as his arm tightened around you, pulling you impossibly closer.

“You always were,” he said, so softly it was nearly a breath, but you felt it more than heard it, like a vow etched beneath your skin.

785 notes · View notes

interact-if · 7 months ago

Text

Happy New Year everyone!

I’m delighted to announce that Interact-IF is officially back in business! I (Allie @allieebobo) will be taking the reins as the new mod, and I’m very excited to get this blog up and running again!

First, a heartfelt thank-you to the original mod team for everything they’ve built. Interact-if has become such an invaluable resource and hub for interactive fiction fans and authors alike. It’s a tough act to follow, but I’ll do my best to keep the spirit of this wonderful space alive :)

A little bit more about me: I’m the author of two WIP interactive fiction games, @collegetennisoriginstory and @merrycrisis-if. Interact-if was one of the first blogs/places that I discovered almost three years ago now, and it led me to so many amazing stories, authors, and resources.

When I saw that the blog was going into archive mode, with a call for a new generation of mods, I wanted to do my best to help out. I reached out to the original mod team and worked out a gameplan for the future of Interact-if, which I’d like to share with all of you today.

P.S. If you would like to join me, I’d love to have you on the team! Scroll down to the section on ‘open call for mods’.

Without further ado, here’s the plan!

My goal is to focus on retaining the aspects that made Interact-IF so special: spotlighting diverse authors, and creating a warm, inclusive space to talk about and share wonderful games.

🟢 Active:

Game Updates & Intros: If you’re an author with a new game or demo update, or if you’re organizing a game jam or event you’d like to share with the community, simply tag @interact-if in your posts, and I’ll reblog them. It would also be helpful if you added tags stating the IF's genre (e.g. horror, romance), has a demo/no demo.

Themed Author Features: I’ll continue the tradition of spotlighting authors and games based on monthly themes (e.g. Pride Month, Disability Month). These interviews are such a great way of celebrating diversity and inclusivity in the IF community, and I’d love to keep these going! Stay tuned for a detailed post on this soon!

Community Spotlight: Once every quarter, I’ll also do a call for reader recs around certain categories/themes (e.g. Fave RO, Fave Worldbuilding/setting, Fave plot-twist etc.) and compile these recommendations to share. Think of it as a bulletin of crowdsourced faves and a way of sharing a little note about an IF you love!

🟡 Remain open/active, but not modded:

Game directory: The Interact-IF repository of games (excel) will remain open for authors to update/list their games and/or readers to discover their next read. (Feel free to continue to update/populate the repository, though do note it will remain completely crowd-sourced/author-updated).

Discord: The discord will remain open and active for discussions, resource sharing, and casual chats, though again, this will not be officially modded (though I, and some of the original mods like roast, may be active from time to time)

🔴 Not active:

Asks: I will not be answering asks except for specific submissions (e.g. for author features, reader recommendations etc.). If you would like to ask for specific game recommendations, or have questions/just wanna chat, the discord channel is a great place to do just that! :)

Keeping track of events/game updates: As mentioned, I’ll rely on authors / readers to tag me in updates posts and/or flag any games with questionable content/anything that might need my attention, as I won't be able to search out update posts or do any extensive vetting.

Open call for mods:

Finally, I’d love to have some company! If you’re interested in helping out—whether with reblogs, interviews, or brainstorming new features—please reach out. Having a small team would make this space even more vibrant!

Thank you for your support, your enthusiasm, and for being part of what makes Interact-IF such a special corner of the internet! :)

If you have any suggestions or ideas on how Interact-If can be improved, feel free also to drop the blog a direct message or an ask. I look forward to getting to know all of you better. Here's to an awesome year of interactive fiction (and many more!)

#interactive fiction #interactive games #cyoa #twine #interact-if #annoucements #call for mods

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trust-is-a-dangerous-thing · 13 days ago

Text

More for the Nightmare!AU. This one goes into a little more detail about the abuse, nothing major but it is there, and there is some talk of reader starving/being underweight, so just be aware of all of that.

Also, I know one person requested that they be tagged in all future updates for this AU, would anyone else like to be tagged when I update? Just let me know!

The other members of your team get hit with a series of very rude awakenings, very quickly.

The first one happens immediately after you pass out, when they rush you to the medical center...only for people to start refusing to help them when they find out that it's actually you they'll be helping. One doctor, then the next, then the next, nurse after nurse, orderly after orderly, almost everyone says they won't do it---some kind of fear or disgust or just plain indifference written on their faces. It's not until Ghost starts threatening people that a few of the medical staff timidly volunteer their services, finally wheeling you into a private room---the rest of your team following in strained silence.

The second happens when the nurses start peeling off your layers. The first few don't reveal anything except more layers underneath, but eventually they start to see skin instead of fabric---covered in scars and black smoke-like spirals that look like tattoos, but clearly aren't. Once the nurses have finally peeled away everything but a pair of shorts and a tank top off of you, though, the members of your team can't help but flinch. You look like a fucking skeleton. Underweight, starving, in every sense of the word.

It's a miracle that you hadn't passed out weeks ago, and an even greater miracle that it wasn't actually the starvation that made you pass out in the first place. It was heat stroke, the nurses said, after filling a tub full of water and slowly lowering the temperature of it in increments to get your own temperature down to a manageable level. They couldn't stop staring at you, at your "tattoos," at the scars that covered your body that they knew damn well couldn't have come from enemy fire.

You don't wake up. The nurses say that you won't wake up for a while---the heat stroke, the starvation, the chronic insomnia, the near-constant state of panic you were in taking too much of a toll on your body. Ghost, Soap, Gaz...they won't leave your side. They take turns leaving to shower and eat, they sleep in shifts just to make sure that someone is always there and awake just in case you open your eyes, and they make it clear that they won't tolerate any kind of sub-par or mistreatment of you. They won't.

The third, and final, revelation comes when Ghost tells Price what happened, everything they knew and suspected, and Price decides to call the captain of your previous team.

He picks up the phone and doesn't seem all that surprised that Price has called him. In fact, it's like he was expecting him to, sooner or later. He asks Price if he's calling about you, but he doesn't use your name or your callsign, he uses a derogatory word that immediately makes Price's hackles raise and a bitter taste form on his tongue. He has to count back from ten four separate times before he can finally bring himself to respond with anything other than straight acid.

When he tells your former captain about what happened to you, he doesn't seem surprised by that either---telling Price that he figured something like that might happen if you got transferred, which is why he hadn't wanted to let Laswell move you in the first place. He tells Price that you needed a "firm hand," and that him and your former teammates had a system for keeping you in line.

Price has a feeling that he doesn't want to know, but he asks anyway.

What exactly had they been doing to "keep you in line?"

And then your old captain starts talking, reminiscing. He tells Price about keeping you locked up in an old storage shed, about how you weren't allowed to eat unless he gave you permission, about how the layers were mandatory, about how they all watched you like a hawk, policed your every move, how they broke you down until you finally stopped fighting and just obeyed. Like a fucking dog.

All for the "safety of your teammates," he says. Price, mentally, calls bullshit. Your file was clean---no insubordination, no fights with your fellow soldier, no smartass retorts, no threats, no anger issues, hell not even a fucking write up for having a messy uniform. There was nothing in your file that suggested that you would be a danger to anyone.

What was in your file, however, was a pretty hefty medical record, almost as tall as his thumb. Bruises, black eyes, lacerations, broken bones, burst blood vessels, burn treatments, cracked ribs, any and every kind of injury that could put someone in the hospital was in your file.

Except the problem with those injuries was that there were very few corroborating mission reports to go along with them. Occasionally there was a report referenced in your file providing some kind of explanation, but for the most part it was just…empty. You were hurt, and there was no reason given. Not even any record of you telling the medical staff what’d happened to you. Nothing.

Price, of course, mentions this, trying so hard not to throw accusations at your former captain---that might make him defensive, might make him clam up, and Price had to know what they'd been doing to you and why. Whether he liked it or not, this was the best way he could help you, even if listening to that bastard on the other side of the phone made him so angry his hands shook. In the end, it didn't take much prodding to get him to keep going.

All those injuries? "Punishments," he called them. For insubordination or not following orders or putting your teammates in danger, although Price highly doubted that you'd actually done any of those things, given everything the captain had already said about your life with them. He had to know more, though, so he could figure out how to help you---what not to do, what might scare you, what they had to show you was okay, what to watch out for.

He took a breath, and asked for more details.

He really really wished that he hadn't.

Tag List - @yearninglustfully

#nightmare!au #call of duty #modern warfare #john price x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #john mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader

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prettyfilmz · 8 months ago

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PHYSICAL TOUCH • JEY USO

authors note: we have officially made it to the end of the love language series. thank you all so much for the support I have gained, it really means the world to me that you all love what i write and knowing some of my favorite authors on here love it too. sorry for taking so damn long to update, school has been kicking your girl's ass and I was really finding it hard to write during it all. but alas we made it!! I decided to end this series the same way I started it...with my baby jey uso. you are in for a treat with this one as this is the longest one shot i've written in the series🤭 well, don't let me keep you too long. without further a due, happy reading my loves and once again thank you💗🎀 p.s. jey looks so sexy with his red and black gear for survivor series🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

summary: jey don't wanna be "just a friend" to you anymore.

tags: 18+ (MDNI), written with black woman in mind, friends who really like each other, smoking, fluff, jey is obsessed with you, dirty talk, unprotected sex, car sex, kissing, biting (slight), small bits of roughness, overstimulation, oral (fem receiving), daddy kink,praise, this is goofy lovey dovey shit x10000.

word count: 2.7k words

now playing: red light special - tlc

it’s midnight. the air is crisp with the cool breath of late november, cool enough to give goosebumps but still not enough to bite. you’re sitting low in the passenger seat of jey’s sleek black charger, legs crossed and dipped in the glow of the dashboard lights. the subtle scent of ‘black ice’ air freshener mixes well with the slow haze of smoke curling from the joint between your fingers.

jey is sitting easy in his driver’s seat, one hand draped on the wheel, the other arm resting along the back of your seat, fingers casually brushing your shoulder. his signature chain glints in the dim light from the street lamps as they pass, the soft rumble of the car’s engine making everything feel muted, more… intimate.

you exhale a slow, lazy stream of smoke out the cracked window, watching the way the city lights smear into streaks as the charger cruises down an empty street. a gentle r&b song played low in the speakers, its lyrics matching the faint thrum of tension hanging between the two of you.

“you gon’ pass that or hold it hostage, mama?” jey’s voice cuts through the thick quiet, low and teasing, making heat spark low in your belly.

you glance at him through your lashes, lips quirking into a small smirk. “why? you need it more than me, greedy?”

he leans over slightly, closing the gap between you, his face a little too close, soft brown eyes locked on yours. “oh I need somethin’, alright.” his grin is sharp but playful, that familiar flirtation slipping from his lips as easy as breathing.

you roll your eyes, even though a shiver crawls down your spine. you flick the joint between your fingers, teasing, before finally passing it to him. his fingertips graze yours when he takes it, the brief touch buzzing through you like a shock of electricity.

the air in the car shifts, as it always does when it’s just the two of you, hovering somewhere between platonic and dangerous. it’s always been like this for years—friends who flirt too much, share too much, maybe fuck love each other too much. it got complicated when you started seeing someone else, tried to shut that part of you down. but now that’s over, and things have been creeping back to where they were. no labels, just... whatever this is.

jey takes a slow pull from the joint, his gaze never leaving you. his lips wrap around it just so, and you hate how your thighs press together on instinct, an action he catches easily.

he smirks as he exhales, letting the smoke drift lazily out the window. “missed this, you know. just me and you. you ain't gotta act all tough around me, honey.”

your heart stumbles a little at the softness in his voice, but you keep your cool, leaning back against your seat like his words didn’t hit as deep as they did. “you're getting soft on me,” you tease, smirking.

jey chuckles in return, shaking his head as he taps ash from the joint. “yeah, yeah. but you love that shit, don't lie." his hand slides from the back of your seat to rest on your thigh, heavy and warm, thumb brushing idly over the curve just below your skirt. the touch is familiar, claiming, like he’s always known you’d end up right back here.

you don't attempt to move his hand. instead, you settle into the weight of it, the warmth of his large palm massaging your skin, biting your bottom lip to hide the little smile threatening to creep across your face. he’s watching you too close, like he is reading all of your thoughts. and maybe he is—jey’s always known how to read you well with just a look.

he leans a little closer again, voice dropping into that low, dangerous register that always gets you into trouble. “come here.”

you glance at him, the warmth in your chest spreading fast, and you know where this is headed. you could pretend you don’t. you could play coy. but you don’t want to. not with him. not tonight.

instead, you lean in, and jey meets you halfway, his lips brushing yours once, twice, before he kisses you properly. it's slow and deliberate, a kiss that feels like a reminder—like he’s been waiting for this, waiting for you.

his hand tightens on your thigh, and you sigh against his mouth, your lips parting for him, his tongue sliding against yours, deepening the kiss until you’re clinging to the front of his hoodie, breathing him in like the smoke lingering in the car.

he pulls back just enough to press his forehead to yours, both of you catching your breath. his hand drifts higher on your thigh, slipping beneath the hem of your skirt with ease. “I ever tell you how bad I missed you, baby?”

you hum, tilting your head to nip gently at his bottom lip. “maybe? it would be better if you show me. ”

jey groans low in his throat, his hand leaving your thigh to grab the back of your neck, pulling you into another kiss—hungrier this time, all teeth and tongue. his free hand grips your thigh again, fingers digging into your skin.

he breaks the kiss to drag his lips down your neck, biting gently at the spot just beneath your ear that always makes you purr. you gasp, arching against him, and he chuckles against your skin, his voice low and wrecked. “that’s it, mama. I got you.”

your mind is already hazy, inebriated in the way his hands and mouth paint your body like a canvas, but it’s just the foreplay. his fingers trail higher, brushing the edge of your panties, and you shiver, your breath stuttering out in a soft moan.

“you want this?” he murmurs against your neck, his thumb slipping beneath the damp fabric to tease you. “words, baby.”

“yeah,” you breathe, barely able to form the word. “please, jey.”

he grins against your skin, kissing you again as his fingers slip between your thighs, parting your lower lips easily. he groans softly at how wet you are, dragging his fingers through your slick folds with a slow, deliberate touch that makes your head fall back against the seat.

“look at you,” he mutters, voice thick with praise. “so fuckin’ wet for me and I ain’ even taste her yet.”

you whimper, hips bucking against his hand, and he chuckles low in his throat, loving how desperate you are for him.

“you gon’ let me taste her, mama?” he asks, already pulling back enough to maneuver between your legs, carefully leaning over the gear shift so he’s fully in your space.

you don’t even have time to respond before he’s tugging your skirt and panties down, throwing them carelessly into the back seat. his hands are on your thighs, spreading you wide, your pussy exposed, and glistening for his eyes only.

jey doesn’t hesitate. he dives in, tongue skillfully dragging through your silky folds with a hunger that leaves you breathless, thighs trembling. he eats you like your pussy is the lifeline that is keeping him alive, switching between sucking your clit and fucking your tight quivering hole with his tongue, the sounds are lewd and obscene which only heightens the pleasure for you two.

“s-hit,” you moan, fingers tangling in his hair as your hips grind your cunt against his mouth. he groans in response, the vibration of it making you cry out, the pressure building fast and sharp between your thighs.

“that's it sweetheart,” he murmurs between licks, his voice dripping with praise. “you taste so sweet, baby. missed this pussy so much.”

you’re close—so close you can feel the knot tightening in your abdomen. your thighs clamp around his head, sputtering expletives and jey doesn’t let up, gripping your hips to keep you right where he wants you.

“come on, mama,” he urges, voice rough and low against you. “make a mess on me.”

that’s all it takes. your orgasm crashes over you, and you cry, back arching as you ride the wave of pleasure, jey holding you through it, his tongue relentless against your clit until you’re shaking, begging him to stop.

but he doesn’t. he grins up at you, wicked and smug, and keeps going, sending you spiraling into another orgasm before you can even catch your breath.

“j-jey! w..wa-ait” you gasp, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as your body shakes with overstimulation.

“shhh, I got you,” he soothes, but his grin says otherwise—more like he loves seeing you fall apart for him, that he’s the only one who can make you feel like this.

and when he finally pulls back, lips and beard glistening with your juices, he leans in close, brushing his mouth against yours.

“you good, baby?” he asks, soft and playful, like he wasn’t worshipping you in between your thighs moments earlier.

all you could do is nod, breathless, and he kisses you again, allowing you to taste the sweet tanginess of yourself on his lips and tongue.

jey pulls back from the kiss, eyes heavy-lidded, but that cocky grin of his never fades. he leans back in the driver’s seat, hands casually resting on the curve of your thighs, spreading them just enough to tease you with his gaze. the warmth of your release is still causing your pussy to throb, but it’s not enough to fully satiate your lust. and with the way jey is gazes at you, he knows it too.

“come here, mama," jey murmurs, giving your thigh a quick slap.

with a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips, you shift over the console and climb into his lap. you’re grateful for the roomy interior of the charger as you straddle him, thighs bracketing his hips. he leans back, hands already roaming up your waist, under your top, squeezing at the soft globes of your breasts like he’s trying to memorize the feel of you.

“you comfy, baby?” he teases, palms pressing into your ass, grinding your bare pussy down against the thick bulge in his sweats. the friction makes both of you groan, and you can’t help the way your body moves on its own, rolling your hips against him.

jey bites his bottom lip, eyes locked on where you grind against him, the wet drag of your pussy staining the fabric of his sweats. “fuck," he mutters, head falling back against the seat. “you gon’ ride me just like that? huh, baby? make a mess all over me?"

you grin, the pressured heat between your legs building again. “you always did like it messy.”

his fingers dig into your hips as he presses himself up against you, just enough to make you gasp. “you know I like you,” he says, voice rough. “always did."

the words hit you deep—more than they should—and for a second, the weight of them hangs in the air between you. but you’re not here to talk about feelings, and jey knows it too.

he shifts under you, hand slipping down to stroke himself through his sweats. “c’mon, baby. take care of daddy.”

you slide a hand between your bodies, finding the waistband of his sweats and boxers, tugging them down just enough to free him. his cock springs free, thick and already leaking precum, and the sight of it causes you to slightly drool. you wrap your fingers around him, stroking slowly, teasing, loving the way his breath stutters beneath you.

“damn, mama,” he groans, his grip tightening on your hips. “you tryna kill me?”

you smile mischievously. “maybe.” but you don’t play around with him—this isn’t about teasing, not tonight.

you lift yourself up, lining him up with your entrance, and he watches you with brown, half-lidded eyes, pink lips parted as he waits for you to sink down on him. and when you do, the pleasurable stretch steals both of your breaths.

“fuck, baby,” jey groans, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as you take him inch by inch, slow and deliberate. “that’s it...fuckin' perfect. you always take me so good, mama."

the praise hits you like a drug, making you moan as you bottom out, his cock buried deep inside you. you pause for a moment, adjusting to the stretch, and jey's hands roam your body like he can’t get enough of you—palming your ass, squeezing your waist, his thumbs brushing the curve of your breasts under your top.

“look at you," he murmurs, voice thick and filled with something dangerously close to awe. “this pussy was made just for me, huh?"

you roll your hips, slow and deliberate, grinding down on him until he curses under his breath, head falling back against the seat again. “uh huh,” you whisper, leaning in close to kiss behind his ear, sucking on the lobe. “all yours, daddy.”

the growl that rumbles from his chest is damn near primal. his hands grip your hips hard, guiding you into a rhythm that’s slow and heavenly, each roll of your hips dragging him deeper into you. the air between you is thick with heat, every breath shared, every moan swallowed by the other’s mouth as you kiss again, messy and uncoordinated.

“that’s it, baby," he groans, breaking the kiss to suck a mark into your neck. “fuck yourself on me. just like that. good fucking girl.”

you gasp as his teeth graze your skin, the sharp sensation shooting straight to your swollen clit. as if he can read your body, his hand slips between your bodies, thumb finding your clit with expert precision, circling it in time with the roll of your hips.

“cum for me again, mama,” he murmurs, voice low and coaxing. “lemme feel you cum on this dick.”

you can’t hold back—not with the way he’s filling you so perfectly, not with the way his thumb works your clit like it’s second nature, and certainly not with how the head of his cock presses deliciously against your g spot. your orgasm hits you fast and hard, your whole body tensing as you cry out, nails digging into his shoulders as you gush all over him.

“that’s my good girl," jey groans, grinding up into you as your warm gummy walls clamp down around him. “makin’ a mess all over this dick.”

you’re still trembling from the aftershocks of your climax when jey’s grip on your hips tightens, and suddenly he’s fucking up into you, chasing his own release with rough, desperate thrusts causing you to whine.

“uh uh, take it, baby,” he growls through gritted teeth, hands locked on your hips as he drives into you, relishing in your choked sobs. “gon' fill this pussy up. you want that, honey? want me to cum in daddy’s pussy?”

“y-yessss,” you mewl, head burying itself in his neck as you grind against him, every nerve in your body on fire. “please, daddy. cum in me please.”

the sound he makes is beautiful as he slams into you one last time, his hips stuttering as he spills his warm thick load into you, flooding your womb with his seed.

“shit,” he mutters, chest heaving, forehead falling to rest against your shoulder as you both catch your breath.

for a moment, the only sound in the car besides a song playing on low volume is the harsh rhythm of your breathing, the scent of sweat and sex mingling with the lingering haze of smoke.

you stay like that for a while, tangled together, your body still humming from the high of it all. jey’s hands roam lazily over your back, soothing, grounding, bringing you back down to earth and you can’t help but melt into him a little more.

eventually, he presses a lazy kiss to your shoulder, grinning against your skin. “told you I missed you girl.”

you laugh, breathless and light, brushing a hand through his hair. “you’re so dumb.”

jey leans back just enough to look at you, his grin wide and boyish, the mischievous glint in his eye making your heart skip. “yeah, but you love my dumbass.”

and damn it, he’s right.

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#jey uso smut #jey uso one shot #jey uso x reader #jey uso imagine #jey uso fanfiction #wwe imagines #wwe smut #the bloodline x reader #jey uso fic #jey uso fanfic #jey uso fluff

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ahundredtimesover · 1 year ago

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I Want You to Stay (09) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: boss!JK x assistant!reader; idiot strangers to lovers; slow slow burn; k-drama feels; angst, drama, fluff, smut

Chapter (Series) Warnings: foul/explicit language; alcohol consumption & passing out, unhealthy coping mechanisms; family drama; minor injuries; power dynamics (JK starts off as a jerk); work-related anxiety, feelings of helplessness, insecurities; childhood traumatic experiences, nightmares; sexual harassment, attempted assault; use of the term slut in a derogatory way, prior incidence of domestic violence (PLS PLS BE CAREFUL WHEN READING); arts and business/property devt talk that’s probably inaccurate; commitment issues & emotionally constipated characters; cold and detached JK; eventual explicit sexual content (specific warnings stated per chapter) (18+)

Chapter Word count: 18.4k

Series Masterlist

Status: Ongoing

Series summary: Working for Jungkook isn’t the same as working for Hoseok. For starters, Jungkook doesn’t smile, he doesn’t appreciate you, and he gives you too much work. It doesn’t help that he’s incredibly handsome and has women at his beck and call. But as the tension grows, it becomes impossible to resist him. You’ve dedicated yourself to your job for 8 years so when you finally decide to put yourself first, he asks you to reconsider. And while you know that leaving is difficult, you learn that when it comes to Jungkook, staying is always so much harder.

Playlist 🎶: on the way home

A/N: Hiii thank you for being patient, and again for all your love and appreciation for this story. 🥰 Updates will continue to take longer as I return to uni. On another note, I hope you enjoy this!

And as always, my biggest thanks to @wonwoonlight 🥰

PS. If I can’t tag you, pls fix your settings!

Seeing you standing in his kitchen donned in that pastel-colored blouse makes Jungkook stop in his tracks; you’re exactly who he needs to wake him up.

It’s been weeks of vacation, which also means weeks without his usual routine. It’s striking how being absorbed in his work has altered him in that sense - he looks for the stress, for the long hours, for the isolation that’s demanded of his job. Perhaps there was just really nothing to look forward to, and work was an excuse for all those things because there wasn’t much else going for him. Ironic, considering everything he can do with what he has, yet nothing seems to be what he’s looking for, even if deep down, he knows what it is.

This is something that Hoseok and A-yeong made him realize during the trip as he watched them gush about the pretty streets and marvel at the fjords and immerse themselves in the view of the northern lights.

His cousin, the President of the company who makes decisive decisions and conducts press conferences and signs off on billion won projects, is the same man who squealed during a husky ride in Finland, laughed his butt off when he slipped on a glacier, and muttered words of love to his wife as they all watched the bright evening sky over the lake in Norway. There was so much passion in him, something A-yeong mirrored, whether it was about work or his relationships or just about everything in life. Hoseok looked forward to that trip, to that time with his wife, to that break, to seeing the scenery and feeling peace.

While Jungkook found himself constantly thinking about the Arts Center and upcoming projects and new design ideas… and the one person who connected him to all those - you. It felt like he was rushing towards something because the achievement was the goal, and while he stopped by the mountains and marveled at the water as he sat on the cliffs, his mind was racing, chasing something that he couldn’t even grasp.

That’s how the past six years have been. Perhaps more, he thinks. Maybe 20. He’s never allowed himself to just be. Quite frankly, he doesn’t know who he is outside of what he does; he doesn’t know much of how he is outside of being an executive and heir, and so during the moments when he isn’t functioning as such, he’s a bit lost, just existing in a place he’s visiting, not knowing how to interact, how to breathe; not knowing how to connect or to be free.

You’re the bright spot amidst it all. With you around, he still seems to be wandering while stuck in a certain spot, but he’s not alone because you’re there. With you around, there’s a sense of calmness somehow, with your smile and your presence warming the coldest parts of him that he’s left untouched and unfeeling for years.

So when he walks towards you, his eyes fully opening now to see you better, he hums in satisfaction.

“It’s nice to see you again,” he says, prompting you to turn around. “It feels like it’s been so long.”

“Really, Mr. Jeon? I thought the three weeks felt fast,” you giggle. “But it’s nice to see you, too. Were you able to rest out there?”

“Somehow,” he replies, taking the glass of water you give him.

“Is that why you passed on your morning workout to sleep in?” You raise an eyebrow, thinking that he’d slept in when you walked into his penthouse earlier without the usual sounds from the gym that you’d gotten used to.

“I was pretty jet lagged,” he groans. “Couldn’t sleep so I did it last night to tire myself out and then I finally fell asleep three hours ago. It’s a miracle I woke up after the tenth snooze of my alarm.”

“Ooh, that is not good, considering all the documents on your desks and messages on your inbox,” you shake your head. “What if I move the team meeting to tomorrow so you don’t push yourself too hard today? You could’ve taken the day off.”

“And have a worse day tomorrow? No thanks,” he chuckles. “I’m fine, but I agree with moving the meeting.”

“Just take it slow,” you advise. “I brought some pastries because I know your fridge and pantry are empty. I’ll get them ready shortly.”

“I’ll wash up then.”

You follow not long after, preparing his outfits for the second half of the week, then setting out the breakfast for both of you. He returns to the kitchen wearing the brown suit you chose for today, looking just as handsome as you remember. You fix his tie like you always do and meet his eyes like it’s reflex, the warmth bubbling within you when he returns your soft smile. You take your seat a chair away, taking your iPad after to start going through updates when he stops you.

“Not yet, please. My mind’s still half asleep.”

“Okay, sir,” you respond. “We can talk about your trip instead. How was it?”

Jungkook finds himself more engaged in telling you about it, not like how he was when his best friends met him for dinner last night and he was too tired to narrate how it went. But you ask with such excitement that he ends up sharing more than what he planned.

He talks about the Vikings museum and historical tours, the bike rides and coastal walks, the calm but lively cities and the breathtaking waterfalls. He even mentions the things he’d only kept to himself - like that one evening when the sky looked like one of Lee Jaemin’s paintings that had him staying at the balcony with a glass of wine while basking in its beauty, and when they were in Hans Christian Andersen’s hometown and he wondered what kind of fairytale character he would be, and that he learned he really enjoys hot springs during the winter. They’re random thoughts that he just ended up saying, somehow feeling natural and comfortable in sharing them with you.

You indulge him, asking more and sharing your thoughts, too. You even throw in the occasional teasing remark and playful laughter. You ask about the scenery, expressing your yearning for the outdoors that you said you never really appreciated before, as the open space always overwhelmed you.

He passes you his iPad where he’s opened the folder of the photos that he took with his camera, a gift from Taehyung who’d said that Jungkook needed to go out more and “feel the sun.” He rarely used it but a Northern Europe trip seemed like the perfect excuse. He’s used to assessing interiors and marveling at structures from afar, but this time he got to appreciate what lies beyond his walls, beyond the little world he’s been burrowing himself in.

“These are stunning, Jungkook,” you gush, dropping the formalities as he shares something that feels so personal. “I didn’t know you had the talent for photography, too.”

“I wouldn’t call it a talent,” he shakes his head. “I took it as an elective during university and it helps with design ideas. I should at least take nice photos if I need inspiration or a basis. I don’t really do it much, though.”

“Did it make you feel good, at least?” You ask, wondering what else gives him satisfaction.

“Somehow. It makes me feel good when I’m looking at the pictures. I’m transported to that day and that place again, like a holder of memories and desire for the good things.”

You go through the photos - dozens of them. He didn’t take too many, just one or two shots of every scenery. Beyond the majestic landscape, there are the everyday scenes - people talking at a cafe, strangers enjoying the park. There’s a couple holding hands, laughing at each other; from the silhouettes, you can tell they’re Hoseok and A-yeong, a moment that Jungkook probably thought too precious to not capture.

Something in you stirs, as the photos elicit a mix of awe and yearning. You look at Jungkook and you think it’s what he felt, too.

There’s a saying you heard about watching what people photograph to learn what they fear losing. With Jungkook, it seems as if these - freedom, tranquility, connection, intimacy - are things he wants; somehow they seem to be what he fears having.

“It’s nice to have a keeper of good memories, isn’t it? Of that reminder that beautiful things exist and that they’re tangible, you know?” You say, returning his gadget.

“It is,” he responds after a beat of silence, seemingly processing your words. “We forget sometimes. Or maybe, we just don’t know what that’s like. In that case it’s like an illusion. But it’s still good to have that, I guess. It’s still something.”

You don’t know what more could be said. It feels too personal or even intimate of a conversation to have with your boss on a Wednesday morning as you eat breakfast in his apartment. So you let it go, smiling as you say you’re glad he got to have some rest.

He says that so does he and then asks about how your holiday was as you both head to the car. You talk about it during the ride, how you spent a week in Wando with your mother’s partner’s family and then drove to Jeonju, how the entirety of your break had you stuffing your face with food and bonding with them, and how they drove you back to Seoul last weekend, thankful that for those two weeks, they had you around.

You don’t tell Jungkook that some days, you’d think of him, wondering how he’s doing. You don’t tell him that you’d seen A-yeong’s posts and that he looked at peace in them, that there was a softness in his eyes that you’ve rarely seen on him. You don’t tell him that despite the vacation that you said you were looking forward to, you were also looking forward to this - having him back, sharing stories, and living in the silence alongside him.

You wonder, as you glance at him looking out the window, if this is what you meant about savoring the moment, enjoying what’s in front of you, and feeling less alone. Because right now, those are exactly what you feel.

Jungkook wanted to wait to get to the office before proceeding to work matters, something that surprises you because he always gets down to business immediately, not unless he’s recovering from a hangover. But he blew you off even in the car, wanting instead to listen to your stories and then doodle on his leather notebook again for the rest of the ride. You end up meeting with him for an hour before he settles in, then he goes to lunch with his father, meets with your team, and then decides to visit the Arts Center mid-afternoon.

Work is back in full-swing just like that, and you pull the energy from within you to manage the crazy week. There are start-of-the-year events to attend and organize, a board report and meeting to prepare for, new projects to initiate, and a major one to monitor.

You’re glad that despite all that, Jungkook allows you to have a four-day off on the succeeding week so you can celebrate your birthday with a road trip down coastal towns with Jimin and Soomin. It’s a silly thing to do in the middle of winter, but they insist that warmth is most satisfying when it’s cold outside, and you don’t disagree. You’ll definitely be sighing in relief when you hold the steaming hot hotteok in between your hands, and it’ll be the best one you’ll have.

It’s Thursday and you’ll be back in a week. You’ve just finished briefing Do-hyun, who’ll be covering for you while you’re away, and you get off your chair to grab tea in the pantry. Jungkook’s voice stops as you, as he stands by his door and asks if you’re already leaving.

“In an hour, Mr. Jeon,” you reply. “Is there anything I can help you with until then?”

“No, nothing,” he says. “I’m actually about to leave for dinner with Taehyung and Seokjin.”

“Oh, alright, sir,” you hum. “Goodbye, then. And I’ll see you next week. Just know that you’re the only one who can disturb me.”

He laughs in response. “Come on, I won’t be badgering you, especially on your birthday. It’s your one week away from me. You have to savor it.”

“So should you,” you counter. “But okay. I will.”

“Good,” he nods. “I’ll just fix up and go ahead then.”

He returns to his room and you’re just the tiniest bit disappointed that he didn’t properly greet you but you suppose that’s good for you. So you go to the pantry and end up chit-chatting with the team, finding yourself smiling when you look up and see Jungkook by the door, who tells everyone not to stay too late before he heads out.

You arrive back at your desk, your heart beating fast at the sight of a small brown bag on your table.

For your trip. Something to help remind you that beautiful things exist and they’re tangible, the note reads. Happy birthday.

Your mind goes to a conversation you had not long ago, about how photos can elicit certain emotions and be a keeper of memories, especially of good ones. You know this is from Jungkook, and you also have an idea of what this might be, which is why you open the package right away.

Still, it catches you by surprise, especially when you find two disposable film cameras inside. They’ll definitely be enough for your upcoming trip and you know the photos will come out amazingly. You’re ecstatic.

Perhaps this is why he wanted to leave before you did - you’d thank him and he’d be terrible at accepting it again, then you’ll call him out for it. Maybe it was good he hadn’t stuck around to see you act this way. At least he didn’t see you with that silly smile on your face.

But Yoongi does as you head down the elevator, smirking at you when he sees the bag you’re holding and the familiar handwriting on the card.

“I’m guessing you’re not fighting it anymore, huh?” He says, teasing yet somehow still comforting.

“I’m trying not to, even if I know I’m being stupid,” you admit. “I can at least have these fleeting moments of joy after I walk away from this.”

“Retain the good memories. That’s one way to let things go,” Yoongi advises, as he exits the carriage on the parking lot floor.

The doors close on your smiling face, and he chuckles to himself at the irony of things. That’s how he learned to let you go, after all.

You return to work the following week with a spring in your step, with Jungkook noticing as you heat up the fried rice that you told him you’d be preparing for breakfast. You hum as you go about in the kitchen, feeling energized after the last few days you’ve had.

It was freezing, but you, Soomin, and Jimin went a little crazy and ran down the beach whenever you drove by one, something you all did as kids living in Busan. The drives from town to town were slow but they had you all singing to your favorite songs, munching on chestnuts and bungeoppang, and stopping over viewing sites for fresh air and photos.

You used Jungkook’s gift a lot, taking pictures of things that elicited strong emotions and good memories - purple and orange skies, snow melting on the pavement, the crashing ocean waves turning white at the tip, an empty playground in the park, Soomin’s infectious laughter, Jimin’s angelic smile.

The cold was an excuse to seek your best friends’ warmth and they took advantage of it. It reminded you of those few years growing up with them before you returned to Daegu for college, something you and Jimin reminisced about, and something that you thanked him for after what seemed like ages. You recalled how he approached you first as the new girl who entered school in the middle of the school year, how he followed you around because you were always alone and was scared of loud noises, and how he’s never left your side since then.

Every night during that trip, he hugged you as you tried to fall asleep, knowing you needed it for the cold you felt inside and out. He was next to you when you talked about Jungkook gifting you the cameras and admitted that it made you feel good, that it made you happy.

“I’m glad he’s showing you kindness,” Jimin had said. “But… just be careful, okay? Your heart is capable of a lot of good things. Pain is the last thing it deserves.”

“I don’t really know what my heart is capable of,” you replied. “My brain does the hurting but my heart… I don’t know what it does. I don’t know how it works.”

It left him speechless then and somehow, you were glad that he just held you tighter, only because it was the only way you wanted to be comforted at that moment. But you also knew that whatever your heart ended up doing or experiencing, Jimin and Soomin would be there to help you make sense of it, to pick up the pieces should they need to.

“It seems as though your birthday rejuvenated you, ___,” Jungkook disrupts your thoughts. “You look much lighter and relaxed.”

“Only because I haven’t checked my emails nor taken new instructions from you,” you laugh as you serve the fried rice in bowls then head towards him. You fix his suit again and speak casually like you’ve gotten used to. “Once I open that iPad and see what I have to deal with, relaxed would be the last thing I’ll be.”

“Fair enough,” he chuckles. “Let me savor this then.”

His words catch you off guard and they prompt you to meet his eyes - soft yet piercing, then he turns shy and turns away from you. Perhaps he’s surprised at what he’d said, too.

“Work is stressful and your calmness rubs off on me most times,” he says nonchalantly. “We’ve got a busy few days ahead and I want that calmness to linger.”

“It will,” you assure him. “And yes, I feel rejuvenated, and that’ll probably last me for days so that will linger, even if I’m stressed, so don't worry. You’re gonna do well. I don’t doubt it one bit.”

Jungkook’s meeting the Culture Minister next week to present the Arts Center’s plans and activities leading to its opening to the public, which is why you think he needs that calmness as well. The team has been helping him with the preparations and while you felt bad that you didn’t get to contribute as much, he assured you that all the notes you left him have been instrumental.

But still, his words affect you. Is this calm and relaxed version of you all he wants to savor? Does it mean anything more?

The thoughts wander away as you have breakfast with him, and he asks if you wish to talk about work later on but you insist that you’re mentally ready for it all. He’s the one who gives you updates this time, and just like that, you’re back to your usual routine.

You glance at his plate, all clean right after because even this dish, he savors. And you realize that doing things for him, no matter how simple, makes you happy, too, especially when his lips turn up in a small smile and he nods in satisfaction.

“Good, huh?” You wiggle your eyebrows.

“It’s infinitely better than mine,” he hums.

“So, it’s really, really, really good then?”

“You don’t even know how mine tastes like.”

“True. But Taehyung said once that yours was really delicious and I’ll take his word for it. Seokjin agreed and I believe them.”

“Wow, really? That’s a rare moment where they praise me,” Jungkook laughs.

“You should savor that, too.”

“I should. Heavens know the last time that happened. And when it’ll happen again.”

“That’s kind of hard though, isn’t it?” You say, being a bit reflective as you go back to your daily routine after a trip that you wholly enjoyed. “Savoring things… capturing them, appreciating them. Like, you have to be in the moment, you have to be present, and that’s not easy to do.”

“It isn’t,” he responds after a while. “You have to care enough for something to be worth savoring, I guess.”

“Exactly. But how do you do that when everything is temporary - things, feelings… people. Not all of them are meant to stay,” you reply, meeting his eyes as they seem to be in deep thought.

“Maybe they will… if you ask them to,” he softly says.

“That depends.”

“On what?” He asks.

“If they have a reason to,” you shrug.

Your faraway eyes tell him that you’re in deep thought, perhaps processing the exchange that even Jungkook can’t fully wrap his head around. But you turn to him not long after, smiling as you take the plates to clean up, as if you’d just snapped out of a trance, of a moment of honesty.

He watches you from his seat. There’s an aura about you that truly feels more relaxed, yet there seems to be an added layer of pensiveness, of deep thinking that could easily be mistaken for savoring the moment when you might be questioning it, perhaps wondering if it’s real… or worth caring about in the first place.

Even until now, he doesn’t know what it is about you that has him hanging on to every word you say, like it’s some secret message or code to learning who you are and what your fears and pains and hopes and dreams might be.

In the past months, his moments with you have allowed him a peek inside - there’s this yearning for something that you’re not ready for; there’s this knowledge of the fleeting nature of the world that you want to capture as memories because that’s the only way you can make them stay; there’s this desire for companionship that terrifies you more than anything.

But then again, as he sees that soft courage in your eyes, maybe he knows why - he has the same fears as you, and perhaps that’s terrifying, too, as he realizes that much of what he’s scared of is tangible.

He fears the emptiness left in your absence and the silence surrounding him when you’re gone. His trip over the holidays made him think so; this past week when you were away solidified it. There’s a lot of you to miss. He’s unsure how to deal with these thoughts and feelings; he doesn’t know how to move forward and be professional when you affect him this way. All he can hope for is that you’ll always find a reason to stay close to him, that you’ll always find a reason to want him around, and that every moment you share is something worth it enough for you to savor but that you both never have to let go.

You think about the conversation with Jungkook later that night on your way home. There’s something about the impermanence of the world that’s always scared you; things break and wither away all the time and you fear the loss in their absence. Perhaps it’s because you’ve experienced various types of losses throughout your years of living.

You lost that childhood innocence the first time you saw your mother cry, then when her smile that finally returned was wiped off, and then when her hopeful eyes became filled with tears out of fear. You lost that comfort of a routine when you left Seoul at 10 years old, and then that stability when you said goodbye to your life in Busan. You lost that security when you decided to come back here with a dream tucked away, burdened with a debt and a past that you couldn’t escape. You lost that feeling of freedom when your favorite library closed, and then of safety during that night at the restaurant when you were hurt and exposed.

It’s hard to savor things when you know you’ll lose them one day. But that’s also precisely why you should, as what these past months have been showing you, you think now. The absence reminds you that something good was in its place, and that at one point in time, it made you hope that you deserved it, that you were worthy of having it.

But as you lay in bed that night and think of how much of Jungkook you thought about while you were away, you start to think that maybe things aren’t as temporary as you once believed. He was in the icy streets that you walked on and the warmth of the hot chocolate drink you had. He was in the drizzle on the playground that you wiped off and the touch of the leather notebook you saw at one of the shops.

And perhaps that was the difference - you didn’t just stand by; somehow it felt like you connected with them - they were tangible, within your grasp, and that made them linger, that made them feel real. In your mind, that’s where they stayed.

The tail-end of winter marks the time when you’ve settled in the new year. All your backlog from the holidays and your short birthday break have been worked on. Operational plans and goals for the year have been finalized. The Board report and meeting are over and major events have been scheduled. Things are picking up now as the Arts Center is near its completion, with the consequent promotions and marketing on full speed. That last bit has been contracted to a subsidiary company but Jungkook is still on top of most things, which means that so are you.

You accompany him to meetings with different departments regularly, and that’s on top of monitoring the other small projects that the VP office is working on, which is also on top of supporting Jungkook’s executive functions. In a blink of an eye, you’re back to the hustle and bustle nature of your job, and you’re reminded of why it’s been so hard to get out of it, and also why you can’t wait to do so.

There’s just so much going on all at once, and given how you are, you give all of yourself to it because it’s the only way to get things done; it’s the only way to get through it without feeling like you’re taking for granted all that you’ve been given and achieved. But it also means you’ve lost the sense of meaning of most other things, and you wanna be able to do something that means something to you, something of good memories, of beautiful things that are tangible that you can touch and feel.

You let go of the thoughts when Do-hyun and Yohan pop in your area to say goodbye. It’s another long night for everyone and you’re glad that they finally listened to you and decided to go home. You say that you still have a couple of things to work on when they insist that they walk you to the bus stop, telling them once more that you’ll be fine.

“It’s forecasted to rain soon,” Do-hyun informs you.

“I’ll get a cab, don’t worry,” you assure them. “Finance needs these files first thing tomorrow morning and we’ve got that ocular at 8. Thank you though.”

“Fine, but let us know when you’re home, okay?” She says.

“I will. Get home safely, you two.”

You get back to work, and with the peace and quiet in the office with you being the last one here, you manage to finish what you need to in an hour and then finally call it a night. You head out and sigh to yourself once you see the lightning strike, knowing that it wouldn’t be long before the rain will begin to pour. You manage to bring out your umbrella by the time it does, then turn at the corner to look for a cab so you can avoid those who’ll be hailing from the main road.

There are a few people who have the same idea as you, and it’s after some time before you spot one, with the driver slowing down once he sees you. But right as you start speed walking towards it, some man decides to get ahead, running past you and bumping you in the process, causing you to lose your balance. The wet pavement doesn’t help, as you slip on your foot and fall to the ground. You try to get up but jerk in pain when you do, realizing that you’d hurt your ankle, a foreign feeling that has you immediately worrying.

After all the times you’d found yourself under the rain, this is the worst moment of all - you’re hurting, all alone, and completely worn out. You’ve had a really long day and you don’t have the energy for this; all you want is to go home and have some rest. But you know there’s no other way, so you shift on your bum, manage to get up and strain your arms in the process, then you limp to the nearest post you can find using your umbrella as a walking stick then stand on one foot.

The rain has weakened a little, so you’re at least not getting even more wet, but it’s still winter and you’ve started to freeze. There are no other cabs in sight and all ride-hailing apps have been such a pain to book. Knowing that it’ll be tough to get home in any way at this stage and that you won’t be able to manage on your own, you decide to call Mr. Ri. He’s always told you that if you need help for anything, he’s another person that you could call.

It’s half past 8 in the evening. You’re banking on him being on the way home after having dropped Jungkook off at his building after a dinner meeting at 5:30.

“Hey, ___. Is everything alright?” Mr. Ri asks, knowing you rarely call at this hour.

“Not really,” you sigh, the shiver in your voice evident. “Have you dropped Jungkook off?”

“Not yet. But what do you mean, not really? What happened?”

“Are you driving?”

“No. I’m still waiting for him to finish. Tell me, are you in danger?” He presses, and you hear the worry in his voice.

You told him about Chi-won some weeks after it happened, and Mr. Ri, having known you for many years, knows you’re not one to usually reach out. He’s made it a point to check on you regularly, and calls like this would definitely ring some alarm bells.

“I’m not in danger but I hurt myself,” you say, quickly appeasing him that it’s probably just a sprained ankle and not that serious. “I just can’t get any ride and I can barely walk. I was hoping you were on the way home.”

“I’m not but I’ll go get you, okay? I’ll tell Jungkook and we’ll drive to you right away.”

“Mr. Ri, he’s in a meeting!”

“That’s most likely over and now they’re just chatting over drinks,” he reasons. “I’ll get him. You know he’ll want me to.”

“You don’t know that,” you stammer.

“You weren’t there with him the days after what happened that night at the restaurant, ___,” he huffs. “I just knew it was really bad because of how worried he was, and he’s never been that way. So yes, I know he’ll want me to get his ass out of there and be on the way to you. Plus, I’m sure he’ll fire me if I don’t.”

“Fine,” you concede. “Just don’t make it sound so bad because it really isn’t.”

“You know I can’t control how that kid reacts,” he hums. “Just send me your location.”

Mr. Ri heads out of the driver’s lounge and rushes to the restaurant where he manages to send a message to Jungkook that you’re stranded somewhere with possibly a sprained ankle. He says it as it is, knowing that Jungkook won’t need much to decide on ending the meeting and go to you, which he does right away.

“What happened?” He asks the older man as they both walk towards the basement parking.

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask any more questions,” Mr. Ri responds. “She’s somewhere near the office. We’ll be there in 20 minutes.”

“Try for 15,” Jungkook instructs.

He calls you right after and he immediately picks up on your chattering teeth.

“Hey, ___. How are you feeling?”

You’re a little surprised when Jungkook calls this soon, and with how you’re trying to move past whatever attraction you have towards the man, this really isn’t helping.

“Just… cold. My umbrella flew away,” you laugh. “The wind’s picked up and I think it’s gonna rain again.”

Just as you say so, it starts, and you pick up on the change in Jungkook’s voice. You’ve since learned that he’s not fond of it, always closing his eyes and trying to tune everything out with even just a drizzle. But he continues talking and asks what happened, trying to keep you company. You narrate the incident and attempt to play it off as something minor, although the longer you stay leaning against the post, the more pain you’re starting to feel.

“We’re five minutes away. We’ll be there soon,” he assures you then drops the call.

Jungkook clenches his fist and closes his eyes as the rain continues to pour. With the sound of the thunder, he jerks in his seat like he always does, but he pushes forward, knowing you need his help. He takes deep breaths just as he’s learned to do, and not long after, Mr. Ri informs him that he sees you just meters away.

The car slows down and Jungkook looks outside the window. He can see you leaning against a pole on one foot, drenched and shivering, your eyes closed as you wait for them to arrive. He meets Mr. Ri’s eyes in the rear view mirror as they halt, and with the rain just barely stopping, the older man nods and exits the car.

Jungkook watches from inside as Mr. Ri runs to you. He sees the smile on your face despite the droplets on the window. The older man takes your bag then helps you walk, leading you to the car where Jungkook manages to push the door open.

You slowly enter with as much energy you can muster, wincing in pain when you have to adjust your foot inside. You sigh in relief as you feel the warmth and dryness of the car, prompting you to apologize for getting it all wet.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jungkook shakes his head. “We’ll take you to the hospital, okay? And I won’t accept no for an answer.”

You nod in agreement, knowing that much as you’re causing him inconvenience right now, you’re too tired to argue. You lean your head by the window and try to catch your breath.

“Have you had dinner? He asks.

“Not yet. I was supposed to grab it on the way home.”

“We’ll pass by somewhere after the hospital.”

“Okay,” you look at him and smile.

Jungkook isn’t surprised when you don’t counter him. Perhaps it’s the exhaustion, as he sees it in how your smile isn’t as bright as what he’s used to, with it fading as you turn away. You’re still shivering though, despite the car heater being turned up. He doesn’t have a towel to dry you up, though, so he instead removes his coat and instructs you to lean forward so he can place it over your shoulders to warm your back. He takes his puffer jacket from the front seat and puts it over your lap right after, giving you warmth there, too.

“Is that better?” He asks.

“Yeah,” you mouth. “Thank you.”

His scent wafts through your senses, allowing you to breathe and feel all of him at once. It’s the closest thing to tangible comfort you’ve gotten from him, and you hate how good it feels.

You’re just about to fall asleep when the car comes to a stop. The rain has subsided and perhaps that’s why soon after, you hear Jungkook open his door and then your door, too. He removes his coat over your back, placing it back inside, then he holds onto your forearms to help you climb out. He takes his jacket and instructs you to wear it, giggling at how you’re being swallowed in it.

“I look ridiculous,” you pout as you sit on the wheelchair that he’s asked the nurse to get.

“Just a little,” he teases.

He walks next to you as you’re wheeled inside the hospital, staying close by when you explain to the ER doctor what happened. She assesses your foot and lower leg, diagnosing you with a sprained ankle like you expected, and proceeds to wrap it in elastic bandage.

She treats the minor scratches on your palms you got from the fall then writes you a prescription for painkillers. Jungkook takes it so he can buy them for you after, then he helps you settle the bill with your insurance.

You’re quite uncomfortable - you’re still a little wet and the bandage feels foreign around your foot. But you’re also feeling a bit shy, now that Jungkook is the one pushing the wheelchair towards the pharmacy nearby. He parks you at the side while he buys the medicine, and as you look on, you can’t help the relief mixed with giddiness that you feel despite the pain that’s close to overtaking you.

He stands by the counter with his white dress shirt slightly untucked and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hands are in his pockets while he waits for the pharmacist to return, and amidst everything that’s going on, you’re still able to admire how overwhelmingly handsome he looks, especially given what he’s doing right now for you. His side view is quite blinding, so you’re slightly embarrassed when he turns around and calls your name again after you missed it the first few times.

“Dazed and tired?” He asks as he walks back to you with a pack of medicines.

“Definitely,” you say, which isn’t a lie; it’s just not the whole truth. “I just want to eat and have a nice bath and then sleep.”

“And you’ll do all that soon,” he assures you. “We’ll pass by whatever’s open on the way to your place. Just make sure you don’t have the hot water on, okay? And then elevate your foot when you sleep.”

“Yes, I heard everything she said,” you playfully roll your eyes.

“Including the full-on rest that’s required of you for the next few days?” He raises an eyebrow. “Because that’s what you’re gonna have. You’re on leave until you’re able to walk properly again, Ms. Cho.”

“So now you’re being formal,” you tease, flashing him a playful smile. “But yes, Mr. Jeon. The instructions are understood.”

“Good,” he laughs softly. “Glad you’re not being stubborn about it.”

“Oh, not with this one, not when I’m this tired and in this much pain.”

His look turns sullen at the admission of what you’re feeling and you wish he didn’t feel this bad. But you can’t deny the way it’s giving you butterflies, prompting you to scold yourself internally because learning how caring he is isn’t exactly what you need to get over a crush. This is definitely the worst part about being injured, you decide.

You make it out of the hospital and he helps you again as you enter the car, sliding in next to you as he ensures that you’re warm.

You pass by a noodle house on the way, and he buys you some more food for the next day despite your insistence that he didn’t have to. But you’re too tired to argue some more, and you doze off a little during the drive to your apartment, with your half-awake self mumbling your apology about taking up his time.

Jungkook playfully shakes his head. Knowing you’re probably shallow sleep-talking, he disregards your words. He just gets glimpses of you, comforted to know that you’re at least getting the most rest you can have, given your current state. The painkillers will kick in soon and that’ll help you sleep better, but right now, he wishes he could do more for you.

In the deepest crevices of his heart, he wants to hold your still shivering hands and maybe hug your trembling body. He wants to stay with you until you’re warm and comfortable in your bed, perhaps assure you in whatever way that you’re not alone, that there’s help whenever you need it. He can’t imagine how it would’ve been like for you being under the rain, cold and hurt with no one around.

On second thought, he can, and that’s the thing about it. Even if you get out of it with just a sprained ankle - considering how much worse it could’ve been - it’s still terrifying being alone and powerless, paralyzed on the spot and not knowing if anyone will show up. He wants nothing more than for you to get over that and be able to move past it because he knows how haunting it could be; he knows how restraining such memories are.

But he also knows that there’s not much he could do - not with the unnamed feelings he can’t express, and not with the line he still believes he shouldn’t cross.

So he settles for glances and soft smiles at your fluttering eyes and slightly parted mouth. You look tired but peaceful; he thinks it’s quite endearing. It also feels intrusive so he looks away, out into the streets that he’s able to somehow see now. He thinks about the timing of it all - your late night and his dinner out, your injury and the bad weather. He’s thankful that the rain subsided and that allowed him to help you as much as he was able to, and that he got to you in the first place.

You arrive at your apartment with you now fully awake, and Jungkook heads to your side right away. Pulling you out of the car requires more strength from him, and despite your terrible condition, the butterflies appear once more when he instructs you to hold onto him for support. You have to act unaffected when you feel his broad shoulders and taut arms, with your hands gingerly laying on them; you wonder if he feels anything, too, under the thin material of his dress shirt.

His left hand only grazes your waist but his hold tightens after you grant him permission, perhaps knowing that it would be harder for you if he holds you that loose, he asked you to put your weight on him after all. Despite your agreement, you still hold in your breath, a silly attempt at slowing down your quickening heartbeat. He’s never been this close, and you’re unsure if you want him to be anywhere else.

You suspend your thoughts for the shortest of seconds until you both manage to get up the few steps to your door. Mr. Ri helps in unlocking it, and you settle on the dining chair that Jungkook pulls out for you after you both enter.

As you release a breath and watch him look around, it’s then you realize that your boss - the Jeon Corporation Vice President who lives in a penthouse in an exclusive district in Seoul - is in your tiny studio apartment that’s literally just the size of his bedroom. You’re not ashamed one bit but you are a little shy, so you jokingly welcome him to your “little mansion.”

“It’s nice,” he hums, looking around some more, which he doesn’t need to move to do.

The small round dining table, the off-the-wall kitchen, and the three-seater couch are all in the open living space. There’s a half-wall that separates your sleeping area, with your double bed against it and the tiniest of balconies just off of it.

You’re quite proud of what you’ve made of the place, with the plants in the corners, some chic art pieces on the walls, and photos with your friends and family on stick-on frames resting on the shelves. It’s cozy and comfortable for you, and you feel quite proud when Jungkook’s lips turn up when you respond that you’re happy here when he asks.

“It’s everything I need,” you hum. “And it’s in a safe part of town. My neighbors are older couples who are all kind.”

“That’s good,” he says, turning to you. “Will they be much help to you while you recover?”

“I’ll be okay,” you insist. “I have a crutch. I’ve got food to heat up, and my place is so small that I don’t have to move around to get things done. I don’t really need help, you know?”

He scrunches his eyebrows, seemingly unconvinced.

“Watch,” you say, your shallow confidence pushing you to grab the crutch next to you then using it to walk towards him so you could prove that you’re capable enough to look after yourself.

But your unfamiliarity with it leads you to mistime your step. Before you know it, you’re tripping on your foot and losing your balance, and as your life is about to flash before your eyes thinking that you’re gonna fall once again and make your injury worse, Jungkook’s reflex kicks in and he steps forward to catch you. You feel his grip on your waist gradually tighten as if to keep you steady, as if to make sure you’re alright. He’s so close, you can feel his breath as he pants, the worried look on his face something you’re familiar with by now. But he stays there, inches away, and so do you.

He’s bending, so he stays leveled with you. You can see his long eyelashes resting on his honeyed skin and the endearing curve of his nose. He looks so soft like this, comfortable even, with his big round eyes looking like the most innocent ones you’ve ever seen.

The voice in your head suddenly becomes loud enough and you break his gaze, realizing then that you’re also clutching onto his shoulder for support. You give him a look of apology but he just laughs, something you’re thankful for because the last thing you want is for the tension to thicken.

“You’re stubborn, aren’t you? You think it’s that easy?” He shakes his head, his tone sounding like he’s both teasing and reprimanding you.

“It seemed like it,” you shrug, allowing him to help you back on the seat, disregarding the slightest bit of giddiness you feel as he has one hand on your free arm while the other ghosts over your waist in case you fall again.

“It’s not. And I know this because I’ve used this before,” he says. “So since you’ll be by yourself, we have to make sure you can at least use the crutch without falling, okay?”

“Fine,” you concede, listening to his instructions carefully then trying to do it on your own.

It takes some getting used to, but after a few tries, you manage to at least walk without tripping. You plan on just staying in bed or on the couch tomorrow anyway so you’re not that worried. Even if Jungkook still seems to be.

“I’m okay,” you insist. “I’m gonna survive. But you should head home. It’s getting late and you have that ocular in the morning. I’ll just have to email Chin-sun about accompanying you and—”

“None of that,” he interjects. “I’ll be the one to tell her and I don’t want you worrying about work tomorrow, okay? You’re gonna take your medicine and just rest.”

“You’re demanding, aren’t you?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Only when I’m dealing with someone as stubborn as you,” he counters.

You just laugh at him answering back, enjoying your banter more than you should, then he says that he’ll go ahead, for as long as you’re sure you can manage. It takes another five minutes until he makes it out the door. But before he disappears, you call his name, your heart skipping a beat when he turns around, as if he’s just hanging onto your every word.

“Thank you,” you say. “I know it was a long day and it was raining but… you still came for me.”

“Just recover quickly, okay? I’ll check on you in the morning.”

You nod and he leaves. And just like that, you’re once again on your own - damp, injured, and extremely tired. Jungkook’s presence remains in your apartment though, and there he is again, making you smile and making you feel things you shouldn’t.

You don’t mind being alone. In fact, you enjoy it. But during the times when you don’t want to be, he just happens to be there. And being the stubborn woman that you are, deep down, you like it that he is, that in your own little world with the walls up so high, he’s become a frequent visitor. You’re just not sure if you want him to stay just yet.

You wake up the next morning feeling faint and sore, and it’s probably the painkillers having lost their effect. And there’s a reason why, seeing that it’s close to midday when you finally get out of bed. You manage to stand and walk to the kitchen with no issues, and you take your medication and heat up the food that Jungkook bought for you last night. It’s when you’re seated that he calls, bringing that smile to your otherwise uneventful day.

“Hello?”

“Hey, ___. How are you feeling?” He asks.

“Just fine. I took my medicines for the day and I’m about to eat lunch,” you reply. “And you? How was the ocular?”

“It was good. It has a lot of potential so I’ll run down the details with the teams and propose it. But speaking of sites, remember what I said about Hoseok and I thinking of a Scandinavian-inspired mid-rise in the mountains?”

“Yeah, the one you came up with during your trip. Are you gonna push through with it soon?”

“Perhaps. I’ve gotten emails of proposed sites for some other projects but I’ve seen a few that could work with this idea,” he shares. “There’s one in Gangwon that’s near the town center so it would be practical for many. There’s even— ah, why am I saying this to you now? You’re off the clock.”

“It’s okay,” you assure him. Jungkook doesn’t always show this much excitement with the projects he has to manage so when he does, you encourage him. It’s also an excuse to hear more of his voice. “My mind’s not prepared for being home today anyway so I’m a little disoriented. But that’s good. I can look into the sites and we can do an ocular whenever you prefer.”

“Alright, that’s something to schedule for next month. But uh, you sure you’re fine? Does your ankle still hurt? Did you get proper sleep?”

“Well, I slept like a baby,” you giggle. “And I at least remained in one position. It still hurts a bit but it should be okay in the next few days. I’m just gonna have to replace the bandage tomorrow morning.”

“Okay. Just make sure to ice it and keep it elevated.”

“Yes, boss,” you tease, earning you a groan. “But uh, thank you for checking up on me. I know you’ve got a busy day ahead.”

He’s silent, and you suppose it’s him again not knowing how to respond to gratitude, so you follow it up by saying that you’ll eat your meal now and reminding him of his meeting at 2PM.

“You better not be checking your emails and my calendar right now,” he warns.

“I’m not. I just memorize your schedule,” you defend.

“Okay then, I’ll go ahead.”

Jungkook drops the call and sinking in his seat, he sighs in relief. He managed to get through that conversation without sounding extremely worried, which is what he’s been since last night. His busy day today actually includes constantly worrying about how you’re doing, but he supposes it’s too much to let you know. Sure it’s just a sprained ankle, but knowing how you tend to move about, anything can happen. You were all alone for some time last night, too, just waiting for a way to get home. And that’s another thing he worries about - that fear latching onto you, that helplessness weighing you down.

He asks Mr. Ri if he’s heard from you, thinking that you’d probably be more honest with him, but the older man says you told him the same thing.

“Don’t you believe her?” Mr. Ri wonders.

“I do, but she’s quite stubborn though,” Jungkook laments.

“Well, I’ve known her for a while and she tends to just deal with things on her own,” Mr. Ri says.

“But she shouldn’t. She’s injured.”

“I think it’s natural for people who’ve been alone for many years to be that way,” the older man shrugs. “I mean, you’re the same.”

Jungkook doesn’t disagree. And if you’re truly anything like him, then you’d just push through the pain and force it to stop hurting so you can go back to your normal busy life because doing so keeps you from thinking of how lonely it feels when you’re sick or hurt and there’s no one around. It’s how he’s always been, too, he admits to himself.

The thought disturbs him, which is why he messages you three more times during the day and then again the next morning, asking if he could drop by. He’s expecting you to insist that you’re fine and he doesn’t need to, so it surprises him when you say that he could.

You’re pacing back and forth in your mind since you’re unable to physically do so, but the thought of Jungkook visiting you this Saturday morning is a lot for you to handle, even if you did say it was alright for him to come. The truth is, you wanted him to, only because selfishly, seeing someone be that worried about you gives you some form of comfort.

You called your family yesterday and told them about the injury, which they obviously panicked about. Your mom asked if you needed her to come to you but like always, you said she didn’t need to. You told Yoongi about it, too, and he was worried as well, in the classic way that he often is; he had food delivered to you for dinner last night so you didn’t have to think about it. You only told your best friends about it this morning and they were furious you waited so long to let them know; they were packing their stuff right as you were speaking to them two hours ago.

You know you have people to depend on and would be at your doorstep anytime you ask. These are the same people who’ve done that for years and you fully accept their care and attention; it’s become a part of you and your healing process. But when someone like Jungkook who, for whatever reason he has, shows you the same, it feels different; he goes out of his way to show it to you, and he’s not even someone who normally does it. It’s a new kind of comfort, one that you find yourself seeking. So when he called earlier and asked if he could drop by, there was an internal sigh of relief.

Over half an hour later, your doorbell rings, and you limp your way towards the door to open it.

Other than being in suits, you’ve only ever seen Jungkook in his gym clothes - half naked as well - and in night out wear. You realize that this is the first time you’re seeing him in a casual outfit, and with a jacket over a sweatshirt and a brown beanie, he looks different - there’s that boyish charm that you’ve never seen; he looks softer, kinder, still reserved but a lot more comfortable.

You let him in after your greetings, then you turn to him and smile.

“It’s really the suit, I know it now,” you tease. “It’s what makes you look intimidating.”

He looks at his attire then frowns at you. “So how do I look now?”

“Not intimidating.”

“Wow, what a surprise,” he playfully rolls his eyes. “Whereas you…” He eyes you in gray leggings and a blush jumper, looking soft and comfortable and even more like the bright spot he’s realized you are, but he’d never tell you that. “You look injured.”

“Gee, what a surprise. I feel injured, too,” you laugh. “But uhm, it’s nice of you to visit my humble mansion once again.”

“I just wanted to make sure you’re doing better,” he hums. “And bring some more food so you don’t have to worry about it.”

You eye the beef brisket with rice and say that you know what you’ll be having for lunch. He responds that he might just go back to the restaurant and meet his best friends there, too. You return to your seat on the couch, realizing there’s not much room for him to sit on, but he gets to you first, standing in front of you and eyeing the elastic bandage on the table.

“Aren’t you due for a redress?” He asks.

“Yes but uh, I can’t actually reach my foot,” you say with an embarrassed smile. “I’m not really flexible so I’ll just wait until Soomin and Jimin arrive.”

“I can do it,” he offers, thinking that the bandage isn’t serving its purpose if it remains loose. “I mean, I’ve dressed myself on my own before so I’m familiar with it.”

It’s probably the painkillers but something possesses you and you agree, your mind too out of it to take the words back. A part of you wishes you had, especially when your heart does a thing when he kneels on the floor and slowly takes your injured foot. You wiggle your toes in reflex, as if they’re shy, too, and Jungkook laughs at your silly antics, especially when you admit that you’re a little ticklish.

But he softly looks at you right after and asks if he’s hurting you, and you shake your head, unable to say anything else and process that you really allowed this man - your boss and in-denial crush - to do this.

You sit there, charmed by the way he looks determined to get this done. He removes the old bandage and wipes your ankle before wrapping it with a new one. His hands are large and quite rough but he’s very gentle, making sure to not lift your foot too high and that the bandage isn’t wrapped too tightly. Once he’s finished, he lays it on the table and looks up at you to ask if it feels okay.

“Yes,” you shyly smile. “Thank you. That was, uh, that was really nice of you.”

He nods and stands up to throw the trash in the bin, wanting to quickly hide his smile at how wholesome you looked in thanking him.

He proceeds to look around, taking more of your home in. There’s something very calming about it, and it’s more than just the plants that you have and the right amount of sunlight coming from the balcony door and kitchen window. There’s also something familiar, as he looks through your shelf of photos, seeing your mom and her partner for the first time. She looks a lot like you. She has a nice smile like yours, and she sees that same joy on her face as he’d seen on you, as she hugs you tightly in one of the pictures.

The familiarity is similar to when he first had a whiff of your scent - old rose like the one his mother used to wear, one he remembers as a child when he still clung to her. There are those memories that stick with him. Others he doesn’t have anymore but that’s good, he supposes. Seeing your shelf, he sees all the good and tangible things you hold dear.

“The photo on the far right, the one with Soomin and Jimin. We took that during my birthday trip using your gift,” you tell him. “It came out really nicely.”

“It did. Did you finish the film? What else did you take photos of?”

“We used it all up,” you smile. “And just a lot of the scenery and the three of us. We all divided them so we could have copies and just remember how fun that week was.”

“Good, that’s what I hoped.”

Jungkook stands there, his jacket now off so his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and his hands are in his pockets as he looks through your shelf. You wonder what he’s thinking, what he’s seeing, if any of this makes him curious. It’s as if he’s taking in all the small parts of who you are that he can see displayed before him. He turns to you and your eyes meet again, and for a moment, it feels like you’re really seeing him and he’s really seeing you, like there’s something only both of you share and understand and want and can give.

But the doorbell ringing disrupts it, with you wondering who it could be since your best friends won’t arrive until an hour from now. Jungkook walks to the door and opens it, surprised to see Yoongi who’s just as surprised to see his friend in your apartment.

“Hey, you’re back. And… here,” you smile, attempting to stand up but Yoongi tells you to stay put.

“I flew home last night and thought I’d visit and get you some food, but it seems like I’m second in line,” he says, his smug face causing you to glare at him.

“I just wanted to make sure she was okay,” Jungkook defends. “I won’t stay long.”

“Of course you do. And I won’t stay long either. I don’t wanna disturb anything.”

He smirks at his friend, prompting Jungkook to glare at him as well.

“Yah, chill, you two. I’m really just passing by,” Yoongi reiterates, making his way now to sit on the arm of your sofa. “Just wanted to check on ___ and make sure she’s well-fed.”

“I’m injured, not starving, okay?” You groan. “But thanks. What have you got there?”

“Noodles, custard buns, and some tarts. Wasn’t sure what you’re into when you’re incapacitated,” Yoongi shrugs.

“I’m very much mobile,” you correct him. “Just… slow and limping.”

Jungkook pulls your dining chair and sits in front of you, and the three of you talk as if this isn’t weird at all. You’re all colleagues - you and Jungkook consider Yoongi as your friend, but you don’t know if you should consider your boss as such, and you don’t know if he considers you the same. You’ve definitely experienced a lot of things that could qualify what you have as friendship, but even then, there’s something more about it, something a little more intimate, different, terrifying.

You brave through this dynamic and learn that Yoongi likes to tell Jungkook off a lot. It’s the kind of bluntness you expect from Yoongi’s no-nonsense attitude but it’s refreshing to see him be more straightforward towards someone like Jungkook who you’re used to seeing as commanding and serious. Jungkook takes the hits, seemingly unbothered as they bicker, and it’s another side of him you enjoy seeing - the smiles and laughter are natural, and there’s this comfort about him that you suddenly want more of.

The time passes quickly, with the doorbell ringing again signaling that your friends have arrived. Yoongi gets up first to open the door, greeting them who do the same. You manage to stand up with Jungkook telling you to be careful, and when it dawns on them who else is in your apartment, Jimin’s face turns sour and Soomin’s goes from confused to amused.

Jungkook looks taken aback by the cold welcome, but he manages to introduce himself to them.

“Oh, we know,” Jimin says dryly. “You’re the one who gives her so much work that she had to do overtime again and that’s why she got hurt.”

You feel the tension come like a strong wave and you try to lower the level a little bit.

“He also brought me to the hospital and got me some food,” you tell Jimin, whose bitterness isn’t unfounded. He did listen to you complain about this very man all those months ago. “He’s just checking up on me, making sure I’m alright, the way you guys are.”

“As we should,” Jimin huffs. “At least we don’t cause you any injury or pain.”

“You don’t. But you do make things better so could you do that, please?” You say, opening your arms for a hug, something to appease him before it gets even more tense.

Jimin has the sweetest smile but wouldn’t be afraid to burn anyone down with his looks if they deserve it. Jungkook did at one point, but you obviously feel very differently about that now. But still, you glance at the man, hoping this encounter isn’t putting him off too much, and with the slight tinge of guilt in his eyes, you suppose it hasn’t.

Jungkook turns away, partly because a reminder of how he’d treated you before makes him regret even more how you both started, and partly because seeing you affectionate with any man - even if it’s your best friend - makes him a tiny bit jealous, only because it’s something he can’t be with you. Seeing you that way with Hajoon months ago was different; Jungkook had been more shocked than anything. But this time, given that his attraction towards you seems to grow every second, and that he’s been wanting nothing more than to comfort you, there’s more of that feeling of loss, of hope that it could be him one day, even if that’s something that’ll probably never happen.

“I know you dislike him but tone it down for now, okay?” You whisper to Jimin. “My place is too small to contain all this tension.”

“I know, I’m sorry. Seeing him just reminds me of what you had to go through because of him,” he says before pulling away. “But he did help. And well, Soo and I are still upset that you didn’t tell us sooner. You know we would’ve driven here on Thursday night.”

“I know, and that’s exactly why. You both had something big going on and I could wait,” you reply, a reason you give them everytime.

Wanting a short breather from all this, you excuse yourself and ask Soomin to help you with something in the bathroom, and she heads there right away.

“Can you make sure that those two don’t murder each other?” You whisper to Yoongi as you gesture towards Jimin and Jungkook.

“It would be entertaining if they did, but yes, I’ll try,” he chuckles.

You walk to where Soomin is and after closing the door, she looks at you with the same amusement that she’s had since she arrived.

“What in the romance drama is this!” She exclaims, lowering her voice when you scold at her to keep it down. “All your three men coming to your home to make sure you’re okay? Talk about making an impression.”

“They aren’t my men, okay!” You scowl at her. “They all just happened to have the same thought. And no, Jimin doesn’t count.”

“Whatever,” Soomin laughs. “It’s just… I know you’re hurt and that you’ll be okay but it’s just amusing to see them show up for you like this. Especially the big boss. He’s way hotter up close, I can tell you that.”

“Please don’t remind me,” you frown. “I wish there was a potion I could take to make him look unattractive to me so that I’d stop being so giddy at everything he does. And fuck, Soo, I haven’t been like this in ages. Or ever.”

“Well, you haven’t been this accepting of someone’s attention, that’s for sure.”

“Yeah, and I’m being silly. I might just be putting myself up for disappointment here,” you groan. “I mean, I don’t even know what I’m feeling, but I know what I’m not supposed to feel. And he’s not making it any easier.”

“Your situation isn’t easy in the first place, hun. And there are many reasons why,” she sighs, wishing there was a way to uncomplicate this very complicated relationship you have with Jungkook. “But whatever it is you think you shouldn’t feel, think about what he may be feeling, too. He wouldn’t be making all this effort since Thursday night for this to just be nothing.”

“I wish none of that means anything. That’s probably gonna be easier, right? That he doesn’t feel anything remotely close to what I do? That’s probably better than dealing with all the complications.”

“Maybe, but we don’t really know,” Soomin says, pulling you in for a hug. “But also think about how new and different this feels. It might be worth it in the long run.”

You fall into her embrace, knowing that during the toughest times of your life, this was your saving grace. It’s no different when you’re confused and in need of guidance, and though you’ve always made decisions for yourself with knowledge of the consequences, Soomin was there to back you up during the times when you were going in somewhat blindly. She wants you to be happy, and you won’t really know if continuing to feel what you do about Jungkook will make you so. If all else fails, well, you could always go back home, or maybe return to Busan and start a life there. Jungkook will just be a memory; you hope to the heavens it’ll be a good one.

You shake away the thoughts and finally go back out and are relieved to find some peace. Jimin’s washing your dishes while talking to Yoongi who wipes them dry. Jungkook sits on your sofa, looking around quietly, but he stands when he sees you approach him.

“I’ll go ahead,” he says, gesturing towards the door. “I… I think you’ve got everything you need.”

“Let me walk you there,” you smile.

He’s outside the door when you thank him again then apologize if Jimin made him uncomfortable.

“It’s okay. I’d be protective of my best friend, too, if I learned how their boss treated them,” he responds.

“I, uh… those were hard times and I may have complained quite a bit about you,” you pout. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sure I deserved it,” he chuckles. “You’re lucky you have them. I mean, my best friends tease me a lot and say shit about me to my face and behind my back.”

“Oh come on, Seokjin and Taehyung love you,” you laugh. “I’ve seen it, but you all also said you’re like that to each other; it’s how you guys grew up. I mean, I was the new girl in school and Jimin and Soomin have been protective since day one, whereas your best friends have shown you tough love since you were kids. They said you never accepted their affection so they switched tactics.”

“That’s fair. I was always shy and then turned into a bitter, introverted child. There was no transition, I guess. Now we’re adults and have just stuck with each other because we’re all we’ve ever known.”

“Well, you make decisions to stand by people, Jungkook. They do with you and you do the same with them. Plus, you’re not that insufferable,” you tease.

“At least you don’t think so. Not anymore, I hope,” he says softly, looking away.

“People deserve second chances. You gave me some and more and I… I’m glad you did. I at least get to see this side of you that’s helped me a lot these past months. I’m thankful. And I hope you know that.”

Jungkook just nods, unable to reply through words again. You let him, knowing it’s his default response. He walks to his car and turns around for a final goodbye, leaving you in anticipation for when you’d be with him again.

“Well, that was a long goodbye,” Yoongi says, surprising you as he stands behind you. “And no, I didn’t hear anything.”

You turn to him with a playful frown. “I was just making sure that Jimin didn’t make him feel too bad. I mean, I know I complained a lot but still. I didn’t want Jungkook to think I cursed his existence or something.”

“You did at one point though,” Yoongi laughs. “But it’s acceptable. Jungkook was rude, and heavens know how much shit I gave him for treating you the way he did.”

“You did, huh?”

“I always told you I’d look out for you, ___. Whatever happened or didn’t happen between us, I was always going to have your back.”

“You’re heaven-sent, Min Yoongi,” you smile. “I wish I could do half as much as you do for me.”

“You do more. I hope you don’t ever doubt the comfort that your presence gives to people. Maybe that’s what it’s done to Jungkook. And I know he hasn’t felt much of that in years.”

It’s Yoongi’s last words before he says goodbye, and they stay in your head for the next few days. Maybe Soomin’s right - all that Jungkook has been doing might mean something, and you hope that finding out what it is will all be worth it.

Jungkook decides to meet with his friends at one of his favorite restaurants for lunch. All he planned on doing today was visit you and he has nothing else going on for the rest of it. The club scene has become boring for him, and going to one only to bring home a woman to hook up with is no longer appealing, not when you invade his mind all the time.

Being welcomed in your home was refreshing. And even if it was awkward, meeting your friends allowed him another peak into your world. You choose the people you allow in, and you don’t choose many of them. The ones you do stay for a long time, and that’s the kind of person you seem to be. You value relationships so much that’s why you don’t have many of them, and with all that you went through and the vulnerability you’ve both shown each other, he’s started to hope that one day, he’d be deserving of that, too.

“So did you feel like a fish out of water being there with her actual friends?” Seokjin asks. “Because I don’t know what you’d consider your relationship with her is. Boss-assistant feels too simplistic at this point. Are you friends? Are you more? Or is that all too ambiguous?”

“I don’t… know,” Jungkook sighs. “We’re all that but we also aren’t. We’ve gone through so much that it doesn’t seem like there’s a way to define what we are. But I feel like I’ve seen her at her most vulnerable and we’ve connected because of that.”

“And what about you? Have you been vulnerable in front of her?” Seokjin asks.

Has he? Jungkook thinks. Maybe that first time he asked for your help with his new role but he supposes it’s nothing compared to what you’ve shown him, intentional or not.

“Not really. I… I don’t let myself be. That’s still distance I need to establish,” Jungkook reasons.

“More like, because you know that if you do show that side of you, you’re scared you’ll find out that she’ll understand, and that having her next to you is what you need to heal whatever parts of you that are still hurting?” Seokjin counters.

“I don’t want to need her, you know that. There’s a boundary I shouldn’t cross. She’s my assistant and—”

“You’ve been treating her like the most important person and it’s not hard to miss,” Taehyung interjects. “You were never like this, not since Chaerin.”

“I don’t even know what it is about ___ that just makes me consider risking things, you know?” Jungkook sighs. “I’m always torn with what our reality is and what we could be but I’m afraid that if we cross that line, we’ll have to make sacrifices. I… I’m finding myself wanting her around all the time. When she leaves, I want her to stay. When she’s not there, I want her to come. But at the same time, I don’t want her too close because I don’t know if I can have her or if I can want her. Because I don’t know what of me I can give that won’t hurt her,” he admits, with a bit of help from some whiskey.

“Maybe if you let yourself be vulnerable, you’d know,” Seokjin advises. “Some people would run and hide but there’s always that one person who wouldn’t. That might just be her. And then you’ll learn what you can give, too.”

Jungkook lets his friends’ words settle and then thinks about them throughout the night that he spends all alone in his penthouse, with another glass of whiskey in his hand as he looks out the balcony. A part of him wants you to run and hide when you see who he really is, what he hides and what he’s ashamed of. Maybe that would be easier, he thinks; maybe that would hurt less.

You return to work the next Tuesday, having gone to the hospital the day before and being cleared to return to your usual routine. Jimin and Soomin stayed with you until that evening, with you rejecting their insistence to stay another day. You can manage, you assure them. You’re able to walk properly now and would just need to do daily exercises, wear the elastic bandage for another week, and forego the heels.

Jungkook’s pleased to know that you’re doing better and makes sure you don’t walk around if you don’t need to, so he’s been the one going to see you when he needs something. He also postponed some potential site visits for the project that he and Hoseok are working on until you’re fully capable, which is why it’s three weeks later when you find yourself in the car with him, on the way to some towns in nearby provinces on an early Friday morning.

Mr. Ri called in sick today and Jungkook didn’t want to deal with a chauffeur he doesn’t know, so he decided to drive instead, thinking it’s more efficient that way. These are all initial checks and being that you’re the only one from his team who’s privy to the details, he wanted you to join him as a sounding board and also to get your own thoughts about what you’ll be seeing. He has a vision in mind and he needs to translate it properly; you’ve been helpful these past months in making sure he’s able to do that.

Disregarding what this time alone with you would do to him, Jungkook meets you in his penthouse, telling himself to focus on only one thing today, and that’s finding the right place for his planned project.

You leave early for a quick stop at a cafe and then head north to some towns in Gyeonggi province. There are some properties and land that are up for sale, and you prepared the information about them beforehand, allowing Jungkook to play around with the timeline and budget in his mind, even drawing rough drafts on his iPad as he assesses them. You’re both in work-mode, discussing each site on the way to the next one, with you searching for more details along the way and him, stopping on the side of the road to add an idea that he comes up with on the spot.

It’s a little chaotic, as his mind goes from one thing to another, but you suppose this is how Jungkook naturally is. You’ve seen him perform his duties in various ways, but this is when you see the most raw side of him, and it’s quite the privilege to see. He always said he preferred the creative aspect of the job, which is why he enjoyed his time in Singapore, handling the design department. You contend that he’s grown tremendously in his executive role. As Hoseok has said, Jungkook relates to his staff better now, and has even engaged and attracted more partners with his great ideas.

You’re quite sentimental going on this trip with him. It wasn’t long ago when you were going to work with anxiety, anticipating his next criticism so you can prepare yourself, and then going home feeling like a failure. So much has happened since then, and you could even say that you’ve found comfort in your daily routines; doing something different like this is now exciting and something you look forward to, especially since it allows you to go outside, see the sights, and breathe the cool air.

“You okay there?” He asks, noticing your silence.

“Yeah. I was just thinking how 10 months ago, this would’ve stressed me out so much.”

“What? Going on a road trip?”

“Pretty much going anywhere with you,” you laugh. “Car rides even with Mr. Ri made me freak out, and I was so scared to make a mistake or make you wait for information that I couldn’t find. And now here we are - I survived the last five hours with you and not once did you groan at me.”

“Wow, I must’ve been a really terrible boss to make your standard for a non-stressful day to be that low,” he laughs before turning serious. “But I… I’m… I’m sorry, for all the stress and anxiety that I caused you. I was being selfish and irrational about it. I hate change and you were the biggest one, even with my new role. I took out all the frustration on you and I shouldn’t have.”

He says more than he expected, but it’s also the apology that he should’ve given—that you deserved —months ago.

“I forgive you,” you say softly, glancing at him before returning your eyes towards the road. “I always knew my limits and I guess I let you push it and that was on me. I could’ve stood up to you, too.”

“You did though, more than once. And that knocked some sense into me.”

“I guess,” you hum. “And then things improved and I’m just glad they did.”

There’s a prolonged silence after, as you both opt to bask in the scenery around you. There’s that understanding and acceptance of how things were and that regardless of what’s going on in your own minds, you at least have this. You think to yourself that this just makes leaving that much harder, but at least this is one more memory you could take with you.

You make it to Hwacheon in Gangwon past noon, and this is where you spend most of your time in, as the sites are spread out around the county. There are areas tucked away in the mountains while there are those closer to town with grand views. It’s in the latter where you grab some lunch and go through some of his plans, and you take in his ideas, learning from him in the process.

It’s late in the afternoon when you inspect the final site, which is in an area in the neighboring Chuncheon county. It’s got potential for another project that CEO Jeon is looking to do, and with your notes completed, you and Jungkook start the trip back home. You would reach the tail-end of the Friday night traffic by the time you return to Seoul, the GPS says, and so both of you savor the sky’s changing colors as it transitions to the evening, letting the soft sounds of the radio replace the silence.

Barely 30 minutes in, the rain starts to pour, and it’s seconds later when it dawns on you what that means, as you hear heavy breathing next to you. You turn to Jungkook whose hands are tightly gripping the wheel, with sweat lining his eyebrows despite the cool temperature.

“Did the forecast say it was gonna rain?” He asks, the mix of panic and frustration evident in his voice.

“Yes, but not until late in the evening,” you say, checking your phone to make sure you got the correct information.

Your heart breaks upon realizing that at midday, the weather station warned that there was going to be a thunderstorm, with rainfall coming in around this time. You inform Jungkook, and despite all the progress in your relationship, your heart breaks a second time when he says that you should’ve constantly checked, that the weather changes all the time and you should’ve been mindful, and that now you’re both gonna be stuck on the road because he’s unable to drive and you don’t know how to. His tone is harsh, accusatory, as if it was something you could control, as if everything was your fault, just like how it was before.

Jungkook stops on the side of the road as the downpour continues, and he leans his head on the steering wheel now as he takes deep breaths. You tell him he could breathe better if he sits straight up, but he ignores you.

A part of you wants to remark how it’s ironic that just earlier, he was apologizing for the way he treated you, and now it’s like you’ve both taken a few steps back. You want to say it’s not your fault, that you wouldn’t even have known that the rain affected him this way if you hadn’t seen him be nervous about it when you went home from the gala last year. But you think about the way his eyes looked earlier, how they filled with worry and fear, like there was a sense of powerlessness that you know a little about.

So you settle for a bit of grace and understanding, thinking they’re what he needs.

“I don’t know why this is on me,” you say softly. “I didn’t know how bad it was but if I did, I would’ve checked constantly and I would’ve had us turn back the second I saw that forecast. And if I could drive, I’d drive us back as fast as I could. I’m sorry.”

He slows his breathing and sits up. His hands still tightly gripping the wheel but his eyes are downcast, and you suppose there’s more sadness than anger, so you stop pressing your nails on your skin, which you’d started doing in anticipation of him arguing with you about it.

“I don’t like the rain,” he shares, his voice low. “I… I have a bad memory of it as a kid and I just get reminded whenever it starts. I panic when it gets louder and I just… I can’t stay out here when that's all I can hear.”

His honesty surprises you. You can’t imagine how it must’ve been like for him, even more that he has to suffer through this right now in front of you, considering how hard it is for him to express how he feels. You don’t know how bad this weather is gonna go, and at this pace, the thunderstorm will probably reach you by the time you make it back to Seoul. So you do what you do best, and that’s to come up with options.

“There’s a guesthouse not far from here,” you say after checking the map. “It’s the closest one. We could spend the night there and wait out the rain. That’s better than being stuck here or continuing the drive back to the city.”

He nods in agreement, knowing there’s not much he could do. He doesn’t want to be stuck here; even more, he doesn’t want to unload on you nor have you witness how much worse it could be.

He keys in the address you give him while you call the property and ask if they still have available rooms. They do, so you reserve two and sigh in relief that that’s one problem solved.

You make it there in 15 minutes. Jungkook heads out the car first with the rain having eased up a bit, and you retrieve his luggage from the trunk, the one he keeps there for emergency trips and instances like this one. It has enough clothes for a day, and you’re glad that at least he has something to change into.

You make it inside and meet the owners then introduce yourself, stating that you reserved two rooms.

“I’m so sorry but we had to give up one of them,” the woman says. “A family came in with a baby and we couldn’t turn them away. The weather’s going to get worse tonight and we try to accommodate as many people as we can. I hope you understand.”

“That’s… that’s okay,” you say, knowing you would’ve done the same.

The thought of sharing a room with Jungkook feels too intimate and definitely not good for your heart, added to the fact that you’re probably not his favorite person right now, so you try to find a way out. You turn to the living room and see the sofa that’s big enough for you, so you ask if you can just stay there instead.

“Our cleaners will be using that space since they can’t go home due to the rain. I’m sorry again, Miss. Your room has twin beds so I hope that eases your worry somehow.”

“It’s fine, we’ll manage,” Jungkook says from behind you, hoping to the heavens that he will. He has one fear, and that’s you seeing how he really is during times like this.

He takes the key and walks up the stairs to the room you’re given. It’s spacious with a fair enough distance between both beds. He takes the one farther from the window then gets his clothes from his bag. It dawns on him that you don’t have your own with you, so he offers you his sweatshirt.

“It’s okay,” you shake your head. “It’s gonna be cold and you’re gonna need it.”

“So will you. You can’t be in wet clothes, not in this weather.”

“It’s happened before,” you shrug.

“___, just take it,” he insists, placing the item on your bed. “I have a top here that I can wear and the blankets will be enough. This is loose but it’s at least better than damp clothing. And you can go ahead in the bathroom. I’ll just give Mr. Ri a call.”

You nod and head out, taking his jumper and the towel with you. You’re given some basic toiletries, and the warm shower is just what you need for that bit of comfort after a stressful evening. As you’re about to dress up inside, you hear a knock on the door.

“I asked the lady if they had spare pajamas for you and she gave me a set,” Jungkook says from outside. “I’ll leave them on a stool by the door.”

You wait for him to leave before getting them and putting them on. It’s a plain set of shorts and shirt that’s a little big but it’s way better than your damp skirt and blouse, which the owners offered to wash and dry for you for tomorrow.

You return to the room with Jungkook sitting on the floor, and you give him back his sweatshirt that he turns down.

“I’m fine,” he insists. “Don’t you get cold easily? You’ll need that.”

He walks out, barely meeting your eyes. You’re sitting on the edge of your bed when he returns half an hour later, the sight of him with damp hair in black sweatpants and a white sleeveless top doing things to you. But you shake the thoughts away, especially as he once again creates that distance. He doesn’t look at you when he settles in bed, nor when he switches off his bedside light, and definitely not when he turns around to face the other way. You sigh to yourself, feeling even more alone now with him acting like this.

You can’t really blame him though. Dealing with something that elicits painful memories is difficult, and you understand the tendency to isolate yourself and push people away when that happens. It’s what you do sometimes, but still, it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt you a little when Jungkook does this to you, considering how good your relationship has become, regardless of your stupid attraction.

Settling in your bed, you decide to turn around and face the window. You focus on the droplets creating their own artwork on the glass, in hopes that it’ll help you take your mind off Jungkook, even if he’s literally just a few feet away from you. The last thing you want is a strained relationship, and you hope that this doesn’t make him fall back into his old ways. Although he’s experienced a few stressful moments these past months, they weren’t personal, and you suppose situations like this are when his emotions truly come out.

The rain has gotten stronger again and you’re pleased that Jungkook isn’t awake for this, based on the soft snores you hear. You’re about to fall asleep, the sound hypnotizing you a little, but that’s when the first blare of thunder strikes, causing you to jerk in bed in surprise. It used to scare you because of what it reminded you of, but you learned how to manage it after the first hit; the succeeding ones are no longer triggering. In fact, you just think of how it used to drown out the sounds of what you were truly afraid of.

Just then, you hear distressed moans. The sounds of frantic breathing and shifts on the bed follow right after. And then there’s a restrained groan, like a call for help that doesn’t fully come out, and that’s what alarms you. You immediately get off the bed and rush to Jungkook’s side. You see that he’s still asleep, his body - now uncovered by the blanket - is tense, despite his efforts of turning about. The low sounds of almost-cries convince you that he’s having a nightmare.

Thunder hits once again and it’s much louder this time, eliciting another frantic response from Jungkook. He’s kicking the covers while gripping the sheets, and with another roar of thunder that causes him to scream, that’s when you decide to wake him up.

“Jungkook, hey, listen to me,” you say, sitting on the edge of the bed and keeping his head still with your hands. You’re able to control him as he continues tossing and turning, repeating his name until he slowly opens his eyes. “Hey, you’re safe with me, okay? Just focus on my voice.”

He’s awake now and you see the worry in his eyes, but you talk to him calmly, wanting him to trust you. It works, as he nods and slows down his movements. But he’s still breathing heavily, his lips chattering and the rest of his body shivering.

You anticipate another hit of thunder, and you’re able to shield him from it, pressing your palms on his ears, trying to drown out the sound. You stay that way, thumbing his temples as you tell him it’s okay, that you’ve got him, and that it’ll be over soon. You hold his gaze to let him know that you’re not going anywhere, and his pretty eyes that often look so far away are now overtaken with fear.

“Just look at me, alright? And follow my breathing,” you instruct him, your voice as gentle as you can make it despite your own worries for him.

He does as you say, his hands gripping your wrists as if to keep them there, and you assure him that you won’t let go until he says so.

“You’re doing good, just keep breathing,” you repeat, pacing your breathing with his until you’re doing it together.

You don’t know how long you stay that way, with his head between your hands and your eyes locked on his. It takes a while, but the thunder eventually stops and the rain eases. Jungkook finally calms down and you slowly release him from your hold. You watch him shut his eyes, as if in desperation to let everything go, before he opens them again.

“Is that better?” You ask, moving just a bit farther from him to give him space, but you remain close, wanting to be next to him in case something happens again.

“Yeah, that was, uh… that was tiring,” he huffs.

“I think the thunder has passed but if it happens again, I’ll be here, okay?”

He nods, his soft and desperate eyes now looking at you to express his gratitude. You want so badly to hug him, to hold his still-shaking hands and assure him that he’s not alone, that you won’t let anything hurt him for the rest of the night, and that you understand it all - whatever it is he’s afraid of, and why he keeps it all to himself.

But you suppose that’s going too far. You’re afraid that you’d want to stay there, even more if he doesn’t want you to. So you nod as well and think that he at least has this to comfort him, that he at least knows you’re just there.

You walk back to your bed and lie down, facing him this time. You smile, wanting that assurance to be the last thing he sees before he falls asleep again. Jungkook does the same as he settles under the covers, patting it down so he could see you better. You both stay there, safe in your corners, your eyes telling each other things you can’t say.

Whatever distance you felt earlier has shortened. Right now, with both of you falling asleep to each other’s view, he’s never felt so close.

The morning after heavy rain is always bittersweet. There’s the reality of the damage it caused but you also can’t deny that it gives life to other living things. What it also does is make way for clear skies and give you that fresh, rainwater scent of the grass and the trees. It’s what you see and smell when you open the bedroom windows, reminding you that the evening has passed and the worst is over.

You spot Jungkook seated on one of the chairs in the garden, and you hope that the view is making him feel better, with the nightmare from last night slowly drifting away from his mind. You dress up in the dry clothes you find hanging on the doorknob of the room then head downstairs, surprised to see food prepared in the dining area. The tofu stew and grilled mackerel are so appetizing, and the loud rumbling of your stomach reminds you that you didn’t eat last night, with all the stress making dinner your last priority.

“Hello, dear. It was a pretty hard evening so we prepared something for our guests,” the owner says, her radiant smile reflecting the brightness of the day. “You may call your friend outside so you can both eat and get ready for a long drive home.”

You thank her then call Jungkook, his eyes brightening when he walks back inside and sees the food. He engages in conversation with the owners, asking about this town and the surrounding ones, and what their appeal is to non-residents. You gauge that he’s doing a bit of research himself, and you think he’s at least not too out of it to still do so.

“You’re free to stay until noon,” the owner informs you. “You can enjoy the view outside; it’s really pretty now that the sky has cleared. I’ll be making tea shortly as well.”

Jungkook says he’ll return to the garden and you wait for the hot drinks before following him. You’re unsure if he wants you around but you try, sitting next to him then sighing in relief when he doesn’t move away.

“I was 10 years old when my parents sent me and my brother to a cabin somewhere in Hwasun,” he starts. “I thought they were coming with us but it was just me and Jeong-sik and some staff. He and I never got along. If he wasn’t ignoring me, he was teasing me. But that day, he convinced me to play hide-and-seek, saying that by the time he finds me, our parents would be back. We were outdoors and I ended up wandering too far, so close to the woods that I couldn’t find my way back. My brother hadn’t come and I was getting scared. And then it started to rain.”

“Jungkook, you don’t have to—”

“It started getting stronger and the skies had become so dark, I could barely see anything,” he continues, his eyes fixed towards the mountains faraway. “The rain made the ground slippery so I decided to just sit by a large tree and hope someone would find me. It felt like hours and maybe it was. The thunder was so loud then and it kept going and going and going. And I was drenched and all alone, and no matter how hard I screamed, no one could hear me.”

“I’m so sorry, Jungkook,” you say, feeling your heart break as he narrates a painful memory that you can relate with.

It’s only close to what you experienced yet it feels so real to you. You can feel his fear and his pain in the tremble of his voice, in the way he grips on the edges of the bench, in the way his jaw clenches at the memory, like it’s one he’s tried hard to bury yet can’t get rid of, no matter how hard he tries.

But this feels so personal, and you don’t want him to feel like he needs to share it with you.

“You don’t have to explain,” you add. “I know it’s difficult to share something like that.”

“But I want to,” he responds, turning to you now. “Because I’ve carried the memory with me for 20 years and I’ve been dealing with it all on my own. But that’s not an excuse to treat you the way I did last night. That’s not a reason for me to take it out on you and especially to blame you. That was wrong of me and I’m sorry, ___. I…”

He looks down, perhaps trying to gather the courage he needs to be honest with you, to be vulnerable with you.

“I don’t want you to think that I didn’t need you because I did,” he adds. “I was scared and I didn’t think I needed you but you were there and I’m so sorry.”

You sit there and watch him cower onto himself, and somehow you see the little boy who was scared, who was wondering why he’d been left alone, who was waiting for someone to come find him or perhaps… someone to sit there and be with him until the rain stopped. There’s a lot he carries; there’s also a lot he buries, as if there’s a bottomless hole within him where he keeps everything hidden but it still feels too heavy, too much, taking from him every time he hides something new.

You don’t say anything for a while, as you start to see Jungkook for who he really is. You feel the weight of his words and how much it took for him to say them. It’s not that his experience makes him different, but now that you know the pain he’s been carrying with him, you’re able to see the other parts of him that he’s unable to show, perhaps too afraid that someone wouldn’t understand, or that they wouldn’t stay if they found out why he keeps his distance and why he pushes people away.

Your silence prompts him to look up. You meet his eyes and see the sadness in them and it feels like he needs more than just forgiveness.

“We do things we don’t mean to when we’re afraid,” you tell him. “It doesn’t always mean we intend on hurting them. And I understand that, more than you know. I’ll never take that against you.”

Jungkook nods, shifting again towards the view as he lets your words sink in. He was hoping for forgiveness, but he got so much more. Maybe there’s a reason why you’ve been patient and gentle with him ever since the beginning. Perhaps you’re carrying your own burden and painful memories that you’re unable to share and deal with, too, and though he’s nothing like you, there’s comfort in knowing that you’re the same somehow.

He senses you turn back to look at the mountains, and the silence prompts him to continue the story of an experience he’s only shared twice before - once to his best friends and another time with Chaerin, all of whom have seen this side of him - the scared and vulnerable side. They were understanding and supportive as well, trying to find ways to comfort and help him deal with it. You’re the third and the one he’s known the shortest time, yet he feels more comfort with you than anyone who’s ever tried.

“I fell asleep at that tree while waiting,” he recalls. “The next thing I know, I was being carried back to the cabin. The rain had stopped but it was still dark, and I was tended to until I fell asleep again. I was sick for days and I didn’t see my parents until we were back in Seoul. It’s just a hard thing to remember. I know we have selective memories and I always wish that’s one thing that I don’t ever have to remember but life isn’t that kind, I guess.”

“It isn’t. But we learn to face those fears though, and manage them. It’s the only way we can get through it,” you say.

“Have you?” He asks, wondering if that’s another similarity he shares with you.

“Not really. I wouldn’t be alone and where I am if I have,” you say. “But I’m trying. And I’ll continue to.”

“That makes one of us,” he sighs.

“Well, it’s not always easy if you’re not quite sure what you’re really afraid of,” you respond. “Is it just thunder?”

“Yeah… but once the rain starts, it tells me that thunder could come. It doesn’t always but it’s what my brain tells me. Then I get anxious and I… I don’t know what to do. Like I’m paralyzed and unable to think or move. I just… stay there and sometimes, I don’t even know what’s happening.”

“Well, it rained when I got injured,” you remind him. “But you managed to get me to the hospital. And you stayed with me. That’s definitely something.”

“You were hurt and it was more important that you got treated,” he reasons. “That was scary and I guess my brain told me to get shit done that moment.”

“So… do I always have to be hurt for you to get through the rain when it starts getting bad?” You ask.

“Don’t talk like that. I can’t have you going through that again,” he frowns at you.

The way he reacts to the thought of you being hurt gives you that warm feeling again. But it reminds you that you feel the same. You don’t want him to be scared, you don’t want him hurt, too.

“Fine. But when it starts to rain and you’re all alone and you feel like you can’t manage, you call me, okay?” You tell him.

“And what would that do?”

“That way I can talk you through it. Maybe go to you if you want me to.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because during the times I was afraid and alone, you were there,” you bravely say, turning to him and prompting him to do the same. “Sometimes something triggers those memories but then I think of how you stayed with me in the alley and in the playground and in my apartment. I think of you and I stop feeling scared. Maybe you can think of last night when it starts to get bad, too. And we can just create more of those memories to override the bad ones. Wouldn’t that be better?”

He savors your words, not realizing how much you’ve held onto your moments together. And he understands that now. The way you held him together last night is ingrained in his mind, and if that’s how it feels to be with you during his darkest moments, he starts to wonder how good it would feel during the good ones.

Maybe he’ll start with this, as you both sip citrus tea while looking at the lush mountains out on the horizon. He’ll continue with the scenic drive back to Seoul and a stopover at a cafe for some iced coffee and conversations about good memories. And at least for today, he’ll end with the sight of you walking to your apartment and then turning around to wave him goodbye, and then your smile giving him warmth on this cold afternoon.

The door shuts and he starts the trip back to his place - empty, lonely, just like how it’s been for years, all his pent up emotions bringing him to this point of isolation. But there’s you - the feel of your touch, the soothing sound of your voice, and the gentleness that got him through the night.

He misses you already. And much as he knows he’s in big trouble, thinking about you and wanting you is all he could do.

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the-shadowguy · 2 months ago

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🎷🎶🎵🎶🎷

((Last updated: 16th of July 2025))

Current Asks: A lot - Queue: Not Running

((Mod here, I uhhh have never done an RP account before. I just saw a lot of Tennas popping up and thought they'd need some silly guys to call upon. This was originally made to be support for others. Sometimes I'll pop in to other RP blogs from time to time.

I also plan on making custom sprites because it's fun so expect to see those also from time to time! Text boxes are made using Demirramon's Generator

Asks will always be open and I'm always free to tag or mention!

As for limitations... well go crazy I guess! If anything in my inbox is too weird for me, or I can't think of a response, I just won't respond.

That being said, I'm not the best at responding to everything nor am I always in the know of what every other rp blog is up to. If it's time sensitive, needs context or I missed an @ mention then please DM me or leave links to the context in your asks. Otherwise I will not see them and thus won't end up responding.

And finally, a reminder: I have a life outside the blog. I'm one person who has limited motivation and time to spend on this blog.))

#Deltarune #Deltarune Chapter 3 #Shadowguy #Shadowguy Deltarune #Deltarune Shadowguy #Deltarune RP #Deltarune Roleplay #Ask Blog

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underhell69 · 2 months ago

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HETALIA: PANGEA EXPLOSION - LORE SUMMARY

so I've finally got around to making a rough major summary of my au! I tried to explain everything as clearly as I could, there will most likely be future iterations of the doc as I plan to make character profiles and plot outlines etc. So this is, like, version 1 of the document. :)

So for character references (Flesh beast form, true flesh appearance, how the character looks in the AU if I've done any major design change from canon) I still need to get around to making ref pages, but here is a collection of character heights for reference (of characters I've already designed/drew) :

If you want to know how a character looks in the AU + their Flesh beast/True flesh designs, just look through my account… I know, tedious, but eventually I'll make a master post or a document for character sheets. UPDATE: I have made a qna tag for all questions regarding the au! its under the tag "#pangea explosion asks" :)

#hetalia pangea explosion #hetalia:pangea explosion #ive never had a hyperfix make me this insanely locked in

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wosospacegirl · 1 month ago

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Stuck with you - part 13

Summary: Y/n’s used to Alexia’s overprotectiveness and the pressure of her career, but Kika? The shy, socially awkward teammate who’s starting to make her feel things she didn’t expect.

Warnings: Kika and yn aren't so dumb anymore; Jana is a good friend, and Y/n is still attached to her logic napkin

Word count: 5.1K

a/n: this is a triple update! Make sure to read Part 12 first! Part 14 will come out soon. Also, I don't know why the pictures look so low quality, sorry about that.

The Spanish squad didn't stay in Spain for much longer. The next morning, they all took a flight to Portugal, heading to the next friendly of FIFA's international break. Y/n didn't get to think much about what going to Portugal meant because she slept the whole flight.

She was in the middle seat, between Vicky and Jana, and of course, the two girls couldn't help themselves. While Y/n was sleeping, they took a very unflattering picture of her.

When Y/n woke up hours later (because someone was kicking her seat), both Vicky and Jana had very sweet and angelic expressions on their faces. Y/n had seen those faces before.

Usually, right after they had done something that would make her want to strangle them. They were guilty about something.

"What?" Y/n turned to Vicky, her voice still thick with sleep.

"What what?" Vicky replied, blinking with the most innocent eyes ever.

Y/n knew that look very well.

It was the same look Vicky had when she had accidentally told the media the lineup for the final of the Copa de La reina last season. The same look when she took the last bottle of Gatorade from the cooler during the hottest day of the summer and hid it because she didn't want to share.

Then Y/n turned to Jana. "What did you guys do to me?"

Jana had her earbuds on, her head bobbing to whatever music was playing, completely ignoring the world around her. Y/n also knew this was a rather classic Jana move when she was guilty; she used music so she didn't have to interact with others.

"Oh, hello sleeping beauty," she said with a smirk when she finally noticed Y/n glaring at her.

Y/n has the confirmation she needed by the tone in Jana's voice.

She felt her stomach drop as she grabbed her phone with shaky hands and opened the camera, checking if they had drawn horns on her face again (it wouldn't be the first time).

The screen showed her reflection; her hair was messy, there were marks on her cheek from sleeping, but no horns. Actually, there was no drawing made with lipstick or pens at all.

That should have felt reassuring, but it wasn't, not when it came to Vicky and Jana. Everything made sense when Y/n saw a notification shining right in the middle of her screen.

' Janafernandez3 tagged you '

"No," Y/n whispered, looking at Jana with a look that screamed betrayal. "You did not."

"Oh, but I did," Jana grinned.

Y/n rolled her eyes as she unlocked her phone.

She wasn't surprised when she saw it: a picture of herself sleeping, her mouth was just slightly open, her hair was as messy as it was right now, if not worse. She was completely ridiculous.

"Delete it," Y/n said grumply as she shoved the phone toward Jana. "Right now."

"Nope," Jana replied. "This is my comeback for when I fell in the pile of mud in La Masia and you posted it and you tagged Barcelona's Instagram."

"I was fourteen!" Y/n said exasperatedly.

"My brother still calls me montón de barro" [heap of mud], Jana said, deadpanned.

"Jana, I'm serious–"

"If I told you Kika replied to the story calling you cute," Jana interrupted, "would you still want me to delete it? Or not"

Jana had that voice tone that told Y/n she already knew the answer to the question, and Y/n hated to be so predictable.

Suddenly, the aeroplane felt too small for all of them. It felt like Y/n's heart forgot how to beat normally whenever someone mentioned Kika's name, as if the word Kika triggered her brain's sympathetic nervous system.

Y/n felt her hands sweating against her phone, her thumb leaving a mark on the black screen.

And this was exactly why she didn't let herself think about Kika too much, because her body couldn't function the way it should if Kika was on her mind.

That's why she slept almost the whole flight to Portugal, because she didn't want to think, but now it felt like she was being forced to do it.

"What?!" Y/n managed to say after what felt like long hours of silence. "W-what do you mean?"

"You're saying 'what' a lot," Vicky chimed in. "Did you leave your entire vocabulary in Belgium?"

"I wish I had left you in Belgium," Y/n shot back, but her voice didn't have its usual bite, because all her attention focused on Jana.

"What do you mean Kika called me cute? Are you messing with me? Because that would be really, really cruel, even for you." The desperation in her own voice made her cringe.

She sounded pathetic. After Kika got into her life, it felt like everything Y/n did or felt was pathetic.

Jana's expression softened slightly. "I'm not messing with you, tonta. I'm funny and witty, not cruel."

Yeah, Jana was kind of right. Jana was Y/n's most honest friend; she was one of the only girls who didn't participate actively in that orchestrated plan to bring Y/n and Kika together.

Y/n watched (barely breathing) as Jana unlocked her phone and opened her Instagram.

Her DMs showed Kika's name at the top, and it even had that green dot in the corner of Kika's name, which meant she was online right now.

Kika was probably scrolling through Instagram normally and casually while Y/n sat in an aeroplane, miles and miles from the ground.

"Go on," Jana encouraged, handing over the phone. "Read it, but don't react to anything; this conversation was like…hours ago. If you do it, she'll think I'm re-reading the conversation."

Y/n's fingers felt a little numb as she took the phone. She stared at Jana one last time before looking down at the screen.

Kika replied to the story: She looks cute when she's sleeping, don't give her a hard time, haha.

Jana: She's tired because she almost got a red in the last game :p.

Kika: I support her rights and her wrongs.

Jana: Of course you do ;)

Kika: Don't wink face me.

Jana: Too late.

Y/n read it once. Then twice. And then a third time just to make sure her dyslexia wasn't messing with her brain, but no. The words didn't change, they were clearly there, although her brain kept insisting she was seeing things that weren't true.

Kika had called her cute. She really did, it was there, right in front of Y/n.

Okay, maybe if Kika had called her cute, maybe she wasn't dating anyone?

Maybe that girl was really just a friend?

"She called me cute," Y/n whispered, it was mostly to herself, but the girls around her heard her too.

"Yeah," Jana nodded, watching Y/n's face carefully. "Cute," Jana stated the word, as if to make sure it would sink into Y/n's brain.

"CUTE!" Vicky practically shouted from her seat, which made some players turn their heads toward them. Alexia, Irene and Leila were among the players who turned and were now watching the girls.

Y/n could see they were ready to ask what was happening, but they looked too tired to interact with the younger players–las nenas, as they called them–so they turned their attention back to what they were doing.

"Wait, why are we talking about cute things?" Vicky asked, confused.

"Kika called Y/n cute," Jana explained in a low voice to Vicky, putting her face right in front of Y/n, as if she wasn't there. "I posted that picture you took, and she replied to my story."

Vicky's face lit up instantly, a smile growing on her face. Y/n could count all of her teeth.

"OH MY GOD! This is huge! This is like... like when someone likes an old Instagram picture." Vicky began counting on her fingers. "--or when somebody gives you the last biscuit on the package, or even better–when someone lends you their shin pads because you forgot yours! It means something!"

"Does it, though? Does it really mean something?" Y/n asked, interrupting the girl. "What if she was just being nice?"

"She didn't have to reply to the picture," Jana said as if it was obvious. "She did it because she wanted to–that means something."

"Now you need to repost the picture!" Vicky declared quickly, grabbing Y/n's arms with enthusiasm. "Like…right now!"

"I... what?" Y/n blinked, suddenly feeling overwhelmed under Jana's and Vicky's gaze. "Why would I do that?"

"Because–" Jana explained, taking her phone back. "If she replied to my story, she might reply to yours, too. And then you'll have a conversation starter, you know?"

"But what if she doesn't reply?" Y/n questioned. "It would be kind of sad, wouldn't it? What would it mean if she just looked at it and moved on with her day?"

Vicky and Jana exchanged looks that seemed like they were communicating telepathically.

"If that happened, it would mean…" Vicky finally stated, "that she's nervous to talk to you directly."

Y/n's face fell. "Oh yeah, that would be bad–"

"But that's GOOD!" Vicky interrupted Y/n, throwing her hands up. "If she's nervous, it means she cares about your opinion. It means you matter to her."

Y/n tilted her head, genuinely confused. "I don't think that makes any sense."

Jana wrapped her arm around Y/n's shoulder, and for a moment, Y/n felt like a little kid being comforted after losing a Little League game.

"It doesn't make sense to you because you aren't in touch with our feelings," Jana said quietly. "But some of us actually know how crushes work."

Y/n rolled her eyes. "Don't say crush, it makes me sound like a teenager."

"You do have a teen at the end of your age," Vicky said as if just stating a fact. "nine-teen."

"And you just left La Masia two seasons ago," Y/n shot back, but it didn't have any mean tone to it. "You are more of a kid than I am."

"Well," Vicky lifted her eyebrows. "I'm a kid who has more emotional intelligence in her pinky finger than you have in your entire body."

Y/n was ready to talk back, but Vicky was faster.

"Just...trust us, yeah?" She placed her hand on top of Y/n's palm "Just this once."

Y/n looked between her two friends–really looked at them. It felt weird taking advice from people her age. Normally, Y/n would just do whatever she thought was right, or go to Aleixa or Olga, who looked older, wiser.

But right now her friend looked optimistic, the kind of optimism that was only truly evident in young people who still believed wholeheartedly that everything was going to be okay at the end.

Y/n never felt like that. But right now she wanted to. So she trusted her friends.

"Ugh," Y/n groaned as she covered her face with her hands. "Fine…okay. I'll repost that stupid picture."

Jana lifted her arms in victory. "Yes! See? I told you–emotionally intelligent!"

The pilot's voice went through the intercom and interrupted Jana's commemoration.

"We will be beginning our descent into Lisbon in about fifteen minutes, please turn off all electronic devices."

"Do it now!" Vicky urged as she pointed at Y/n's phone. "Before we land and you lose your mind completely."

"Okay, okay," Y/n muttered, taking her phone back. She opened Instagram and found Jana's story, then she clicked on to repost it to her own story.

Then she stared at the screen, her finger kept hovering over the 'share' button.

"I can't," she said, looking at her friends with genuine panic. "I'm scared."

"Do it scared," Vicky replied. "Come on…sometimes the best things happen when we're terrified. Go on."

Y/n took a deep breath, then she hit 'share' and immediately threw the phone at Vicky, like she couldn't even look at it.

"There! It's done! I don't want to see it, I don't want to know if anyone replies, I just want to pretend this never happened!"

Y/n took her own headphones and put them on her head.

They didn't have any music on it, it wasn't even connected to anything, she just wanted to pretend she wasn't on a plane, she wanted to pretend she wasn't expecting some sort of interaction between her and Kika.

Vicky caught the phone and tucked it into her pocket.

Jana was smiling. "Too late for that, amiga. Now we just need to wait and see what happens."

As the plane began its descent toward Lisbon's airport, Y/n tried not to think about the fact that somewhere below them, Kika might be looking at that ridiculous picture of her sleeping.

That she might be thinking about replying, or worse, that she might have just looked at it and ignored it completely.

Y/n was going to delete her Instagram as soon as she landed.

She was also probably going to throw up, too.

Y/n, Salma, Jana and Vicky were lying on the beds in the hotel room, two on each mattress. They had just arrived at the hotel, and just like in Belgium, they had thirty minutes to spare before their next training session.

They were waiting for the van to pick the team up and drive them to the training centre. Y/n didn't know where the training centre in Lisbon was; she wondered if it was the same one the Portuguese national team used.

It was common for different teams to share the same training grounds; they just booked different times. Most of the time, one squad would take the morning shift and the other would take the afternoon. If that were the case, the Spanish girls would be training in the afternoon.

Y/n was looking at the ceiling, the white, boring ceiling.

"They could have painted it off-white," Salma murmured next to her. "It's just...white."

"What about a cream colour?" Vicky commented. "That would be nice."

"I like white," Jana said. "It's easier to picture stuff when you're looking at something white."

Y/n turned to her. "Why would you want to picture something when you're looking at a wall?"

"Sometimes when you're bored," Jana said, "it's the only thing you can do."

"I guess you're right," Y/n agreed in the end.

The girls continued to look at the white ceiling. They looked… spiritless, maybe that's what a 6-hour flight did to you.

Y/n wasn't bored because she felt like her mind was going a million miles an hour.

Kika had replied to her story.

But Y/n didn't dare to open it and read it. She didn't know why.

If Kika had bothered to comment on something, it was probably something nice, she wouldn't reply to Y/n's stories to call her...ugly or something bad, right?

Y/n let out a loud breath. Then she looked at her watch. They had twenty minutes until the van came.

Maybe she could look at what Kika had replied, or else she would spend the whole training wondering.

"I'm going to wait in the lobby," Y/n said, getting up from the bed. She wanted to be alone while she read the message; she didn't want the vulture eyes of her friends.

Her teammates were so disinterested in–Y/n wasn't sure–life, that they barely acknowledged her. They just shared a small "alright" as Y/n walked through the door.

When Y/n got to the lobby, she sat on one of the sofas near the entrance. And then, with all the courage she had left, she opened her Instagram and clicked on the DMs. And there was Kika's message.

Kika replied to the story: I can't see that Jana's still a danger to people who are sleeping.

Y/n read it once, then twice. She did the exact same thing as when she read the conversation between Kika and Jana.

Kika sounded...casual, normal. She didn't mention the kiss or the charade. Y/n wasn't sure if she was expecting her to, well, Y/n wasn't expecting anything really.

Y/n: Were you one of her victims?

Kika: Yeah.

Y/n: I'm sorry.

Kika: It's okay, I deserved it. I posted a picture of her after one of those ball dominance training sessions.

Y/n knew what those training sessions were. It was very close-contact training. It was all about taking the ball from the opponent. The girls at Barcelona were very heated when it came to that.

One day, Aitana was so caught up that she dislocated Y/n's shoulder. It hurt like hell.

Y/n watched as dots appeared on the screen, and then they disappeared, as if Kika was typing and deleting.

After a minute and 32 seconds (not that Y/n was counting), Kika replied.

Kika: Can we talk tomorrow? After the game?

Y/n felt like, for the fifth time that week, her stomach had dropped into her lower abdomen. Kika wanted to talk to her. Y/n wasn't sure if she could manage a conversation without sounding like she had a brain aneurysm.

Kika: It's okay if you don't, I don't know what Spain's schedule is for after the game.

Y/n really needed to talk with Kika, so she replied:

Y/n: We can talk, no problem.

Kika: Great! I'll see you.

Y/n didn't know what to reply, so she didn't.

She watched people moving in and out of the lobby. It was a mix of families on vacation and people who looked busy, as if they were there for work.

Y/n looked down at her phone and then at the people again.

She put her hand in her pocket and took out her napkin.

Her logical napkin, the one she had kept with her since she was on the plane going to Barcelona.

The last time she wrote on the napkin, she wrote the words "cares???" Now she scratched out the interrogation points, leaving the napkin with only "cares."

Y/n was impressed by how well she did in training. She was focused, she could keep the ball at her feet, she made some nice passes and was a strong defender throughout the whole session.

Kika was still on her mind, but right now, the thought of her didn't feel like it weighed a ton.

Maybe communication really was the key.

Although her hands were trembling a little when she checked her phone for new messages during the water breaks. She felt like the air was thicker whenever she remembered she was going to see Kika for the first time in exactly 23 hours.

Back at the hotel, while she was showering and Jana was annoyingly knocking at the door asking if she was going to take long, Y/n thought about what Kika could possibly want to talk to her about.

She knew the kiss was probably going to be a topic–it had to be. It would be an uncomfortable conversation, but it had to happen.

Y/n couldn't run away from it for the rest of her life. Plus, if she wanted a relationship with Kika, or at least to try for one, then she should get used to talking about her feelings.

Y/n hated feeling vulnerable, but vulnerability was the price you paid for connection with others, so it was worth it. At least that's what she kept telling herself as the hot water fell down the back of her neck all through her body.

It was burning her, but she liked it that way.

When she got out of the shower, Jana was waiting there with her toiletries bag, a change of clothes and a towel in hand. Y/n had probably taken a long time because Jana looked at her with a scowl on her face and got into the shower without a word.

Hours later, Y/n was sitting with Jana, Alexia and Ona at the hotel's restaurant.

The table around them, filled with players and other guests. The restaurant was buzzing with light and quiet conversations. Most of her teammates looked exhausted from the heavy training session.

Y/n had a very light ankle twisted during training, nothing serious, but the ice bag on her skin was making her lose all of her appetite. She found herself just pushing the food around rather than eating it.

No one was really excited about the game tomorrow. Everybody was too tired to make conversation–everybody but Jana.

"How are you feeling about tomorrow?" Jana asked as she nudged Y/n with her elbow, which made Y/n drop her knife onto her plate with an annoying clatter.

"I'm feeling okay," Y/n shrugged her shoulders, lying to herself and to Jana.

The answer seemed to disappoint Jana, her face falling. "Just okay?"

"Yes," Y/n confirmed, taking a sip of her juice.

Y/n pretended not to feel the weight of Alexia's eyes on her. She sensed how much Alexia wanted to ask about what they were talking about.

"Everybody's a bit nervous with the game tomorrow," Alexia said as she took a bite of her funghi risotto. "But if there's something else bothering you…"

"I'm fine, really," Y/n said quickly, maybe too quickly.

One looked up from her phone. "It's supposed to be raining tomorrow…I hope the pitch doesn't get too wet."

Y/n smiled at Ona, she knew she was trying to slightly change the subject, which worked, because they all started to talk about how awful it was to play in the rain.

A few minutes later, when Y/n was done eating, she said goodbye to the girls at the table and made her way to her room, Jana following her close behind.

"You are going to talk with Kika, right?" Jana asked as both got inside the elevator.

Y/n nodded, beginning to feel slightly nervous again "She asked if I could talk after the game."

Jana was in the middle of nodding along to Y/n's answer, but then she realised. "Wait! She asked? Did you guys talk?!"

"She replied to that story," Y/n explained, bobbing her head along to the elevator music. "Asked if it was okay for us to meet after the game to talk."

"Talk about what?" Jana asked.

"I don't know," Y/n said. "The charade, the kiss, everything I think."

"You won't take the bus back to the hotel then?" Jana asked. "After the game, I mean."

Y/n hadn't thought about that when she agreed to talk to Kika.

"Hmm, I don't know if the conversation will take long...maybe just take my bag and if you see I'm taking too long, tell the girls that I decided to...explore Lisbon!"

"You know they won't believe that," Jana said flatly.

"They don't need to believe it," Y/n said.

"You know the staff doesn't like to leave players behind," Jana warned, her concern evident. "Can you even find your way back? What if something goes wrong between you two? What if she's upset about the kiss and you're stuck there feeling awful and without a lift back to the hotel?"

"You're sounding too much like me," Y/n said. "I'm the one who's supposed to be a pain in the ass, not you."

"I'm not being a pain in the ass," Jana rolled her eyes. "I'm just nervous about you being left in a stadium in a country where you don't even know the language."

"Don't worry about it," Y/n said. "The conversation probably won't last long anyway. You're worrying way too much."

Jana looked at Y/n through the corner of her eyes, but she didn't say anything until they were in their room.

"If you don't get back to the hotel", Jana said seriously. "I'm calling the Portuguese police."

"Fair," Y/n lay down on her bed. "Maybe I'll make it to the news."

Y/n stared at the ceiling. It was very white, indeed.

The Spanish team was in the Estádio da Luz, each one having picked their own locker.

Y/n was by Alexia's side as usual, talking about strategies, when one of the staff knocked on the door. Aitana was the one who answered. They spoke in hushed tones by the entrance.

When the door closed again, Aitana spoke.

"Guys, it's raining a lot," Aitana began. "The FIFA people said they'll postpone the game for thirty minutes until the thunderstorm goes away."

Everybody in the changing room groaned in unison.

Pina had a frown on her face, Jana rolled her eyes dramatically, and Alexia held the bridge of her nose like she was already feeling a headache coming.

"Mierda," the captain said as she put on a jacket over her jersey. "I hate it when this happens."

"Maybe this is better than being hit by a lightning, though," Vicky chimed in from across the room, but she shut up when Alexia gave her one of her looks.

"Okay, maybe it isn't," Vicky murmured quietly.

"Well," Patri said as she got up from the bench, "I'm going to the stadium's cafeteria, since we don't have anything to do for those thirty minutes."

She had her hand on the door handle, ready to leave, when Alexia spoke.

"Maybe we can go over the tactical plan once more and–"

Everyone on the team walked right past Alexia like she wasn't even there, completely ignoring her.

"Oh, I saw they had churros!" Leila said, smiling. "I haven't eaten one in months."

"And hot chocolate!" Salma agreed. "Wait, what are they called here…chocolate quente, right?"

"I wanna eat pastéis de belém again," Jana murmured to Vicky as they left the room. "I have been in love with them since Kika brought them to training."

Y/n smiled as she watched Alexia's grumpy face. She got closer to her, patting her back. "Yeah, Capitana, me parece que tus días de gloria ya pasaron." [Yeah, capitana, I think your glory days are over.]

Alexia followed Y/n as they left the locker room, walking to the cafeteria.

"Extraño cuando mi equipo todavía se preocupaba por el fútbol," Alexia mumbled, but Y/n could see there was no real bite to it. [I miss when my team still cared about football.]

"Es un amistoso, Ale," Y/n teased. "Tal vez cuando estemos en la Eurocopa volvamos a escucharte. [It's a friendly, Ale/Maybe we’ll start listening to you again when the Euros come around.]

"Más les vale que vuelvan." she said with a smile. [I really hope you'll listen to me again]

Y/n was talking to Alexia when she realised she had to pee.

She told Alexia and the other girls she would meet them in the cafeteria after she found herself a bathroom.

She walked through the corridors, trying to find a door with the words "Casa de banho". She knew a little bit of Portuguese to know it meant bathroom.

She looked for what felt like 10 minutes until she finally found it.

She happily opened the door, but what she didn't expect was to find Kika there, looking at herself in the bathroom mirror.

Kika didn't turn when Y/n opened the door; she probably didn't hear it, which made Y/n want to slowly turn around and pretend it never happened.

Y/n's plan went down the drain because in a matter of seconds, Kika turned to her.

She opened her mouth slightly, and then, the most beautiful smile appeared on her face.

"Oh!" Kika said, a sweet tone in her voice. "Hi!"

Y/n opened her mouth, then she closed it. She didn't know what to say, so she waved.

Waved.

Like one of those Penguins from Madagascar.

"I guess they told you guys about the rain, too, huh?" Kika said, but her smile faltered a bit when she realised Y/n wasn't smiling back. "Are–are you okay?"

Y/n wasn't okay. She absolutely wasn't fine.

She was expecting to talk with Kika after the game, not before. She had a plan. She had rehearsed how the conversation was going to go, and the conversation wasn't supposed to happen in a bathroom.

Y/n felt her hands shaking slightly, so she held onto them so Kika wouldn't see it.

"I kissed you," Y/n blurted out. "And I'm sorry, I know it wasn't right and I know I should have stayed instead of running away from Jana's apartment, but I was mad and confused and-and..."

Kika was caught off guard, and her face fell slightly. Maybe Kika wasn't the only one who had planned this conversation and saw that it wasn't going according to plan.

"It's okay," Kika took one step closer, as if she were approaching a wounded animal, unsure of what to do, unsure if it was going to bite. "You don't need to say you're sorry. I know you did it because you were annoyed at the girls, and honestly, I was getting annoyed too, so I'm happy you put an end to it."

Wait, Kika was annoyed too?

"Um, what?" Y/n managed to say. "You noticed they were doing all of those–"

"Matchmaking plans?" Kika chuckled. "Yeah, of course. One day, Vicky hid my boots in your locker, so I would have to ask you to get them for me."

"Oh," Y/n tilted her head. "I don't remember that happening."

"In the end, it didn't." Kika looked nervous now. "I opened your locker and got them before you got to the changing room."

"Oh," Y/n said, confused. "How do you know my password?"

"It's your birthday," Kika said simply, but there was a slight blush on her cheeks.

"Do you know when my birthday is?" Y/n asked, remembering her napkin, remembering how she wrote 'cares' on it.

"Yes," Kika nodded. "It's coming up, too, right? In two weeks?"

Y/n was getting ready to open her mouth when the bathroom door opened.

"Miss Nazareth, Miss Y/L/N," a guy in the stadium uniform said. "We've been looking for you. The rain is over, and the game is about to start. Your managers asked me to get you and have you two come back to the locker room."

"Obrigada, Paulo," Kika said, waving at the guy and already making her way to the door, following him. "A gente já vai ir." [Thanks, Paulo/We'll be going out in a minute.]

Kika turned to Y/n. "We're still talking after the game, right?"

"Sí," it was all Y/n managed to say.

Kika smiled one last time before leaving the bathroom.

Y/n didn't know how she was expected to play a whole match after this conversation.

a/n: Kika's back :D

Hope u guys liked it <3

Tag list: @footy-lover264 , @fortifyde, @naomigirmadefender , @neutraiise , @milkveed, @browercc , @ace-of-baked , @ikzzzya , @sky-the-trans-guy00 , @knight-16, @wosohk04, @evaissleepy13, @papimapileon , @unpoppablebubbles @whiskeredshrimp-blog @goodloe-e @liloandstitchstan @s0ciety-cxv @dfwspky @karmajn @awosofavs @wosofavfanfics

#woso x reader #woso fanfic #kika nazareth x yn #kika nazareth x reader #kika nazareth #stuck with you #wlw writing #wlw fanfic

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ginnsbaker · 4 months ago

Text

All Of Your Pieces (18 - The Civil War)

Chapter Summary: “She shouldn’t feel like she’s a threat," you said. Natasha tilted her head slightly, considering you. “She doesn’t just feel it, Y/N. She’s been told it. Over and over. The Accords, Vision, everything. It’s going to take more than two weeks to undo all that.”

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 5k+ | Chapter Tags: Slight angst, hurt/comfort

A/N: Hell yeah I'm finally done with midterm week! So, as promised, here's an update for Sunday that I was supposed to post last Wednesday. Thank you all for waiting! // More author's notes here. GIF credits to the owner. Let me know is this is yours!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The debate over the Sokovia Accords had always seemed like a bureaucratic exercise to you—a lot of grandstanding and red tape, destined to drag on without anything concrete coming of it. But when it ended in literal casualties, moments after the UN summit in Vienna, you realized how naive that assumption had been.

The explosion dominated every news channel, every forum, for weeks. Footage of the carnage played on a relentless loop, like a ruthless reminder that refused to let the world move on. It stoked their anger and fear of the superpowered intensifying—further solidifying the need for a regulation of some sorts.

And then there was Steve—Captain America—standing between the law and a man the world had already convicted in its collective mind. Protecting a criminal—or so it seemed at first glance. But if you squinted, if you dug beneath the hysteria, you could see the loopholes in the story.

You were taught to never take things at face value. To investigate, to question, to confirm. The video evidence of James Barnes near the scene of the bombing was damning, but not airtight. The timing was too perfect and the evidence too clean—as if it was designed to be found. And then there was the sheer improbability—someone like Barnes being sloppy enough to leave a clue, to incriminate himself by carrying out such large-scale destruction carelessly.

If it really was him, you figured, no one would know. The world wouldn’t have a name to blame or a face to crucify.

Steve believed it too. He didn’t just think Barnes was innocent—he knew it. Or at least he believed in him enough to stake his own reputation on it.

The manhunt for Barnes split the Avengers right down the middle. Tony and Natasha were working with the UN and the German authorities, pushing for Barnes’ immediate capture, while Steve enlisted Sam’s help to find him first and uncover the truth once and for all.

Which left you stuck at the compound with Wanda and Vision—because, of course, that’s just how your luck worked.

—

You’d been keeping to yourself, burying your head in books and doing whatever busywork you could find to keep from dwelling on it all. It wasn’t a peaceful kind of quiet, though—not even close. It was rife with tension, and you hated that your main orders were to stay put.

You’d seen Vision and Wanda together more lately. They were spending time in the kitchen, of all places. Vision seemed to have developed a fascination with cooking, and Wanda, for reasons you didn’t entirely understand, had decided to humor him.

That’s how you ended up at the world’s most uncomfortable dinner.

The table stretched long, built to fit the entire team, and you settled a few spots away from them. Vision had made something intricate, his approach to food as overly analytical as you’d expect. Wanda had contributed in small ways—chopping vegetables, stirring sauces—but it was clear who had taken the lead.

You sat across from them, awkwardly poking at the meal on your plate. It was good, technically. Perfectly seasoned, perfectly cooked. But the scene around the table made it hard to enjoy. Vision sat still, weirdly choosing this time not to participate in this human activity. He looked perfectly content watching his two eaters, wanting to see if he had earned their approval. Wanda wasn’t eating much. She was pushing her food around, her eyes darting toward him, then to you, then back to her plate.

“Is it to your liking?” Vision asked.

“It’s fine,” you said, knowing full well it was much better than that but not feeling generous enough to say so.

“Wanda assisted with the preparation,” he added, almost as if he thought that might tip the scales.

You glanced at her. She gave a small, half-hearted smile and shrugged. “Just chopping and stuff,” she said.

After that, the conversation died again.

It had felt like a good time to disassociate, and you let your mind drift off somewhere else. More specifically, to the growing rift between Tony and Steve. The misunderstandings were no longer petty disagreements but fundamental divides. If push came to shove, you still hadn’t decided where you stood.

You used to joke about Tony and Steve acting like divorced husbands, bickering over every little thing. Now, the irony wasn’t so funny. They were barreling toward something that resembled a real divorce, and you could almost see them dividing the team like children—figuring out who got custody of whom.

But you? You were always the lone wolf. It seemed more likely you’d walk away from them both, let them fight their battles while you disappeared into the shadows. You’d done it before, and the thought of doing it again didn’t terrify you. And maybe that was the problem.

A sharp noise from outside yanked you out of your thoughts. The sound wasn’t loud, but it was enough to put everyone on edge. Vision’s head cocked slightly, as if concentrating to learn more about what they all just heard.

“Stay here,” he ordered calmly.

“Wait—” you started, but before you or Wanda could get another word out, he disappeared, phasing cleanly through the nearest wall and leaving you both sitting in uneasy silence.

For a moment, neither of you moved. You glanced at Wanda, her fork frozen midair, her eyes trained on the spot where Vision had disappeared. Finally, you exhaled and nudged your plate aside. “This is the best meal I’ve had in a long time,” you murmured.

Wanda’s head snapped up. Then, to your surprise, a laugh slipped out of her—short, almost involuntary, like it had been startled into existence. “I could tell,” she said, her lips curving into something that might’ve been a smile.

It was angelic and utterly contagious. You smiled back, soft and unplanned, like your body decided for you. It’s the most interaction you’d had with her for a while after bringing her to the orphanage weeks ago.

God, you’d missed her.

Out of the corner of your eye, something shifted. Without thinking, you were on your feet, moving to Wanda’s side, positioning yourself as a human shield. It was a ridiculous gesture—pathetic, even—considering what she could do versus what you could offer. But instinct doesn’t care about logic. The drive to protect her overrode everything else, propelling you forward before your brain could catch up.

Clint Barton strolled toward you, bow slung over his shoulder, every inch of him looking like he was prepped for a mission. And judging by the timing, it didn’t take a genius to figure out—you, Wanda, and Vision were the mission.

“Clint?” you uttered in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

“Disappointing my kids,” he replied dryly, stepping fully into view with that familiar half-grin you hadn’t seen in ages. “Cap needs our help. Come on.”

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “Well, I’m not disappointed.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Clint muttered, his eyes scanning the room, barely giving you a glance. “We need to move. Both of you. Now.”

You were on your feet before he could say anything else, your hand closing around Wanda’s wrist without a second thought. It wasn’t until you felt her skin warm under your grip that you realized what you were doing. You let go just as quickly, glancing back at her with a quiet apology in your eyes.

But Wanda wasn’t paying attention to you. She was giving Clint a hard look, her feet planted firmly on the ground.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Wanda said, surprising you both.

“Wanda, you can’t stay here,” Clint said. “After Lagos—”

“I’ve caused enough problems,” she whispered. “Maybe it’s better if I stay out of sight. Out of everyone’s way.”

“You gotta help me, Wanda. Look, you wanna mope, you can go to high school. You wanna make amends, you get off your ass. Y/N, help me out here.”

You glanced at Wanda, trying to decipher what she’s thinking but you came up empty-handed. You turned back to Clint. “You let her decide, Clint. You don’t drag her onto your side—or anyone’s. She chooses.”

Clint chuckled, eyeing you like he already expected your answer before you did. “And what about you? Which side are you on?” he asked.

You opened your mouth to answer, but hesitated, not because you didn’t know the answer—you did. You just weren’t ready to say it out loud.

Because the truth was simple: whichever side Wanda chose, that’s where you’d be.

You’d told yourself you could walk away from this. From the Avengers, from the divide, from the mess of it all. And maybe you could. Maybe you would have.

But Wanda—

You wanted to look after her.

You were saved from answering altogether when Vision reappeared, phased through the far wall.

“Aw, hell,” Clint muttered, his hand twitching toward his bow.

“Clint Barton,” Vision said. “You are not authorized to be here. Step away from Wanda.”

“Yeah, see, the thing is,” he said, casually shifting his stance as he engaged an arrow, “I don’t really care about authorization.”

Clint didn’t wait for Vision’s retort. He released his arrows and triggered the traps he’d set—an electrified net sprung from the ceiling, enveloping Vision in crackling energy. For a split second, you thought it might actually work.

It didn’t.

Vision freed himself out of the net like it was tissue paper, the electricity harmlessly dissipating around him.

“Yeah, well, worth a shot,” Clint muttered, already nocking an arrow. He let it fly, but Vision caught it midair with a speed that was almost unfair.

Clint moved fast, dodging Vision’s strikes with a skill that came from years of experience. He didn’t try to overpower him—he wasn’t stupid—but he kept Vision moving, trying to distract him, to buy time.

Vision held back, almost smug—you'd think he was waiting for Clint to tire himself out, running circles that led nowhere.

“Y/N, a little help?” Clint called, ducking under a swipe from Vision that could’ve caved his skull. Before you could even think to move, Vision had Clint in a chokehold, his vibranium arm coiling around Clint’s throat. Clint's attempts to break free looked almost pathetic, his fists thumping uselessly against Vision's arm.

You froze for a split second, looking at Wanda. Was this what she wanted? Her face gave you nothing, and in that moment of indecision, Clint’s choking gasps snapped you into action.

You rushed forward, grabbing onto Vision’s arm and hauling yourself up, trying to throw him off balance. He barely budged. Desperation took over as you reached behind your back, pulling a small blade from your pocket.

Vision caught the motion instantly. His free arm shot out, grabbing your wrist and twisting it sharply. Pain shot through your arm as the knife clattered to the floor.

You gritted your teeth, trying to fight through the pain. “Let him go, Vision!”

Clint’s face was red now, his struggles weakening. You kicked at Vision’s side, but it was like hitting a brick wall.

“Vision, that’s enough!”

Vision's grip loosened for just a moment, enough for you to catch your breath, before it cinched tighter. You bit back a whimper, already feeling the marks that would bloom across your skin.

"I said, that’s enough," Wanda commanded as red energy crackled menacingly at her fingertips.

Vision moved to finish the job and the energy surged from Wanda’s hands, slamming into Vision and lifting him clean off the ground. The moment his hold broke, you and Clint crumpled like discarded ragdolls.

“If you do this, they will never stop being afraid of you,” Vision said. You opened your mouth to argue, to tell Vision he was wrong, but Wanda spoke first.

“I can’t control their fear,” Wanda murmured. Her shoulders sagged as she sighed wearily, looking like she already regretted what she was about to do, knowing it would hurt Vision. “Only my own.”

The ground opened up like a wound, swallowing Vision whole. Wanda’s power didn’t just push him down—it buried him. The compound’s reinforced flooring crumbled like dry leaves, and the sound of his descent—steel on steel, concrete splitting apart—made your stomach churn.

You sat up, head pounding, ribs screaming. Clint was coughing beside you, dragging himself upright with a hand braced against the wall. Neither of you spoke. What could you say?

Wanda stood over the crater she’d made, her hands slack at her sides, red sparks still licking at her fingertips. Her face was blank, but you knew her well enough by now to see through it. Her breathing was too shallow, her shoulders too stiff. She wasn’t fine at all.

It was a little jarring to think that just a few hours ago, they were cooking together in the kitchen.

“Wanda,” you started, still trying to catch your breath. “Is he—”

“He’ll survive,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Clint gave a weak chuckle, thoroughly impressed and a little horrified. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

—

Things happened dizzyingly fast after that.

You’d only meant to get Wanda to Clint, to make sure she was safe, but everything spiraled at the airport. You hadn’t thought past that, hadn’t considered the bigger picture or the consequences of leaving the compound with her.

The fight was brutal—friends turning on friends—and you barely kept up, trying to shield Wanda when you could. You’d been hurt, subdued like a criminal, strapped into restraints that bit into your skin. But none of it mattered. Your entire focus was on Wanda—if she was okay, if she was hurt, if she blamed you for any of it.

When they threw you in The Raft, the humiliation of it barely registered. All you could see was Wanda, restrained in that awful straitjacket, her face pale and blank, her hands trembling. It must have been harder on her than anyone else—treated like a criminal with the weight of Lagos hanging over her head. In that moment, you made your choice—Steve had your loyalty now, no matter what came next. But even that didn’t compare to how fiercely you had Wanda’s back. That was something else entirely.

Now, two weeks later, Valencia felt like limbo. A place to breathe—

—with a target on your backs, well, not really.

—

Valencia might’ve been halfway around the globe, but you treated it like hostile territory all the same. Your face—along with the rest of those who backed Steve in his fierce objection to the Sokovia Accords—had hit every newsfeed, and you couldn’t afford to relax here or anywhere else, for that matter. You dressed down, stuck to side streets, and kept your head low. It was Spain, but it might as well have been home—just another place where you were never really safe.

“Have you heard from Clint?”

Natasha nodded before turning the page of the newspaper she’d been reading since this morning. “Yeah. He’s working out a deal with the government.”

You frowned. “What kind of deal?”

“Something about a plea bargain,” she said. “House arrest, probably. It’s the only way he gets to be with his family.”

Clint had fought for all of you, risked everything to stand with Steve, to break Wanda out. It hadn’t fully sunk in just how much he’d sacrificed until now—how much he put on the line for what he believed in.

“That’s messed up,” you muttered, mindlessly stirring the honey you’ve put in your tea a few minutes ago. You’d yet to take a sip. “If Clint’s willing to sacrifice being with his family, how can Tony not see what we’re standing for?”

Natasha’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Tony sees it. He just sees something else too.”

“Like what?”

Natasha didn’t respond right away. She just looked at you, her gaze steady, like she was weighing her next words. “You weren’t there.”

For a moment, you were confused. “Where?”

“In the Battle of New York. When the sky opened up, and Earth faced the greatest threat it had ever seen—and wasn’t ready for.”

Natasha sighed and took her sunglasses off—a risky move as the cafe was in the middle of a crowded street—but she needed you to more than just hear the words out of her mouth, you needed to see how this wasn’t some trivial disagreement between two people who cared about the same thing. “Tony was at the front lines, throwing everything he had into the fight. There were so many casualties. We couldn’t save everyone, no matter how hard we tried. And the guilt of that... it doesn’t wash off, no matter how many victories come after.”

You frowned, gripping your mug a little tighter. “So his solution is what? Autocracy?”

Natasha laughed and put her glasses back on. “I wasn’t aware you knew what autocracy was,” she teased. “Though, if you really did, you’d know what Tony wants is far from it. This is an entirely different situation.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the faint smirk tugging at your own lips. “If you understand Tony so well, why are you here with us?”

“I’m not here because I switched sides,” she said simply. “I’m here because you need me more than Tony does.”

And she was right. You did. It was bad enough that Clint wasn’t here. You hadn’t realized how much they’d become your safety net until you were on your way and it hit you—you were on your own now. No longer celebrated as a hero but a renowned fugitive. Natasha’s grounding presence was the only thing keeping your nerves from unraveling completely.

“Are you going to drink that?” Natasha asked after a while.

You glanced down at your tea, still stirring the spoon aimlessly. It was cold by now. You shrugged. She waved to the waiter and asked for the bill.

“I tried to convince Wanda to go out today,” Natasha said casually, like she wasn’t sure how you’d take it. “Thought a walk might do her some good.”

You looked up from your tea, surprised. “And?”

“She passed.”

You sighed loudly. “It’s been two weeks.”

“It’s not enough time for some people.”

You didn’t say anything right away, not wanting to push or show how much that affected you. Two weeks felt like forever when you were going over everything in your head when you first got out of the country. For Wanda, it must’ve felt like a lifetime—and not in the way that healed anything.

“Did she say why?” you asked quietly.

Natasha’s lips twitched, like she wasn’t sure whether to smile or sigh. “She didn’t have to. She thinks stepping outside is dangerous. For her, for everyone. And maybe she’s not wrong.”

“She shouldn’t feel like she’s a threat,” you said.

Natasha tilted her head slightly, considering you. “She doesn’t just feel it, Y/N. She’s been told it. Over and over. The Accords, Vision, everything. It’s going to take more than two weeks to undo all that.”

—

The hotel you’d been staying at for the past three nights was tucked away from the town center, far enough that the food you’d picked up for Wanda had gone cold by the time you got back. The isolation had its perks, though. This part of town had a quiet charm, with streets adorned in LED lights strung like Christmas was a permanent state of mind here.

The team had split up to stay under the radar. Steve accompanied Bucky to Wakanda, bartering a deal with T’Challa. Sam was stationed in a modest inn on the opposite side of the city, while you, Natasha, and Wanda ended up here, in a small, charming hotel surrounded by cobblestone streets and 15th-century architecture. With no mission except to stay hidden, it should’ve been the perfect chance to soak in the city like a tourist, to appreciate the timeless beauty around you.

But instead, you found yourself standing outside Wanda’s hotel room, the takeout bag dangling from your hand. You took a shaky breath, then another, willing your heartbeat to slow. It wasn’t working. Your fingers fidgeted with the strap of the bag, the cheap paper threatening to give out at any second.

Why were you so nervous? It wasn’t like this was the first time you’d seen Wanda since… everything. But things were different now. She felt different, like she was retreating into herself more and more each day.

Another deep breath. You adjusted your grip on the bag, smoothed down the front of your jacket, and gave yourself a silent pep talk. She needed you, just like you needed Natasha. Like you needed Clint.

Finally, you raised your hand, but before your knuckles met the wood, the door creaked open.

Wanda stood there, barefoot, her frame almost swallowed by an oversized shirt that hung loosely off one shoulder. It was frayed at the hem, the fabric softened by too many washes. Her pajama pants—faded plaid—looked like they’d seen better days, one cuff slightly torn where it dragged against the ground. She looked as worn as her clothes, her hair in a messy bun with stray strands framing her face.

For a moment, she just blinked at you.

“You knew it was me?” you asked, your voice coming out thinner than you'd intended.

“I had a feeling,” Wanda said with a small, knowing smile. “You breathe a little too loud.”

An embarrassed chuckle escaped you, awkward and unsteady, and you suddenly remembered the takeout bag clutched in your hand. Her gaze followed yours, and she tilted her head slightly.

“What’s that?”

“Oh, right,” you said, your face heating up as you held it up like a peace offering. “It’s for you. Some kind of beef stew—I, uh, forgot the actual name. It’s probably cold now, though. You should—”

Before you could ramble any further, Wanda reached out and took the bag from your hands. Her fingers brushed yours briefly, and the simple touch sent you into a headspin. “Thank you,” she murmured, looking into the bag.

You swallowed hard and gave a quick nod. “You’re welcome, Maximoff.” It felt like the right moment to leave, like you’d done your part, but your feet refused to move. You stood there like a fool, heart hammering, until Wanda—thankfully—broke the silence.

“Would you like to come in, Y/N?” she asked, her voice faltering slightly, as if she wasn’t entirely sure of herself either.

Too nervous to speak, you merely nodded.

—

The room was a bit of a mess—not filthy, but definitely in disarray. Books and papers were scattered across the coffee table, a pair of shoes lay haphazardly near the door, and a jacket was draped over the back of a chair. Wanda must have noticed your gaze drifting across the space because she quickly began tidying up. She grabbed a bundle of clothes from various corners—sweatshirts, a scarf, what looked like a pair of mismatched socks—and folded them into a neat pile. With an almost embarrassed smile, she placed them on the small sofa tucked beneath the room’s single window.

“Sorry,” Wanda murmured, “I wasn’t exactly expecting company.”

“It’s fine,” you said quickly, though your eyes darted back to the room despite yourself. There was something endearing about the lived-in clutter, a reminder that Wanda, for all her power and grace, for all that had happened in recent weeks—was still human in moments like these.

She gestured awkwardly toward the sofa. “You can sit, if you want. Sorry again for the mess.”

“You really don’t have to apologize. My place is worse,” you said. It wasn’t.

Wanda offered you a half-smile as she moved to the kitchenette, pulling open a drawer to grab some utensils. “I find that hard to believe,” she teased lightly.

Busted. Your room at the compound had been practically bare. Your hotel room now was even emptier. You missed your own apartment, but could only assume it had already been raided by the feds.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you shot back, and she laughed softly, the sound settling something nervous and fluttering in your chest.

Wanda set the bowl on the counter and turned on the stove. You watched as she poured the stew into a small saucepan and stirred it absently.

“You should eat some too,” she said over her shoulder. “It’ll taste better warm.”

“I already had dinner, actually.”

Wanda glanced back at you, her brow lifting in question. “With Nat?”

You nodded, feeling oddly exposed under her gaze. “Yeah.”

Her lips quirked, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “How’s she doing?”

It wasn’t the kind of question that invited much of an answer—it felt more like something to say, just to fill the space. You gave a half-shrug, unsure what else to do with it. “She’s fine.”

Wanda didn’t push for more. She settled onto the sofa beside you, tucking her legs beneath her and taking a small bite of the stew.

You wanted to ask how she was. How she was holding up after everything. But you couldn’t get any word out. You didn’t know how to ask without making it sound like pity, and you didn’t want to do that to her. Still, the question burned at the edge of your thoughts.

It had to be hard, being in the middle of all this again, being wanted—hunted—just like she was when she aligned with Hydra. You couldn’t stop thinking about how Vision was on the other side now, the person who should’ve stood with her through it all, standing with the people determined to stop her. That kind of fracture would break anyone.

You glanced at her out of the corner of your eye. She was focused on her food, but the energy radiating off her couldn’t talk you out of asking her if she was okay.

“Wanda?” you started, “Are you—”

“I’m okay,” she said, cutting you off gently, as though she knew what you were going to ask. For a moment you considered if she was reading your mind at the moment.

She set the bowl down and offered you a faint smile. “Really.”

You nodded, though you didn’t really believe her. The room fell quiet again, and you looked away, legs starting to bounce a little as you thought of what to say next.

“Has Steve come up with the next plan yet?” Wanda asked.

Her question confused you for a moment, making you feel like you’ve missed something. “Plan? Plan for what?”

She shrugged, chewing her food thoughtfully. “To come back. To clear our names. To return to…” She trailed off. To return to our normal lives.

Oh. The thought hadn’t even crossed your mind. Being an Avenger never felt anything close to normal, so you weren’t sure you ever really knew what normal was.

You wanted to assure her that Steve’s working on it, but you couldn’t lie to her either. From what you heard from Nat, Steve was preoccupied with helping Bucky’s asylum in Wakanda. And that could take a while. “I don’t think that’s possible anytime soon.”

“Why not?”

“Steve and Tony…” You exhaled slowly, trying to find the right way to explain. “Their misunderstanding—it’s serious this time. It’s not something that’s going to blow over.”

“Right,” Wanda said curtly, then fell silent, turning her attention back to her food.

Without thinking, you blurted, “Do you miss Vision?”

Her head jerked up, her eyes wide like she hadn’t been expecting you to mention Vision at any point in this conversation.

“I…” Wanda deliberated. “I do.”

You forced your jealousy down your dry throat. Of course she did. What were you thinking, even asking? Vision was her lover. They were clearly going through something, and here you were, dredging it up. You should’ve left right after giving her the food—that would’ve been the perfect time to go.

“I regret what I did to him,” Wanda said suddenly, breaking through your thoughts. “Burying him w-with…with my powers.” Her hand tightened around the spoon, the metal scraping against the edge of the bowl. “I didn’t think—I just reacted. And it wasn’t just him. I hurt the others too. At the airport.”

Your breath hitched. This wasn’t what you expected. “Wanda—”

She shook her head quickly, cutting you off. “I didn’t mean to lose control. I thought I was doing the right thing. Fighting for the right side. But after everything… I don’t know if there is a right side anymore.”

Her honesty floored you. You’d spent so much time blaming Tony for losing control, for going after Bucky, that you never stopped to turn the lens on yourself. You’d had your careless moments, caused your share of injuries to civilians on missions. You were just as responsible for how things unraveled—just like Steve, Tony, and the rest of the team.

“I want to believe we’re all still on the same side,” you muttered, resting your elbows on your knees as you searched for the right words. “That we’re still fighting for the same things—for justice, to protect people, to make things better. We’ve just… messed up how we’re going about it. But that doesn’t mean it’s over. We just need to figure out how to sort it all out.”

You swallowed hard, gathering the courage to speak. “I’m sure Vision forgives you for what happened. He… he loves you. And you two? You’re going to be okay.”

Her head snapped up at that. “What do you mean, ‘we’re going to be okay?’”

You winced, awkwardly scratching the back of your neck as you tried to clarify. “I just mean, yeah, sure, it might be a deal breaker for some people—getting buried alive and all—but Vision… he’s not like that. I don’t think he’d break up with you for—”

“We already broke up.”

You froze, staring at her. “What?” was all you managed to say.

Wanda sighed, setting the bowl on the coffee table with a soft clink. “We broke up. Before Clint came to get me from the compound.”

“Why?” you found yourself asking. You thought you'd feel happy, or at least relieved, but the truth left a bad taste in your mouth. Two people you cared about—yes, you’d finally admitted to yourself that you cared more than you wanted to—had ended their relationship, and somehow, that didn’t sit right with you. “I thought… I thought you two…”

“It wasn’t working,” Wanda explained. “We wanted it to, but things between us were always… complicated. And after the Accords, after everything that happened in Lagos…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “It became clear that we were too different. He wanted peace. I wanted… freedom. And I guess we couldn’t find a way to have both.”

Wanting different things has a way of pulling two people off the same path. You wanted freedom too—but until you stopped chasing it, how could you want anything else? How could you want what Wanda wanted? But then, you’ve never aligned your interests with someone just to stay by their side, so why start now?

“I’m sorry,” you said finally, the words feeling small but all you had to give.

She gave you a small, tired smile. “Don’t be. It was mutual, even if it still hurts.”

You wanted to say something—to comfort her, to remind her she wasn’t alone—but it didn’t feel like the right time. Maybe this was a moment to sit with it, to let everything settle. So instead, you reached out, your hand finding hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. A quiet way of saying, I’m here.

It was the first time in weeks you’d touched her.

Wanda looked down at your hand, then back at you. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Your heart slowed, like it wanted to stretch this moment out, to hold onto the feeling of her hand beneath yours forever.

You gave her a small nod. “Always.”

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bullet-prooflove · 1 month ago

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The Farm Boi Series: Virtue - Dennis Whitaker x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @cosmic-psychickitty @sargeant-sad-eyes @caffeinatedwoman @hooks-martin

Summary: Dennis's mom makes her distaste for you known.

Companion piece to:

Peppermint - The taste of peppermint will always have a special place in Dennis’s heart.

The Morgue Thing - A miscommunication between you and Dennis almost ends things before they begin.

Written In The Stars - Your first date with Dennis takes place underneath the stars.

In The Park - Dennis reveals a secret after the two of you spend the night together in the park.

Virgin - There’s a rumour going around about Dennis.

Debauched (NSFW) - Karaoke night ends a lot differently than it did the first time around.

Symphony (NSFW) - Dennis has never eaten pussy before…

Pretty Boy (NSFW) - You and Dennis take the next step in your relationship.

Firsts (NSFW) - Dennis experiances alot of firsts during your first night together.

Permanent Marker - You find out about the betting pool.

Denny’s To Do List - Dennis realises he’s in the midst of a sexual awakening.

The Porn Boom (NSFW) - Dennis isn’t like the other man you’ve been with.

Bite (NSFW) - Dennis doesn’t mean to edge you.

Wild Flowers - A crown of wildflowers leads you and Dennis to discuss the issues he has with his family.

A Friend of Denny’s - Your relationship with Dennis takes a turn when his parents come to town.

A Cold Day In Hell - Dennis tries to make amends for his actions.

Gardens of Babylon - Dennis has made his choice, now it's time for you to make yours.

My Future Wife - Dennis makes a promise to you at Jana's celebration of life event.

Dennis’s mom hates you.

It’s abundantly clear from the way her face falls when you step into the arrivals lounge alongside Dennis. The ‘Doctor Denny’ sign lowers and her eyes narrow as her gaze falls down to your entwined fingers.

The thing is you know that Dennis has told her that you were accompanying him on this trip, the evidence is standing right next to her in the form of Nana Whitty who is holding her own sign with your name written on it, decorated with hearts and sparkles.

You’ve been here a grand total of 30 seconds and already you want her to adopt you.

“It’s lovely to finally meet you Lola.” She says gathering you up into a hug that makes your bones creak. She’s a strong little thing at 5’2, clasping you to her like you’re a long lost family member. “The screen on my phone doesn’t do you justice.”

There is no such greeting from Mrs Whitaker. She embraces Dennis and ignores you completely before taking off towards the parking lot, expecting the three of you to follow. Nana Whitty rolls her eyes before linking her arm through yours and telling you about the new baby bison that’s just been born called Phyllis.

You’ve been driving through town for ten minutes when Mrs Whitaker pulls the truck over outside the Charles Wesley Motor Lodge. You can see Dennis’s confusion as he looks up at the building from the backseat. The place has an old highway motel feel and outside décor that’s not been updated since the sixties. You shudder to think about what the rooms must be like inside.

“Lola will have to stay here.” Mrs Whitaker informs the both of you. “There isn’t enough room at the house with the wedding and everything.”

“She can stay in my room-” Dennis protests but his mom is already raising her hand, cutting him off.

“I know the two of you are living in sin back in Pittsburgh but that’s not the way we conduct ourselves out here Dennis, you know that.” She rebukes him with a harshness that’s unwarranted.

“Alright.” Dennis says unfastening his seat belt. “Then I guess I’m staying here too.”

“Dennis! You are being a child. We need you at the house for the wedding prep-”

“No mom, I’m being an adult.” He responds his hand coming to rest on the door handle, gripping it so hard his knuckles turn white. “I’m making my own choices and my choice is her, you really need to come to terms with that.”

Mrs Whitaker tuts as she twists around in the front seat to face him.

“You have turned into a very rude young man Dennis.” She snaps at him. “You used to be such a good boy. Before you left Nebraska you wouldn’t have dreamed of giving up your virtue to the first pretty young thing that came along.”

It occurs to you then that Mrs Whitaker thinks you stole Dennis’s virginity. That her farm boy came to the big city and was seduced by some harlot with a nipple piercing, that likes to sing Joan Jett on karaoke nights. It must dawn on Nana Whitty too because she throws back her head and cackles like a witch as you try to hide a smile.

“I hate to break it to you Shirley but there is not a single one of your boys that remain pure. I caught Lowell in the basement at church when he was eighteen teaching Sally McNamara how to hit the high notes during choir practice. At least these two are in a committed relationship.” Nana Whitty jerks her thumb at the both of you in the back seat. “I thought you’d be a shrew about this so I’ve set up the guest room at my farmhouse. They are welcome to stay there so long as Dennis promises to fix up the shit that Charlie’s been too henpecked to do since all this wedding nonsense started.”

“I would be happy to do that Nana.” Dennis says, removing his palm from the door handle. “And thank you for being so supportive to both me and the love of my life.”

You see Mrs Whitaker rile at that, her eyebrows shoot up into her bangs before she turns off the engine of the truck, undoes her seatbelt and shoves open the driver’s side door.

“Don’t bother coming back to the farm.” She snarls as she hops out the front seat, leaving the keys dangling in the ignition. “As long as you’re with her you aren’t welcome there.”

“Don’t worry they won’t.” Nana Whitty calls after her through the open window as she slips into the driver's seat. “I’ll host all the boys at mine instead, they’re just dying to meet their brother’s girlfriend.”

She turns the key in the ignition and the engine revs to life as you watch Mrs Whitaker storm off towards the centre of town.

“Oh man, she’s gonna put a pillow over my face while I sleep isn’t she?” You mutter as Nana Whitty skids away from the curb, directing the vehicle towards the outskirts of town.

“Yeah.” Dennis sighs, turning around in his seat to watch his mother’s retreating form. “But at least I’ll be sleeping next to you, ready to fend her off.”

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kiwriteswords · 5 months ago

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The light reflects the chain on your neck [Aaron Hotchner x Birthday!Reader]

Masterlist (updated!!)|| Ao3||Word Count: 700|| AN: It's my birthday weekend, so I wanted to share a few ficlets of Reader and Hotch inspired by that. These will be fully self-indulgent, so I apologize! Tags/Warnings: female reader, reader's birthday, gift giving, BAU!Reader, building romance, fluff. Summary: You wouldn't have picked Hotch to be the gift-giving, birthday-celebrating guy--but for you, he is.

The bullpen was quiet--quieter than it had been in days. The case had been a long one, stretching over state lines, exhausting every last ounce of patience and energy you had.

But it was done. The unsub was caught, the victims’ families had answers, and the team had finally made it back to Quantico, some retreating home while others finished reports under the dim office lighting.

You stayed behind, not ready to leave just yet. There was something about the stillness of the office after hours that felt grounding, like the adrenaline still coursing through your system needed time to settle before you could convince yourself to sleep.

Hotch was still here, of course. He always was. His office light glowed faintly through the blinds, casting long shadows across the walls. He had come downstairs at some point, returning from whatever final briefing he had to endure, and now he was across from you, leaning against the edge of your desk with that ever-present sense of quiet authority.

His tie was slightly loosened, and his sleeves rolled up past his forearms--telltale signs that even he was tired.

“You should go home,” he said, voice low in the near-empty bullpen.

You smirked, raising a brow as you leaned back in your chair. “You first.”

He huffed a quiet breath, amused but not entirely disagreeing. Instead of responding, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, neatly wrapped box, setting it down on your desk with the kind of deliberate movement that made your stomach flip.

Your brows furrowed. “What’s this?”

Hotch met your gaze, expression unreadable but tinged with something softer. “Your birthday was two days ago.”

You blinked. With everything that had happened, you had barely thought about it. The case had swallowed up the week, leaving little room for anything outside of work and exhaustion.

“You remembered?”

He gave you a look--one that suggested he found the question absurd.

You hesitated only briefly before taking the box, fingers carefully peeling away the paper.

“Aaron Hotchner,” you paused at the wrapping paper, raising a brow, “you got me a present?”

His expression was unreadable, save for the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Yes, that’s generally what people do for birthdays.”

A quiet laugh left you, shaking your head as you continued to unwrap the gift. “I didn’t think you did birthday gifts.”

“I don’t.” He hesitated, then added, “Not usually.”

The weight of those words settled over you, heavier than they should have been.

You pried it open with delicate fingers, breath catching at what was inside. Nestled neatly in a small velvet pouch was a locket. Simple, elegant, something you could wear every day without it drawing attention.

Your fingers traced over the smooth surface, its weight both unfamiliar and achingly familiar all at once. “I had one like this when I was a kid,” you murmured. “But I never knew what to put inside it.”

Hotch remained quiet, watching you with that quiet intensity of his.

You carefully pried the locket open. Inside, on one side, was a small photograph of the team--one of those rare moments where you were all together, laughing, existing beyond the chaos of your work. On the other side, a second photo.

Just you and him.

It wasn’t staged. Wasn’t forced. Just a candid moment from an outing you didn’t even remember, the two of you standing side by side in quiet conversation, the familiarity between you obvious even in a still frame.

You swallowed hard, blinking against the warmth creeping into your chest. “I can’t believe you remembered this photo.”

Hotch’s gaze didn’t waver. “I remember everything when it comes to you.”

The words settled somewhere deep, somewhere you weren’t sure you were ready to acknowledge yet.

You weren’t sure a man had ever bought you jewelry before. Something about it… jewelry--it felt so…so intimate.

You exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you traced the edge of the locket. “You know, you’re dangerously close to ruining your reputation.”

His lips twitched, the closest thing to a smile you’d get from him in the middle of the office. “So I’ve been told.”

Silence stretched between you--not awkward, but weighted with something unspoken. Something neither of you had put into words, not yet.

You glanced at him, something caught between gratitude and something else--something deeper. “Thank you, Hotch.”

He nodded once, then pushed off your desk, his voice softer than usual. “Come on.”

You pocketed the locket carefully, grabbing your bag before following him toward the elevator.

For the first time in a long time, the idea of going home didn’t feel so lonely.

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016 @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry @superlegend216

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #hotch x reader #kiwriteswords #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #criminalminds #aaronhotchner #Aaron Hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner reader insert #criminal minds fluff #hotch x you #birthday

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buttercupblu · 11 months ago

Text

Satoru's Psyche|Escalating

"Should I really have to suffer for my actions?"

Previous SessionSession 2 of 10|Next Session

🗂️Patient Chart Update: Patient Gojo displayed extremely flirtatious and unruly behavior during the first half of his visit. Mentions of escape and kid-napping were noted as well as enforced close proximity with his nurse. Threatening remarks were also made at the end of his lunch in response to mentions of disciplinary action. Patient is scheduled for a bath but is pending the possibility of negative punishment to instill corrective behaviors. 📋Length of Session (w.c): 8.3k out of "i said we will cross that bridge when we get to it 😊" 💊Intake Chart (tags): mild violence but no in-action descriptors, coercion, manipulation, drug use, angst, unwatched close contact and touch, nudity, mentally unstable Gojo, Nurse!Reader ✏️Doctor's angel’s note: i hope you know what you're doing, Nurse 🎼Waiting room music: Overheated|Billie Eilish

Choose wisely.

Hunger stirs in your tummy, and Gojo's words sit with you through lunch. Your spoon clinks around the bowl, stirring the soup growing colder by the second though the growls from your stomach are too obnoxious to be ignored. But your mind wanders.

You're stuck. Earlier, you were all for serving up justice on a silver platter, but now you're seriously second-guessing your "genius" idea to punish Gojo by making him someone else's problem.

As if anyone will be crazy enough to say yes.

Everyone already avoids his wing like the plague. It's kind of an unspoken fact that you are Gojo's one and only. The only staff he allows near him. Anyone else would be playing with fire.

And if someone is brave enough to willingly throw themselves into the lion's den, they definitely can't be new. New to nursing—new to the ward. High expertise is needed here. Someone seasoned—experience which you lack yourself—otherwise, they won't last a second with Gojo.

It'll be way too easy for him to make them snap, like tossing a bone to a dog.

"Persephone." Yuko brings you out of your coma.

You perk up, instinctively smiling. "Hey, what's up?"

"You tell me," she snorts. "You've been playing with your food like break isn't over in 10 minutes." She touches your arm. "Everything ok?"

It's written all over your face, huh? You could deflate right now.

This is why Yuko is your favorite co-worker. Always reading you like a book without you needing to say a word. Quick to call anything off out.

Leaning back in your chair, you huff, rubbing circles into your temples to relieve the headache you didn't know you had.

"Yeah, yeah," you begin, "It's just—" You stop, her eyes hold so much concern and you've barely opened your mouth. Not sure if you should now because you know what kind of person Yuko is.

And if she knew even half of what you don't tell her during your lunch breaks spent complaining about work, she'd hang Gojo out to dry if she could. She often makes it very clear she hates you have to deal with him at all.

"—I'm just a bit tired. Gojo's scheduled for a bath later, him and two others. Gojo's easy but...I don't know. I feel slower than usual today. Definitely won't get home until late, again, because of all these sponge baths." You cringe at the last part.

Aside from trying to keep Yuko cool, you also don't want to risk the news getting back to the Director who could take you off of Gojo completely. No one else can take your place. And who knows what would happen if you disappeared from his roster for good?

How would his threats manifest?

Yuko scoffs, waving her hand.

"Gojo and easy do not go together," and you both shake your heads and laugh. "But I get it. You did come in super early."

"Thought there'd be less of us," you sigh.

"Sonya's been on our asses lately, right? But hey, she finally got us all here."

"A little too late. The damage is done," you pout, resting your elbows on the table, realizing you've accidentally grown used to chaos and ever-changing schedule.

You routinely plan ahead to make sure you can stand up when people fall short. Constantly putting yourself on the back burner seems to be a thing that always set you back.

"Sooo, you just need rest, ya? Nothing else? Gojo—" there she goes "—been 'okay' with you lately?"

Your heart skips. "Ya. he isn't so bad today," you lie, "I'd just love to be home on time for once. Maybe even a bit early, I'm soo close. Overtime's been wringing my neck for weeks."

Yuko looks at you with puppy dog eyes. And not in a "I feel sorry for you" kind of way, but one that almost makes you feel bad for not telling her the whole truth.

"Here," she pushes your soup towards you, "How about I do Gojo's bath and you get an early start on my last two? That way you can at least binge that show you won't shut up about later." She smiles.

You immediately protest.

There's no way you can do that to her.

Yuko never even crossed your mind and was far from your first pick, not because she can't handle him but because she's your friend. Not just a colleague, but someone you actually care about more than anyone else in this run-down job even if she doesn't feel the same.

She's too good of a person, and you'd be the Devil Incarnate if you let her do something so risky. Especially when you can just suck it up and get it over with.

"Woah, woah, it's just a bath, calm down," she says, taking your hands in hers as you ramble on, trying to convince her that you'll be fine or that you'll find someone else. Burdening her is simply out of the question.

"Who else but me, Seph'?" and she tilts her head, "You don't you think I'm as good as you?" And the way she says it, giving you that look she does when you're being stubborn, dares you to challenge her.

Now you really have to think about what to say.

Goddamn it, you regret saying anything at all, but Yuko's so motherly, how could you resist? Hiding from her is impossible, she would've sniffed you out sooner or later.

Easing your pains when she can is her specialty—helping to calm and settle you down when you blow things out of proportion.

Could this be one of those moments? Or are Gojo's words more than just hot air?

The back and forth is killing you, but the combination of Yuko's reassuring touch and your gurgling stomach puts the final nail in the coffin as she reminds you of the time.

Eyes wide, you look at the clock, ticking away faster than you realized, then back at your lukewarm soup.

Denying that you need help would be silly because technically it's true. You probably should've asked the Director for a little Gojo break forever ago, even if just for a few hours a few times a week. It would be better than nothing because if you can't function, Gojo can't be cared for.

So, who better to help bridge that gap for you than Yuko?

The gutsy woman has been your rock ever since you started at the ward, having your back and sticking with you through tough times when staff constantly dips in and out of the facility like a rotating door, unable to handle the job.

Yuko's a real day one, and next to you, she's the most competent nurse in these walls, fully equipped with a "take-no-shit" attitude that routinely keeps her patients in check.

When you really think about it, it'd be silly, downright irresponsible to trust anyone else.

Her offer is simply too good to dismiss.

"Thank you, Yuko," you cave, grabbing your spoon and finally allowing yourself to enjoy your meal. "You're...amazing. I don't deserve you."

She looks on happily. "Just promise me you'll take some personal time after this," she insists, worry evident in her voice. "We both know how much you care, but even superheroes need rest." She's too kind and right in more ways than one. "Besides, I think Gojo will like me, ya? I'm cool. I'm fun. He'll like a friend of friend?"

You roll your eyes—ya, totally, cool people definitely say they're cool.

Not knowing whether to joke back or wave her off, you softly smile at her concern before nodding, vowing to make good on your promise and feel a bit lighter knowing your wish for early release will actually come true.

Maybe.

The latest threat to your miracle in the making is Mr. Hampton, who is personally making it his business to drag the already long day by its edges, almost bringing time to a standstill with the way he's handling his bath.

Enormous and lumbering, the man Yuko usually deals with took his sweet time gathering his things and even longer trekking down the seemingly endless halls leading to the bathing area. Occupying every inch of the space like those massive trucks that hog the interstate, yet inching along at a pace that makes a snail look like it's in a sprint.

All that was missing were the yellow hazard lights.

Oh no, please, take your time, you think, watching Mr. Hampton clean each limb painstakingly s l o w in a tub that's comically too small for him. You may have been able to rush through Yuko's first patient, but this one wanted all that time back.

His pace resembles a giant's, and his cheery, nonsensical hums echo around the hollow chambers and lull you to sleep, turning your eyes into bricks under the spell of his melody. Perfect timing for the energy drinks from early to crash you out, tag teaming with the chair beneath you that feels a bit too soft as you lean over the tub, willing the colossal man to hurry up.

Warm water flows over your skin as you scrub circles on his neck, deciding to bite the bullet and take over the bath so he can play with the bubbles and get out when you hear a blood-curdling scream.

Your entire body goes rigid, shock reverberating through your spine and forcing you to halt as your mind goes blank. But steamy water brings you back to life, drenching your shirt and upper thighs when Mr. Hampton jumps from the noise.

The rude awakening makes you lock in.

The scream. It sounds like...no, you know it came from the west wing...where Gojo is.

And Yuko.

Hurried steps rush past your door, sounds of multidirectional distress and frantic shouts echoing through the corridor—staff members and patients alike sweep into a whirlwind of panic.

You're number one, dropping the scrubber and scrambling to help Mr. Hampton out of the tub, hands shaking as he grips them.

A security guard bursts into the room, face ashen and jaw tight.

"Nurse! We need everyone in the west wing, immediately!" The command is sharp, laced with an urgency you've never seen before.

And immediately feel responsible for.

"There's been an incident."

Without another thought, you wrap Mr. Hampton in a towel, trying your best to assure him that everything is fine when your obviously trembling body says nothing is. His confused gaze follows you as you lead him back to his room, the commotion in the air moving him a lot faster than earlier before you rush back out and head straight for the west wing—where chaos reigns supreme.

The usually pristine floors, normally squeaky clean due to lack of traffic, are now barely visible. Staff members crowd the familiar hall for the first time since Gojo made it his own, filling the space with more bodies than you're used to and making it difficult to find the source of trouble.

Not like you need to. The truth is painfully clear, and it's disrespectful to even pretend you don't know exactly what went wrong.

You push through the masses, clumsily bumping shoulders, your heart beating into your ears and making the world seem quiet as you inch closer and closer to disaster. Dragging imaginary shackles on your feet until you all but collapse once you spot it.

Gojo—barely restrained by guards, straitjacket nowhere in sight—standing absolutely furious.

And for the first time today, time seems to slow down, your mouth suddenly becoming dry when you look past him.

Yuko.

Halfway out the door to his room. Sprawled out on the ground. Bruised, unconscious, and no signs of breathing.

Your hands fly to your lips, mouth agape. Murmurs from the crowd swirl around you before attendants rush to Yuko's side, knocking into your pathetic frame as you stand too frozen to move.

They gently pick her up, careful to handle her motionless body and place her on a stretcher. Her usually vibrant face is drained of color, twisting the dagger in your chest when you spot the subtle rise and fall of her chest. Fighting for breath.

Fighting.

It hits you like a train.

Someone as kind as her, always greeting you with warmth and empathy and capacity every time she sees you, should never have to lift a finger let alone fight for her life. The sight is too much to bear.

Waves of helplessness crash over you and you can't even look at her. Regretting with every ounce of your being that you sent her in your place. Knowing this could happen. Concerned only with your silly wants and needs.

But you're so confused.

The ward should have weakened Gojo—Yuko should have been fine. The only threat Gojo has up his sleeve is mental torture but Yuko might as well be Freud. Her mind is sound, strong.

And that's where you fucked up, forgetting that Gojo's pure strength, especially when he's lost his fucking mind and triggered, is stronger.

Even with his security system in place, the devil is still powerful enough on his own. And like this was some sick and twisted experiment to help you figure that out, Yuko was the one to pay the price.

"I warned, I WARNED YOU!" Gojo's words pierce the overlapping voices like a sword, breaking your shock and drawing everyone's attention to the strange interaction between the two of you. "I don't like to be touched by strangers, Nurse." Guards struggle to restrain him as he pulls away.

All eyes fall on you and the stares are intense. Confusion and judgment.

Why was Yuko here in the first place?Where was Seph’?How’d he get out?How did this happen?

Whether the murmurs are real or in your head, the effect is all the same, and you wish you could just completely vanish. Standing like a deer in headlights—and they're so fucking bright.

But Gojo is brimming with malice and amusement, chaotic energy pulsing from the hellish man and threatening to send sparks flying. Daring someone to be brave and push the button.

But despite his outward display of dominance, the pure rage on his face that makes you feel sick to your stomach about every decision you've ever made, there's something...uncertain lurking behind those fiery eyes.

Something like...apprehension.

Like he knows he's done something wrong.

Yet, words escape you, as if anything needs to or even could be said. But soon, fear and guilt turn to anger, threatening to consume you. Ready to eat you alive and spit out the bones with disgust because you are not a victim.

You have no right to stand here, spineless, shocked, or feeling even a little sorry for yourself. Holding back tears because you know what you've done.

Your fists clench, unsure how to deal with it, but there's fire in your eyes because someone needs to pay.

But then you exhale, thoughts shifting to Yuko as you take a good look around at what happened the last time you decided to take things into your own hands. All of your actions, even now, are rooted in selfishness. Like you've learned nothing.

Pushing down the knot growing in your stomach, you turn away to follow the medics, deciding your friend needs you more than you need revenge. Gojo doesn't deserve any more of your attention, even if it means risking your job or life to turn your back on him.

And there's nothing Gojo hates more than being ignored.

Struggled and strained noises grow louder. Guards tighten their grip on the fuming man whose raw strength outnumbers thousands of them even without his cursed energy.

You look back, their determination to keep him contained making you nervous. You don't anyone else to get hurt and Gojo is fully exploiting that.

You're painfully aware that your decisions have put you in this position, watching the guards' valiant but increasingly pointless effort to prevent Gojo from causing further harm. But it's obviously a losing fight, and the unease on their faces is unmistakably clear.

You wonder why they don't just run like hell.

"Let's go," a guard barks, but Gojo remains fixed in place. Moving a boulder would be easier.

"No, I'm filthy," Gojo protests, smirking, "And if I don't have my bath soon, there will be hell to pay."

Seeing no one else in the room, his eyes are locked only on you, his expression a menacing promise that would send anyone else running for the hills. A look that says, "Try that shit again, and there will be casualties instead of mercy."

Reinforcements are called but it won't be enough. The goddamn military wouldn't be enough. Gojo is...the strongest, after all.

"Stop."

Your cry freezes the room. Everything goes silent.

You hesitate, fuck, what should you do?

What can you do? No one else can suffer—no one else should suffer. Because of you.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, you silently apologize to Yuko, swallowing a lump instead of looking back.

"I'll do it," you say firmly, "Just stop this and...and I'll give you your bath. Please—" The sharpest pang you've ever felt cuts through you. "—just don't hurt anyone else."

Pathetic. But necessary.

He looks into your pleading eyes with surprise, amazement even, before smiling.

The submission in your voice sounds better than anything he could ever imagine. A sweet tones that feed his already inflated ego.

Unsure of how to proceed, the guards exchange uneasy glances.

Gojo's strength is undeniable, that much is evident, and restraining him forever is simply not possible.

You know offering to give him what he wants is risky as hell...but this is your doing. Your mess to clean up.

So you squeeze your sweaty palms and give a decisive nod, signaling at the guards to let him go. They hesitate a second, then reluctantly agree, stepping back and leaving Gojo standing smugly before you.

Closing your eyes, you breathe, hating to have to look at him, but needing to stay strong. For Yuko. For yourself. And everyone else in the ward.

But Gojo's satisfied grin says it all. He's won this round.

You're ready to get the next over with.

The squeaking of your shoes has never been this loud, each echo bouncing off the empty halls and reminding you of how alone you are.

Alone—with a psychopath.

A bit more docile, doped-up psychopath but, the man could probably still rip someone's head clean off if he wanted to.

Still, Gojo despises anything that alters his body—mentally, physically, all of the above. Alcohol, medication, coffee, energy drinks—anything that threatens his need for absolute control.

But he also needed to compromise, and you refused to be alone with him again unless he took something stronger. Otherwise, it would be you, all the guards in the ward, and a pay-per-view premiere of his bath time.

He knew he had to agree because his ass is not for free, but only if you took it as well.

You blinked, hard.

You knew he would be skeptical—hell, it could be poison, and he wouldn’t blame you. But to suggest something so ridiculous?

"Half, then," he said, as if that made his suggestion any less idiotic, but, as you waited for your supervisor to dismiss the insane idea, the back and forth with Gojo actually didn't save you. And you didn't need to ask why. The entire ward shoots daggers at you any time someone walks by now.

Your supervisor reassured you that you'd be fine, the mild tranquilizer would be out of your system by the end of the day, then she patted your back as if to say, "Lay in the bed you made."

It felt unreal, holding the familiar pill between your fingers, one you were used to dishing out but now had to take.

With a quick snap, you broke it in half, holding his half out to the leering man. Gaze unwavering as he leaned forward and parted his lips, waiting. Taking a deep breath, you placed them both on your tongues, in disbelief at your reality, but Gojo's focus was elsewhere, not wasting this prime opportunity to rattle you more and taste you, closing his lips around your fingertip with a quick lick before you snatched away.

But it wasn’t quick enough to avoid the tingles shooting up your arm as you swallowed, no longer needing the water you had set aside, and a confusing mix of emotions churned as the tingles spread throughout your body.

Making good on his promise, he swallowed his own, still watching you with a knowing glint in his eyes. Like he knows what he does to you. And despite just witnessing this man's violence firsthand, you'd give anything to deny that he still has an effect on you. Hating yourself for being more concerned with the way he looked at you and the lingering sensation on your skin than the tranquilizer now coursing through your system.

The guards carefully lead you and Gojo to his private bathroom—they're more there for show than for protection, but you'll take what you can get, and they keep a firm grip on his replacement straitjacket.

You trail behind, mind buried with thoughts of what to say once you're really alone with him.

The door shuts behind you, followed by the familiar sound of a series of locks clicking shut. "We'll be right outside," one of the guards mutters, eyes shifting between you and Gojo, a stereotypical warning lacing his voice, but even he probably doesn't believe it.

"Perv," Gojo sneers and laughs, but you don't find a damn thing funny, the keys to his jacket digging into your palms as you spin around and face him, furious. What would be better? Slapping him, kicking him, or knocking his teeth out. Or should you be particularly evil and just let him sit in the shower, fully restrained and drenched in cold water and you let it rain down. None of the above will do you any good, but it'll show him exactly how done you are with his shit.

"That isn't funny. None of this is funny," it fumes out before you know you're speaking, "You've hurt someone—you hurt my friend." Your rage echos through the vast bathroom.

Gojo's laugh fades, his smug expression slipping from his face. Even you're surprised.

...oh shit.

You're actually confronting him.

The intense words burn through his usual arrogance, leaving a heavy, uncomfortable silence between you.

Then, for a fleeting second, his face does something weird.

Something you haven't seen before as his eyebrows draw together. Is that...regret?

"I'm sorry."

The record scratches. You’re fully positive you must be dreaming.

But when he doesn’t make a joke or even crack a smile, you squint at him.

The words are muttered and reluctant, but there they are, hanging in the air between you.

"It...won't happen again."

And he's serious, the same seriousness you see when his heart races as you take his vitals...but why? Because an apology? From him?? Unheard of.

Gojo has said some nasty things to you in the past that you've immediately scolded him for, but he's never apologized. He'd make a note when certain jokes didn't land, but he never took them back, preferring to cut out his own tongue than to waste his breath being sorry.

You know better than to take anything Gojo says at face value, but...what the fuck??? You almost feel offended.

He has to be joking, fucking with you to dig even deeper under your skin.

Or is he?

Fuck, you don't know how to feel.

He's so good at that, stealing the air back and hanging his words in them. Tempting you to pause and even consider if he ever truly means them. If he could mean them. The mind games are endless.

But then, the familiar cockiness returns and overshadows your doubts, twisting your stomach into knots with that familiar smile of his.

"Now," he says, strutting towards the stalls, "let's get this bath started, shall we?" And his easy, but confident steps call you to follow, a stark reminder of who you're dealing with. But he never knows when to quit. "Or should I really have to suffer for my actions?" and the bastard pouts.

Though you know he's being sarcastic and not to feed into his taunts, you can't help but wonder—what would suffering even look like for someone like Gojo?

Violence? Physical pain? A slow and agonizingly painful death?

But the guy is damn near invincible. What on earth could hurt him?

Whatever it is, it would have to be his absolute worst nightmare, but nothing comes to mind at the moment other than frustration because you have to keep making choices.

Return his energy or keep it professional? Tolerance or revenge?

"Apologizing won't cut it," you snap and gesture at his jacket, wondering how the hell he slipped out of the first one without leaving a trace. "And no tricks, or those guards will be back in here faster than you can tell another lame joke."

Smooth.

Gojo sighs sooo dramatically, like he can see straight through your kitty claws. "Fine, fine. Loosen up," he drags, "I won't cause any trouble. Just don't go getting any ideas now, Nurse." and he winks.

He's insufferable—but despite your smoldering anger, tendrils of doubt still creep in.

Your fingers slightly tremble as you begin to unfasten his straps, but each click feels a bit like victory, a fragile illusion of your 'control'—at least for now—because at the end of the day, Gojo had chosen you to listen to. And after today, he's sure you won't forget there isn't room for anyone else.

The jacket falls with a heavy thud, your eyes immediately scanning his upper body in search of any signs of injury or stress. The cascading bruises on his arms surprise you.

They feel so feeble in your hands; the evidence of him not as invincible as he seems is jarring. Pale, weak, and resting between your fingers. Devoid of the power that makes him so feared.

"Never seen bruises before," he tilts his head, "at least not on me"

You hope Yuko was at least partly responsible for the marks on the villain, but they appear self-inflicted, and he's not as mobile.

Fuck, now you'll have to bathe him too. Still, it's strange, seeing him like this. Even weirder knowing that he could still do damage in this state and you can't shake the feeling of this temporary 'truce'. If it isn't obvious by now, you've learned that Gojo always has something up his sleeve.

Warm water soothes you a bit, flowing over your fingers as it fills the large white tub—pristine, imported from somewhere far away, and standing on decorative claw feet. Your eyes wouldn't stop rolling the first time you saw it, completely annoyed with Gojo's over-the-top alterations and sense of style, but you'd be a liar if you said you never thought about sinking your body into it.

The best you could do was cope with the little porcelain tub in your apartment, and you get lost thinking about how you'd love to take a long, hot, and steamy bath when you get home—if you'll even have the energy. There's no way you'll be leaving early now, not like you deserve it, and you feel sick for even thinking about it. You doubt you'll even have a job tomorrow.

You look so defeated Gojo thinks, sauntering forward and lifting the hem of his shirt. You turn away, focusing instead on the temperature of the water, but the rustling sound of his shirt being pulled overhead and pants falling to the ground warms your cheeks.

His physique certainly isn't lacking, even in his current state, but still, you wonder how such a slim but toned frame could be so...powerful.

Could you be more obvious? Your flickering eyes are so telling, shamefully darting between him and the water, but he catches your gaze from the corner of his eye as if he's read your mind. How cute, he thinks, trying to hide away your thoughts.

Clearing your throat, you toss in his loofah. "Well...go on. It's ready." But Gojo only grins, amused by your attempts to look away despite seeing his muscled frame a number of times. Relishing in the fact that he still manages to fluster you.

"Your shirt," he eyes your top, "Your pants. Looks like you've already started without me."

The water stains from earlier sit beautifully across your chest, not yet fully dry, and drawing his eyes to your semi-erect nips.

His teeth tug at his bottom lip, eyes shamelessly raking over your hefty chest. "Always such a tease, aren't you, Nurse?"

You grit your teeth, cursing the conflict swirling in your stuttering heart, fully aware of the thin line between professionalism and this game of intimacy he refuses to stop playing. Everything is always a game no matter the circumstances. And he loves to push your buttons.

"Just get in, Gojo," you order, and after what feels like an eternity, the silence is broken by the sound of splashing water as he steps into the bath.

He slowly sinks in, sighing at the warmth of the water. Ringlets of steam engulf him, almost making his silky white hair disappear with it.

His arms string over the rim of the tub, a look of relaxation resting on his face as if he's had a long, hard day. You resist the urge to slap it off.

Sudsy bubbles form from the solution you pour under the faucet, hoping to shield your eyes from his body. You've seen enough today and expect the mini-rebellious act to piss him off, but as the bubbles grow, so do his eyes. Picking up a handful, he actually starts playing with them.

"Nice touch," he adds, blowing them right into your face, and you watch with a tight lip as he decorates the bathroom with them, knowing you'll be the one to clean it all up.

He sits a crown on his head and gives himself a bubble beard, nipping your nose with some that you're quick to wipe away, and his pale eyes flutter and settle on you in a curious way.

His arms flex as he leans over the edge—steam-slicked sweat dripping down his face that he doesn't bother to wipe away. "I'm ready for my sponge bath," he says, and if it was hard to take him seriously before, it's damn near impossible now—especially with that ridiculous bubble mustache.

Sickening, him still being so playful, so unserious, at a time like this.

You know Gojo's unhinged, yeah, quote, "mentally unwell and a literal danger to society", but to nearly take someone's life and then make jokes afterward?

God, you feel so stupid, walking around him like you were the shit but with the wrong guard up the whole time, playing right into his hands and accidentally rewarding this grown-ass man who likes to play with suds.

The reality of your circumstances replays in your head, the story of how you ended up here, coddling this monster, and you're still confused as hell as to why it had to be you.

Then again, this is what you signed up for...right? To heal. To help those who can't help themselves. To offer redemption some sort of redemption no matter how sick and twisted the person in need is.

With your loofah in hand, you resist the urge to roll your eyes for the 400th time today and keep your morals in mind. "Keep talking like that and I'll stop, Gojo," you say, reluctantly drenching the tool in soap before proceeding to do your job.

Gently washing his back, he sinks into your touch, closing his eyes and letting his body completely rest on the cool cast iron, breathing. Feeling like he's won no matter what you say because your scrubs feel like magic.

Across his arms and over his broad shoulders, you work your way down, bubbles glistening in your trail as you're careful not to miss a single inch of skin but don't linger too long.

Every now and then, you catch glimpses of raised marks between the foam, and because you hate yourself, your brain absolutely refuses to give you a break. You have to give kudos to his dedication to his craft. The muscle definition, the scar tissue telling stories of battles won, the evidence of his past before corruption—everything it takes to be a hero.

It's unsettling, yet fascinating, the polarity between his beauty and his monstrous deeds.

You've never really noticed because this level of care is another first for you. Usually, Gojo just hops into the shower and takes care of himself while you wait outside—easy and thorough but always taking his sweet time, all while loudly singing some annoying song that inevitably ends up stuck in your head.

But after today, it'll be impossible to trust him or you again, and the hushed whispers as the guards walked you both to the restrooms made that abundantly clear.

The pitiful thoughts seep into the way you hesitantly clean him, moving down to his chest and abs while making sure to avoid more sensitive areas, but the malicious glint in his eyes is unmistakable.

"Whatsamatter, Nurse?" Gojo taunts, feeling you slow around his stomach, "Afraid of gettin' too close?" And you can't believe you're praying for a speedy recovery for this monster so he can handle this himself again.

You ignore his comment and try to get this over with as quickly as possible, feeling humiliated enough as it is and he can sense it, mocking you with a laugh.

"You're so uptight. Can't you just relax and enjoy the view?"

God, please make him shut up, begging for relief so you won't scrub his cocky brow right off his face. "Just doing my job," you mutter, twice squeezing the loofah that feels a little funny in your hand as the soapy water rinses his chest.

It feels heavenly on his skin, but the subtle change in your movements makes his brows furrow. Slowing, more deliberate, heavy as if you're wading through molasses. You keep adjusting your grip but the material feels so strange—the texture almost too soft like it could melt into your palm.

Your breath catches when you brush his skin, not realizing how close your fingers drifted to the edge of the sponge, and though it was only a second, it sends an unexpected jolt through his chest.

The muscle relaxers. How could you have already forgotten, you both think.

But Gojo, ever observant, doesn't miss a thing.

His eyes narrow slightly as he watches you. "Feeling a little funny, Nurse?" His velvet voice teases.

"I'm fine," you lie, though you couldn't be less certain as the muscles in your hands start to relax more than you intended, the sponge gliding over his abs, and down his sides, the rhythm almost hypnotic and making his head fall back. You try to push through the haze, to finish quickly and be free of him, but you're losing the battle against numbness and heightened awareness.

And fuck, he has to bite his lip at your touch that suddenly feels so intense, a sensation too good to keep to himself, and one that you obviously need to stop being such a tight-ass.

You need to loosen up in a way that medicine can't help. And Gojo knows just the trick.

He licks his lips, tongue curling over his canine before splashing a wave of water on you in one swoop.

Saying you gasp is an understatement as the steamy wash drenches your face and front once again, setting a new record as you're hit not once, but twice in a day. The loofah slips from your hand as you instinctively reach up to shield yourself, but Gojo is quicker, wrapping his hands around your wrists and holding you in place.

A scream is ready to surge from your body when Gojo maneuvers both of your wrists into one hand, placing a finger to your lips.

"Ssssh ssh ssh ssh ssh," he hushes, his voice a little too calm, "I'm not going to hurt you." A lone droplet hangs from your eyelash and he swipes it. "I just want you to listen."

You freeze, your nerves on fire as you're forced into close proximity with him for the second time today, inches away from his face that gradually softens.

Though you can easily call for help, you know better than to argue—he knows you know better too but he never felt threatened in the first place. Besides, he can feel your breathing slowing, the effects of the pill combined with his firm hold sending a faint buzz from your wrists to your stomach, and his finger remains on your lips as he brings his closer.

His eyes flicker to your bottom lip. "You're so good at your job, Nurse," smoothly pulling it with his thumb. "That's why I like you. You're thorough but real. Just what I need to keep me sane."

Sane?

"Sane," he repeats like he's heard your thoughts. "Believe it or not, you keep me grounded...like a good boy. Be proud, not a single soul here or anywhere else can compare to me, let alone deal with me, and yet...here you are." He looks at you like you're a marvel. "You can handle that...can't you?"

Words fail you. This feels rhetorical. Why does he keep torturing you like this? What is it about you?

You haven't really thought about it since your first few weeks with him but now he's forcing you to think about the little 'power' he's given you that he can easily snatch back.

What happens if he decides to go further than flirting?

You can't handle it, any of this.

Hesitating, you're unsure of what to say but know it could never be the truth.

Gojo must sense it because he leans closer, his breath warm on your cheek.

"If you leave, I just might crack completely, beauty." A breath you didn't realize you were holding slips. "How do you think everyone else will do against me then, hmm?" Gojo knows he's a prodigy, but still manages to surprise himself sometimes, his eyes lingering over the spots on your uniform soaked through just enough to make the fabric cling—perfect aim.

Ice shoots up your spine from the heat of his unadulterated gaze, but you refuse to let him see you falter, and he can almost feel a prick from the daggers in your eyes.

"Oh, don't be like that," he purrs, thumbs grazing your wrists in a mockingly gentle touch. "We all have our boundaries, right? I thought communication was key in a relationship."

"Let go of me," you find your voice, "We're done here."

His head slightly tilts.

Look at you calling the shots, he thinks. So strong, so very serious.

"God, I can't help it," he breathes, "You're so fun to mess with."

He could laugh in your face, have his way with you, and show you that your resistance means nothing, but instead, he slowly releases your wrists and lies back against the tub. "I know you think about it—there's nothing wrong with a little fun...right?" and though the connection is severed, you don't know if it's the drugs or just him that makes his amplified touch linger as you sheepishly rub your wrists.

Gojo watches you blush red—thoughts you didn't know lived within you rushing to the forefront as if he's pushed a button.

Grimy, raw, unwanted thoughts of forbidden fruit, wandering hands, and stolen touches in the dark, wondering what his idea of "fun" is like under the sheets. With a psycho named Gojo.

You feel like you should throw up in disgust but the nausea never comes, burning hot between your legs instead.

Fuck, you have to get out of here.

You draw a breath, forcing away the torturous daydreams and quickly finish his bath.

"You should rest," you firmly say and pull the plug to let the tub drain. "And don't expect any more favors from me."

He sits up slow, his expression stone-cold as he slicks back his wet hair. Then he smiles. "I promise. Now dry me off?" he quips.

You ignore his request, swiftly handing him a towel before he can flash you. With a gruff, you lower to your knees, beginning to dry the floor of his messes and hoping to distract yourself from your questionable sanity.

The sounds of rustling fabric fill the chamber as he dries off, and once you figure it's safe, you look up to find a nude Gojo. Dripping with bubbles, hair plastered to his derpy face, and toned muscles, all the muscles, presenting themselves in all their glory.

The only things dry are his damn hands.

He throws the towel over his shoulder, sauntering towards you with a wicked grin.

"Well, aren't you gonna help me put this thing back on?" He nods at the jacket he knows is more bullshit than security. "Don't want you getting all worked up again."

The first time your brain registered that Gojo was flirting with you was on your third day as his nurse.

"Well, aren't you a breath of fresh air?" Gojo was sitting on his bed, leaning against the wall. It was the second time he'd noticed how sluggish you looked while tending to him, suggesting with a grin that you must be quite the party animal.

Ha. If only.

You tsked, tossing his bedsheets into the hamper, and assured him that your sleepy eyes and dragging feet were the result of long hours and running on fumes. Having time for fun was just a dream.

"I don't get out much myself," he says, alluding to the situation he's in, wearing sarcasm like a necklace. "I love a good night in as much as anyone else but, I don't know. The stuffiness hasn't grown on me yet."

You tugged the collar of your scrubs—the air did feel a bit thick, like the room hadn't been aired out in ages and you couldn't help but wonder how long he'd been sitting in it—how he could. That alone would be enough to drive you up a wall.

Sunlight flickered in your eyes, and you raised your hand to block it, noticing the small window perched above his chair.

"Let's open this then," you said, walking over and wrestling with the ancient wood for a moment before finally pulling the creaky flap up to the ceiling.

A sliver of your midriff peeked out as you stood on your toes to reach it, but what captured Gojo's attention most was the way the sun rays washed over your face. You scrunched your nose, the breeze sending wisps of your hair to tickle it, and he imagined the feel of your strands between his fingers.

The view was beautiful, you thought, hands gripping the warm bars. Trees surrounded the vast area, stretching out as far as you could see, the pathway to civilization completely covered in dense forest from this angle.

You never realized how high up his ward was—or how long the drop was from here.

"Too bad I'm not small enough to slip through those bars." He rubbed his stomach. "But you know me, 'Mr. BigBack.'"

He joked around as he usually did, looking to trigger your defenses, but your reaction was...odd.

Not only was this the first time anyone cared to do something so simple for Gojo, but it was also the closest anyone had gotten to him without their knees buckling.

The first two days of your trial, the Director had guards posted right outside of Gojo's door, their presence a constant reminder to stay alert and maintain a safe distance from the convict. Gojo was positive the mental barrier would keep a wall between you forever.

But then, you laughed. A real laugh. Snickery and cute. Finding his joke funny instead of threatening.

It surprised him, that sound, so natural and pure without hesitation. And he wanted to hear it again and again and again. "Who knew you could bring so much light into this place?" he sighed.

Later at lunch, you sat with Yuko, having your usual midday catch-up. You never start with yours but she, like most people in the ward then, was absolutely dying to hear about how you were dealing with the villain of the century.

"He's actually not so bad...yet. Corny, but," you took a pondering breath, "He kind of thanked me today?"

She immediately scoffed and waved you off, and who could blame her?

You were an anomaly, Gojo already showed that he was capable of mercy and now he was thanking you??

Being polite was too far of a stretch to believe, you must have been mistaken. But when you gave her the deets on why he'd do such a thing, she nearly choked on her apple. "He said that??"

"Ya?" You patted her back with a concerned look.

"Watch out, Casanova," she teased, clearing her throat with a nervous laugh.

Her comment threw you off for the rest of lunch, but when you thought about it later that night while surfing for new shows, a light bulb went off.

He flirted with you.

Thinking it was just another one of those literal dry-humor jokes or simply gratitude for making his stay a little less crappy, it flew right over your head. You always feel warm inside when you help people so you didn't think too much about it.

To you, it was just a kudos. Nothing more.

But the way Gojo stands in front of you now is everything.

As bold and brash as it gets.

Fuck. Me.

And your body betrays you, sending all of the vulnerable sensations you've been fighting to suppress from your soaking chest, tingling wrists, aching thighs, and heavy breath, straight to your throbbing clit.

Air escapes you and you couldn't feel more conflicted, scrambling to grab your supplies and leave.

Enough is enough. The guards outside can restrain him and escort him back to his room for all you care. You just have to get out of there.

Away from him.

Away from temptation.

Hot, overwhelming, guilty, mentally and physically unstable temptation.

In the quiet of the hallway a level below Gojo's ward, you lean against a wall, taking deep breaths and completely disgusted with yourself.

How are you supposed to keep dealing with this, with him?

This force that keeps pushing and pushing and pushing you to the edge until there's nowhere else to go. You can only imagine the hell the nurses he didn't like went through.

Taking care of him isn't getting any easier, and now you were fucking up and making mistakes.

But you're the only one who can do this. Who must.

So suck it up. Play along, Stop thinking only of yourself. Pretend.

Pretend.

Pretend?

...

What terrifies you the most is the thought that you may not have to.

You keep your scrambled thoughts to yourself when you're called into your Director's office at the end of the day.

You tell him the same story you told Yuko and take full responsibility for what happened, blaming it on exhaustion and needing a break. Swearing to never let it happen again.

By some miracle, you get to keep your job, though your one wish to leave early ended up costing you an hour and a half of unpaid overtime, and almost a friendship.

When you finally get home, you collapse onto your bed—images of the day, the ward, and Yuko flooding your thoughts, refusing to be pushed aside. You tell yourself that it's just the guilt talking, just anxiety gnawing at your edges.

But then there's Gojo.

The most prominent one of all.

Staring you in the face with lifeless eyes and a ghostly smile. Tugging on your moral strings like a puppet.

When you close your eyes, you can't shake the feeling that he's waiting for you, a lurker in the shadows watching and anticipating your every move. Have you become predictable? Now you're wondering if you could do something he wouldn't expect.

Leave it. Leave it. Le—

You're scrolling through your phone on a deep-diving, scouring the web for any info on your tormentor.

His past, his affiliations, anything to tell you who Gojo was, and who he is now.

But the man is an anomaly.

Not much is known about him outside of mainstream news and internet rumors.

He's just this guy that kind of popped out of nowhere in the worst way possible, conveniently on the tail of what could have been the most devastating incident in the history of Tokyo.

The media says he's a hero gone rogue but not much else. They've damned him to hell and that was that. Even the Director disclosed very little about him during your briefing and you weren't allowed access to his files or records because it's all 'confidential'.

Nothing.

The more you search, you less that comes up. Not even silly conspiracy theories that you definitely thought would be riddling Reddit. The longer you scroll, the more you find yourself beginning to question your own mind. Your interest. Sweet little buds of obsession.

Even though you hated taking it earlier, you actually need the pill now more than ever to relax as sleep eludes you and your mind wanders to imaginary scenarios as you stare at the ceiling.

Tomorrow, you'll have to face Gojo again. And the day after that and the day after that and every day after.

In between your nearly non-existent off days, you'll have to see him and decide what face you want to put on.

Because you simply cannot walk away.

After all, he's right—no one else can handle him like you can.

extended angel's note:

when i originally decided to make this into short story, i had no plans on using a y/n perspective. it was just going to feature an OC name i’ve used in stories before, named Persephone, buuuut i decided to wanted to keep it immersive and include no physical descriptors/personality specifics bc i knew i wanted to upload it to tumblr.

to keep it reader-friendly, yk?

alas, Persephone has had her claws in me the entire time i’ve been editing and said with her whole chest that i couldn't just dismiss her like that chile. so i decided changed the perspective but keep her name in place of y/n.

you won’t see it too often in the story bc it’s not super significant or said a lot in general, bUT it is relevant for a certain moment later in the story. you’ll know when you know 🤭.

anyway, hope it doesn't bother you guys too much. and def feel free to mentally plug your name when you see it to keep yourself grounded into the story.

tag list p.1: @reddiamondjazz @kiwismoother @rune1920 @blkkizzat @suguwife

@xerroe @enthyn @gloomuri671 @ressyshi @startatdawn

@khenanadeche @heijihatsutori @inluvkai @ixqiix @strawnanamilk

@rosso-seta @05-simply-06-simping @sims-4lifers @bratidol @rh-tg1

@hyunsuks-beanie @n1vi @luna-v-roiya @neteyamsluvr111 @supsiii

@natadecoco30 @chiyokoemilia @ririoutspoken @kyoxko @strawberrymilkshakes-posts

@nen-nyy @cinnamorochiroll @kazeniya @maybe7tommorow @sxnkuna

@misoyuh @lupitalove @sebastianlover @gojosatorubrainrot @sleepiebunniee

@mmmidkman @theonecrackhead @thathorsegotpoobrain @iveivory @samistar

@yuuan-66 @gojoslefttoenail @soyalovestoyap @winkwonks-world @thebiggestsimpforyou

#bluuharem #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk imagines #jjk x y/n #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojou satoru x reader #jjk smut #gojo smut #jjk gojo #satoru x reader #satoru x you #satoru x y/n #Satoru Psyche

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2i1han · 5 months ago

Text

Slowly, Then All at Once

1 : before it all began , slowly

pairing: classmate!leehan x fem!reader │word count: 8k

genre: slow-burn , young adult, coming-of-age , romcom

tags: boynextdoor , non-idol au, high school/college au , first love , neighbor!leehan , extrovert!leehan , cold!leehan , extrovert!reader

characters mentioned : kim leehan , kim woonhak , sakai moka , kim minji , han taesan , park minju , jung wooyoung , ham jinsik

warnings: no warnings! sfw

synopsis : you and leehan have always known each other—classmates since ninth grade, always familiar but never really close due to leehan's indifference. but when his brother enters the picture, and you ending up in the same building as him, everything starts to change. unresolved situation that were once buried begin to surface, and leehan must decide: let go or finally take a chance.

a/n : hi, everyone! this is my first fanfic on tumblr, and i’m still getting used to the platform. this story will be divided into five full parts, so if you enjoy it, i’d really appreciate your support! i’ll be updating regularly, usually every 2 days. enjoy!

♪ playlist : midnight fiction/illit , so let's go see the stars/boynextdoor , serenade/boynextdoor , but i like you/boynextdoor , so tender/say sue me , bad/wte , light/wte , chocolate/bol4 , some/soyou , would you love me/stella jang , everyday/haebin , star drawing/yuziii , apple cider/beabadoobee

middle school

the morning was still young, and the sun had barely risen. the classroom remained dim, the fluorescent bulbs providing the only source of light while the first rays of sunlight had yet to seep in. the room was silent, occupied only by two students minding their own business-and a brunette boy sitting by the window, lost in thought.

"hey! kim leehan!"

a loud, enthusiastic voice called from the doorway, instantly breaking the quiet.

before leehan could even turn to see who it was, a familiar presence loomed over him. his friend was already there, grinning and scratching his head.

"stop it!" leehan chuckled, standing up to pull his friend in for a quick dap.

"it's the first day of your last year as a middle schooler. how does that feel, hyung?"

woonhak, ever the energetic one, nudged leehan's arm before plopping down in the seat beside him, a wide grin on his face.

leehan smirked, leaning back in his chair. "nothing out of the ordinary. school is still school," he said, voice hinting with indifference as he shifted slightly to face woonhak more comfortably.

woonhak let out an exaggerated sigh. "nothing to say about missing me? you'll leave again for high school next year." he rolled his eyes, sulking. "it's just like when i was in fifth grade, and you moved here for middle school."

leehan huffed out a small laugh at his friend's dramatic antics.

they had been best friends since their early years in elementary school. leehan, ten at the time, and woonhak, eight. being two years apart, but that never stood in the way of their friendship. if anything, their differences made them an even better match, with leehan's matured, and calm-extroverted appeal balancing out woonhak's childish and loud aura.

school didn't excite leehan much, not that it did for his friend either. but while kim why would i even need algebra in a performing arts university woonhak, treated school like a never-ending chore, leehan simply went through the flow, doing what was necessary without getting too caught up in it. outside of class, his world was split between two passions: music, and nature.

he spent hours in his room, practicing vocals and perfecting dance moves in front of his mirror, losing himself in the rhythm of the music. whether it was a slow ballad or an intense choreography, he found an escape in the way his body moved to the beat, in the way his voice carried emotion that words alone couldn't. performing gave him a sense of control, a rush of energy that school never did. but when he wasn't singing or dancing, he sought quiet comfort in his other hobbies, raising fish and tending to his plants.

his aquariums, filled with different species, were his personal oasis. he could watch them for hours, mesmerized by the way they glided through the water, unbothered by anything beyond their glass world. his room smelled of greenery, lined with potted plants he carefully nurtured. he liked the balance of it all. music filled him with energy, while his fish and plants gave him peace.

occasionally, he'd swing by woonhak's place to make music together, testing out harmonies or working on choreography late into the night. woonhak, ever the extrovert, always had something new planned, dragging leehan into whatever wild idea he had. not that leehan is the biggest introvert, nor minded, he loved performing just as much. he just didn't show it as openly as woonhak did.

despite his mixed feelings about school, his grades weren't bad. he was smart enough to keep up without trying too hard, unlike woonhak, who barely scraped by with last-minute cramming and a whole lot of luck.

"of course, i'll miss you." leehan sighed, shaking his head. "but the high school I'm going to is just near hongik. i'll visit you after classes. it's not like i'm moving overseas." he rolled his eyes before chuckling. "you're so dramatic."

woonhak let out a whine, slumping onto his desk. "well, can you blame me? this is my first year finally being in the same middle school as you, and it'll also be our last. i barely survived sixth grade without your help in elementary." he pressed his palms against his forehead, as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. "i have to lock in, hyung."

leehan chuckled "yeah, you should. you'll be on your own again next year." he leaned back, arms crossed. "let's just enjoy this one while it lasts, woon. save the worrying for later."

his friend peeked up from his hands, lips tugging into a small smile. "fine. but you better not forget about me when you're off being a cool high schooler."

leehan rolled his eyes again, but there was also brotherly warmth in his eyes. "as if i ever could. also, call me leehan-sunbaenim from now on," he said, completely straight-faced while pretending to look at his phone

woonhak just dramatically turned his head to leehan and let out an aish, throwing him an unimpressed look. leehan, however, burst into laughter, clearly enjoying his friend's reaction.

"that was cringe," woonhak muttered.

"how is calling your senior by a proper title cringe? hey, kim woonhak, where are your manners?" leehan teased in an exaggeratedly authoritative tone, crossing his arms like a disappointed teacher.

woonhak rolled his eyes but is chuckling. "you're still a year away from being a highschooler. i will not obey you."

leehan just rolled his eyes barely able to finish a sentence between chuckles.

they spent the rest of their free time chatting, catching up on summer, mostly woonhak complaining about how fast it ended and leehan roasting him for his questionable choices.

as time ticked on, leehan glanced at the clock and raised a brow. "woonhak, are you seriously still here? your class is in the other building."

his friend just waved off his concern like he was swatting away a fly. "oh, no, it's still early. it's not like the bell's gonna ring any sec-"

ring

the school bell blared through the hallways, as if it heard woonhak talking.

"you've got to be kidding me," he groaned, lazily scrambling to grab his bag.

leehan who's already gasping for air, tapped him on the back. "kim woonhak, good luck today," he teased.

woonhak shot him a glare as he rushed toward the door, waving over his shoulder. "catch you later, peace!"

the minute slipped away like a gust of wind, and before leehan knew it, their teacher was already standing at the front of the classroom.

"good morning, teacher," the students greeted in unison, rising briefly before settling back into their seats.

"good morning, everyone. settle down," the teacher instructed, adjusting his glasses as he placed a stack of papers on his desk. "now, before we begin, i'd like to introduce a new student who will be joining us for the school year."

then, the classroom stirred. students exchanged whispers, some craning their necks to get a better view of the doorway. the air buzzed with curiosity and the murmurs resembled a beehive.

with a subtle glance from the teacher, the new student, you, stepped in. you had a short hair that barely reached your neck, neatly parted to the side, wispy bangs, and pair of round glasses sat comfortably on your tall nose, framing your soft and slightly chubby cheeks. unlike most new students who fidgeted or hesitated, you walked in with an effortless calm.

"hello, everyone! my name is y/n. i'm 15 years old and just moved into the neighborhood down the street. i hope we can all be friends!" you bowed lightly with a voice that's bright and confident. you had a natural ease, as if introducing yourself to a room full of strangers was something you did every day.

a few students nodded approvingly, while others leaned in to whisper among themselves. you can see other students already smiling at you, while others just talked to each other.

meanwhile, the teacher scanned the room for a vacant seat. his eyes landed on leehan and the empty chair beside him. as if you're also following your teacher's vision, you see the quiet boy who seems lost in his own little world.

"you can sit there, next to that boy by the window," he said, gesturing toward leehan's row.

you nodded, and just as you're about to move, a student behind leehan raised a hand.

"sir, han taesan sits there. he's just absent today." and you're stopped to your track, standing there. though, you admit that it felt awkward, at least for yourself.

the teacher paused, nodding in acknowledgment, then began eyeing around the class again. after a brief scan, his gaze landed on a seat in the second row.

"alright, you can take that seat instead."

you nodded again, and made your way to your new spot, and within moments, you had already struck up a conversation with your seatmate, you always had this welcoming demeanor that contrasts the usual stiffness of first-day introductions. even as a kid, your parents would already describe you as a social charmer and a people person. extroverted, but balanced.

the first few periods blurred together in a haze of just few introductions for the start of the school year. the morning sun had crept higher, casting beams of light through the windows, and shining dust particles that swirled in the air. you sat comfortably listening to each hellos and my name is your classmates presented. even though the entire class you're new at already knew each other since the beginning of middle school, the new teachers are still yet to know them, and so do you.

when the bell finally rang for break, students wasted no time swarming out the door, dying to stretch their legs and escape the classroom, and you are no exception.

you had no trouble blending in. you'd already found a group to sit with, chatting easily as they made their way toward the school café.

and just as you're about to leave, your eyes caught sight of leehan, who unlike the rest of the class that had scattered in pairs or groups, remained at his desk. his left elbow rested against the desk supporting his chin, while his right hand moved lazily over a notebook, jotting something like it's straight out of an ancient manuscript with his illegible handwriting.

you admit. leehan's expression was unreadable. as a person who's good with people, scanning through people's thoughts or emotion by their body language is a piece of cake to you, but leehan? he's neither focused nor completely absent, as if his mind is hovered somewhere between a coherent thought or nothingness.

curious, and being the social butterfly ever, you adjusted your glasses and approached him.

"hello, i'm y/n. what's your name?" you said with a wave.

leehan didn't react immediately, and for a second, you thought he'll ignore you. instead, he finished the last stroke of his writing before slowly lifting his gaze. his eyes flickered towards you, scanning your face with little to no recognition, as if you're someone he sees daily.

"leehan. kim leehan," he replied flatly. his voice was low and unamused, giving the smallest head nod. his lips curved into an almost nonexistent smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes.

the contrast between you and him was almost like seeing black and pastel colors from the point of view of a third person. you, with your bright, welcoming energy, stood opposite leehan, whose presence seemed more like muted, but not completely colorless either.

still, you were unfazed. but you'd be lying if you said you didn't feel a tinge of awkwardness, or maybe even concern.

not everyone you met responded positively to your friendly nature, and that was fine. but something about leehan felt strange. he didn't seem uncomfortable around you, nor did he try to avoid the conversation. yet, at the same time, there wasn't even a hint of enthusiasm in his words and actions. it was as if he existed in a space between acknowledgment and indifference.

"are you not going to grab a snack with a friend? you can sit with us!" you offered in a warm and inviting tone.

leehan barely hesitated before pressing his lips together. "no, i'll be out. thank you," he said in the same monotone, standing up, and nodding his head subtly as he slung his jacket over his shoulders.

without waiting for a response, he walked past you heading toward the door, most likely in search of woonhak.

you just tilted your head slightly looking back at the door watching him go. if you're bothered by his lack of interest, you didn't show it. instead, you just shrugged it off deciding that leehan was probably just the reserved, introverted type.

that thought lingered in your mind for a moment before you went off with a quiet sigh. whatever it was, you figured you'd understand him better with time. with that, you turned away and made your way toward the café, where your new friends were waiting.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

"class dismissed."

and just like that, the first day of classes in your new school comes to an end. the ring of the bell echoes through the hallways, and the classroom instantly bursts into motion. students scrambling to shove books into their bags, some reapplying makeup, others fixing their hair, and chatting away about everything and nothing.

you stand from your seat, adjusting the strap of your bag as you turn to face minji, your newly made friend. "where are you headed after class?" you ask, casually stuffing your things inside your bag.

minji, in the middle of combing her sleek black hair, tilts her head in thought. "hmm, i don't know. ask moka. i'll just tag along wherever you guys go."

moka, seated beside you, stops fussing with her hair long enough to glance up. "it's only 4:40 pm. how about karaoke?" she suggests.

you nod in agreement, and minji hums in approval. "okay, well then, hurry your butts up," moka adds, snapping her compact mirror shut.

you lean toward the small mirror in her hand giving yourself a quick once-over. with just a simple tuck of your hair behind your ears, a few pats to settle your bangs into place, and a slight nudge to adjust your thick-framed glasses, you're good to go.

"alright, done. let's go?" moka asks, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

you and minji nod in sync, stepping out into the busy hallway. but just as you're about to walk away, your gaze drifts back into the classroom, landing on the seat across the room.

leehan is still there, quietly packing up. alone.

there's something about him that makes you hesitate. it's not pity, not exactly. you've always had this habit of noticing people who seem isolated, of wanting to make them feel included. but over time, you hated it. you've realized that not everyone who sits alone is lonely. and not everyone who is quiet is sad.

still, the thought didn't stop you as you take a step forward, considering approaching him-

"kim leehan, work your slowass up, we got a gig to waaaaatch!"

a voice booms through the doorway like a bomb being dropped, so loud it cuts through the noise of the corridor crowd. you nearly jump at the volume. turning your head, you see a boy bolting into the classroom, all energy and mischief.

leehan looks up at the source of the noise. he saw you standing on the doorframe, and woonhak approaching him. but his whole attention seemed to be only towards his friend. and that's when you see it— his entire demeanor shifts. his lips curve into a genuine smile, his eyes scrunching up with amusement as he watches woonhak walk towards his desk.

the sight catches you off guard.

that smile, it's real, and bright, almost like there's a light shining behind him.

you realize then that leehan isn't some tragic, brooding loner. he's not an outcast, not sad, not lost. he has a friend. a good one, by the looks of it.

a quiet chuckle escapes you as you shake your head, cringing at your own assumptions.

i misinterpreted people again, you think, making a mental note to quit assuming stories to strangers before actually knowing them.

with that, you turn back to moka and minji, linking arms with them as the three of you make your way down the hallway.

as leehan and woonhak followed towards the door and to the hallway, the latter nudged him with a mischievous grin. "so, how was your day?"

leehan exhaled through his nose. "it was fine. there's a new student."

"ooooh." woonhak's eyes lit up. "is it a girl?"

leehan gave him a look and chuckled. "why is your first instinct always to ask if it's a girl?"

"because that's the important part, duh," woonhak shot back. "so? spill."

leehan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "yeah, it's a girl. she's... nice, but weird."

woonhak practically bounced in excitement. "weird how? like, quirky weird or talks-to-ghosts weird?"

leehan squinted in thought. "more like... i'm the weird one. i kind of left her hanging when she tried to talk to me. i felt bad but, i just can't."

"oh? that's not a classic kim leehan behavior. you're pretty friendly."

"and my hands went cold. it was like i was getting an illness." he flexed his fingers in mild concern.

woonhak stopped in his tracks. "hyung," he pointed an accusing finger. "are you sure you don't like her?"

leehan let out a dry laugh. "nonsense, that's ridiculous. i just don't wanna talk to her kinda."

"right, right," woonhak smirked, but his mischievous grin stayed.

"enough of that," leehan grumbled, picking up his pace. "let's just go."

woonhak, of course, didn't let it go. he kept teasing, making dramatic heart gestures and batting his eyelashes.

"shut up before i leave you behind."

"say it with feeling, hyung. your voice is shaking~"

leehan rolled his eyes but couldn't hide the amused grin tugging at his lips. woonhak was insufferable, but at least he made the day less dull.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝

now walking down the busy streets of hongdae, just a few minutes from your school, the scent of street food and the buzz of students unwinding after classes fill the air. the neon lights flicker even though the sun hasn't fully set yet, giving the streets that signature youthful energy.

as you walk, you turn to moka, who's sandwiched between you and minji, and ask, "moka, is leehan really that introverted?"

both of your friends glance at you at the same time, puzzled.

"kim leehan? the leehan from our class?" moka asks, raising an eyebrow.

you nod. "yeah, he barely spoke. he just seemed cold."

moka and minji exchange a knowing look before minji giggles. "cold? leehan? are we talking about the same guy? he's pretty social, y'know."

moka nods in agreement. "yeah, i mean, he's not the most talkative person ever, but he interacts well. he's fairly outgoing. everyone likes and knows him."

"not to mention he's good-looking and talented too," minji adds with a cheeky grin.

moka gasps dramatically, shoving minji's shoulder. "oh? not as handsome as taesan though, right?" she said with a teasing smirk on her face.

minji's ears turn bright red, and she immediately hissed in annoyance "ah, this is about leehan! can you stop?"

the two of them burst into laughter, teasing each other while you zone out, lost in thought.

good-looking? you never really thought about it. leehan just seemed strange. but what's even stranger is hearing that he's supposedly social.

"but he barely interacted with anyone," you point out. "aside from his friend earlier."

"oh yeah, that loud guy. what was his name again?" moka snaps her fingers, trying to recall.

"woonhak, seventh grader." minji supplies. "they're close, huh?"

"how do you even know that? well, anyways" moka shrugs. "i noticed that too. maybe leehan just wasn't in the mood today. it happens. you know, some days you just wanna shut the world out and listen to sad music while staring dramatically out the window."

you scoff. "that's... oddly specific."

minji laughs. "she's speaking from experience."

"ya!" moka glares playfully. "i'm just saying, don't take it personally. give him time. he's nice."

their words settle in your mind, giving you a bit more confidence. they knew leehan longer than you do. maybe he didn't dislike you for no reason. maybe it really was just a bad day.

as you reach the karaoke bar, the bright led lights reflect off your glasses, and moka swings open the door. the entire evening had been fun with your new friends. although, you miss your old friends back in busan, you're still keeping in touch with them all while establishing new relationships.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

as soon as you got back to your brother's apartment where you're living. the familiar aroma of spicy ramyeon fills the air, instantly making your stomach grumble. your brother, wooyoung, is at the stove, stirring the noodles in the bubbling pot.

"you're finally home," he says, not even turning around. "it's already 7 pm. how was the first day?"

tossing your bag onto the sofa across the room, you plop down onto a dining chair and immediately reach for the cookie jar, popping one into your mouth. "it was great me and my friends went to karaoke after classes, so i got home a bit late."

wooyoung lets out an amused "ohh," lifting the pot to pour the steaming noodles into a large bowl at the center of the table. "karaoke, huh? and you didn't bother to tell me you'd be late?"

you roll your eyes, still munching. "i messaged you. you didn't answer."

wooyoung pauses, then shrugs. "oh, yeah. i was at the studio all day. just got home like, thirty minutes before you." he grabs his phone from the counter, flips it over, and sees the unread notification. "ah, whoops. my bad. haven't checked my phone."

"figured," you say, watching as he sets the table, placing down the kimchi and chopsticks before settling into the chair across from you.

then, suddenly, his face shifts into amusement. "wait, friends?"

you sigh, already regretting bringing it up. "mhm, friends from my new school," you say, trying to sound as casual as possible.

wooyoung leans forward, resting his chin on his hand like he's about to hear the most exciting gossip of his life. "and here i thought you'd spend the first month brooding in the corner."

you groan. "why do you act like i'm some kind of hermit? i do talk to people, you know."

"mhm, am i surprised, though? you've always been good at making friends. mom used to brag about how easygoing you are," wooyoung says, setting his bowl of ramyeon in front of you.

you smirk at the mention of your mom. "you're louder than me. why would she even brag about that?"

"mhm, and not just louder. i'm also cooler," he says, smoldering.

you rolled your eyes, and scoffed "right. 'cooler.'"

"glad we agree." he grins, then leans forward slightly, sneering "so... any special friends?"

you swerved a chopstick at him. "stop."

he laughs, dodging it. you sigh, knowing full well he won't let it go. "alright, alright," he says, finally getting serious. "so, what's the deal? someone already giving you a hard time?"

you hesitate. if you tell him, he's not going to leave you alone for the next thirty minutes straight. but the thought is already out in the open, and now he's just waiting for a word, watching you expectantly.

you twirl your noodles around your chopsticks, avoiding eye contact. "not really. it's just, there's this guy in my class. i tried talking to him today, and he was just, i don't know. cold? kinda distant."

wooyoung pauses mid-bite, then slowly sets his chopsticks down, his grin creeping back. "oh, he likes you."

you nearly choke on your food hearing that. "that's stupid."

"classic," he says, shaking his head. "a guy being cold to you? that's just a poorly disguised crush."

you scrunched your nose and cringed, squinting at him. "that's the worst logic i've ever heard. is that how you're supposed to act around the person you like? sounds pretty dumb to me."

wooyoung waggles his finger. "ah, you still have much to learn. sometimes, guys get all awkward when they like someone. you know, trying to play it cool and mysterious."

you make a face, just proceeding to slurp on the ramen. "right, and that's why you're single."

wooyoung gasps dramatically, clutching his pearls. "wow, that hurts."

you roll your eyes, and he finally drops the teasing, getting serious. "but honestly, maybe he's just not in the mood. or maybe he's not a super social guy. it's literally the first day. give it at least a week. or a month, even."

you think back to what moka and minji said, and now your brother too. maybe you really were just overthinking it.

"yeah... you're probably right," you admit, taking another bite.

"of course i am," he says, smug. "older sibling wisdom."

"you literally just told me some fake dating psychology."

"hey, it works for some people," he says, laughing.

you shake your head, but you're smiling now, too.

as you finish up dinner, the conversation drifts to other things— his work at the studio, how living in seoul is going so far, and what ridiculous thing he plans to waste money on next. (apparently, it's a limited-edition plushie he claims is an investment.)

you're now in your bed, freshly showered, hair still slightly damp against your pillow. staring at the ceiling, you replay the day in your head- you having fun with your new friends, the laughter at karaoke, and the small, nagging thought of leehan's. you just don't know why you wanted to be friends with him so bad. the day had felt both so long and short. sighing, you turn onto your side, reaching for the lamp beside you, and clicking it off.

the next few weeks and months follow the same routine. you've settled into your new school, growing comfortable with your routine. minji and moka have become your closest friends, the kind you can joke around with, text random topics to in ungodly hours, and count on to save you a seat during lunch. you've even managed to branch out a bit, making casual friends in other classes, effortlessly slipping into conversations and forming easy connections.

but the case with leehan? still the same. frozen.

you're still stuck in the same frustrating loop of forced interactions, half-hearted conversations, and long silences. you've been paired up with him for projects multiple times, and each time, it's a painfully dull experience. he never speaks unless spoken to, and even then, his responses are as dry as toast-short, flat, and uninteresting. if he ever does talk, it's out of necessity, like asking how to blend a color for an art project (since, unlike you, he's not exactly gifted in that league). and that's it. no banter, no effort to make things less awkward. it's not like you expect him to be a chatterbox, but come on, a little effort wouldn't kill him.

"hey, what do you think about adding some shadows here?" you ask during one of your art projects, pointing at a part of the sketch.

he shrugs. "looks fine."

you stare at him, waiting for more. anything more. but he just keeps painting, completely unbothered.

"okay, well... do you think we should use blue or purple for the background?"

"blue," he says simply, not even looking up.

he isn't rude, but not nice either. you sigh, dragging your brush across the palette. working with leehan is like texting someone who only replies with k. It's frustrating, and more than that, awkward.

it's not just during projects, either. whenever it's just the two of you left in the classroom, the silence is so heavy it feels like an actual thing, pressing against you, urging you to break it. and when you do, when you attempt small talk, ask about his hobbies, his music taste, just anything to spark a conversation, you always get the same dead responses.

"you know, i have a brother, and we liked watching basketball together. do you like any sports?"

"no."

"mhm, i see. well, do you have any pets? i have a pet goldfish in our house."

"yes."

"really? what is it?"

"the same. fish."

"what type of fish?"

"corydoras,"

at least he's honest, you cope.

that's how every conversation goes. it's like he's allergic to words longer than three syllables. and at first, you think, okay, maybe he's just like this with everyone. maybe he's one of those people who just doesn't like talking.

but you see stuffs, like how he laughs when he's with other people. how he's actually talking, laughing, contributing more than just a robotic "okay." he's not this indifferent with them. just with you.

and that's when it really starts to sink in.

it's not that leehan is quiet, or shy, or socially awkward.

he just does NOT want to talk to you.

that realization hits harder than you'd like to admit. you try to brush it off, tell yourself that not everyone has to like you, that it's fine, really. but the more you see him laughing with others, joking around, talking normally, the harder it becomes to ignore.

it's not that he struggles to make friends. he's just choosing not to be friends with you. and that affected you. not because it's leehan. it's because you had thing about being left hanging.

still, over time, you learn to accept it. some people just don't click, and leehan is clearly one of them. it's not like you need his approval. you have minji, moka, and a handful of other friends.

so you stop trying. stop initiating conversations. stop going out of your way to talk to him. and for a while, that worked.

then, something shifts

it's subtle at first, so subtle that you don't even notice it. but then minji nudges you during lunch, her voice dropping to a whisper

"hey," she says, leaning in. "i think leehan's staring at you."

you snort, not even bothering to look up. "yeah, right."

"no, really. he's been looking over here for, like, a solid minute."

you roll your eyes, but curiosity gets the better of you. when you glance up, leehan's gaze flicks away so fast it's almost unnoticeable.

you think about it for a second but ultimately shrug it off. it's not like it changes anything. he still doesn't talk to you. ye still keeps his distance. and you certainly aren't going to waste energy trying to break through his icy exterior again.

but you start to notice things, like how he stiffens whenever you walk past, his posture going unnaturally rigid. how he deliberately avoids eye contact, like meeting seeing your eyes might physically kill him. how, no matter what, he always seems aware of where you are in the room, never too close, but never completely out of reach.

it's weird. and, honestly, you're starting to think that maybe he just really hates you that much.

minji and moka notice it too.

"i swear, leehan is straight-up ignoring you," moka mutters one afternoon, barely paying attention to the notes she's supposed to be copying. "it's like you don't even exist to him."

you sigh, tapping your pen against your notebook. "whatever. it's not like it matters. as long as he cooperates when we have to work together, i couldn't care less."

minji hums thoughtfully. "or maybe... he likes you?"

you blink. "what?"

minji nods, looking more convinced by the second. "think about it, he's only like this with you. everyone else gets normal responses, but with you, it's like he forgets that he's a human being."

you stare at her, then at moka, waiting for her to back you up. but instead, she tilts her head, considering.

"actually... i don't think so." she suddenly snaps her fingers. "ah! remember park minju? that pretty girl from the next class?"

you frown. "what about her?"

"well, leehan had the biggest crush on her back in eighth grade. and when I say biggest, i mean biggest. he was, like, ridiculously obvious about it. everyone knew."

minji's eyes widen. "oh my god, you're right. he was so dramatic about it."

the two of them burst into laughter while you sit there, entirely unimpressed.

"wow," you deadpan. "so, basically, leehan just really, really doesn't like me."

moka smirks. "yeah, to the point where it's almost impressive. like, what did you do to him in a past life? he avoids you like a virus."

minji swats her playfully, but you just shake your head. "but yeah, if he likes you he'll be obvious about it."

confirmed. leehan hates your guts, for god knows what reason.

and with that, you decide you're done thinking about him. if he wants to pretend you don't exist, then fine.

the next few months, you ignored leehan completely. and, of course, he noticed.

at first, he didn't seem to mind, or at least, he pretended not to. but it didn't take long for moka and minji to catch on. from across the room, they could see it, the way leehan would glance at you when he thought no one was looking, his expression unreadable.

and then there were the times when you two ended up in the same group for another never-ending project. you would talk to everyone except him. it wasn't that you were mean about it, you were perfectly civil, but you just didn't acknowledge his presence. no eye contact. no small talk. nothing.

but leehan wasn't stupid. he could tell the difference between indifference and avoidance.

at some point, it must've started bothering him too, because moka and minji began whispering to each other every time they caught him hesitating, fidgeting like he was debating whether or not to approach you.

and, he almost did.

it was homeroom, and the teacher hadn't shown up. the class was in full chaos-desks rearranged, chairs turned backwards, students perched on tables, chatting and laughing. you sat comfortably in your usual spot with moka, sipping on jelly, while minji sat comfortably on moka's desk, the three of you bantering about something completely ridiculous.

you felt a presence behind you.

moka stopped mid-sentence, her eyes flickering up. minji did the same. then, she discreetly nudged your knee under the desk, her silent way of saying look behind you.

you turned your head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of leehan standing there.

your posture straightened instinctively, but you kept your expression neutral as you turned fully to face him.

his hands fidgeted at his sides, his lips parted slightly like he was rehearsing his words in his head. swallowing hard before speaking

"y/n, i just wanted to say tha-"

"HELLO, Y/N!"

a voice suddenly interrupted, cutting straight through the moment.

you blinked, turning your attention to the source, ham jinsik.

jinsik was, by all definitions, the classic popular guy. tall for his age, charming, effortlessly good-looking. he was the type of guy who never seemed to take anything too seriously, which was probably why he was grinning at you like he'd just won the lottery.

as leehan shifted, glancing over his shoulder, your eyes flicked from jinsik back to him, just in time to catch the way his expression dropped, just for a split second before he quickly looked away. retreating before he could even finish his sentence.

but before you could say anything, jinsik was already speaking.

"jinsik, hi! what's up?" you smiled, brushing aside the awkwardness of the moment.

behind you, moka and minji were losing their minds. they weren't even trying to be subtle, nudging each other aggressively while failing to hold back their giggles.

jinsik flashed you a sheepish grin. "i was wondering if you're free later? i mean..." he rubbed the back of his neck. "we're in the same group, right? and, uh, i could really use some help with the topic we're working on."

moka and minji's snickering worsened "sure, help".

you shot them a quick glare, swatting their knees in warning before nodding at the boy in front of you "of course, i'm down."

jinsik visibly relaxed, a small little yes slipping past his lips before he cleared his throat and tried to play it cool. "great! we can walk together after class. don't worry, i won't keep you out too late."

you laughed lightly. "alright."

as jinsik walked back to his group, who immediately started hyping him up, you finally turned back toward your own friends, rolling your eyes at moka and minji's exaggerated expressions.

but then you remembered.

leehan

you glanced back at him, half-expecting him to be looking in your direction, but he wasn't. he was sitting at his desk, chatting with the student in front of him like nothing had happened.

you exhaled, excused yourself, and walked toward his desk. "hey." you stopped beside him. "sorry about earlier. you were saying?"

leehan turned to you, blankly

whatever light that had been on his face while talking to his classmate disappeared, replaced by something colder. his lips pressed into a thin line, his shoulders tensing slightly.

"i forgot," he said flatly.

you blinked. "oh, okay then."

you didn't want to waste energy overthinking it, so you just hummed, nodded, and walked back to your seat.

what you didn't see, however, was leehan's gaze following you. nor did you notice the way his eyes flickered toward jinsik, his jaw tightening slightly, fingers clenching into a fist on his desk.

just like that, the days blurred together, and everything fell back into the usual routine.

middle school came to an end faster than you expected.

one moment, you were stressing over exams, avoiding unnecessary drama, and pretending not to notice the way leehan had stopped trying to talk to you. and the next? you were standing in a packed auditorium, surrounded by classmates who were buzzing with excitement and nerves.

the school hall was chaotic, students darting between friends, taking photos, and exchanging yearbooks filled with scribbled messages they'd probably cringe at in a few years. the air smelled like fresh paper, perfume, and faint traces of cafeteria food.

you were standing with moka and minji near the entrance, your neat uniform geeling slightly too tight but strangely comforting.

"so... where are you guys going for high school?" minji suddenly asked, fiddling with the hem of her blazer that she only wore properly today.

"seoul high school," you answered, adjusting your ribbon. "it's nearer to my place."

moka gasped dramatically, clutching your arm. "no way! that's where i'm going too!"

minji's eyes widened before she broke into a grin. "me too! do you think we'll end up in the same classes again?"

"i don't know,"you chuckled, feeling lighter than you had in months. "but at least we'll be at the same school. that's what matters."

moka sighed in relief. "good. i don't think i can handle high school alone."

"you? alone?" minji snorted. "you'd make friends in five minutes."

"that's not the point! you guys are my friends."

your heart warmed at that. as much as you teased each other, you knew moka meant it. and truthfully, so did you.

before you could respond, the speakers crackled to on, signaling the start of the ceremony. the noise in the hall gradually died down as students shuffled toward their assigned seats.

you exhaled, turning back to moka and minji with a smile. "i'll catch you guys around there."

and as you took your seat, listening to the opening speech, everything suddenly felt light. you glanced around the room, taking it all in.

you caught glimpses of familiar faces, some you'd just known this year, and some you barely spoke to but still felt a sense of connection with.

and then there was leehan.

he was a few rows ahead, sitting with his group of friends. he laughed at something one of them said, his usual easygoing smile in place. you preferred him like that, a human.

he didn't look in your direction.

you weren't sure if that was a good thing or not. but you pushed the thought aside. today wasn't about old tensions or unanswered what-ifs. it was about new beginnings. and, you'll leave hongik to a new school, a fresh start, and the comfort of knowing moka and minji would be there with you without leehan's heavy and contagious aura creeping around the corner.

because really, what were the odds that he would end up at the same high school as you?

at least, that's what you thought when 10th grade began.

seoul high school

you arrived at your new classroom earlier than most students, enjoying the quiet hum of the morning. the sun and streamed through the windows, reflecting soft lights against the wooden desks. the wind gusted from the open pane and slightly blew your now slightly longer hair that reached your shoulder. everything felt light and promising. as usual, you struck up conversations with a few early classmates, effortlessly easing into small talk. it was a good day. nothing could ruin it.

or so you thought.

because then, out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of someone standing at the doorway. and with how the room temperature suddenly dropped, you already knew.

kim leehan.

no way.

yes, kim leehan.

his hair was a lighter shade of brown now, and he'd grown taller, noticeably so. a lot can change in a year, but somehow, he hadn't. you found yourself staring at him, completely unaware that your gaze was practically burning a hole through his forehead already.

and yet, leehan barely reacted.

he met your eyes in a blink, nodding slightly before walking past you. bot a single change in expression. no surprise. no recognition beyond what seemed like just common courtesy.

and, of course, he settled into a seat at the very back of the classroom. a mile away from you. predictable.

your shoulders tensed as you quickly looked away, patting your hair into place as if that would somehow steady your thoughts.

"what the hell is he doing here?" you hissed under your breath.

a million possibilities ran through your mind. had he always planned to come to seoul high? did he know you'd be here? or was this some dumb fate?

it didn't matter.

you hesitated for a second. maybe this time would be different? maybe he'd actually talk to you? but the way he acted, or rather, his complete lack of one was all too familiar. it's still the same stern leehan from middle school, at least when it came to you.

you swallowed back whatever words had formed in your throat, pushing away the disappointment, and turned back to your desk.

you don't know what it is with you desperately wanting to figure leehan out, maybe because you're still left hanging without knowing why.

the classroom had started filling up, students pouring in with laughter and chatter, and you forced yourself to join in.

the girl sitting next to you introduced herself, and you made an effort to be friendly, though it didn't come as naturally as it did with moka and minji. speaking of them, they were five classrooms away down the hall, which meant you'd be sitting through long, exhausting classes alone, at least for now.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

"WHAT?!"

moka's shriek echoed through the cafeteria, loud enough to make half the students turn in your direction.

panicked, you lunged forward, clamping a hand over her mouth. "shut up," you hissed, glancing around as a few nosy students tried to eavesdrop.

moka peeled your hand off, her eyes still wide with pure disbelief. she leaned in, this time whispering harshly. "what?!"

you sighed, rubbing your temple. "yeah, he's in my class."

moka blinked at you, then at the ceiling, as if trying to process some kind of divine punishment. "no freaking way. out of all the high schools in seoul, and out of all the students... kim leehan?!" she shook her head. "that's terrifying."

"i know." you exhaled dramatically, slumping onto the table. "i didn't expect him to be here either."

moka crossed her arms. "and you're telling me we got separated, but you got stuck with him? this is the worst trade deal in history."

before you could respond, minji arrived, setting her tray of food down. "what are you guys talking about?"

moka wasted no time. "leehan is in y/n's class."

minji blinked. then-

"WHAT?!"

you and moka immediately reached over, swatting at her arms. "hey, shut up!" you whispered aggressively.

minji lowered her voice, but her eyes were just as wide. "wait, deadass? is this real?"

you sighed and nodded.

she hummed in thought. "ah, that explains it. i thought i saw a familiar back earlier, but i figured i was just hallucinating." she stabbed her food with a fork. "turns out, my nightmares are real."

moka shook her head in disbelief. "i mean, him being in the same high school? fine. but in the same class as y/n? that's like a match made in hell."

"a horror movie in the making," minji added.

"that time severus snape reincarnated as my classmate." moka laughed, as minji was enjoying it too. you rolled your eyes, reaching over to steal a chip from your friend's tray. "ha ha funny. let's not talk about it." but you admit, that was actually funny.

"we are talking about it," minji said, smacking your hand away from her chips. "how is he?"

you made a face. "what do you mean, how is he? he's the same leehan. acts like i carry the plague."

minji let out a long, unimpressed sigh. "figures."

"ugh, boooring." moka leaned back in her chair.

they both waved off the topic like it was a failed drama plot twist, swiftly moving on to minji's latest tragic news: taesan transferring to another school. minji whined about it for ten minutes straight while moka wordlessly devoured half her tray of food.

for a moment, you let yourself relax. laughing at their gossips, listening to minji's endless whining, watching moka inhale her meal like it was her last. everything felt normal.

then the bell rang, and just like that, it was back to reality.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞

the days blurred into a familiar cycle: class, break time, dismissal, repeat. you sat through lectures, quietly counting the minutes until you could meet up with minji and moka.

and leehan still existed like some kind of background npc with an unskippable quest. he sat at the farthest corner of the room, never spoke to you, never looked at you, never acknowledged you unless absolutely necessary. his coldness was almost unreal at this point. good ol' days

it was still bothering you at first. the way he moved through the world like you were invisible. the way he nodded politely to everyone else but barely glanced in your direction.

then, you just stopped caring, like, for real this time.

you weren't enemies. you weren't friends. just civil. yet, you made little to no efforts to ask leehan what's wrong. maybe that was your mistake.

somewhere along the way, the irritation faded into indifference. the tension between you two solidified into an invisible wall neither of you had any intention of breaking.

this went on until the end of 12th grade.

to be continued ..

#boynextdoor #fanfic #idol #au #fluff #romance #high school #kim leehan #kim donghyun #leehan fluff #leehan x reader #bnd imagines #kim leehan x reader #bnd x reader

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