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danysdaughter · 1 month ago

Note

i need some absolute heart shattering angst about bucky "dying" and then a few years later he suddenly shows up at the door

AND YOUR WRITING IS SOOOOK CHEFS KISS 🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭

lmao babe, I'm not gonna lie, this was soooo vague so I went off the rails with this one a bit, lol, which means I accidentally wrote a mini 15k fanfic

Come Home To Me

pairing | 40s!bucky x fem!reader & platonic!steve x reader

word count | 14.7k words (lowkey this is like a three part story put together)

summary I during the rise and ruin of the second world war, a sharp-tongued brooklyn girl falls for james buchanan barnes—only to lose him to the battlefield, a presumed death, and the silence that follows.

but almost two years later, when the war is long over and the wounds have scarred over, he comes back through her door, proving that some promises do survive the fire.

tags | (18+) brief smut, canon divergence, slow burn, friends to lovers, soft!bucky barnes, strong female character, angst with a happy ending, angst and feels, domestic fluff, pregnancy, bucky barnes needs a hug, period-typical attitudes, racially ambiguous reader, no use of y/n

a/n | I hope this satisfies you guys for the rest of the week, because I will be working unfortunately. lowkey have no idea where this idea even came from, but I'm actually in love with this. for context, they're all the same age so, 1936 - 18, 1941 - 23, 1944 - 26, 1946 - 28

likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨✨

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ — ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2

divider by @cafekitsune

Brooklyn, Summer of 1936

Bay Ridge streets smelled like hot pavement, coal smoke, and fresh bread — if you were lucky. If you weren’t, it was just piss and heat and someone hollering three blocks away.

You were leaning against the iron railing outside your building, arms crossed, one scuffed boot propped up behind you. Hair pinned up in a rush, streak of grease on your cheek from helping your mother with the busted fan in the window. You didn’t hear them so much as feel them coming — like a ripple in the rhythm of the block.

“Morning, boys,” you said without looking, voice dry as kindling.

“Sun’s barely up and she’s already packin’ attitude,” Bucky Barnes replied, that usual drawl in his voice like he thought he was the second coming of James Cagney.

You gave him a sideways glance. “And you’re packin’ delusions. Must be somethin’ in the water on your end of the street.”

Steve gave a tired chuckle, already wedged between the two of you in spirit if not in body. He had a half-eaten apple in one hand and worry in his eyes — like always. “Can we go one day without a brawl before lunch?”

You raised a brow. “You think this counts as a brawl? Stevie, this is foreplay.”

Bucky damn near choked. Steve went red all the way to the tips of his ears.

You let the silence sit for just a second too long before snorting, then pushed off the railing. “Relax, Rogers. I wouldn’t flirt with this guy if he was the last swing dancer in Manhattan.”

Bucky smirked. “Don’t flatter yourself, trouble. You’d miss me if I dropped dead.”

“Only thing I’d miss is the peace and quiet.”

But he knew, and you knew, that wasn’t exactly true. You butted heads with Bucky like it was your second job, but there was something magnetic about him — the kind of boy who knew the weight of every girl’s stare but still acted like the world owed him one more.

He dressed like he owned the sidewalk — suspenders slung loose over a plain white tee, sleeves pushed up to show the muscle he never stopped bragging about. Hair slicked back, grin sharp enough to cut a streetcar in half.

You hated that he could smile like that and get away with murder.

Steve, sweet and lean, kept his shoulders tight like he was always bracing for something. He didn’t speak unless he meant it, and when he did, people listened — not because he was loud, but because he was honest. If Bucky was a firecracker, Steve was the matchbook — quiet, flammable, and always trying to keep things from going up in flames.

“Where we headin’?” you asked, pulling a cigarette from your purse. You didn’t light it — just liked the feel of something between your fingers when you talked. “We going to that theater again?”

“Nickel matinee starts in twenty,” Steve said, tossing the apple core into the gutter. “Double feature — G-Men and something with Myrna Loy.”

“Ugh,” you groaned. “Another damn fed movie? They’re just propaganda with prettier faces.”

Bucky gave you a lopsided grin. “You just don’t like cops ‘cause they keep catchin’ you runnin’ your mouth.”

You stepped in close enough that he blinked, caught off guard by how quickly you cut the distance. “I don’t like cops ‘cause they don’t care about girls like me unless we’re dead or useful. Big difference, soldier boy.”

His grin faltered — just a flicker — and Steve, ever the peacemaker, cleared his throat and gently nudged his way between you both.

“She’s not wrong,” Steve said quietly, adjusting the strap of his satchel. “Cops only come to our side of the block when someone’s bleeding. Or brown.”

Bucky glanced between you two, then dropped the grin altogether. His voice went soft — maybe even respectful. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You didn’t answer right away. Just tucked the cigarette behind your ear and started walking. “You never do, Barnes. That’s the problem.”

But still — still — when your shoulder brushed his as you passed, you didn’t pull away.

And he didn’t move either.

After the movie, the three of you settled along the edge of the promenade overlooking the East River, legs swinging above water that glinted dull and gray under the setting sun.

You were mid-rant. Again.

“And don’t even get me started on the benches,” you said, jabbing a thumb behind you like the injustice was sitting right there. “I mean, really? A freakin’ bench? Can’t share a place to sit ‘cause someone’s skin looks different? What kind of country invents trains and planes and peanut butter and still can’t figure out where a person should be allowed to sit?”

Steve nodded slowly, elbows resting on his knees, listening like he always did — not with judgment, not with pity. Just taking it in, quiet and steady.

Bucky popped the cap off a soda bottle with his belt buckle, because of course he did, and took a long sip before muttering, “You sure you don’t wanna run for office? You talk enough for three senators.”

You shot him a glare. “If I ran for office, I’d be dead before I made it to the first speech. They don’t like girls who say what they mean — especially ones who don’t smile while doin’ it.”

Steve winced. “She’s got a point.”

You gestured at him. “Thank you. Steve gets it.”

Bucky held up both hands, defensive but grinning. “I didn’t say you were wrong. I’m just sayin’, maybe the bench thing ain’t our fight. Not really.”

You stared at him. “See? That right there. That’s the problem.”

He blinked. “What is?”

“You thinking just because it doesn’t hurt you means it ain’t your fight.”

Steve looked over at Bucky, brows raised slightly. “You walked into that one.”

Bucky sighed and leaned back on his palms, looking up at the sky like it might hold some kind of answer. “I’m not tryin’ to be the bad guy, alright? I know the country’s busted. I know some people got it worse than me. I just—” He shook his head. “It’s not like I can do anything about it.”

You snorted. “That’s what they all say. ‘Ain’t my place,’ or ‘it’s just the way it is.’ Then you blink, and it’s been seventy years since slavery ended and we’re still out here arguing about who gets to use a water fountain.”

Bucky looked over at you — really looked. You were staring at the river like it had betrayed you personally, eyes hard, jaw set, that fire in your belly burning so bright it practically radiated off you.

“I just think,” you said, softer now but still fierce, “if you’re not mad, you’re not paying attention.”

Steve nodded again, quiet and firm. “You’re right about that.”

Bucky was silent for a beat. Then he said, quieter than either of you expected, “I am payin’ attention.”

You didn’t say anything back. You just sighed.

────────────────────────

One Week Later

It was too damn hot for anything. The kind of sticky, breathless heat that made the whole neighborhood move slow. You were sitting on the curb outside the corner store, nursing a warm soda and fanning yourself with a folded-up newspaper when Bucky came jogging around the corner, looking far too pleased with himself.

“Oh no,” you muttered as soon as you saw his face. “You’ve either done something stupid or something worse.”

He stopped in front of you, grinning and breathless, hands on his hips. “You remember that diner on 10th? The one with the best cherry pies in Brooklyn?”

Your eyes narrowed. “The one with the ‘whites only’ sign in the window?”

“Yeah, that one.”

You stared at him. “Bucky. What did you do?”

He pulled something from his back pocket and held it out — a metal sign, rectangular, scratched and dented, but unmistakable.

The words “WHITES ONLY” had been spray-painted over in red.

“I may or may not’ve borrowed this,” he said, tossing it onto the sidewalk with a loud clank. “And I may or may not’ve told the guy behind the counter he could shove it where the sun don’t shine.”

You stared at him. Blinked. Then burst out laughing — not because it was perfect (it wasn’t), or smart (definitely wasn’t), but because it was so Bucky. Loud, impulsive, dramatic, and maybe even a little dangerous.

He looked proud of himself, then uncertain. “Was that… stupid?”

You stood, brushing your hands on your skirt. “It was loud. It was reckless. And it was probably illegal.”

He winced. “Okay, so yes.”

“But,” you said, stepping closer, eyes locked on his, “you listened.”

Bucky shrugged, suddenly sheepish. “Don’t really like the idea of a place that’d take my money but not someone else's. Doesn’t sit right with me.”

Your throat tightened at that. You hadn’t expected much — just the usual back-and-forth, the teasing and fighting. But this? This was real. Maybe not world-changing, but it was Bucky-changing. And that mattered.

“You know,” you said slowly, “for a guy who runs his mouth like it’s his job, sometimes you say the right thing.”

He gave you that damn grin again. “I’m a man of many talents.”

You rolled your eyes — but this time, you smiled too.

────────────────────────

Brooklyn, August 1936

It was late afternoon, and the sun had dipped just enough to turn everything golden. The heat still clung to the brick and concrete like a second skin, but a breeze finally cut through, lifting the hem of your skirt as you stood outside Wilson’s Department Store, eyeing the newest window display.

There it was. The dress.

Soft yellow with a sweetheart neckline, pleated skirt, and delicate white piping along the seams, like something you’d see on the pages of Ladies’ Home Journal if you ever had the spare coins to buy one. It was soft, feminine, ridiculous — and perfect.

And looking like it belonged to a girl who didn’t have to count pennies or scrub floors.

You stood there staring, thumb hooked into your belt loop, brow furrowed. You weren’t wearing anything special — a hand-me-down skirt that was a little too loose at the waist, and a blouse with a stain near the hem you’d tried to cover with a brooch. Your heels were scuffed. Your nails had oil under them from helping patch the neighbor’s busted radio.

You weren’t ashamed, not exactly. You’d worked for every thread on your back. But you still wanted to look nice, sometimes. Wanted to feel like a girl instead of just a fighter.

“Ey,” a voice behind you called. “You gonna rob the place or just stare it down ‘til it surrenders?”

You didn’t need to turn to know who it was. That voice had been haunting you since you were thirteen.

“Don’t tempt me,” you muttered.

Bucky chuckled and stepped up beside you, Steve just a step behind with a tired smile already forming.

“What’s the occasion?” Steve asked, looking at the dress too. “Not your usual color.”

You shrugged, arms crossed, jaw tight. “Just lookin’. Ain’t a crime.”

“We were headed to Deluca’s,” Steve offered. “Thought you might wanna come.”

You hesitated — just for a second — then gave a shrug. “Sure. Can’t afford the pie but I’ll steal bites off your plate.”

The three of you fell into step down the sidewalk, the usual rhythm settling in. Bucky tossing a coin up and down in one hand, Steve quietly narrating neighborhood gossip in a tone that suggested he didn’t quite believe half of it, and you walking just a little ahead, tongue sharp and posture tougher than you felt.

“Y’know,” Bucky said after a while, like the thought had only just occurred to him, “never figured you for the dress type. Thought you were more… y’know. Practical.”

You turned to look at him.

“Practical?“

“Yeah,” Bucky said, encouraged by your silence. “Like… you don’t care about all that frilly stuff. You’re not like the other girls. You don’t care about all that stuff. Lipstick and ribbons and whatnot. You’re... different.”

“Different,” you repeated, flat.

Your jaw tensed.

Steve gave Bucky a sharp side-eye, already sensing disaster. “Buck—”

“I mean,” Bucky went on, oblivious, “you’re always talkin’ about politics, and unions, and—hell, you cursed out that priest last week for callin’ Roosevelt a communist—so like you don’t need to be pretty. You’re, y’know... rough around the edges. But in a good way.”

Steve groaned under his breath.

You stopped walking. “Rough around the edges?”

Bucky, to his credit, froze. “No, I meant— Not rough like bad rough. Just— You’ve got character.”

Steve tried. “He’s saying you’re—uh—authentic.”

You turned on Bucky, arms folded. “Let me see if I’ve got this. I’m not like other girls, I don’t care how I look, and I’ve got rough edges and character.”

“No, no—dammit,” Bucky rubbed a hand over his face. “That’s not what I meant. I’m saying you don’t have to put on airs. You’re... you.”

Steve muttered under his breath, “You should stop talking.”

“I meant,” Bucky tried again, hands up, “you’re—different in a good way. You’re smart, and tough, and you don’t need a dress to be beautiful.”

You stared at him, arms folded so tight across your chest you could’ve snapped a rib.

“Oh, so I’m not beautiful now, and I get points for not trying?”

“No! That’s not—Jesus, that’s not what I meant—”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “Buck, for the love of God, please.”

“I meant you are beautiful, but not because you try, just… ‘cause you don’t? Like, you’re not… shallow.”

“So girls who like pretty things are shallow now?”

“No! Not shallow. Just, y’know—less…” He trailed off, realizing he had no end to that sentence that wouldn’t get him killed.

You scoffed. “You’re lucky you’re pretty, Barnes, ‘cause your brain’s hangin’ on by a shoestring.”

Steve coughed into his hand to cover a laugh.

Bucky was flustered now — flushed, nervous, trying to backpedal in boots made of wet cement. “All I’m saying is, you don’t gotta change a damn thing. You’re already—you’re already you, and I like you.”

“That’s rich,” you said, backing away him. “Coming from the guy who just said I’m not like other girls. Like being other girls is some kind of disease.”

Steve sighed. “He’s an idiot. He means well—”

“She knows I didn’t mean it like that,” Bucky said to Steve, then looked at you. “C’mon, honey—”

“Don’t patronize me,” you snapped.

His face fell. Just a bit. But enough.

You took a step back, jaw tight. “I do care how I look, Barnes. I just don’t have the luxury of pretending I don’t. I like dresses. I like lipstick. I like feelin’ pretty. But you know what I don’t like?”

You didn’t wait for an answer.

“Feelin’ like the only reason a guy’s got anything nice to say about me is because I’m not like the girls he thinks are too much. Like I’m some prize for not askin’ for nothin’.”

Bucky looked stunned, like he hadn’t even considered that angle. Like he’d been trying to give you something and dropped it straight into the gutter.

Steve, quietly, said, “She’s right, Buck.”

You held your stare with Bucky a moment longer, then exhaled — sharp, frustrated, done.

“I’m goin’ home.”

“Wait—hey, hold on—”

You were already turning, fists clenched, eyes burning — not with tears, never that — just anger. Embarrassment. The ache of being seen just enough to sting.

“I said I’m goin’ home,” you called over your shoulder, “before I break somethin’ you can’t sweet-talk your way out of.”

You didn’t stop walking.

And this time, neither of them followed.

────────────────────────

Brooklyn, Early September 1936

It had been a month.

Thirty long days of radio silence — no knocking on the stoop, no wisecracks outside the shop where you helped your uncle sort through junked radios, nothing.

Steve had tried. Lord, had he tried — showing up at your stoop like a walking apology letter, rambling about how Bucky was a jackass “but not that kind of jackass,” and half a dozen “he means well” speeches. You’d listened, arms crossed, jaw tight, thanked him politely, and shut the door with the kind of finality that said grudge fully intact.

And honestly? You didn’t miss Bucky Barnes. Not really. Not much.

...Maybe a little.

Now it was a Saturday night. Crickets chirped under the hum of streetlamps and jazz drifted faint from a neighbor’s radio. You were stretched out on the front parlor couch in your slip, your hair pinned halfway, half-heartedly reading a borrowed copy of Gone with the Wind that you’d dog-eared so often you were certain the library’d start charging you.

That was until your Ma called out from the kitchen, voice thick with flour and annoyance.

“Get the door! I’m elbow-deep in potatoes!”

You muttered a few curses under your breath — ones your Ma would swat you for if she heard — and pulled on a robe as you headed for the front door.

You pulled it open, half-ready to bark, “What?” — and then froze.

There he was.

James Buchanan Barnes.

Hair slicked back like always, but a little messy, like he’d run his hands through it too many times. No smirk. No swagger. Just Bucky, standing there with his hands shoved into his coat pockets like a schoolboy who’d lost his lunch money.

“Hey,” he said softly.

You blinked at him, arms crossing out of instinct.

“What do you want?”

Bucky shifted on his feet. “Can I... can I talk to you?”

You glanced over your shoulder, then stepped halfway onto the stoop, leaving the door cracked open behind you.

“I’ve been practicin’ this,” he admitted, eyes down. “For, uh. For a while. In my head.”

“Didn’t get a chance to use it on the other girls you insulted this month?”

He winced, hands tightening in his pockets. “No. Just you.”

You said nothing.

“I’m sorry,” he began, voice low. “For what I said. For how I said it. I was tryin’ to say you don’t need all that stuff to be beautiful, but it came out like you weren’t allowed to want it. And that’s... that’s not fair. You can want lipstick and dresses and still want to break the whole damn system.”

You arched an eyebrow, still guarded. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Steve,” he muttered. “Well, mostly. And maybe a little from this pamphlet I found at the co-op, but it was all in real small print, and the lady at the desk was real intense.”

That made you almost smile. But not quite.

“I know I talk too much,” he continued. “And I don’t always think before I do. But I’ve been thinkin’ a lot. About how I made you feel. And how I hate the thought that you might’ve thought... you weren’t enough. Or too much. Or whatever the hell it was I made it sound like.”

You sighed quietly, leaning against the doorframe. “I don’t wanna be angry all the time, James. It’s like—people expect me to be. Like the minute I open my mouth, it’s just bark, bark, bark. Sometimes I wish I could just... be. Y’know?”

He looked at you like he understood. Not fully. Not yet. But enough.

“I like your bark,” he said, almost sheepish. “But I like when you’re just you, too.”

You looked down, toes tapping the wooden stoop.

There was a pause — soft, honest, unpressured — before he asked, gently, “Did I blow it? Or... have you forgiven me?”

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes like you were calculating the weight of the whole damn thing.

“I’m takin’ one of those quiet moments where I weigh your good qualities against your bad ones,” you said slowly, “to decide if you’re actually worth the trouble.”

He straightened, hands dropping from his pockets like he wanted to prepare for a punch.

You tilted your head. Composed. Narrowed your eyes.

“You made it.”

His grin bloomed across his face — that trademark Bucky Barnes smile, the one he used when he won a game of stickball or caught the last seat on the trolley.

It knocked the breath out of you a little, not that you’d admit it.

“I, uh—” He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly shy. “I got somethin’. For you.”

He stepped back a bit and pulled something from his coat pocket— a neatly folded bundle wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. He held it out.

You looked at him, suspicious. “What is it?”

“Just... open it.”

You frowned, lips already pursed, but your fingers tugged at the twine anyway.

You tugged the string loose and unwrapped the paper — and then you saw it.

Your breath caught.

Soft yellow cotton. Sweetheart neckline. White piping at the seams. The exact dress from the department store window. The one you’d stared at. The one you’d fought about.

Your heart tightened like a fist. “Bucky—this ain’t—this wasn’t cheap.”

“I know.”

You pushed it back into his hands. “Take it back.”

“No.”

“Did you steal this?”

“What? No!” he raised his hands. “I took extra shifts at my pop’s shop. I’m still covered in oil under this shirt. Go ahead, check.”

You gave him a flat look.

He softened. “I remembered you starin’ at it. That’s all.”

You looked down at the dress. Ran your fingers over the hem.

“I’m not takin’ this.”

“You are,” he said firmly. “Because if you give it back, I’ll just sneak it in through your window next time you leave it cracked.”

You stared at the dress. Then him. Then the dress again.

Your lips twitched — damn him — and you rolled your eyes, but you didn’t hand it back.

He noticed the smile threatening to appear on your face.

“Stop lookin’ so pleased with yourself,” you muttered.

“You’re smilin’.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Then, slowly, you held it close, not too obvious, just enough to breathe in the new fabric. Your lips twitched. “Fine.”

He smiled wider. “Fine?”

“Don’t make me repeat it.”

He chuckled under his breath. “Alright.”

Bucky hesitated again, rocking back on his heels. “I should probably head home. Don’t wanna push my luck.”

You looked over your shoulder, then back at him. “Ma’s makin’ shepherd’s pie.”

His brows rose. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “You know it's just me and her, and she always makes too much.”

He cleared his throat. “I mean... if you need help eatin’ it...”

“You comin’ in or what, Barnes?”

His grin turned boyish again — a little crooked, a little sheepish, all charm. “You sure ’cause I wouldn’t want to impose—”

“Oh for God’s sake, Barnes, come in before I change my mind.”

He stepped over the threshold so fast you’d think you’d offered him gold.

And just like that, you shut the door behind him.

Five years Later

Brooklyn, September 1941

The diner smelled like strong coffee, burnt toast, and a little bit of grease — same as it always had. The bell over the door jingled as Steve and Bucky stepped in, the wind from the street trailing in behind them. The place was half-full, same old chipped counter, same tired cook hollering from behind the swinging door.

Bucky slid into a booth near the window, knocking his shoulder against Steve’s as he grinned.

“You’re buyin’. I got grease on my pants for you this morning.”

Steve rolled his eyes, shrugging off his coat. “You volunteered to fix the radiator, Buck.”

“Doesn’t mean it didn’t take effort, punk.” He kicked his boots up under the table and leaned back like he owned the place.

“Always with the dramatics,” Steve muttered.

Just then, the bell on the counter gave a sharp ding, and a voice called over it:

“Well, well. If it ain’t Barnes and Rogers. Lookin’ like you crawled outta a sewer and a church basement, respectively.”

You.

You were in your uniform dress — nothing fancy, blue apron tied at your waist, hair pinned back (mostly), a pencil tucked behind your ear. You had a rag slung over one shoulder and that trademark glint in your eyes.

Steve smiled. “Hey. Didn’t know you were workin’ today.”

“Pulled a double,” you said, striding over. “Mrs. Fratelli called out again. Probably ran off with the meat truck driver like she threatened.”

Bucky’s face lit up the second he saw you.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he said smoothly. “Miss me since this mornin’, or you too busy dreamin’ about me in your sleep?”

You gave him a flat look. “I dreamt I ran you over with a trolley. Twice.”

Steve snorted into his water.

Bucky grinned wider. “Still think that’s your love language.”

You leaned in, eyes narrowing as you placed two menus on the table, voice low and teasing. “You keep talkin’, Barnes, and I’ll slip hot sauce in your coffee.”

“I like it when you threaten me,” Bucky said, eyes gleaming. “It means you’re thinkin’ about me.”

You rolled your eyes before bending just a little and pressed a quick kiss to his mouth — soft, familiar, like it wasn’t even a question anymore. Just something you did. His hand instinctively brushed your hip as you pulled away.

Steve groaned and dropped his forehead to the table. “Not in front of me. Please.”

You raised your eyebrows. “I kissed his face, Rogers. Relax.”

“Yeah, but then he’s gonna get all dopey and start sayin’ stuff that makes me wanna drown myself in syrup.”

“Too late,” Bucky said dreamily, eyes still on you. “Already feel like I’m swimmin’ in sugar.”

You grabbed the coffee pot from behind you and poured two cups — sliding one in front of each of them with a pleased smile. “And that’s why I’m rationing how much coffee you get today.”

Bucky raised a hand solemnly. “If lovin’ you means sufferin’ through caffeine withdrawals, I’ll take it.”

“Awful,” Steve mumbled. “You’re both awful.”

You winked at Steve. “You love us.”

“I tolerate you.”

“I’ll take it,” Bucky said.

You were already walking off to the next table, hips swaying, head turned just enough to catch Bucky watching you. You rolled your eyes at him, but there was no bite in it.

He looked across at Steve, still grinning like a damn fool.

Steve sipped his coffee. “You’re pathetic.”

“Maybe,” Bucky said, watching you over the rim of his cup, “but I’m in love with a girl who can verbally eviscerate me and still kiss me like I hung the moon.”

“...Pathetic and doomed.”

Bucky just smiled wider. “Can’t wait.”

The diner’s usual low hum was alive with clinks of silverware and the hiss of coffee pots, but Bucky’s eyes were fixed on only one thing — you.

You were making your rounds like you ran the place, pouring coffee into mugs with an easy flick of your wrist, tossing back quips with regulars who knew better than to get fresh.

Your hair was coming undone in the back, a curl slipping down your neck, and your apron had a grease smudge near the hem — and Bucky swore he’d never seen anything prettier.

Steve followed his line of sight and let out a sigh into his coffee. “You ever blink when she’s in the room?”

Bucky didn’t even look away. “Would you, if that was yours?”

Steve snorted. “She ain’t yours. She lets you hang around.”

“She’s got that look in her eyes today,” Bucky said, head tilting as he watched you swipe a rag across a booth. “Like she’s two seconds away from smashing a sugar jar over someone’s head.”

“That’s just her face, Buck.”

Bucky finally turned to Steve, flashing that familiar smirk. “You remember last fall? That night in Fort Greene, after the street fair? I kissed her—right outta nowhere. Thought she was gonna sock me in the jaw—”

“She probably should’ve.”

“—but instead,” Bucky said, practically glowing, “she grabbed me by the shirt and kissed me back.” He smiled wider, tapping the side of his head. “Swear to God, I thought I’d been knocked out cold. Like I won the damn lottery.”

Steve made a face. “I think I liked you better when you were pining and pathetic.”

Bucky raised his cup in mock toast. “I still am. Just, y’know, happily pathetic now.”

Steve shook his head, a quiet laugh slipping from him. “She keeps you humble.”

“She keeps me honest,” Bucky corrected, and turned back to watch you.

That’s when the radio near the register crackled a little louder than before, catching just enough attention to lower a few voices.

“…German U-boats continue patrolling the Atlantic, with reports of more attacks on British convoys. American destroyer Greer engaged by German submarine in recent weeks. Though no formal declaration has been made, the Roosevelt administration urges continued readiness…”

Your hand slowed on the countertop, just slightly. Conversations across the diner dipped low or stopped altogether. The cook leaned halfway through the window to turn the volume up.

“—and while President Roosevelt affirms America’s stance as non-combatant, whispers out of D.C. suggest it’s only a matter of time. Should Congress act, all eligible men eighteen and up may be called to serve.”

The old man in the booth behind Bucky snorted and muttered, “Guess the boys better enjoy their hot dinners while they can.”

Someone else murmured, “Been coming for a while now.”

And just like that, the warmth in the diner cooled by a few degrees.

Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s just talk. Same as last month. Same as the month before.”

Bucky didn’t answer right away. His eyes were still on you as you busied yourself clearing a table, like if you just kept moving, it wouldn’t matter what was on the radio.

That look was on your face again, the one Bucky knew well: that mix of anger and weariness you always wore when the world decided to take something instead of fix it.

Finally, he spoke, voice low. “Nah. It’s real now.”

Steve looked at him. “Buck—”

“I know it’s coming,” Bucky said, trying to sound casual but not quite managing it. “Same way my pop did. He knew in ’17. Signed up before they even came knockin’. Said if it’s gonna come for you anyway, you meet it head-on.”

Steve was quiet. He hated this part — the inevitability of it. Watching people he loved step into something they might never come back from.

Bucky looked down at his hands, fingers running over a small tear in the napkin dispenser. “If I go…”

“You don’t know that you’re going—”

“If I do,” Bucky cut in gently, “look after her.”

Steve blinked. “Me?”

“You’re the only one I trust to,” Bucky said. “She’s got no one left but you and me. Since her Ma passed…”

His voice faltered a little. Just enough for Steve to notice, but not enough to make Bucky admit it.

Steve leaned back, gave a dry laugh. “Buck, she’s more likely to look after me. She’d have me patched up, scolded, and fed before breakfast.”

Bucky smiled faintly. “Then look after each other. Promise me.”

Steve held his gaze. “Alright. I promise.”

They both turned to look at you, now laughing softly with a little girl sitting at the counter, sliding her a cherry from behind the counter when the cook wasn’t looking.

Bucky’s voice was soft, but firm. “She acts tough. Mouth like a sailor. But she’s got this big heart, y’know?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. I know.”

The radio crackled again.

And in the brief stillness that followed, Bucky looked like he was trying to memorize everything — the sounds, the feel of the place, the curl of your lips and the way your smile came slow but full.

Just in case.

────────────────────────

Brooklyn, November 1941 – Atlantic Avenue Train Station

The wind was bitter that morning, the kind that bit through layers and settled into your bones. Steam hissed from the train engine as the platform filled with a quiet hum of voices — families clustered close, trying not to show just how tight they were holding on.

You stood a little behind Steve, arms crossed over your chest, Bucky’s coat wrapped tight around you. The sleeves were a little too long — he always said he liked seeing you swallow up in it. But you kept your chin high, eyes fixed on the tracks like if you didn’t look at him, this whole thing wouldn’t be happening.

Bucky stood a few feet away, saying his goodbyes. He bent to hug his ma first — her face pulled tight and red with holding back tears. His father clapped him on the back with a hand that lingered longer than usual. And Rebecca, red-nosed and blinking back tears, hugged her big brother like she couldn’t believe he was actually leaving.

You shifted your weight, watching the family scene in silence. Steve nudged your shoulder lightly, offering the smallest smile. You didn’t return it, just stared ahead.

Then Bucky turned. Said his final goodbye to his folks, kissed Rebecca's temple and whispered something that made her laugh through her tears.

You watched it all, arms crossed, jaw set.

Steve stood beside you, shoulders hunched, breath curling in the air. He wasn’t saying anything, which you were grateful for.

And then Bucky turned.

He made his way over, bag slung over one shoulder, grin already blooming on his face even though his eyes didn’t match it. He stopped in front of Steve first.

“Well, punk,” Bucky said, trying to keep it light.

“Jerk,” Steve answered, just as steady.

They clasped hands — firm and fast, pulling into one of those hugs that ended with a clap on the back that said all the things they weren’t going to say.

“Stay outta trouble,” Bucky said, forcing a smirk.

Steve gave a small laugh. “How can I? You’re takin’ all the trouble with you.”

Bucky chuckled, low and tired. “Somebody’s gotta stir things up overseas.”

Steve looked at him, jaw flexing. “You’ll be alright.”

“’Course I will.” Bucky bumped his fist against Steve’s arm. “You think I’m gonna let you get taller and better looking than me? Not a chance.”

Steve laughed softly, blinking fast. “Write when you can.”

“I will.”

They lingered a beat longer, then Bucky turned to you.

You didn’t move. Didn’t meet his eyes. Just stared out over his shoulder at the trains, the people, the nothing that didn’t matter.

Bucky stepped toward you, slower than usual. You kept your arms wrapped around yourself, shoulders stiff, almost as if you were protecting yourself.

“Hey,” he said gently. “You’re really gonna make me leave without seein’ those eyes?”

You swallowed, jaw clenched as you pulled your coat tighter. “Train’s gonna leave whether I look at you or not.”

He reached out, gloved fingers brushing your elbow gently. “You’re wearin’ my coat.”

“I was cold,” you said flatly, eyes still fixed on something past him. “Not like I did it for sentimental reasons or anything.”

He smiled. “Course not.”

You didn’t answer. Just shrugged tighter into the coat, blinking fast. Bucky stepped in closer, so close the brim of his cap was nearly brushing your brow.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” he said quietly. “Just a little while. You’ll barely notice I’m gone.”

“Don’t lie.”

That made him pause.

You finally looked at him. Really looked. And the moment your eyes locked, something in your face cracked — not broken, but bent under the weight of all the things you weren’t saying. The world behind your eyes was loud, and Bucky could hear every scream of it.

“I’m scared,” you said finally, voice small.

“Me too.”

Another silence. Longer this time.

Bucky’s face softened. “You think I ain’t comin’ back, don’t you?”

“I think a lot of boys say that to their girls before they leave,” you said, voice even but tight. “And not all of ’em get to mean it.”

Bucky reached up, thumb brushing the side of your face, glove rough against your cheek. “I’m not all of ’em. I’m me. And I’m coming back to you.”

You looked down at his chest, fingers curling slightly like you wanted to hold on and didn’t know where to start.

You bit your lip. “If… if something happens—”

“Don’t,” he cut in gently. “Don’t say it.”

“I need to say it, James. I need to—”

“No.” His voice was firmer this time, but not harsh. He leaned in, pressing his forehead lightly to yours. “I’m comin’ home. You hear me? I’m gonna come back and you’re gonna yell at me for leavin’ my boots at your door again, and you’re gonna steal all the covers, and we’re gonna forget this whole goodbye thing ever happened.”

You blinked fast, breathing shaky.

“If you need anything,” Bucky said, “go to my ma. She’ll take care of you.”

You raised your brows, voice dry. “Your ma hates me.”

Bucky blinked, then huffed a quiet laugh. “She doesn’t hate you.”

“She glares at me like I taught Rebecca to swear.”

He paused, then grinned crookedly. “She just doesn’t love you as much as I do.”

You let out a small, breathy laugh — not quite whole, but better than nothing.

He kissed you then. No heat, no show — just steady and sure, like he was trying to anchor the both of you in the moment. Your hands clutched at his coat, pulling him closer for one more second, two, three.

When you pulled back, your voice was quiet.

“Come home to me.”

Bucky rested his forehead against yours. “You’re all I wanna come home to.”

The train let out a loud hiss. Passengers began calling their goodbyes, some already starting to board.

Bucky kissed your forehead, quick and sure. Then stepped back — one step, then two — still looking at you like he didn’t want to turn around.

“You stay warm, alright?” he called, voice louder over the bustle. “Eat something other than burgers and coffee once in a while!”

You scowled faintly. “You’re one to talk!”

He gave you that big, crooked grin, the one that always made your stomach flip.

Then he turned and walked toward the train, duffel slung over one shoulder.

And you stood there in his coat, trying not to let your eyes water in the cold, with Steve silently stepping closer beside you — not saying anything. Just being there.

The train pulled out of the station a few minutes later. And Bucky was gone.

Three years later

Brooklyn, October 1944 – Atlantic Avenue Train Station

The train pulled into the station with a shriek of steel and smoke, hissing to a stop under the gray Brooklyn sky. The platform was packed — families pressed up against the rails, hopeful and desperate, faces turned toward the windows of the arriving train like it might spit out salvation.

You were right at the front, your press badge pinned to your coat as you tapped your heel anxiously against the concrete, not even trying to play it cool. You looked good — hair pinned sharp, lipstick bold, a belted coat cinched over your skirt, the hem just brushing your knees. You always made a point to look good when he came back.

You weren’t just you anymore — not the loudmouthed girl with calloused fingers and second-hand dresses. You were a name in print now. Famous columnist at The Brooklyn Standard, known for stirring the pot and refusing to let anyone — the government, the public, or the boys back home — forget the hypocrisy of this so-called land of the free.

You had a national voice now, but today, that didn’t matter. Today, you were just the girl waiting on her boys to come home.

And then you saw him.

Steve stepped down first, tall and broad and shining like something out of a poster — because, well, he was now. The star-spangled uniform clung to him like it belonged there, a coat trying and failing to hide it, but that open smile on his face? That was all Steve. Your Steve. Brooklyn Steve. The one who carried extra change for the subway because he was sure one day you’d forget.

You didn’t even have time to shout before Bucky followed behind him — slightly thinner than you remembered, bruised under the eyes, but real. Whole. Alive. Still him.

And when he saw you—

“Doll—!”

You didn’t wait. You shoved past a vendor and a couple of sailors, arms already out. You practically launched yourself at him.

Bucky caught you mid-stride, arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you clean off the ground. Your legs lifted, and you buried your face in the crook of his neck, arms tight around him like you were afraid he might vanish if you let go. His duffle bag dropped to the ground with a heavy thump as he spun you once, breathless and warm.

“I missed you,” he murmured against your temple. “God, I missed you, baby.”

He held you like he was afraid you weren’t real. Like if he let go too fast, you’d vanish into the smoke and the station noise and all the things he saw out there in the dark.

“I’m not crying,” you muttered against his neck.

You pulled back just enough to kiss his face — everywhere. Cheek, brow, nose, temple. He laughed, a sound somewhere between hysterical and joyful, as you brushed your fingers over the short edge of his hair.

“I’m kissing you so you know it’s me,” you whispered. “So next time you disappear, I’ve got your damn face memorized.”

He grinned, breathless. “Don’t plan on disappearing again.”

You pressed your forehead to his for one more second before turning to Steve, who stood nearby with a patient smile.

“Well, well,” you said, arching a brow and resting your hands on your hips. “Would you look at that. Steve Rogers. Has anyone seen him? Small fella, polite, sketchbook always tucked under his arm? You’re wearin’ his face, stranger.”

Steve laughed — loud and whole and rich. “That’s me, alright. Just with a bit more… calcium.”

Bucky snorted behind you, still clinging to your waist like he hadn’t seen you in a decade. “You mean steroids.”

“Super-serum,” Steve corrected.

“Fancy steroids.”

You grinned, stepping forward to pull Steve into a hug, strong and sure. He hugged you back with those new arms of his, still gentle like he might break you.

You whispered to him as you held tight: “Thank you for bringing him home to me.”

His voice was quiet. “Would’ve brought him back sooner if I could.”

You pulled back and cupped his cheek. “You brought each other back. That’s more than most people get.”

Just then, a kid across the station shouted, “Hey! It’s Captain America!”

Steve flinched slightly, and you rolled your eyes. “Great. They spotted you.”

“You’ve been in the papers too, y’know,” Steve said, tugging his bag higher. “Every time I see your name, someone’s mad about it.”

“Means I’m doing it right.”

Bucky watched you, chin tilted slightly, pride glinting behind tired eyes. “Told the fellas you were raising hell while we were gone.”

“I did more than raise it. I printed it in bold.”

He slid his hand into yours, fingers tight between yours like he hadn’t remembered what it felt like until now.

“We got you for a few days?” you asked, voice softer now.

“Four,” he answered. “Four days, and then they send us back to God knows where.”

You nodded. “Then I’ll make ‘em count.”

He glanced at you, and a little smile flickered on his face.

“You already are.”

────────────────────────

Your Apartment — 2:47 a.m.

The radiator hissed in the corner, clanking loud enough every so often to make you flinch. The warmth it gave off didn’t quite reach the corners of the old apartment. You were used to that — this was the place you’d grown up, after all. The chipped paint, the creaky floors, the faded wallpaper your ma had put up in '28.

Bucky had crashed in your bed as soon as you'd gotten home. You'd followed later, after checking in on Steve — who was passed out in your old room, still fully dressed. Poor guy had barely gotten the boots off before slumping on your old too small twin bed.

Now it was late, maybe two, maybe three in the morning. Outside, the city hummed quiet and cold. Inside, the room was dim, lit only by the soft amber glow of the streetlamp filtering through the thin curtains. You'd drifted in and out of sleep — curled against Bucky’s side, your head on his shoulder — until the sudden jolt of his body broke the stillness.

He gasped sharp, sucking in air like he’d been drowning, his muscles tensed tight beneath you. You sat up instinctively.

“Bucky?” you whispered, brushing your hand over his chest.

His eyes were wide and wild, not quite seeing. Sweat clung to his brow, and his breath came hard and fast. You gently cupped his face and leaned closer.

“Hey. Baby, it’s me. It’s just me.” You reached up to stroke his hair, fingers tangling through the soft brown strands. “You’re not there. You’re here. You’re home.”

He blinked, chest still heaving as he tried to slow his breathing. Your other hand rubbed soothing circles against his sternum.

“There you go,” you murmured, voice barely a breath. “Breathe with me, okay? You’re safe. You’re with me.”

He was quiet for a long beat. Just breathing. Then he shifted, head pressing into the crook of your neck, his arm curling tight around your middle as if he was trying to burrow into you, as if your body was the only thing tethering him to this world.

The room was quiet save for the sputter of the radiator and the soft rhythm of your fingers in his hair. You didn’t ask too soon. You knew better than to push.

After a long while, his voice emerged — low, ragged.

“They kept us underground,” he murmured finally, voice rough. “No light. Cold. No names. Just numbers. They… they strapped us down, filled us with something. And when the pain started, it didn’t stop. I thought my head was gonna split open. I couldn’t scream after a while. My throat just gave out.”

You didn’t move, just kept your fingers stroking slow, steady lines along his scalp, the other hand curling along the back of his neck.

“I thought…” he swallowed. “I really thought that was it. That I was gonna die in some freezing hellhole in the Alps with no name and no grave.”

“Hey,” you whispered, voice cracking. “But you didn’t. You came back to me.”

He was quiet for a long beat. Then, “Sometimes I feel like I left pieces of myself behind. Like I didn’t all make it back.”

Your chest ached at that. You tightened your hold around him, pressing a kiss to his temple.

“You’re all here,” you whispered. “And the rest… the rest we’ll find together, yeah?”

Your throat tightened, but you didn’t cry. You didn’t let yourself. Not while he needed you steady.

Silence again. But the kind that wasn’t heavy. Just close. Breathing. Rebuilding.

His head rested over your heart, and you felt him calm as he focused on the steady beat beneath your ribs. Then—

“Marry me,” he said suddenly, muffled against your skin.

You blinked, startled. “What?”

He lifted his head, eyes locked with yours now — clear, steady, fierce in a way that made your stomach flip.

“Let’s get married,” he said again. “Tomorrow. Or today. Whenever you want. Just—let’s do it.”

You sat up a little more, still blinking at him, mind spinning. “James—”

“I don’t want to wait,” he cut in, softer this time. “I’ve been through hell and back, and every time I thought I wasn’t gonna make it, all I wanted was to get to you. Just to be here again. To hear your voice and feel your hands and—”

He grabbed your hand then, pressed it to his chest like he needed you to feel how real he was. “We’ve been through too much. We’re already each other’s, right? So let’s make it real.”

You stared at him — this man you’d grown up with, fought with, fell for. His eyes never left yours.

“I got it all in my head,” he added, quick like he was afraid you’d talk him out of it. “We’ll go down to the courthouse, get the papers. You can wear that yellow dress I got you. I’ll wear that suit Ma made me save for ‘something good.’ Steve and my family can be our witnesses. We’ll get egg creams after and laugh about how fast it all was.”

“You sound like you’ve been planning this,” you muttered, heart thudding.

“I have,” Bucky said, without missing a beat. “Since the day you kissed me instead of sockin’ me in the jaw.”

You looked at him — really looked at him — hair a mess, face a little pale under the moonlight slipping in through the window. He looked tired and strong and so, so sure.

You swallowed. “You know I always wanted more than marriage and housewives and babies, right?”

“I know,” he said gently. “That’s not what I’m askin’ for. I want you, just how you are. Loud and brash and brilliant. I just want to be yours — proper.”

You met his gaze, fierce and full of something too big to name. “I love you. So… yeah. Let’s get married, Bucky.”

Bucky smiled. That slow, boyish, heartstopping smile you hadn’t seen since before the war.

Then you leaned forward, kissed him slow, and pulled back just enough to whisper against his lips, “You better not change your mind in the morning.”

“Not a chance, doll.”

──────────────────────────────

The Next Evening

The second that Bucky opened the door, he bent low and scooped you clean off the stoop with a dramatic flair that made you yelp and burst into laughter.

“James Buchanan Barnes!” you gasped, arms flailing before looping around his neck. “What the hell are you doin’?”

“I’m carrying my wife across the threshold,” he grinned, eyes bright with mischief as he marched toward the living room like it was a palace. “That’s what a gentleman does, ain’t it?”

You tossed your head back laughing. “This dump is the same place I've been sleeping for years, James—”

“Not the point, sweetheart,” he said, adjusting his grip under your thighs “I’m startin’ traditions here. And one day, when I come home for good, I’m gonna carry you over the threshold of a real house. Big porch. Little garden. No leaky faucets.”

“You’re outta your mind,” you muttered fondly, brushing his hair back from his forehead as he leaned in and kissed you — quick, then long, then quick again.

Your feet finally hit the ground again and your fingers immediately went to the neckline of your dress — the same pale yellow one he’d bought you all those years ago. The satin straps slipped off your shoulders as you took a breath and said, “Can’t believe this thing still fits.”

Bucky tilted his head like a puppy, eyes scanning your body like he hadn’t already memorized every inch of you.

“Why wouldn’t it fit?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes as you turned toward the mirror. “Bucky, you got me this dress when we were teenagers. I was still livin’ on Ma’s grocery scraps and bad coffee.”

He stepped up behind you, hands curling around your waist as he dipped his head into the crook of your neck. “You look the same to me,” he murmured against your skin. “Just more beautiful.”

You turned toward him at that — letting your forehead rest against his chest. “You always been such a smooth-talker.”

“No,” he whispered, drawing his fingers slowly down your back, “I just speak the truth when it comes to you.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time. His hands slid lower, anchoring you against him. Your fingers reached for the buttons on his shirt with practiced ease.

“You know,” he murmured between kisses, “if you keep smilin’ like that, I’m not gonna make it to the bed.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You got somethin’ against the couch?”

“No,” he laughed, scooping you up again — this time with a little less ceremony — “I just figured the bed deserves the honor tonight.”

You squealed and let your head fall back as he carried you down the short hallway, your yellow dress now barely hanging on. Once in your bedroom, he laid you down gently, reverently, like he was handling something holy.

“You sure you don’t wanna wait till tonight?” you teased as he hovered above you, eyes dark with love and want. “Make it real proper?”

Bucky’s laugh was low and quiet, almost a hum. He leaned down, brushing his lips against your jaw, then your throat. “We’re married. That is proper.”

Your breath hitched as he kissed the hollow of your collarbone.

“You know I love you, right?” he said, suddenly serious — eyes locking with yours. “I’ve loved you since you threatened to throw a shoe at my head for callin’ you mouthy in ‘31.”

You smiled softly and cupped his cheek. “You still talk too much, Barnes.”

“Then maybe I’ll shut up and show you instead.”

And he did.

He kissed you like a promise. He kissed you like you’d never have to say goodbye again.

His kiss deepened slowly, and when his hand slid behind your neck to cradle you closer, you let yourself fall into it. Into him. Into the warmth and security and the slow realization that this was it. You were married. This was your forever.

Bucky kissed like he meant to remember every second.

He tugged gently at the fabric of your dress, fingertips moving with reverence, not rushing, not demanding—just feeling. When you shifted beneath him, he helped you sit up, fingers fumbling a little with the tiny row of buttons down your back.

“Too many of these damn things,” he muttered.

You laughed softly, leaning back into him. “You’ve been wanting to get me out of this dress since the ceremony, admit it.”

His breath ghosted hot against your shoulder as he kissed your skin between each word. “Since before that. Since I saw you this morning and realized I was gonna be lucky enough to call you my wife.”

The dress slipped down your arms, the delicate fabric pooling at your waist, revealing the soft cream of your slip underneath.

Bucky stilled for a second, eyes roaming over you like you were some rare treasure unearthed in candlelight.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, hoarse. “God—look at you.”

You reached up and tugged at his loosened tie, pulling him down into another kiss. “Then look closer, Barnes.”

That broke something in him.

He pressed you back down into the bed, hands everywhere now—still gentle, but needier. His mouth trailed kisses across your collarbone, then lower, tracing the edge of your slip with aching slowness.

“Can I?” he asked, lips brushing the swell of your breast.

You nodded.

He peeled the slip down carefully, like undressing a secret. When your breasts spilled free, he groaned, breath catching like it hurt. His lips closed over your nipple, tongue flicking gently before he began to suck, slow and deep.

You gasped, arching into him.

His hand moved down, smoothing over your stomach, then lower, over the delicate lace of your underwear. He kissed lower still, murmuring against your skin.

“You’re trembling.”

“I’ve wanted this,” you whispered, “for so long.”

“I know,” he said, voice thick. “Me too.”

He kissed the inside of your thigh, then dragged your underwear down, baring you completely. You heard the sharp inhale he took as he looked at you—eyes blown wide, filled with awe.

Then he was over you again, chest pressing to yours, and you were tugging at the waistband of his slacks, unfastening the button, the zipper, until he was bare too—hard and flushed and shaking slightly in your hand.

“You sure?” he asked, voice barely steady.

“I married you,” you whispered, guiding him to you. “Of course I’m sure.”

And when he slid into you—slow, deep, stretching you in the most perfect, heart-wrenching way—it was everything. You both gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders, your legs wrapping around his waist.

He moved slow at first, reverent, lips brushing over yours with every thrust.

“Love you,” he whispered. “So much. Always.”

You held his face as he made love to you, feeling him fill you again and again until your breath came in soft cries and your heart was a song in your chest. The pace built gradually—never rushed, just more. Deeper. Closer.

When you finally came, it was with his name on your lips and his body pressed fully into yours. He followed seconds later, buried deep, gasping your name against your skin like a prayer.

After, you held each other.

Naked. Married. Home.

And when Bucky whispered another love you against your neck, you kissed his temple and whispered back:

“We’ve got forever now.”

────────────────────────

Six Months Later

Austria – Hydra Territory, March 1945 | Before the Assault on Zola’s Train

The snow howled outside the makeshift command tent like a restless animal. A biting wind cut through even the thickest of coats, but inside, by the dull light of a single hanging lantern, Bucky sat hunched over a folded piece of paper — his hands trembling just a little.

He had read it once.

Then twice.

Now a third time.

Each word hit harder than the last, scrawled in your handwriting — slightly rushed, ink smudged near the edge where you’d probably leaned your elbow like you always did.

Steve stepped in, brushing snow off his jacket, eyes narrowing immediately at the look on Bucky’s face.

“Hey,” Steve said gently, careful. “What’s wrong?”

Bucky didn’t answer right away. He just kept staring at the paper like it held the entire universe.

Steve leaned forward, concern building. “Buck?”

Bucky's gaze stayed fixed on the paper, his thumb rubbing over the last line like it might vanish if he stopped touching it. Then — slowly — he looked up.

And Steve’s heart dropped. Because Bucky Barnes, mouthy ladies’ man, unshakable Sergeant Barnes, had tears in his eyes.

“She’s pregnant,” Bucky whispered, his voice barely there. He blinked, breath catching.

There was a beat of silence — and then Steve's mouth opened in a stunned, breathless laugh.

“Jesus, Buck,” Steve breathed, standing as the words hit him. “You’re gonna be a dad?”

Bucky shook his head, jaw tightening, smile breaking free like light through clouds. “Six months along. She found out just after I left. She didn’t wanna tell me sooner — didn’t wanna distract me.”

Steve stepped forward, gripping Bucky’s shoulder. “Buck…”

Bucky let out a short, shaky laugh and folded the letter up carefully, tucking it back into the inside pocket of his coat, close to his heart. “A kid, Steve. I’m gonna have a baby. With her.”

“She’ll be a hell of a mother,” Steve said softly.

Bucky pulled him into a hug before he even realized what he was doing. The kind of hug men didn’t give each other unless it was earned through blood, war, and years of brotherhood. Steve hugged him back just as tight.

“You gotta come home for this,” Steve said against Bucky’s shoulder. “You hear me?”

“I will,” Bucky said fiercely, pulling back, that old steel in his voice. “We finish this mission. We stop Zola. Then I go home. I’m not missing that. I won’t.”

Steve gave him a firm nod. “One last job.”

“One last,” Bucky echoed, eyes lifting to the mountains beyond the tent wall. “Then I get to hold her. Both of ‘em.”

The snow kept falling. The train would be here soon.

But for a moment, there was warmth in that tent — a pulse of hope beating hard and stubborn against the cold world outside.

And in Bucky’s chest, beneath layers of wool and metal and grief, your letter sat close to his heart — a promise of what was waiting if he could just survive the night.

────────────────────────

One Month Later

Brooklyn, April 1945

Sunlight slanted through the lace curtains, warm and golden on the worn floorboards. Your fingers moved fast across the keys, glasses perched low on your nose, your rounded stomach nudging the edge of the desk.

You were working on an article about women in shipyards. Words came easier when you didn’t think about how long it’d been since the last letter.

You tried not to count the days anymore.

Then — a knock.

Your hands paused over the keys. You glanced at the clock on the wall. Just past four.

With a soft grunt, you pushed yourself up, one hand bracing the small of your back. You crossed the room slowly, brushing crumbs from your sweater, muttering, “If that’s Mrs. Klemanski again askin’ for sugar—”

You opened the door.

And saw Steve.

Your heart jumped up into your throat before you could stop it.

His uniform looked sharper than ever, chest full of medals, that familiar bashful way he stood with his cap held between both hands. Your smile came without permission.

“Steve,” you said, relief threading through your voice. “You’re—wait—where’s Bucky?”

Then your eyes dropped. You saw what he was holding — a folded jacket, a bundle of letters tied in twine, something metal glinting dully between his fingers.

Your smile vanished.

“No,” you whispered, instantly shaking your head. “No—”

Steve’s face cracked. Like something in him broke the second you said it. He didn’t speak. Just stepped forward with trembling hands, like he could soften the blow if he was gentle enough.

You backed away, hand flying to your mouth.

“No, no, no—don’t. Don’t say it.”

“Sweetheart—” he started softly.

“Don’t call me that, Steve—where is he?” Your voice shook, louder now. “Where is he?”

Steve’s eyes welled up. “The train—we were ambushing Hydra. Something went wrong, Buck—he—he fell.”

Your knees buckled a little. You reached for the edge of the wall to steady yourself.

“I don’t understand,” you croaked. “He promised—he said he’d come back. He promised me, Steve.”

“I know,” Steve said, stepping inside, setting Bucky’s things down on the table like they were sacred. “I know. He meant it.”

“No, no—he wouldn’t leave me.” Your voice cracked, nearly childish in disbelief. “He—he was coming home, we were—he was gonna hold the baby, we hadn’t even picked names—”

Steve crossed the space in two strides and caught you just as your legs gave out. He held you tightly against him, like he was trying to keep you from falling apart with just his arms.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, over and over again, into your hair. “I’m so sorry. I tried—I tried to get to him. He was—he was just gone.”

You were shaking. Hands fisting into Steve’s shirt, crying so hard your whole body trembled.

“He was supposed to come home,” you rasped, face buried in his chest. “He promised me, Steve. He swore it. He said—he said after this—he’d come back.”

“I know. I know.” His voice cracked and you felt his tears fall against your hair.

You cried like the world had ended. And for you, it had.

You didn’t even notice the letters scattered across the table, or the chain with the dog tags hanging over the edge. Not yet.

You just held on to Steve like he was the last piece of Bucky left in the world.

And in that moment, maybe he was.

One Year Later

Brooklyn, April 1946, 6:04 PM.

You juggled your bag, house keys, and the folded newspaper under one arm as you pushed open the door to your apartment. It clicked shut behind you with a satisfying clunk — thicker walls, newer locks, good insulation. Worth every penny.

You hadn’t gotten two steps in when the smell hit you.

Garlic, tomatoes, something rich and savory wafting in the air. Your brows furrowed.

You didn’t cook. Not when you’d been running around chasing sources all day.

The quiet babble of a baby's voice reached your ears before you could say anything.

You moved toward the kitchen, already shrugging off your coat.

“Jamie?” you called, more out of instinct and confusion than alarm.

“Hey,” a familiar voice called from the kitchen.

There he was—Steve, of all people—standing at your tiny stove like he owned it, sleeves rolled to his elbows, stirring something in a pot. His cheeks flushed a little as he turned toward you, sheepish.

“I, uh… hope it’s alright. Didn’t mean to intrude,” he said with that boyish, bashful charm.

You leaned your hip against the doorframe, staring. “You're not intruding. Just surprising. Last I heard you were in Marseille.”

“Got back yesterday,” he replied, gently bumping Jamie’s foot with his hand as your son giggled, “And I figured I’d surprise you. Hope you don’t mind.”

You blinked, then shook your head with a soft huff of laughter. “Mind? I’m just surprised Mrs. B let you walk away with Jamie. She told me she was keepin’ him overnight so I could get some rest.“

Steve chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “She said I could take him. Only because I promised to bring him back with no less than ten fingers and ten toes.”

You raised a brow. “And?”

He grinned. “I counted twice. All still there.”

“I'm just glad Mrs B loves Jamie more than she dislikes me,” you teased lightly, stepping forward.

Steve snorted as he wiped his hands on a towel. “I think she’s finally warming up to you.”

“Only took her a decade and a half,” you said dryly.

Your eyes shifted toward the high chair near the small table.

There he was—your Jamie. James Steven Barnes. Nine months old, dark hair a soft mess on his head, cheeks full and pink, legs kicking in slow, distracted rhythm as he banged a wooden spoon against the tray. He lit up the moment he saw you.

“Hey, baby,” you cooed, crossing the room quickly. You scooped him into your arms with ease, planting soft kisses across his face as he squealed in delight. “Mama missed you somethin’ awful.”

He babbled and reached for your face, hands warm and sticky.

Steve leaned over the counter, watching the two of you with something unspoken in his eyes. Something soft and heavy.

“Thanks,” you murmured without looking up, brushing Jamie’s hair back. “For watchin’ him.”

“Always,” he said quietly.

You glanced at him, then down at the little boy now tucked against your chest. You bounced him gently, kissing the crown of his head.

He looked so much like Bucky.

Jamie’s eyes had his smile in them. That crooked brightness. That same stubborn little crease between his brows when he concentrated. Every day he got older, he looked more like him. Sometimes it ached. Sometimes it made you laugh.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Steve said, breaking the silence. “Nothing fancy. Chicken and potatoes. I followed a recipe from one of those little books Mrs. Barnes keeps in her kitchen. The ones with the oil stains and notes in the margins.”

Your eyes narrowed playfully. “You can read her notes?”

“She writes in cursive. I’m not illiterate.”

You snorted. “I didn’t say it, you said it.”

Jamie giggled, delighted by your laugh.

The apartment had gone soft with golden lamplight. The radio murmured low jazz in the background, and your living room-kitchen hybrid felt, for once, more like home than like memory.

Jamie sat now wriggling in your lap, pudgy fingers smacking the edge of the table as he made soft, happy grunts. You held a spoon in one hand, alternating between your own plate and coaxing tiny, mashed-up bites of potato toward your son’s mouth.

Steve, across from you, ate slower now. The nervous energy that had filled him while cooking seemed to have drained, leaving him thoughtful as he glanced between you and Jamie.

You scraped the spoon along the edge of Jamie’s dish, gently cooing at him, “You’re makin’ more mess than you’re eatin’, baby.”

Jamie shrieked with laughter and kicked his legs against your thigh. You rolled your eyes, smiling, brushing his hair back.

Steve watched, silently fond.

After a moment, you leaned back slightly, sighing. “Steve…”

He looked up.

You hesitated, then spoke, voice gentler than your usual sharpness. “You gotta stop putting your life on pause for us.”

Steve’s brows furrowed. “What’re you talking about?”

“I’m serious,” you said. “You’re here all the time, runnin’ yourself ragged makin’ sure we’re okay. You don’t owe us that.”

“I don’t see it like that,” he said.

“Well, maybe you should,” you said, a bit sharper now. “For God’s sake, Steve… there’s a woman across the damn ocean who’s in love with you. Who you love.”

Steve was quiet, picking at his food. “I do love her,” he admitted softly, after a beat. “I think about her every day.”

You nodded slowly, adjusting Jamie in your lap as he reached for your plate.

“But,” Steve added, eyes lifting to meet yours, steady and sure, “I love you. And I love Jamie. It’s not one or the other. It just… is. And Peggy understands that.”

You looked down at Jamie, brushing your thumb across his cheek as he leaned into you, content. You kissed his temple. “You were here when I needed someone. I’ll never forget that.”

“I wasn’t just here because you needed someone,” Steve said. “I wanted to be here.”

You swallowed thickly.

He cleared his throat, his demeanor shifting. More serious now. “I, uh… I need to tell you something.”

You looked at him. “What is it?”

“I’m going away for a while. Longer this time.”

You froze. “What do you mean?”

“They think Hydra’s back,” he said quietly. “There’s a lead—small, but real. I’ve gotta follow it. Could take a few months. Maybe more.”

Your fingers curled instinctively around Jamie’s waist, holding him tighter.

You were quiet for a long moment. The kind of quiet that stretches over aching bones.

Then you asked, voice tight, “Are you comin’ back?”

He nodded. “I’ll always come back.”

You stared at him, gaze sharp, testing him for truth. “You can’t promise that.”

Steve’s jaw tightened. “No. But I’ll try.”

You looked away, blinking hard. “Just… don’t die, Stevie. I can’t lose another man I love.”

You sighed before kissing the top of Jamie’s head and gently passed him across the table. “Take him while I clean up.”

Steve took him easily, and Jamie reached for his face like he always did.

You stood at the sink, your back to both of them, hands trembling as you rinsed plates that suddenly felt too heavy.

Behind you, Jamie giggled.

And Steve said softly, “You’re not alone. You’ll never be alone.”

────────────────────────

Siberia – June 1946

It was colder than Steve had ever felt. The kind of cold that went through bones and memories, through war medals and stitched-up wounds. Snow drifted down in ghost-silent flurries outside the base, the world unnervingly still.

One of the lasts Hydra holdouts. Tucked into a mountain, almost forgotten.

The air inside was sharp with antiseptic and old blood. The hallways were long and shadowed, cracked concrete walls humming under the weight of hidden horrors. The Howling Commandos moved ahead in silence, boots heavy on the ground. Dum Dum took point. Gabe and Morita swept the side halls. But Steve… something had pulled him down this one, this narrow corridor lined with rusted steel doors and buzzing fluorescent lights.

He felt it before he saw it. Something like instinct. Like memory rising from his gut.

Then he saw him.

Encased in thick glass. Wires attached to skin. A cryogenic pod humming low and blue, the frost crawling up from the base, covering the sides in veils of condensation.

Steve froze.

He didn't breathe.

“God…” His voice was barely more than air.

Bucky.

Hair longer, tangled. Face gaunt. But it was him.

Still him.

And his arm…

Steve’s breath shuddered. The left arm was gone. Replaced with cold, glinting steel. Matte black plating layered in Hydra’s signature design, trailing from shoulder to fingertips. Wires snaked from the seams into the pod.

Steve's mouth opened, but no sound came out. It felt like grief all over again—but this time crueler. Because this time, Bucky was here. And Hydra had done this to him. The scars on his shoulder where steel met flesh were jagged and red, raw as if they'd been carved with no thought for healing. His ribs showed under his skin. His hair was matted. There were bruises on his face, half-healed and sunken.

He looked like a ghost.

“Cap?” Dum Dum’s voice came, low and hesitant behind him. “What do we do?”

Steve swallowed hard, eyes locked on Bucky's face. “We don’t touch it. We don’t dare open it. We don’t know what it’s keeping him alive from.”

────────────────────────

Somewhere in Southern England – Allied Base Hospital, One Week Later

It took seven days to move the chamber.

Howard Stark and his team worked around the clock. Peggy Carter coordinated intelligence and security. The best British and American minds worked shoulder-to-shoulder in the converted medical wing of the base. Stark called in every favor he had left. The facility practically vibrated with tension.

And then the pod was opened.

Slowly. Carefully. Oxygen, sedatives, heart monitors. He was intubated, stabilized, removed from cryo. They monitored every breath. Every neural spike.

And then…

Bucky screamed.

Woke like a beast torn from hell.

Hands strapped down immediately. His body thrashed, nearly flipping the bed. He screamed again—no words, just noise. Animal, broken, panicked. One arm flailed wildly—metal catching the edge of a tray, sending it clattering to the floor. A doctor tried to restrain him and got nearly thrown across the room.

Steve rushed in, yelling over the chaos. “Bucky! It’s me—it’s Steve! You’re safe, pal, it’s me!”

But Bucky didn’t hear him.

Didn’t see him.

His eyes—those warm, familiar blue eyes—were wide and glassy. Vacant and terror-stricken. He screamed again and then curled into himself, sobs ripping from his chest. A medic got a sedative in him. Slowly, the tremors faded. His breathing slowed.

Steve stood frozen.

Peggy stepped beside him, placing a hand on his arm. “He doesn’t recognize you.”

Steve didn’t respond. His hands curled into fists at his sides. “They broke him,” he whispered. “They really broke him.”

────────────────────────

Later That Night

The room was dim now. Quiet. Just the steady beep of a monitor and the gentle hiss of the IV.

Steve sat at Bucky’s bedside. His best friend lay still, unconscious again. Shackled loosely—just in case. The metal arm still gleamed under the muted lights. Stark had examined it with thinly veiled horror. “Cut nerves, fused bone, direct-to-brain wiring,” he’d muttered. “Barbaric. Brilliant. Inhuman.”

Bucky’s skin was a mess of faded bruises and whip-thin scars. The tips of electrodes had left circular burns along his chest and temples.

Steve brushed a strand of hair back from Bucky’s forehead, gently. “I should’ve found you sooner.”

He wasn’t sure if he was talking to Bucky or himself.

Behind him, Peggy lingered in the doorway. Watching quietly. “You never stopped believing he was out there.”

Steve didn’t turn around. “I don't what I believed. I just thought that he'd somehow come back.”

Peggy stepped into the room, her voice gentle. “And now he has. It’s just going to take time.”

Steve finally looked up at her, eyes tired. “How do I tell her? How do I go back to Brooklyn, look her in the eye, and say… he’s alive, but not really?”

Peggy didn’t have an answer.

────────────────────────

Southern England – Allied Base Hospital, September, 1946

It had been five months since Steve had last seen you. And it tore at him every time he thought about it. You’d written him faithfully, letters worn with fingerprints and smudged ink by the time he finished rereading them—every one a small, steady light.

You wrote about how Jamie had taken his first steps at the park, how he reached for a pigeon and toppled into the grass with a giggle so loud people turned to look. How his first word, predictably, had been “mama.” How you were trying to wean him off the bottle and that it wasn’t going well.

You’d written with joy—exhaustion sometimes—but joy, nonetheless. You never asked much in return. You never demanded updates. You let Steve share what he could when he could. And he had written back. But he hadn’t told you about Bucky.

Not because he didn’t want to.

Because he didn’t know how.

What was he supposed to say? “Bucky’s alive, but he doesn’t know he has a son. He wakes up screaming and cries for you like a man who doesn’t know time has moved on.”

You deserved rest. Not more weight.

So Steve kept it in. And he sat with Bucky. Every day.

────────────────────────

Hospital Recovery Wing.

It had been three months since they’d opened the pod.

Bucky was healing—physically, at least. The bruises were fading, and the medical team had finally managed to remove the rusted remnants of Hydra’s control nodes from his scalp. Howard Stark had designed a brace to help ease strain on the shoulder where flesh met steel. There were less screams at night now. Sometimes, there were even full nights of sleep.

But the mind—that was still a maze.

Steve watched from the hallway as Bucky sat near the window, a blanket over his shoulders, hair tucked back behind his ears. He was paler than usual. Leaner. His hands—his real one and the metal one—trembled sometimes when he tried to hold a cup of tea.

But his eyes had life again.

And pain.

And hope.

Steve stepped in. Bucky looked up, and for a second, Steve saw the old grin threatening the corner of his mouth.

“You got news?” Bucky asked, voice still rasped and lower than it used to be, like his throat hadn’t fully recovered from the screaming.

Steve nodded, sitting across from him. “Another lead on Hydra. A nest in the Alps. Small.”

Bucky didn’t care about that. He never did.

His fingers gripped the edge of the blanket. “Steve… just take me home.”

Steve’s heart cracked—again. “You’re not strong enough yet, Buck. You know that.”

Bucky’s eyes were bloodshot, a tremor in his jaw. “I don’t care. I can’t do this anymore, Stevie. I need her. Please—please—just let me see her. She’ll fix me. She always does.”

Steve looked down at his hands, swallowing the knot in his throat.

“She’s pregnant,” Bucky said suddenly. Desperate. “She told me. In the last letter. She’s pregnant and I’m here doing nothing. What if something happens? What if she needs me?”

Steve looked up slowly. He hadn’t told him. Bucky didn’t know.

“No,” Steve said softly. “Buck… she’s not pregnant.”

Bucky’s eyes snapped up in alarm.

Steve stood, pacing. “She was. A year and a half ago. You remember… pieces of it, I know. But it’s been almost two years since the train.”

Bucky looked lost. “But… the dreams. I keep reading her say she’s pregnant.”

“You remember what you needed to. What your heart clung to.”

Bucky’s voice dropped to a whisper. “What… what happened?”

Steve pulled a folded photo from his breast pocket. It was worn. The corners curled from too much handling. He handed it to Bucky gently.

It was you.

Holding Jamie.

In your lap, both of you bundled in coats on a bench, smiling at the camera. The baby’s grin was unmistakably Bucky’s.

“That’s your son, Buck,” Steve said quietly. “James Steven Barnes. He’s… he’s beautiful. He just turned one in July.”

Bucky stared at the photo for what felt like forever. His hand trembled as he held it. His lip quivered.

“I missed it.” His voice cracked. “I missed his first breath. First cry. First birthday. His first… everything.”

Steve crouched in front of him. “You survived. That’s what matters now. You get to be there now. And you will. He’s got your hair, you know. Wild as anything. And your laugh. Same crooked smile too, only shows when he’s about to get into trouble.”

Bucky gave a broken, watery laugh. “God. Steve. I gotta see ‘em.”

“I know.”

“I can’t wait ‘til I’m better. I need to see her, Stevie. Please. I need her. She keeps me here—just thinking about her. I hear her voice sometimes, I see her, clear as day. I need—” His voice broke again. “I need to know she’s real. That she’s safe. That she didn’t forget me.”

Steve rested a hand gently on Bucky’s shoulder, firm and steady. “She never forgot you, Buck. Not for a second.”

Bucky looked down, eyes wet. “Do you think she’ll still want me?”

Steve nodded slowly. “She’s never stopped. And Jamie—he’s going to know his father. Just… let’s get you strong enough to hold him first.”

Bucky clutched the photo to his chest and closed his eyes, whispering your name like a prayer.

────────────────────────

Brooklyn, October 1946 – Late Afternoon

The apartment was warm and golden with late afternoon light, soft jazz floating low from the radio, and the scent of clean laundry still faint in the air.

You sat cross-legged on the floor, your skirt fanned around your knees, Jamie sprawled across your lap in all his squirmy, wiggly glory. His tiny hands tugged at your necklace with single-minded glee.

“Alright, Jamie bear, time to close those eyes,” you said gently, as Jamie giggled, flopping onto his side in a dramatic act of defiance. “I mean it, Mr. James Steven Barnes—fifteen minutes, that’s all I ask.”

He shrieked in laughter.

“Mama,” he giggled, pointing at you like he’d won something. “Mamaaaaa.”

“Oh, you think I’m funny now?” You leaned in, kissing his cheek noisily. “I’ll remember that when you’re sixteen and I’m threatening to walk you to school in curlers.”

Jamie laughed again, grabbing for your nose this time.

You gave him a side-eye. “Baby, I’m gonna be honest—you’re dangerously close to getting tickled into submission.”

He squealed, thrashing happily as you wiggled your fingers near his sides.

“You little tyrant,” you murmured affectionately, brushing his dark hair back from his forehead. “How can something so small hold me hostage with just a smile? I used to be terrifying, you know. Ask anyone. Your mother used to demand respect.”

He blinked up at you like you were the sun, gurgling some nonsense about “ba-da!” before grabbing his foot and trying to chew it.

You sighed, wrapping your arms around him. “You’re exhausting, and perfect. And I’m already losing this war.”

Just as you rocked him gently, trying to coax him into at least entertaining the idea of sleep, there was a knock at the door.

knock knock knock.

You froze, your hand resting on Jamie’s head. His body went still too, his laughter pausing as he tilted his head in curiosity, those wide, wondering blue eyes staring at the door.

There was nothing ominous about the knock. It was solid. Simple. But something in your bones went cold. Something deep and hidden in your belly clenched the way it had when Steve stood in that doorway a year and a half ago—holding a folded uniform and dog tags, with grief weighing down his eyes like stone.

You swallowed, whispered, “Stay here, baby,” as Jamie stared at you with a questioning look, still quiet.

You padded barefoot to the door slowly, every nerve in your body humming. The familiar creak of the hardwood beneath your feet didn’t comfort you like it usually did. Your hand trembled slightly on the knob, your heart pounding without rhythm.

You opened the door.

Steve stood there, tall and square-shouldered in his uniform, his hat tucked under one arm, and that soft, almost apologetic look in his eyes. You blinked, stunned, still registering the sudden appearance of him. Before you could even form a word—

He shifted.

And behind him stood someone else.

You didn’t breathe.

He was thinner and yet... bigger. Paler. His hair longer, jaw unshaven. The blue of his eyes more haunted. His shoulders stooped, as if the air itself weighed too much. A right hand holding a duffle. The other—

Your eyes dropped involuntarily.

And your breath stopped cold.

A gleam of dull silver. Seamless metal. The joints so real, so smooth, that for a split second, your brain couldn’t compute what you were seeing.

Your gaze snapped back to his face.

Bucky.

You stared.

And so did he.

Your knees almost gave out, hand flying to your mouth.

His eyes found yours—and they filled like floodgates breaking. He didn’t smile. He didn’t say anything.

He looked at you, like he’d been starved and was seeing food for the first time. He took one shaking step forward and whispered your name.

You didn’t think. You didn’t breathe. You just ran.

The tears came fast, blurring your vision, and then your arms were around his neck, and his good arm dropped the bag and wrapped around your waist as you collapsed into him.

You clung to him like your body remembered something your mind was still catching up to. Your fingers brushed the metal at his shoulder for half a second and you froze—staggered, breath caught—but then pressed your face to his throat, choosing his warmth over your confusion.

He was real. Cold metal and warm skin and heartbeat thudding under your hand. He was real.

Bucky buried his face in your neck, inhaling like he didn’t believe you were real, holding you with his one good arm like he’d never let go again.

“I thought—I thought I’d lost you,” you choked out, pressing your face against his cheek. “I thought—I held your dog tags, Bucky—God, I—”

“I know,” he choked. “I know, baby. I’m so sorry.”

Behind you, a little voice called from the living room. “Mama?”

You stilled. Bucky lifted his head.

His eyes were wide.

“That... is that him?” His voice cracked.

You nodded. Gently untangling yourself, you stepped back, reached for his hand, and led him a few steps inside.

You pulled him gently into the apartment, guiding him just far enough for Jamie to come into view—standing wobbly on two legs, gripping the edge of the couch for balance, his gaze locked on the stranger, with big, curious eyes.

“Jamie,” you said softly, crouching beside him, heart pounding, “baby, this is your daddy.”

Bucky’s breath hitched audibly. He dropped into a slow, careful crouch, almost like he was afraid he’d scare the child by existing.

Jamie waddled closer, curious, and unafraid.

Bucky stared, completely still.

Jamie blinked at him. Then his face cracked into a gummy, delighted grin. “Pup!” he declared, mispronouncing it as he pointed at Bucky.

Bucky let out a choked breath of a laugh—half-sob, half-shock. “Hi, buddy,” he whispered, opening his arm slowly, still scared.

Jamie stepped into it without hesitation.

And Bucky wept as he held his son for the first time, cradling that tiny body like porcelain.

You moved beside them, touching his shoulder—his metal shoulder. He flinched slightly, but relaxed when your hand stayed steady.

You leaned in, whispering against the side of his head. “He’s been waiting for you.”

“I missed so much,” Bucky whispered hoarsely. “God... he looks like me. But he’s got your nose. He—he said Mama. He can talk?”

“Just a few words,” you murmured. “He took his first steps this summer.”

Bucky’s face crumpled, and he pulled Jamie closer to his chest. “I’m here now,” he said softly. “I swear. I’m here.”

Jamie reached up, tugging gently at his hair, and Bucky actually laughed—a real one this time.

And for the first time in so long, the ache in your chest loosened—just a little.

Because he came home to you.

And he was real.

And he was yours.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky x you #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes fluff #bucky fanfic #steve rogers

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realcube · 8 months ago

Text

bnha men as your boss

characters ♡ bakugo, iida & aizawa

tws / tags ♡ NSFW , MINORS DNI. sex, power dynamics, vaginal. specific triggers are before each character.

BAKUGO

tw : vaginal , degradation.

♡ you have to give him credit where credit is due: he is very upfront about his intentions, even before you get hired for the job

♡ he lets you know during the interview process that he is looking a for a personal assistant to not only do menial paperwork and make coffee, but to also attend to his personal needs. and that if you're not up for that, you can find another job.

♡ but you only thought of that as another perk , so you went ahead with it

♡ and like he said, a lot of your duties during the daytime were ordinary and banal: running errands, scheduling appointments and managing his calendar.

♡ but the night is when things would heat up

♡ and perhaps some of the tension and passion from the after-hours affair would still be lingering between you two come the morning, but you tried to brush it off the best you could and act normal so bakugo's co-workers wouldn't get suspicious

♡ although, they were all starting to get a feeling that something was going on between you. and their suspicions were only furthered when you came rushing into a meeting with bakugo's coffee and accidentally spilled it all over him. and instead of yelling at you or cursing you out, he just sighed and left the room to clean himself up.

♡ baring in mind, this is the same man who fired a past PA for stepping on his shoe.

♡ but really, the reason he didn't lash out on you in front of everyone else in the meeting, was because he knew he would get to do it later..

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

he has you bend over his office desk, ass up and bare while he rams into your leaking pussy. one hand is tangled in your hair to keep your face pressed crudely against the smooth surface, while the other is free to imflict hot smack against your ass. coming down and causing a surge of pain to race through you, as he leaves a searing handprint on your supple skin.

"what the fuck.." he grits through his teeth, his harsh pace unwavering, "was that?"

you groan against the desk, your whole body shakes with each fierce thrust into your tight pussy, creating lewd slapping noises. " 'm sorry.. katsu— ah! " you're cut off as he lands another rough slap against your ass, gripping the flesh in his scolding hand afterwards.

"you're gunna be fuckin' sorry." he groans, entranced by the way your walls grip onto him in reaction to the impact. continuing to plough into you at an absurd rate, his girthy cock splitting you right open, and causing your pussy to leak all over him. "let's see if your still such a clutz after i'm done with this dumb pussy." he spits down at you, rubbing the fluid against your folds for a disgusting mixture of liquids.

"gunna use it til you can't walk." he slaps both cheeks this time consecutively, gaining two identical yelps from you, at which he chuckles lowly between thrusts. " 'ts all your good for anyway."

IIDA

tw : praise

♡ very much a gentleman

♡ despite the fact he feels a certain way about you , he would do his best to suppress his feelings and avoid acting on them as he knows he's your boss and he'd hate to make you uncomfortable

♡ but even though he tries his best to treat you the same as everyone else.. pretty much anyone, including yourself, can pick up on the fact he likes you

♡ it's made obvious by the way he gravitates towards talking to you first thing in the mornings, and how even the most banal conversation between the two of you is enough to put a cheesy grin on his face and start his day off well

♡ or the way he gives you the lightest workload out of all his other sidekicks and employees

♡ or how he praises you for doing even the most minor accomplishments or carrying out the most straight-forward duties. you once did 10 minutes of overtime and the next day he gushed to you about your outstanding work ethic for like half an hour and continued to rave about you to everyone else, as though you were a star worker

♡ and you just can't help but find all of this quite endearing. and if you were being honest, he was quite attractive too. the way he'd flash you a cute smile and you'd get a whiff of his strong, musky cologne whenever he'd walk by you in the hallway was enough to make your head spin — you really couldn't get enough of him.

♡ which is why you said yes when he eventually asked you out to dinner

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

"such a good girl.." he groans against your skin, peppering soft kisses down your neck and collarbone, while you're stood with your back pressed flush against his foyer wall. the tension between you two was too thick, you couldn't wait until you made it to his bedroom before starting.

his hand delicately traces your curves as his lips make their way down your chest, nibbling at your clothed nipple before halting. casting his crimson red eyes up to meet your own, "now, do you promise not to tell anyone else at work about this, sweetheart?" he mutters, lips inches away from yours, as his hot breath teases you.

"why not?" you squeak as his hand roams under your dress and his strong palm grinds against your needy clit.

he almost chuckles at your innocent question, "it's not very professional what we're doing together." he clarifies, using his fingers to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose, while the fingers of his other hand continue to explore between your thighs, and gently rub against your heat through your soaking panties. "but i really don't want this to end, do you?"

your lip quivers and you shake your head, "no.." you say breathily, capturing his hand between your legs, "i need you." you whine out for more, as he was giving you just enough to leave you desperate.

"i need you too, angel."

AIZAWA

tw : thigh riding, implied age gap.

♡ very indifferent; king of (pretending to be) nonchalant

♡ they'd likely give him a teaching aid for the betterment of the class' academic performances or something like that, and he'd be really opposed to the idea because he thinks he can run the class just fine on his own, like he has been for years now

♡ but he'd slowly but surely come around on the idea of having a teaching aid, not only because it gives him more time to sleep instead of working, but also because you are his aid and he can't be mad at the fact he gets to spend time with you

♡ the two of you have undeniable chemistry straight off the bat, but you do your best to hide it in front of the students and other teachers

♡ but it's definitely there.. and it doesn't take long for the chemistry to manifest in your after-hours discussions

♡ there is probably a little bit of age gap going on in your relationship , but nothing too drastic. you're just the new, barely experienced aid looking to gain wisdom off aizawa, so you spend the majority of your shift swooning over him, trying to get him to teach you stuff and show him all the resources you've made in an attempt to impress him

♡ meanwhile he's just straight-faced the whole time, pretending to be unamused.. even though, on the inside he is quite charmed by you and thinks you're just the sweetest

♡ maybe, if you're extremely observant, you'll see him crack the tiniest smile inbetween sips of his coffee, while you are enthusing to him about your new lesson plans

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

he's sat at his desk in his private office after-hours, with papers scattered all over it. in one hand is his red pen which he is using to grade papers, and in the other is your waist. you are straddling his thigh, with your arms draped lazily around his shoulders and your nose buried into the crook of his neck.

feeling the subtle flex of his muslces against your already sopping cunt caused you to groan into his neck. you had worn a dress today with no tights so your clothed pussy was sat directly on the harsh material of his jeans, but you wanted to experience every single ounce of satisfaction. hence, you pulled your panties to the side and pressed your bare cunt against his thigh, whining like a whore into the emptiness of his office.

though he didn't pay you any mind, and was fixated on his papers. which somehow made the situation even hotter. soon, you began to grind against his leg, sliding yourself back and forth, allowing the fricition between your sensitive cunt and the rough denim to coarse through you. pressing your tender clit down against him repeatedly, and moaning his name lewdly like he was the one responsible for your worlds of satisfaction. which he partially was, even though he put no effort into it. he wouldn't even spare you a glance when you were screaming out for him.

it was a while before you were able to make yourself come undone all over his leg, but it was all so worth it. one of the most cathardic climaxes of your life. you were panting heavily and completely out of breath, laying your tired body against his for a few minutes, until he told you to sit upright.

his hand wandered down to your cunt, and even the fleeting brush of his fingers against your heat was enough to make you whine lowly. but really he was trying to established how wet you were, and of course when he pulled his fingers away, they were drenched with your juices. "hm," he grumbles, exmaning his hand, "look at this mess. who is going to clean this up, dear?"

argh sorry this is short i was gonna write another character but idk who......

#bnha smut #bakugo smut #iida smut #aizawa smut #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bakugou katsuki #bakugo x y/n #aizawa x reader #aizawa x y/n #aizawa x you #iida x reader #iida x y/n #tenya iida #👾nsfw

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oscquinn · 6 months ago

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DON'T BE SHY, carmen berzatto

TAGS & WARNINGS → first time, first orgasm, spitting, hand job, p in v, needy soft dom carmy, praise kink :))

A/N → two carmy fics in two days? i don't know what's gotten into me honestly. i'm enjoying my little break from the mkverse, hope y'all are too!

WC → 1.3k

The first thing you notice is that he’s thick. you’re not sure he’ll fit, mind dizzied with the thought of him inside you. “Can i… can i touch?” you ask quietly, cheeks flooding with heat. “Wanna touch, please?” it comes out a breathless whisper, one that does things to Carmen.

“Fuck, yeah. yeah, baby, go ahead.” He settles his body against the headboard, one arm hooking around your waist to settle you closer. You kneel beside him and reach out a tentative hand. One finger traces up the underside of his cock and you notice how warm he is, velvet skin soft under your touch. You hear carmen suck in a gasp through his teeth and quickly pull your hand back, worried you’ve done something wrong. You tilt your head, observing the way his eyes go wide at the loss of contact. “N-no, baby, tha’s good,” he stammers, one hand reaching out to cup your cheek.

You find your lips pulling into a shy smile while your chest swells with pride at his words. “Really?” you ask, and giggle when another callused palm lands on your face, holding you between his hands and bringing you in for a kiss.

“Go on, baby. Y’don’t gotta be shy, m’kay?”

With his words of encouragement you lean back on your heels, reaching down to take his length in your hand once more. Your fingers barely wrap around all the way, you swallow thickly at the thought. You let your thumb trace over the sensitive head, collecting the arousal that pools there and relishing in the groan that tumbles from his lips.

“F-fuuuck, jus’ like that,” Carmen praises, voice rough and eyes watching you with a dark gaze. He ducks his head to muffle a moan while you build up a rhythm, mouthing at your neck. The pain of his teeth scraping against your sensitive skin is a welcome one, his tongue soothing the sting moments later. You shudder at the thought of the mark that will soon be blossoming in his wake. Proof of his devotion, claiming you as his. You squeeze him slightly, twisting your wrist in smooth strokes and his cock throbs in your hand.

The feeling has a whine spilling from deep in your throat. The rush is dizzying, eyes focused on the way he throws his head back, tugs his bottom lip between his teeth. “Fuck,” you whisper, getting lost in it—the rhythm, the heat, the feeling—as one hand tilts your chin up to meet his gaze.

“You gettin’ off on this?” he asks, and your cheeks heat with embarrassment at the fact he noticed. Noticed how your thighs squeezed together with every slow pull at him, noticed how you squirmed until one heel rested right against the soft cotton of your shorts. You shouldn’t feel so bashful with him, you know you shouldn’t, but everything is so new, you can’t help it. You nod, trying to duck your head to no avail as his grip on your jaw tightens. “Good. Good girl, gotta make sure you're nice an’ ready f’me.”

Carmen lands a peck on your lips, his hand leaving your face in favor of covering your own, leading you on in easy strokes. He guides you into a more steady rhythm, quick strokes that have him smirking, kissing at your cheek and murmuring, “atta girl. S’good, fuck, doin’ so good f’me.”

You whimper, babbling as you rest your head against his shoulder. “Carmy Carmy Carmy, need you, please,” you beg.

And how could carmen ever say no?

A kiss to your forehead has his golden saint anthony chain bumping against your chin, the metal cool to your heated skin. He’s flushed a deep red color, saccharine groans pooling from his parted lips while you stroke his cock in tandem. You steal one more kiss, then another, then two large hands frame your hips.

Carmen smiles at you, “want these off?”

“Please,” you breathe out, barely a whisper as you nod. You lift your hips to aid him before his strong arms cradle your body, laying you down beneath him. Carmen’s weight presses into you and you sigh happily, pulling him in for a deep kiss. Tongues tangle with desire, you feel his leaking tip prod at your entrance as he cages your body underneath him.

“Gonna go slow, okay baby? An’ it might hurt a li’l, but just squeeze my arm.” Carmen is smiling softly at you, handling you like you’re precious as he kisses your palm, then guides your hand to his bicep.

There’s one kiss, then two on your lips before he’s pressing the throbbing head inside you. “Oh—oh fuck, shiiiit—Carmy!” You tense up a bit, squeezing his arm and tossing your head back against the pillows.

“Shh, shh babygirl, I gotcha,” he hushes against your skin. The rough pad of his thumb slips down towards your clit as he spits, circling the sensitive nub to placate you. Your thighs are trembling already, but he needs to draw this out. One hand hooks under your thigh to bring it up over his shoulder. Needy lips hush your whines, whispering against you, “doin’ so good for me. Tight fuckin’ pussy, squeezin’ me s-so good.”

And he’s only halfway inside, your nails digging crescents into his skin as his girth just about splits you open. “Carmy! Carmy—please—oh fuck!” you sob out when he fills you to the hilt. Instead of his fingers it’s now the wiry hair at the base of his cock that’s rubbing deliciously against your clit.

One hand cups your cheek as Carmen kisses you soundly, “hey, ‘s okay baby. Shh, y’re doin’ so good.”

You preen under his praise, whining and hooking the leg that isn’t over his shoulder around his waist. You draw him in closer, filling you in a way that has whimpers spilling from your lips. Finally, he begins to move. Something begins to crest within you, and you find yourself barrelling towards a form of ecstasy you’ve never felt. “Carmy I’m—oh fuck—I can’t, I-I’ve… Carmy I’ve never…”

You can’t even think straight, not with his cock drilling into you at such a sweet but deep pace, hitting every sweet spot inside of you. Surely your legs will wobble in the morning, you’ll look like a baby deer as you stumble towards the bathroom with a happy ache in your cunt. Nothing has ever felt this good, no sweet dream or late night caress of your own fingers, the truth is you’ve never had an orgasm. And Carmen is about to bring you there.

“You never cum b’fore, baby?” he asks, voice strained. He’s close too, your cunt squeezing him so fucking tight, like a vice. He’s been spacing out, keeping watch on your sweet face so he doesn’t bust right then and there.

A series of whines and little “ah, ah, ah,” noises tumble from your lips, his thumb reaching up to trace your lips. You taste your own arousal on him, it’s excruciatingly hot, knowing what he was just doing to you. You suck the digit into your mouth, tongue circling it sweetly before releasing with a pop. You shake your head shyly, as his lips come down to your chest. His tongue flicks over your nipple, sucking on your supple flesh just enough for a light bruise.

“Come on honey,” Carmen murmurs against your chest, both arms wrapping you up in a bear hug as his drills into you. “Wanna feel’ya, please baby girl, cum f’me?”

You warble out a cry as he picks up his pace, face buried in your chest. “Carmy, yes! Right there baby, right—oh!” You startle as his thumb finds your clit again, rubbing slow and gentle circles in stark contrast to the quick, mind numbing snaps of his hips.

He’s pleading against your skin now, “c’mon baby, need t’feel– need to feel y’u cum on my dick, baby please.”

That’s the push you need. Well, that and Carmen rising from his sopt buried in your tits to spit on your pussy, speeding up his thumb until you’re thrashing with pleasure. You cry, years streaming down your cheeks and a smile on your pretty lips as you come undone, pulsing around him.

Carmen brings his hands to your hips, nuzzling at your sternum as he whimpers, “gonna cum baby, can’t—o-oh fuck—can’t fucking h-hold it.” You cradle his head, fingers tangling in his soft curls as a wrecked whine falls from you. Carmen lays a kiss over your heart, his dick twitching as his hips still, his load shooting deep within you.

Carmen lifts his head to look at you, one hand cupping your cheek befre whispering, “look so fuckin’ pretty, all wrecked f’me.” Your cbeeks flood with heat as he kisses you soundly, tongue slipping past your lips to tangle with your own. He tastes like arousal and something sweeter, and you whine as his tip grinds deeper inside you. Carmen’s thighs shake, but he refuses to pull out. “C’mere baby,” he murmurs, cradling you in his arms.

You find yourself situated in his lap, softening cock still snug inside you. “But ‘m all sticky,” you say with a petulant huff. Then, “Carmy, come on! I was serious,” when he chuckles at you.

“Just a few more minutes then we’ll shower, m’kay?” he asks quietly, kissing your cheeks. You nod in agreeance, snuggling your face into his shoulder. He tired you out, that was for certain. Your thighs ached, core tight and lungs heaving. Feeling content and sated, you collapse onto Carmen with a soft sigh.

THX 4 READING → once again dedicated to @carmenberzattosgf cause she's been waiting for this one!

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto smut #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto smut #written by maggie [fics]

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cinnawonbabe · 5 months ago

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ATTENTION, PLEASE! (1)

pairings: professor!heeseung x student fem!reader

warnings: teacher x student relationship, forbidden affairs, smut, oral, both receiving, anal play, praise and spankings, legal age gap

overview: y/n was just like any other college girl, crushing on the young and attractive literature professor at the university she attended. one day she’s asked to come back after class and things get a little steamy. who knew being a teacher’s pet was fun?

taglist 🏷️: @nayeoniiz @mheretoreadff @deobitifull @riribelle @jakeswifez @yohanabanana @fkarchve @1013club @rizz00 @kpopjackie @isagistar @wheretheheckis-ssaki @freaky-enhamadswriter @manuosorioh

SORRY IF YOU ASKED FOR A TAG AND DIDN’T GET IT. I COULDN’T TAG MOST BECAUSE YOUR ACCOUNT WAS NOT POPPING UP FOR ME. PLEASE ENJOY! IF THIS DOES WELL AND GET 400 NOTES, I’LL POST A PART TWO!!

it was the first day back from spring break and to say y/n was excited was an understatement. she was overjoyed to see her friends again. while she was getting ready for her first class of the day, literature, and finishing the last touches to her makeup, her friend winter called. y/n answered, putting the phone on speaker so she could multitask talking and finishing getting herself ready.

"girl where are you? class is about to start," winter whisper-yelled through the phone. y/n checked the time, seeing that she was in fact behind schedule.

"fuck, i'm gonna be late," she said, rushing to put her shoes on. after making sure her uniform was neat, she grabbed her bag and phone before running out the door.

"and who are you trying to look cute for?" winter joked with a laugh upon y/n switching the call over to a facetime.

"no one. i just felt the need to dress up today. is the professor there?" she answered while speed walking over to the building her class was held in.

"no. they haven't arrived yet, so you're lucky for once," winter said with a laugh. "hurry though, i saved you a spot," she added and y/n hummed in response as she approached the building.

she made her way inside, picking up her pace so she wouldn't be that late, but ultimately made it to class.

"fucking finally. you're here," winter laughed, taking her bag off the seat next to her for y/n to sit in. "still no professor?" y/n asked and winter shrugged not knowing herself.

you know, after 15 minutes, if a teacher hasn't arrived to class after the set time has passed, class is canceled?" one male student in the back stated.

y/n turned back to see it was one of the football players. most students got to talking with excitement as it was getting close to that 15 minute mark while others were upset that they didn't get to see the professor today, y/n was one of the students who was pretty bummed out.

just when some students were packing up their supplies, the classroom door opened up.

professor lee heeseung rushed in class. "sorry for the wait guys. i was in an important staff meeting about the fair we're having for the homecoming events next week and we kind of got carried away." he said in between breaths.

he took off his blazer and set it down on the podium that was situated in the front of the room. he rolled up his sleeves. "anyone else feeling a bit hot or is that just me?" he asked, chuckling to himself.

all the girls, including y/n, couldn't help but stare at him. watching him intently.

he has to know what he's doing. he just knows how attractive he is. y/n thought to herself.

"no it's hot in here sir. me and my friends think the air conditioning unit has stopped working." one female student stated.

heeseung nodded his head in acknowledgement, "oh i see. i'll have to make a complaint about that later. let me write that down so i don't forget." he said walking over to his desk situated in the corner of the room.

he pulled out a sticky notepad from one of his drawers and grabbed a pen from the cuphold on the desk and scribbled a mental note to himself there.

"okay, considering i was way behind my schedule. i'm going to give you all a break and just let you either stay here to make up work or you can just leave. it's completely up to you all." heeseung said, looking around the classroom after he placed the notepad back on his desk.

most students didn't hesitate to collect their things and bid heeseung goodbye or thank him for his kindness.

of course he smiled and bid those goodbye before turning his attention back to the few students that did decide to stay. which consisted of a two male students, one being a literature major and the other that just so happened to be asleep and the rest we girls that just wanted an excuse to stare at the professor.

"assuming that you all are here for help and to catch up on work so feel free to ask me any questions, okay?" he said once more before heading back to his desk.

y/n watched his backside as he headed to his desk and wondered what his back muscles looked like under his dress shirt. once he sat down he looked back towards the class, catching y/n stare. she imma looked down in embarrassment and busied herself with her studies, not catching the little smirk that made his way on his face.

y/n felt movement beside her and looked over to see her seatmate fixing herself up before calling out to the professor. "professor lee? i need help on one of the older assignments you gave. can you give me a but of assistance with it?" y/n heard her ask.

he nodded and signaled for her to come to his desk and so she did. getting up from her seat, swaying her hips purposely in the process.

she bent over his desk, showing her cleavage to him as she placed her paper down for 'help'.

that's usually how things goes. most girls go out there way to get his attention but from all the things y/n has seen, it doesn't seem to work. he wasn't phased by it and just gave her the help she needed before he sent her back to her seat.

another girl failed. y/n of course hasn't. in fact, she never tried to because she was too scared and too shy to even hold a conversation or even ask him for help but that never stopped him from trying to talk to her.

he had taken an interest in calling on her sometimes for questions she never volunteers herself from.

usually that would end up with her stuttering to answer it or having her frozen from being put on the spot.

after a while of sitting in a somewhat silent classroom, heeseung cleared his throat, gaining everyone's attention. "attention everyone class is just about over and my next class will be here soon." he stated, looking at his wristwatch.

everyone packed up their things and headed out of the class. y/n was just about to leave before she was stopped by heeseung's voice suddenly calling out to her.

y/n stopped where she was near the classroom door, turning to him as he sat at his desk. "yes, professor lee?" she asked. he motioned for her to come to him, waving his hand in a signaling gesture. she was hesitant at first, she wasn't sure if she should or not. she swallowed her own pride and made her way over to him.

"so i wanted to talk to you to see if you'd like to help me later with gathering things for the art and theatre club. they'll be doing most of the creative work and i promised the directors that i'll head to the storage area in the left wing and get the supplies they needed. i can't do it myself, so would you like to help a poor old man like me?" he asked with pleading eyes.

y/n was a bit speechless as to why he chose her out of all people. he wants me to help him? she thought to herself. there was no way out of all the girls in this class, he chose her. she stood there unresponsive for a bit, lost in her own thoughts. it began to worry him a little bit from her sudden quietness. "it's okay if you don't want to i can always just ask-" he couldn't finish his sentence as y/n interrupted him with a slightly raised voice. "no!"

she realized the tone and volume of her voice and felt hot from the embarrassment. she didn’t notice the change in his demeanor, a slight smirk appearing on his face knowing his plan was working.

"uhm i meant no it's okay professor lee, i can help you. i don't mind at all!" she stated a bit too eagerly.

she mentally cursed at herself because of it but nonetheless, heeseung didn't seem to mind. "great!! just meet me back here around 7pm, okay?" he smiled softly, causing y/n’s heart to flutter. he definitely knows the effect he has on her.

she nodded her head in agreement before flashing him a small smile in return. “yes sir,” she retorted before walking out the classroom door. she was lost in her thoughts once again, geeking over the fact that he wanted alone time with her. this was truly a dream come true.

her thoughts soon interrupted by her best friend winter spooking her, “hey!” winter yelled a little bit as she approached her. y/n grabbed her chest as she calmed herself down. “my bad, didn’t mean to scare you,” winter joked before bursting out into a fit of giggles, earning a slap on the arm from her friend. “that’s not funny win,” y/n stated, rolling her eyes playfully as she walked off with winter following close behind her. “so what was that all about?” she asked, jumping in her face as she interrogated her. y/n gently pushed her back, smiling wide as the scene replayed in her mind. even though it just happened moments prior to this conversation, she couldn’t help but reminisce about how he chose her. winter nudged her, bringing her back to reality. “soooo are you going to tell me why hot stuff over there held you back?” she questioned again but y/n only giggled in response, causing her bestie to groan at in annoyance. “its nothing really, he just wants me to help him with something for theatre class and i told him i would,” she replied honestly.

winter stared at her intensely, looking for any glimmer of doubt. she was trying to see if she was lying to her or not. y/n stared back at her clueless as to why her best friend was seemingly trying to intimidate her for some reason. is she jealous? she thought. ultimately, winter shrugged it off. i guess she was being truthful. “well good luck and make sure you use a condom, i’m not ready to be an auntie just yet,” she laughed, nudging her friend. y/n’s eyes widened upon hearing those words leave her mouth. before she could smack her friend, winter took off running, satisfied with the reaction she got from her bestie. y/n followed shortly behind, yelling out threats to her friend as she did so.

__________________________

time seemed to have moved on so fast. it was already 7pm and y/n was making her way back to professor heeseung’s classroom. i hope this doesn’t look suspicious. she was having second thoughts. maybe this was a bad idea. she didn’t want to get caught up in something that wasn’t true, even though she wished it was. she didn’t want people to think she was having a secret affair with her teacher, but then again she didn’t actually mind it at all. she longed for him to caress her ever so gently. she wanted to feel his lips against her own but who didn’t? every girl on campus wanted a piece of him but can you blame them? he’s in his late twenties teaching hormonal nineteen and twenty year olds. a lot of his students were fresh out of highschool so seeing a young professor was like winning the lottery.

eventually she made it towards his classroom door, peering inside. it was dark and the only form of light was coming from the hallway where she stood. she scanned the room as best as she could but there was no sign of him. maybe he had forgotten. as she was about to walk away she ran face first into something or someone. she looked up and was face to face with heeseung himself. oh god. she thought. a light blush painted her face as she realized how close they were so she took a few steps back. “sorry, i should’ve been paying more attention to where i was going,” she apologized, her eyes averting her vision everywhere but his.

the view was astonishing to him. their slight height difference boosted his ego. it empowered him. he knew exactly what he what he was doing. y/n was timid and kept to herself. she wasn’t like the other girls he taught.

everyday a female student would force themselves onto him any chance he got. he was used to all the attention he gotten. he may not have shown it but he did enjoy it. so it was weird that y/n never seemed to try. he knew she found him attractive but she never seem to give him the time of day. so he started making moves. calling on her during class even though she never raised her hand, taking initiative to talk to her after class whenever he could because he knew it made her heart race. the innocence she portrayed had drawn her in. it was something he had to obtain, more so, alter it. he wanted her to be his, to hold, to control. that’s exactly how they ended up here. he falsified the ‘i need help’ teacher act. he knew she would fall for it. she was oblivious to it all.

he stared at her for a moment before he spoke, “it’s okay, i was just heading in,” he stated before moving passed her and towards the door. he unlocked it and entered the room, holding the door open for her. “are you joining me still?” he asked tenderly, his voice soft and sweet. it made her heart skip a beat. he was pure gold to her. a soft hearted, well-mannered, absolutely beautiful, educated and elegant man was spending alone time with her. she was head over heels for him.

she hummed in response and followed in right behind him. upon entering he closed the door, discreetly locking it without her noticing and flicked on the lights. “i hope you don’t mind, i have to gather up a few paperwork before we head that way, is that fine?” he asked, making his way towards his desk. he sat down, picking up groups of scattered papers that sat disorganized on his desk. he neated placed them into piles before putting them in his briefcase that he brought with him. y/n walked closer, gazing over at him. she watched

him quietly, fiddling with her fingers as she did so. she couldn’t help but think about what winter said earlier. imagining her professor fucking her on this desk right now.

images of him pounding into her core flushed her mind, making her core leak from the slight horniness that had taken over her. she was so lost in thought she couldn’t hear heeseung calling out to her. he then cleared his throat, finally gaining her attention. she looked up at him, face flustered. she looked absolutely stunning to him; no, beautiful actually. he wanted to ruin her. “you’re one of my best students?” he asked, getting up from his seat and walked over to the front of his desk where he leaned up against it.

she was dumbfounded, “i am?” she asked innocently, her brows furrowed slightly in confusion. heeseung found it adorable, she really didn’t have a clue in the world. “precisely. you’ve never been the type to throw yourself at me. that’s what i like about you,” he continued, making her all flustered again. he truly was enjoying this moment right now. “i’m just not the kind of girl. you’re my teacher not a love interest,” she said truthfully, but he didn’t like that response. he knew better than that and so did she. they both wanted each other more than anything right now.

he began to loosen his tie, then slowly unbuttoned his dress shirt. “is that really how you feel?” he asked, finally pulling his shirt open, revealing his toned abdomen. she stared in awe as she watched him strip in front of her. his shirt sliding off his shoulder and falling to the ground. her eyes trailed down his figure. he was a sight to see that’s for sure. she noticed a tent forming in his pants and she audibly gasped unintentionally. a smirk appeared on his lips. gotcha. he thought.

she didn’t know how to react in this very moment. what was she supposed to do? her very attractive literature teacher was standing shirtless in front of her. that’s every girl on campus dream and yet here she was living it.

“i-i don’t know if this is appropriate professor,” she stuttered, averting her gaze towards the floor. she stared at her sneakers until another pair of shoes came into view. she froze. too scared to look up now knowing how close he was to her. he took his hand and gently tilted her head upward so they were facing each other. she gulped, now meeting eyes with a different side of her professor. and truth be told, she was enjoying every second of it. “i want you more than anything right now,” he said, disregarding her previous statement of whether this was appropriate between the two. he didn’t care. nine years wasn’t that big of an age gap for him. she was nineteen and he was twenty- eight years old. how bad could this be?

he looked her in her eyes, searching for any sign he needed to know what his next move was. there it was, like a flicker. he smiled mischievously, pondering his next move but was surprised by her crashing her lips onto his.

she kissed him hungrily. she couldn’t hold it any longer. she needed him right now.

heeseung snaked his arm around her, grabbing her thighs to signal her to jump. she did, jumping into his embrace and wrapping her legs around his waist as their lips danced in one another.

he carried her to his desking, next faltering this kiss. he sat her on the edge, slipping his tongue in her mouth and explore every crevice of it. she moaned into the kiss, sucking on his tongue as he fiddled with the hem of her shirt. he broke the kiss, pulling her shirt over her head, taking it off and tossing it on the floor.

y/n took that time to catch her breath before he smashed his lips back on to hers. she grabbed his belt loosening it up but before she could pull them down he stopped her, grabbing ahold of her hands, “not so fast baby, lets take it slow.”

she whined, disappointed and desperate. he laughed, placing a small and shirt kiss on her lips. he unclipped her bra, sliding it off her. her breasts we plumped and perky. just how he liked them. he attached his mouth to one breast, sucking and swirling his tongue around her nipple. she bit back a few moans that threatened to slip out. she felt elastic. she knew what they were doing was so wrong but it felt so right. the adrenaline rush she got from this turned her on more. at any given moment they could be caught by anyone, a dean, a security guard, or a fellow student passing by.

she didn’t care at all, it thrilled her actually. fueling her desires even more. she watched and he alternated between each of her breast, leaving love bites all over her chest before proceeding to kiss down to the hem of her skirt, he didn’t care to take those off, he wanted to fuck her in her cute little uniform skirt so he pushed them up to get a better view of her leaking core.

a small chuckle left his lips upon seeing how soaked her panties were just from them kissing. she felt a little embarrassed hearing him laugh and tried to shut her legs but he stopped her from doing so. “don’t hide baby, she’s beautiful. let’s she was she looks like without these in the way,” he reassured her, sliding her pantines to the side to get a better look and her dripping core.

her little cunt made him go crazy. he looked up at her as he licked between her flaps. the warmth of his tongue sent shivers down her spine. he placed small kisses on her clit, edging her on. he wanted to tease her and have her begging for more.

y/n was too impatient and grabbed a fistful of his hair, shoving his face into her leaky cunt, heeseung obliged, giving her what she wanted. he began to eat her out, sucking on her clit and flicking his tongue in a way that made her toes curl. soft moans escape her mouth but she didn’t care. everything felt so good right now. place her legs above his shoulders and started to slowly grind against his face. the pleasure building up as she felt ecstatic. she threw her head back, moaning loudly as she continued to hump his face. he watched her as she got closer to her climax, he took two of his digits and plunged them deep into her pretty little cunt.

a loud gasp was heard from her, feeling his fingers deep inside him. he thrusted them faster, curling them as he hit her sweet spot, earning beautiful moans from y/n. he absolutely loved it. he was marking what was rightfully his. he continued his pace as she grew closer to her climax. he sucked a little harder on her clit, humming, sending vibrations to her core. a familiar pit grew in her stomach.

she was close, so so close and couldn’t contain it any longer. she screamed, forgetting where she was for a moment. her back arching as she squirted into his mouth, causing him to choke a little bit as her juices hit the back of his throat. she rode out her orgasm and she grinded on his face more before falling back onto his desk breathless.

heeseung stood up, dropping his pants to the floor as he looked down at her tired little figure laying on his desk. “we’re not finished yet, angel,” he said, stroking his long and thick member in his hand. she looked up, her eyes widened. there was no way in hell that was going to fit in her. “can daddy have some head baby?” he asked softly and she nodded, getting off his desk and kneeling before him. he cooed, watching her doe eyes stare up at him. he was loving this view of her better. she parted her lips slightly as he began to slap his cock against her face.

“open your mouth wide baby,” he instructed and she obliged, parting her lips more as s

he slid his cock right in. his breath hitched in his throat. the warmth of her mouth engulfing his seven inches did something to him. he let her take control, watching her bob her head on his thickness, taking every inch and girth of his cock. “yes baby. just like that. you’re doing so good for me,” he praised, encouraging her more. she forced herself to deep throat him, gagging as she did. he grunted at the feeling of her throat hugging his member, her gagging made the feeling even better.

her eyes started to brim with tears as his cock hit the back of her throat, drool dripping down her chin.

she took her hand and stroked him while sucking him off. this pleasure alone could’ve made him cum but he was determined to last. he grabbed her by her hair, pulling her off him to keeping him for cumming then and there. she winced from the harsh grip but didn’t stop it. she liked how rough he was getting. it turned her on even more.

he bent down crashing his lips onto hers. he didn’t care that she just had his cock in his mouth, he was a real man like that. kissing her hard and tasting himself on her before he pulled back. “open your fucking mouth!” he exclaimed, and she did without hesitation. he spit in her mouth and she swallowed it so effortlessly. “you like that my nasty little slut?” he asked and she whined in response.

he slipped his cock back into her mouth, fucking her throat hard, she choked out a cry around his member. he didn’t care. he kept fucking her mouth hard and deep, moaning loudly. “fuck just like that baby,” he said once more. he felt his climax coming soon so he pulled right back out. “bend over my desk,” he ordered. she got up slowly, her legs wobbling a bit. he couldn’t help but laugh, “don’t laugh,” she pouted and he cooed at her, he helped her lay her stomach flat onto his desk, her bottom side completely exposed.

he bit his lip at the sight in front of him, rubbing his hands against her firmly plumped ass cheeks. he needed to mark them. he took his big hand and smack down on her ass hard, causing a scream of pain and pleasure from y/n. this was all so new to her. she never knew she’d like being treat like a fuck toy by her hot professor. he brought a side of her she didn’t know she possessed. he lashed at her ass a few times, the classroom echoing from skin slapping and cries coming from y/n. who knew being a teacher's pet could be so fun.

handprints now decorated her ass and he was more that pleased to know that it was because of him. only he could have her like this.

he positioned himself at the entrance of her core, “spread for me baby,” he told her softly. she reached back, grabbing her ass cheeks and spread them open; giving him more access to come right on in. he spat between her crack, using his dick to wipe it down towards her cunt before sliding the tip in. they both moaned out in pleasure upon contact.

she felt every bit of his cock slide into her tight little cunt before he bellowed out. his whole member filled her to the brim. he sat there for a moment, letting her adjust to his size before he began to move. slowly thrusting in and out of her, he pace precise and steady.

the desk began to squeak against the floor as he thrusted harder than before, yelps of pleasure falling from her lips. he was digging into her guts. it felt like his tip was touching the inside of her stomach. her moans encouraging him to go harder. he dugges his cock deeper into her, her ass clapping against his skin. the room filled with the sounds of them fucking. he hoped they wouldn’t get caught but parts of him did. he wanted people to see the whore he was making out of her. he wanted people to know who she belonged to. he felt her wet cunt hug his girth, bringing both of them to their high, he fucked her harder, sliding his thumb in her ass. she screamed once more from the unexpected intrusion. fuck. he thought.

the pleasure was becoming too much for her, she couldn’t handle it any longer. both her holes were filled, a sensation she never knew she needed. “fuck baby i’m gonna cum,” he said and she could only moan out incoherent nonsense in response. that drove him nuts. he picked up his pace, fucking her to her climax. she cried out loud as the pleasure was unbearable and came hard once again.

this drove heeseung to his climax as well, cumming deep and hard into her. they hadn’t worn a condom. his cum filling her deep and oozing out with every little thrust he gave before him finally pulled out. he placed a kiss on her back before watching his thick load spill right out of her cunt. he didn’t care that they didn’t play it safe. to be honest, baby didn’t sound that bad to him. she was stuck with him regardless.

he reached over to the tissue box on his desk and began to clean her up and help her get dressed before dressing himself. she sat back up on his desk, her makeup ruined from all the sweat and tears she indured with getting her brains fuck out.

“you’re mine princess, got it?” he stated, pulling her close. she tiredly hummed in response, too warn out to say a word. a small smile formed on both of their faces before they snuck back out and went their separate ways.

the next day rolled around and y/n was heading to class where she met up with winter. “so how was it?” winter asked, and y/n furrowed her brows. “how was what?” she asked and winter laughed.

“how was it when you sucked his dick?” she joked, causing y/n to freeze. how did she know? did someone see us? she thought. winter nudged her friend. “i’m just joking god. i know nothing happened. you don’t have it in you to do something of that nature,” winter assured her, causing her to relax again. she didn’t know after all. y/n laughed, “i don’t think i could ever do anything like that,” she lied.

their conversation was cut short upon professor heeseung entering the class room. “good morning everyone!” he greeted, and most of them greeted back. him and y/n locked eyes momentarily, causing her to blush and look away before he began today’s lesson.

winter grew a little suspicious of that little encounter but said nothing.

if only she knew what was to come in the near future.

THE END!!

#enhypen x reader #enhypen x you #heeseung imagines #enhypen angst #enhypen x y/n #heeseung angst #enhypen imagines #heeseung enhypen #heeseung x reader #heeseung x you #heeseung scenarios #heeseung smut #enhypen heeseung #enhypen smut #smut #professor x student

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cherrygirlfriend · 22 days ago

Text

── SHARING HOODIES ♡

♡ pairing: nerd!rafe x pervert!reader

♡ summary: rafe comes to get you from a party.

♡ warnings / tags: fluff! somewhat nsfw, nudity, annoying m*n.

♡ author's note: inspired by @tinythebunni ‘s request for a reader who wears something skimpy and needs to borrow rafe’s clothes. i hope you like this!! <3 check this if you want to see what she’d wear to a party!

PERV MASTERLIST ♡ RAFE MASTERLIST

"aw, come on rafe!" elijah's voice groaned in rafe's headset, "you suck ass tonight, man. what's the problem?" rafe rolled his eyes as he queued his group for another game, "it's cause his little girlfriend isn't there to support him under the desk." josh snickered.

"shut the hell up, josh." rafe spoke with slight irritation, "at least i have a girlfriend. your longest relationship has been with your right hand." "that's where you're wrong, buddy. i'm a leftie."

they soon started a new game, but when they were halfway through the second round, rafe saw his phone screen start to flash on his desk with an incoming call, the screen displaying your name and a heart after it. rafe was quick to mute his mic and place his headset onto the desk, pressing the green button and putting you on speakerphone as he continued playing. "everything alright?"

"hiiii pumpkin pieeee!" you giggled on the phone, music blasting in the background along with the chatter of other people. rafe chuckled softly; he had known that you'd be going to a party tonight; after all, you'd gotten ready in his room and had tried to convince him to come with you.

"hey, lovebug. i take it you're drunk?" "nooo, i'm just a liiiittle tipsy." you said, and rafe could hear you slurp up a drink and swallow after finishing your sentence, "i'm sure, i'm sure."

"can you come n get me?" you slurred, "'m tired n can't... can't, uh, remember where my dorm is..." "yeah, of course. you're at sigma nu, right?" "mmhm..." "okay, i'll be there in fifteen. go find some water and one of your friends. got it?" "yessir." you snorted, and he hung up the phone and put his headset back on, unmuting himself.

"listen, guys, i'm gonna have to quit." rafe explained as he closed the game mid-match. "what? why the hell?" elijah questioned, "my girl called and asked me to come get her from a party." "damn, i thought it was bros before hoes." josh snarked.

"yeah, well, we're not fifteen anymore. and she's not a hoe, she's my girlfriend. i'll message you guys later." rafe didn't even wait for them to reply, getting off the call and turning off his computer before either boy could utter a syllable. the boy grabbed his things and pulled on his hoodie, quickly rushing out of his dorm.

as soon rafe was outside, he dialed your number, his shoes crunching against the gravel as he walked towards the location of the fraternity you'd told him you were at, but no matter how many rings he waited, you didn't answer.

rafe ran a hand through his sandy hair, hanging up and calling you again. ring, ring, ring, ring, ring... once again, no answer. he bit the inside of his cheek, picking up his pace as he once again tried calling you, to no avail.

once the fraternity house came to view, rafe pocketed his phone, the boom of the bass piercing through his eardrums as soon as he entered the building.

rafe wasn't like you. while you thrived in these environments, huge parties where there were people every corner you turned, floors sticky with booze and other liquids, one sweaty young adult pressing against another, smoke that smelled like cotton candy, music so loud it'd damage anyone's hearing in the long term… rafe had always hated parties.

however rafe's height was an advantage; at 6'2, he was among the tallest at the party, and he hoped it wouldn't be too hard to spot you, his heart beginning to race from worry; what if something had happened to you?

he walked around the living room and even tried calling out your name, but the music booming in the stereos obviously was loud enough to drown out every squeak of his voice, but as he looked around, he didn't seem to spot you.

rafe pulled out his phone and dialed your number once again and kept searching through the living room for anyone who looked familiar, almost unable to hear the rings that signified an outgoing call over the noise of the TOP 50 playlist currently playing.

he went back into the lobby, but just as rafe was about to start really panicking, he saw a familiar figure through the wide archway leading to the kitchen, wearing the same outfit you'd shown off for him in an attempt to convince him to come with you. but his relief was shortlived when he saw the way you were swaying on your feet, the glassiness in your eyes made more pronounced by the fluorescent light above you, rafe's jaw clenching almost out of reflex when he saw the guy chatting you up, his hand on your bare arm. rafe took a deep breath as he made his way to the kitchen, beelining straight to you.

"are you okay?" rafe leaned down slightly to look into your glassy eyes, tugging the stranger's hand off you in a less-than friendly manner. "hey dude, i was here first. go find some other chick." the stranger scoffed, making rafe straighten up and look at him in irritation, narrowing his eyes at the other boy.

"hey dude, keep your hands off girls who are too drunk to even stand properly. this is my girlfriend." "that's your girlfriend?" the stranger let out something between an incredulous scoff and a snort, while rafe simply ignored him, more worried about you. "buggy, are you okay?" he asked, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"you came." you smiled up at him softly, letting yourself practically crash into your boyfriend's side, "this douche is bothering me..." you mumbled, making rafe chuckle softly as he snaked his arm around you. the other guy simply rolled his eyes and mumbled some insult under his breath as he started walking away. "let's get you home, yeah?" rafe wasn't even sure if you heard what he was saying, but you simply smiled and nodded nonetheless.

rafe's arm was tightly wrapped around you as he led you out of the loud frat house and into the cool night air, starting to walk back towards the dormitories. he was too focused on trying to get you back to the dorms to notice the way your teeth were starting to chatter and the way your skin was forming goosebumps until you let out a quiet mumble, "rafeyyy... 'm cold..."

his eyes widened as he looked down at you, clad only in a top and a miniskirt. rafe sighed as he detached from you, a childish whine leaving your lips, thinking he did it because he didn't want to hold onto you anymore. rafe's t-shirt rode up slightly and his hair got messed up when he took off his snoopy-themed hoodie, turning to you, "lift your arms up, buggy."

you did as he said, and your boyfriend pulled the hoodie onto you, basically having to guide your arms into the arm holes of the hoodie, but when you finally had the hoodie on, rafe let out a small chuckle as he looked you up and down. for some reason, seeing you wearing his clothes always managed to make your boyfriend's heart race like crazy, even if it was something as silly as a snoopy hoodie.

"what's so funny?" you pouted, the hood still over your head, "nothing." he shrugged, wrapping his arm around you once again and starting to lead you towards the dorms, "it's just that... the hoodie is longer than your skirt."

"it's your fault for being freakishly tall, you damn beanstalk." you mumbled as you leaned into him. "or your skirts are freakishly short..." "prude." you stuck your tongue out at him, "acting like you weren't admiring the way i looked in this before i left." rafe felt his cheeks warm at your words, letting out an incredulous scoff as you simply giggled as he continued leading you towards the dormitory.

after about ten minutes of you wobbling and putting most of your weight on the side that was pressed against rafe, the two of you finally arrived at the boys' dormitory, "alright, try and be quiet." rafe said to you, rubbing his hand up and down your hoodie-clad arm. you simply responded by bringing your pointer finger to your lips and hushing, rafe unable to help the small smile on his face from how adorable he found it.

once you got to rafe's room, your boyfriend helped you to his bed where you immediately collapsed onto the mattress, letting out a moan of relief, making rafe feel slightly ashamed for the stirring he felt in his pants. he cleared his throat as he walked to the bed, "baby, you should take your clothes off first." "can't you do it…?" you mumbled, "are you sure?" "'s not the first time you've seen me naked, rafe."

rafe started with your heels, carefully peeling them from your feet, pressing a few kisses on each leg as he removed them. then he moved up onto the bed, lifting the hem of the hoodie as his long fingers slowly pulled down the zipper on your skirt, shimmying the fabric off, slight indents left on your stomach. rafe pressed soft kisses on each of your thighs, soft hums leaving your lips. "lift your arms up, love." he mumbled softly, and you did as he said; at once rafe pulled the hoodie off along with your top, throwing them onto the floor.

rafe trailed warm kisses leading from the waistband of your panties up to the underwire of your bra, before pulling back, "can i take this off?" he asked softly, and you nodded. rafe's hands slowly slid from the front of your bra to the back, until he found the clasp. you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding when you felt the clasp come free, allowing rafe to slide the straps down your arms and discard your bra.

rafe's hands softly massaged the indents of the underwire, pulling a sigh of relief from you, "do you want to borrow a shirt from me to sleep in?" he asked softly, but you shook your head and spoke softly, "can we just sleep like this? both of us?"

rafe's cheeks reddened slightly, but he nodded and tugged his shirt off, throwing it amongst your clothing. he then continued on to pull down the waistband of his sweats, kicking them off onto the floor and settling into bed.

you pulled the covers over both your heads with a quiet, mischievous chuckle, looking into his eyes, "does my breath stink?" "like a brewery." rafe said softly, and despite his words, he still brought his lips to yours, your bare chest pressed against his, rafe's hand sliding down to your back.

as he pulled away from the kiss, rafe trailed his finger up and down your spine, goosebumps forming on your sensitive skin. you nuzzled closer to him, feeling the warmth of his chest on your face, the two of you whispering sweet nothings to one another under the blanket, soft, drunken giggles escaping the little bubble you'd created.

"rafe...?" you mumbled quietly, your eyelids feeling heavier by the second, "yeah?" he answered, his fingertips still tracing your spine, "thank you for coming to get me..." at your words, rafe let out a quiet huff of a laughter against your shoulder.

"you never need to thank me for something like that. if you call me, i'll come."

TAGLIST: @raahosh @nemesyaaa @purpleplumpudding @littlelamy @dollyfiles @esotericcangel @mattyskies @bakugouswaif @nonietosay @my-name-is-baby @tinythebunni @fratbrochrisgf @ariieeesworld @izumis-salty-penis @cameronsbabydoll

join my taglist here ♡

#nerd!rafe #♡ pervert!reader #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #drew starkey #outer banks #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe x you #rafe fanfiction #rafe x reader #rafe cameron blurb #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron obx #obx rafe cameron #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron thoughts

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gotaksboyfie · 17 days ago

Note

I really want a story about after a hectic day as a Union member, Geum Seongje back to his house, full bruises, a cut, blood stain on his face then the reader (female probably) treat him first, prepare a bath for him and then end up in bath sex lol I know I'm such a gooner over Geum Seongje

quick fix

gif creds: @1liv

pairing keum seongje x female reader

summary when there's a couple problems with the union meeting, seongje comes back later than usual. to your surprise, he's all beaten up. nothing a first aid kid (and bath sex) won't fix

word count 1.4k

warnings/tags smut, small descriptions of blood

you sat on your couch, drowsily blinking tears away after you've yawned for the fifth time. it was getting late. too late. seongje was supposed to be back at nine pm, and it was nearly eleven. he was late for date night. you were going to give him the scolding of a lifetime the second he came back.

snuggling into a pillow, you nearly dozed off again until you heard the front door click.

"seongje?" you muttered sleepily, looking over your shoulder at the door.

a faint grunt came as your reply. then came a slight crashing sound. you jumped to your feet, rushing to seongje.

you gasped as you saw the state he was in, all bloody and bruised. there was an open cut on his cheek, as well as blood coming from just about everywhere.

"oh my god–! seongje, are you okay?" you asked, helping him steady himself.

"just peachy," he muttered, "can you get the first aid kit? i'm going to the couch."

seongje was already walking off despite his wounds. you tsk'ed, that high pain tolerance of his was going to get him killed.

you went to the bathroom cabinets to find it, and you heard seongje drop himself on the couch. there was a loud thump! as he probably all but launched himself at it.

walking back out, you saw seongje's head tipped back with slightly snores escaping. you left for only a few minutes, how was he knocked out already?

"wake up, seongje-ah," you patted his shoulder, sitting in his lap. seongje blinked and sluggishly sat up, closing his eyes.

you get to work, and seongje nearly dozes off multiple times. the small sting of the antiseptic helps keep him upright, but he's just like putty in your arms otherwise.

wiping away the crusted blood on his forehead, you take a moment to appreciate seongje's face. surely his parents do a high five every time they see him (which is never, probably)

seongje is asleep when you finish placing the last bandage. you slowly begin getting up to avoid waking him up. seongje's hand shoots out to hold your waist in place, and he grumbles something incoherent. so much for not waking him up.

gently prying his hand off, it falls limp and seongje lets out a huff. you quickly make your escape and start running a bath. you ran it hotter than normal, hoping to ease any potential aches seongje might have.

"seongje-ah, seongje," you shook him awake, watching drool run down his chin.

"huh?" he yawned, wincing as he nearly reopens the cut on his cheek.

"come, i started a bath for us."

"us? i must be lucky tonight," seongje grins and licks his lips, already eyeing your chest. "i'm sure i'll come alright."

you flush at the implication, "while you're injured?"

"it's barely a scratch," seongje stretches and his joints pop loudly. you disagree, the amount of blood you had to clean said otherwise. although now that you're thinking about it, was it really his blood?

you follow seongje to the bathroom, and he starts stripping. at first you're eyeing him because, well, he's hot. but it soon morphs into concern at the amount of bruising there is on his arms and some on his chest.

"are you okay?! oh my gosh, i didn't notice that before," you hurriedly rush to his side, flipping him around to find any other hidden wounds.

"calm down, it's just a few scratches." seongje waves you off, "but are you going to bathe fully clothed?"

of course this pervert seongje is thinking about your body when he's all battered and bruised. you quickly pull your clothes off, motioning for seongje to get in the bath. he pulls you in after him, making you sit in his lap with your back to his chest.

"been thinking of you all day," seongje presses wet kisses along your nape, one of his hands going to fondle at your chest. "fuckin' union bastards kept me from you."

"i was waiting for you. you came home so late," you bite back a moan, letting out a heavy breath instead. his other hand inches towards your inner thigh, getting closer and closer to your cunt.

"can't fucking stand it when they keep me from you," seongje bites along where your shoulder snd neck meet, making you jerk slightly from the sharpness of his teeth. "was so close to just beating the shit out of everyone."

his fingers find your clit, rubbing harsh circles on it. you tilt your hips upward, seeking more from him.

"you're this wet already?" seongje laughs right next to your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

"told you already, i was waiting," you whined, guiding seongje's hand towards your hole. the first finger slips in without much hesitation, and he adds a second one almost immediately.

"yeah, i can tell sweetheart. you've just been sitting here hoping i'd come home early to fuck you senseless, weren't you?"

his fingers curl, aiming for your g-spot. you let out a whimper as seongje starts fingerfucking you, adding a third after not even a minute.

"seongje– want it– please," you gasp out, throwing your head back onto his shoulders. you can his hard length against your ass, rubbing against it.

"you feel it? i've been dreaming of fucking you all day," seongje chuckles in your ear, lifting you up to slide home. you sink down fully without stopping, letting out a low moan.

you turn your head to your side to pull seongje into a sloppy kiss. the first roll of his hips has you choking on your breath. you can feel seongje smirk, and he grips your hips firmly.

you know he's steadying himself to fuck you senseless from the countless times he's gripped you similarly before. you relax against seongje, letting him take full control. you break from the kiss to catch your breath, moaning directly into his ear.

"that's right sweetheart, just sit there and look pretty. don't gotta lift a finger, all you have to do is take it." seongje growls, watching you bare your neck to him.

staccato moans are punched out of you, and the bathroom is filled with slick sounds of skin slapping and water sloshing with every harsh thrust.

this spurs him on, and he starts going rougher. you can feel the heat building up in your stomach. your hand finds seongje's, interlocking your fingers with his to try and steady yourself.

"you're close? already?" seongje chuckles, "you're squeezing me like crazy sweetheart." his free hand snakes down to rub quick circles on your clit.

"come on sweetheart, let go for me." that's all the confirmation you need. your body tenses up as you reach your peak, your vision even blurring at the intensity of it. seongje fucks you through it and milks out your orgasm.

"gonna– gonna cum, fuck, you feel so good around me," seongje groans, his voice slightly shaky as his thrusts grow sloppy from him chasing his high.

his hands clamp down on your waist with a bruising force. he buries himself to the hilt before he stills, spilling inside you with a ragged moan.

seongje leans against the bathtub, breath uneven and heavy, as he slowly loosens his grip on you.

"seongje.." you let out an airy breath, watching how seongje peeks one eye open at you. he lets out a small hum, waiting for your next words.

"there's water all over the goddamn floor." your voice is flat as you nod your head towards the bathroom floor. your clothes are soaked wet, snd there's giant puddles forming.

"and your cunt is still throbbing around me." seongje raises an eyebrow.

"wh– what does that even have to do with anything?!" you sputter, trying to find the correlation between the two.

"nothing, just seemed like we were just saying the truth. so what if there's water over the floor? that's a problem for later."

"yeah, later when we bust our head open on the sink." you roll your eyes, getting up to turn the shower head back on to rinse off. seongje pulls you down though, slamming you back down before you can pull off his cock.

the movement makes a sudden moan slip out of you. then you realize—seongje never softened up.

"you're so fucking horny," you choked out. seongje just laughs and keeps you seated on his cock.

"you thought i'd be done with just one round?" you can hear seongje's grin, even with your back to him. "we're going for at least three today."

"can't we at least get out of our cum infested bathtub first?"

feeling seongje's dick twitch inside you, you already know that you're gonna need another bath.

fin

a/n yo i did Not know how to end this i'm sorry 💔

#weak hero #weak hero x reader #weak hero class 2 x reader #weak hero class 2 #weak hero class #weak hero class x reader #weak hero class 2 smut #weak hero smut #keum seongje x reader smut #keum seongje x reader #keum seongje #seongje #geum seongje #geum seongje x reader #geum seongje x reader smut #keum seongje smut

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othersidedd · 2 months ago

Text

I'm here

Joel Miller x f!reader

🤍 Ever since Abby almost killed Joel on that snowy day, you've had nightmares every night. Thankfully Joel is always there to comfort you and remind you that he's still here.

🤍 here's a little pain medicine for you all after episode 2 <3 joel is alive and well !!! (i say as they drag me into the asylum)

🤍 wc. 1.5k

🤍 Tags: oneshot, fluff omg so much fluff, angst, soft and caring joel, very anxious and protective reader, comfort

———

You remember that day so vividly, you and Ellie rushing in the freezing wind to find Joel and Dina. You seeing Joel's blood and scar covered face, causing you to freeze on your tracks. Ellie shooting dead the woman standing over him, who you later learned was named Abby, and her father had been killed by Joel. But you thought that gave her no right to find and try to kill Joel, the dearest person in your life.

That specific day had been haunting your mind. The first weeks after it were rough for both you and Joel. Joel's scars and bruises still healing, and you being terrified everyday, anxiously thinking of who else could be after him. Who else's father, or mother or child had he killed? Who would come to get their revenge next? Would they come during a night, you deep in sleep and not being there to protect Joel? You sobbed in Joel's comforting arms way too many times, him holding you tight, brushing his fingers through your hair. You had begged him not to go on patrols anymore, you had pretty much begged him to not even leave the house anymore, scared of someone getting to him if he were to leave your line of sight. Joel agreed in a soft whisper, that he would stay with you at home, at least for few weeks, until your mind calmed.

But the issue was that your mind didn't calm down, there was this constant anxiety flooding in your thoughts. No matter what kind of calming exercise you tried, nothing eased your mind, the images of his bloody, beaten up body returning to your mind over and over again. Every day you would sit and wait for Joel to come back home, you would sit for hours on the couch, anxiously staring at the front door. And when the door moved open, revealing the familiar figure of the man you loved, you would run up to him, tears immediately falling from your eyes. Joel would always dry your wet cheeks with his thumbs, gently stroking your face.

"Shh, it's okay." He would softly breath out. "I'm here."

And then there were the nightmares, you felt like those were the worst part. In these dreams, you could see him so clearly, everything feeling so real. You'd hear his screams, just like how they sounded on that day. Sometimes it would be Abby above him, sometimes other people, the way they were killing him also changed some nights, but the situation would always be just as horrifying to see. You would always wake up to Joel's fingers softly stroking up and down your arm. You'd feel the tears on your cheeks, you'd felt your mouth drying from the screaming you did, it always causing Joel to wake up. You would shake and shiver, entire body filled with fear. Your vision would be blurry from the tears spilling from your eyes, feeling the warmth of them on your cheeks. That day was like a ghost, always following you around. You didn't even want to imagine what your life would be like if you hadn't found him. Or if you'd have found him only a few minutes too late, only finding his dead body laying limp on the floor.

It was one of those evenings again, Joel said he would only be out for a few hours, needing some fresh air and wanting to go talk to Tommy about some patrol stuff. You had begged him to take you with him, but he had softly stroked your face and kissed your forehead, telling you to stay here, make something to eat and go rest, saying something about how all your worrying was surely making you tired. You had quietly accepted your fate, knowing he was right, and you couldn't always follow him around everywhere, so you waved him goodbye, closed the door and made your way to your usual spot on the couch. You didn't make food, and you most certainly couldn't rest with him being gone. You'd check the clock every five minutes, almost counting down the minutes to when he should return . And when he had been gone for two hours and 15 minutes, you got up and started pacing around the living room, fidgeting with your hands anxiously.

Then you heard it, the faint sound of footsteps on the porch and the click of the keys. Basically running to the door you were greeted by Joel's comforting arms around you. Hugging you gently, as if he was afraid to break you. "You were late." You stated, your voice slightly muffled into his shirt. He softly chuckled. "Yeah, for like what, 10 minutes?" He held your chin and placed a soft kiss on your lips. "Actually, 15." You muttered between gentle kisses, causing Joel to let out a low laugh. "Alright, sunshine, we should get you to bed." He stripped his jacket away and stepped out of his worn boots. You made your way to the living room, sinking into the sofa. Rubbing your eyes that were filled with sleepiness. It was late, and you were exhausted from the hours of worrying and replaying memories in your head.

"Did you eat?" Joel asked, standing in the kitchen, turning his head to you. You shook your head, to which he clicked his tongue and gave you a look. "I told you to eat something." He soon made his way to you with two plates in his hands, setting the other one on the table in front of you. As you two ate, he told you about what him and Tommy talked about it, half of it sounding like nonsense to you, but you still gladly listened, Joel's voice always being so soothing to you, it being active proof that he was actually here, he was alive and with you.

"C'mon, let's get you to bed." You let his strong arm lead you towards the bedroom. He gave you a shirt of his to wear to bed, an old simple black t-shirt, that was way too big on you. You took your place on the bed, smelling Joel on the sheets. He got himself ready for bed and filled the other side of the mattress. You turned yourself to him, his soft, dark brown eyes already gazing at you, a sweet smile on his lips. He kissed you, ever so gently, reminding you with the action that he's here, you're not alone. You wrapped your arms around him, sighing softly. He whispered you a good night and held your body close to his, as you drifted off to sleep.

Joel's screams, his voice low filled with agony. You ran and ran, but felt like you weren't fast enough, legs burning from the movement. Ripping open the door, seeing Joel's face on the ground, dark red blood dripping to the ground. The woman with the braid, beating him over and over again. You screamed, his name, please, stop, anything would come out of your mouth, throat feeling dry and voice coming out strained.. You felt like you couldn't move, feet glued to the wooden floor. You felt cold sweat on your skin, and hot tears on your cheeks.

You'd hear someone calling your name softly, the sound not fitting this scenery. "Hey, I'm here. Sunshine, you're okay." A soft, familiar voice slowly pulling you out of the horrifying vision. "Open your eyes, you're with me." You obeyed and blinked open your eyes, seeing Joel's worried face in the soft glow of the nightlight. "Hey, baby. I'm right here." Slowly returning to this world, returning to your body, you felt his hand in your hair, softly holding the back of your head, and the other tightly wrapped around your fingers. "See? It's all good, we're safe." He placed a soft kiss on your wet cheek, tasting your salty tears on his lips.

"I'm so scared." You whispered, tightening your hand around his, like you were afraid he would disappear if you didn't hold him tight enough. Joel looked at you with sad eyes, and furrowed eyebrows, causing more wrinkles to appear on his face. "Shh, I know." He pulled you closer to him, your head now laying on his chest, feeling it slowly rising up and down, the sound of his heartbeat filling your ears. "It was just a dream. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere, I promise." He gently brushed his fingers through your hair. Your tear stained cheeks were wetting his shirt, but he didn't care. All he cared about right now was you feeling safe.

"Sunshine, can you feel my heartbeat?" You nodded against his chest. "Good, focus on that. I'm alive, and I'm not going anywhere." Your breath slowly evened out, your own heartbeat finally calming down. Joel placed his hand on your back, tracing circles with his fingers, feeling you drift back to sleep under his touch. He softly brushed strands of hair away from your face, allowing himself to see your peaceful face. If only he could, he would take away all those worries and fears from you.

———

🤍 i kinda rushed writing this so i apologize if theres any mistakes :( as always hearing your thoughts and opinions would be greatly appreciated !!

#tlou fic #tlou episode 2 #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel tlou #joel miller fluff #joel miller comfort #the last of us #joel the last of us #the last of us fic

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art-by-jas · 3 months ago

Text

Desperate (NSFW)

Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch x Reader x Jack Abbott

Tags: Established Relationship, Rimming, Cunnilingus, Spit Kink, Finger Sucking, Panty-Sniffing, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Three-way, MMF, 69, Blow-Jobs, Squirting, Come-Eating

A/N: I'm sorry if this seems rushed, I have to head to work, but I wanted so badly to put this up. I'll make edits later. Also, yes this is a dirty fic, still not as nasty as I want but I'm working my way to that. THERE WILL BE A PART TWO FOR MORE SMUT.

WC: 3.2k

Jack reaches out with a sly smile, gently cupping your face in his warm hands. He leans in, his intense gaze locked on yours as he closes the distance between you. Robby watches from the other side of you, his hand coming to rest on your thigh, fingertips tracing lazy circles over your jeans.

As Jack's tongue tangles with yours, a low groan rumbles from Robby's throat. His grip tightens on your thigh, the heat in his gaze growing more intense as he watches the exchange. "Can't get enough of that, can you?" Robby rasps, his voice thick with desire. "Seeing you two swap spit... it's something else."

Robby's words send a shiver through you, heightening your arousal as you're caught between the two men. Jack's tongue slides against yours again, his mouth hungry and demanding. You feel Robby's hand gliding higher up your thigh, his touch growing more insistent.

Unable to stand watching you and Jack any longer, Robby seizes the moment. Robby, unable to stand watching you and Jack any longer, seizes the opportunity. He pulls you back by the collar, his grip firm but controlled. The message is clear: he wants your undivided attention now.

Your heart racing, you break free from the kiss with Jack, who lets out a low, almost disappointed groan.

With your heart racing, you break free from the kiss with Jack, who lets out a low, almost disappointed groan. But before you can catch your breath, Robby grabs your mouth in a deep kiss, overwhelming your senses. Robby's kiss is tender and demanding, with his tongue exploring every part of your mouth. Hands are sweeping across your body with a heated intensity. He keeps pulling you in, his kiss becoming more passionate and possessive. He eventually breaks away to get some air. He looks at you, taking in your flushed face and swollen lips, a satisfied grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Robby's hungry gaze rakes over your disheveled appearance, his eyes glittering with arousal. He looks up at Jack, his hand holding your thigh possessively. "She is already such a mess," he smirks, his voice filled with pride. "And we are only getting started."

Jack chuckles, his eyes fixed on you with a wicked gleam. His gaze roams over your flushed cheeks and tousled hair. "She looks damn good like that."

Robby's fingers trace lightly across your lips, and your eyes flutter at the contact. As he continues speaking to Jack, he slips two fingers into your mouth, his gaze still locked with his partner's. His voice has a deeper, more gravelly quality as he hums, "She looks even better with something in her mouth."

Jack's smirk deepens, his gaze fixed intently on your lips. "I'd agree with that," he responds, his fingers toying with your hair.

The combination of his touch and the suggestive words caused a flush to rise in your cheeks, driving you to distraction.

Robby's gaze drifts back to you, his fingers still in your mouth. "You like that, don't you?" he whispers. He knows the effect he's having on you, and he's loving every second of it. Your body is reacting to their every word and movement. You don't respond with words, just a moan and nod of agreement, licking and sucking along the pads of Robby’s fingers.

Robby's smirk widens as he feels your response against his fingers. His hand moves from your mouth, now gripping the side of your jaw, his thumb tracing the curve of your lip. "Such a good girl," he murmurs, his voice thick with praise and lust.

Jack's hands are also roaming your body; he leans in closer, his mouth against your ear as he speaks. "You like being in between us like this, don't you?" He asks, his voice low and rumbling. You can only shiver and manage a small nod. Being sandwiched between Robby and Jack, their hands roaming over you, their voices making you melt inside - it's almost too much to handle.

Robby withdraws his fingers from your mouth, his eyes still locked on you. "Stand up," he commands softly, his tone leaving no room for disobedience. You rise to your feet on shaky legs, your breathing ragged. You can feel both Robby and Jack watching you intently, their gazes hot on your body, making your skin tingle with anticipation. "Strip. Slowly."

You can feel the heat radiating from Robby and Jack's eyes as you begin to remove your clothing. It starts with your shirt. The fabric slides from your skin as you lift it over your head, the cool night air caressing your bare flesh. You hear a low, appreciative groan from Robby.

"Good," he rumbles, his gaze roaming over your exposed skin.

You spin around, your back facing them now. You can practically feel their gazes searing your skin as you slowly remove your jeans, making sure to take your time. The material slips over your hips and down your legs, pooling at your feet, revealing the new underwear you had gotten just for this moment. The fabric hugs your curves perfectly. You hear a low, guttural sound coming from Robby, and when you glance over your shoulder, you see his eyes dark with desire, his expression intense.

“Damn," Jack mutters, his gaze fixed on your backside, his fingers clenching involuntarily into the fabric of the bed. It's clear that your little show hasn't gone unnoticed, and you can feel their desire for you building with every passing moment.

You turn around to face them, your eyes raking over their still-clothed bodies. With a coy smile, you say, "It's only fair if you guys lose some clothes too."

Your words are met with wicked grins from both Robby and Jack. They don't need any further invitation. In a quick and practiced motion, they both begin removing their shirts, their muscles shifting and flexing as the fabric is discarded.

As their shirts come off, your eyes take in the sight of their bare chests. They are both covered in a smattering of freckles, the little spots creating a delightful map of their skin. You can't help but comment, your voice soft and admiring.

"You guys have so many freckles," you say, your gaze sweeping over Robby first and then Jack.

Robby grins as he catches you looking, his fingers tracing over the freckles on his chest. "Yeah, we do," he admits with a laugh.

You move closer, your bare feet padding softly on the floor. You approach Robby first, your lips brushing against his cheek, right where a cluster of freckles is. He lets out a soft sigh at the touch, his hand coming up to gently cup your face.

Next, you turn to Jack, your hand tracing his jawline as you press a tender kiss on the tops of his shoulders, where his freckles are the most intense. He closes his eyes and leans into your touch, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.

Jack pats the space next to him, his gaze fixed on you. "Come sit back down, on your back," he says. You comply, settling between the two men on the bed, lying on your back. Your heart pounds, your body humming with anticipation as their presence surrounds and overwhelms you.

As you lie there, a silent exchange passes between Robby and Jack - a subtle tilt of the head, a slight shift of the eye. As you lie there, Robby and Jack have a silent conversation, with a subtle tilt of the head and a slight shift of the eye. They were communicating discreetly and without words. Then Robby moves, sliding down to the floor and placing himself between your separated knees. His eyes are wide and expressive, and your heart skips a beat. Jack reclines against the headboard, a smirk playing on his lips as he commands Robby, "Start with her ankle." Without hesitation, Robby presses his lips tenderly against your ankle; his facial hair leaves a slight, pleasant burn. Then he slowly trails soft kisses up your shin and knee, working his way up your thigh. With each kiss, he glances up, his eyes meeting yours, brimming with desire and affection.

Jack watches Robby's sensual descent towards your core, a wicked smile on his lips. He takes a moment to admire the sight of you becoming undone under Robby's attentions.

"He's so eager to please, isn't he?" Jack murmurs, his voice rough with arousal. "Look at him, he can't get enough of you." You can only nod, your breath hitching as your mind grows hazy with need. Robby's mouth is now higher, just under your hip bone. Jack's hand presses against the back of Robby's head, pushing him closer to your core. Robby's warm breath caresses your heated skin as he obediently nuzzles against you, inhaling your scent. "That's it, sniff," Jack commands, his voice low and authoritative.

Robby presses his nose against you, breathing deeply to fully take in your scent. His eyes close in evident enjoyment, his focus solely on pleasing you. You shiver at the intimate sensation of his nose against your most sensitive areas. The intensity of the moment hangs palpably in the air as Robby pauses briefly.

Jack's eyes flick down, noticing the damp patches on your underwear. He nods approvingly, "Looks like someone's getting worked up real good." Keeping his hand on the back of Robby's head, Jack instructs, "Go on, take them off."

As Robby removes your underwear, he sees the evidence of your arousal on them, his eyes darkening with need. Without prompting, his tongue extends to taste your slickness off of your underwear. He knows it is dirty; he can’t stop himself.

Clearly pleased, Jack chuckles as the scene unfolds. "Oh, look at that," he murmurs, his tone approving. "Didn't even have to tell him. Good boy."

Robby glances upward, his hungry gaze fixed on you, a small smile tugging at his lips. The praise from Jack stokes his eagerness, his hands gripping your thighs tightly.

Jack nods approvingly and gently grips Robby's hair. "Go ahead, use your tongue."

Needing no further encouragement, Robby lowers his head, his tongue swiping reverently across your sensitive flesh as he explores you. His flattened tongue lapped at your dripping pussy, the wetness now coating his mouth. His eyes remained locked on your face.

Jack watches, observing how you respond to Robby's skilled ministrations. His hand remains in Robby's hair, occasionally tugging it to guide him. Jack revels in the control he wields over you both, enjoying the show unfolding before him.

Robby's skilled tongue elicits a moan of pleasure from you. "Oh God, Robby, you're so good," you breathe, your voice trembling with ecstasy. "Your tongue feels incredible." Robby's ears perk up at your praise, fueling his determination to make you feel even better. He increases the pressure and speed, flicking his tongue over and around your clit. However, a sudden twinge of pain shoots through Robby's knees, making him grimace briefly. The hard floor and awkward angle are taking a toll on his joints. Robby tries to power through the discomfort, not wanting to interrupt what he's doing. But the pain grows harder to ignore as his knees protest the prolonged position.

Jack notices the slight grimace on Robby's face and quickly picks up on the signs of discomfort. "Hold on," he says, his voice firm yet concerned. He loosens his grip on Robby's hair, signaling for him to stop. "You're hurting, aren't you, old man?"

Robby shoots a glare at Jack, annoyed by the jab at his age. "Shut up, wise ass, you’re only a few years younger," he grumbles, his tone still somewhat playful. As he stood up to ease the pain, a cracking noise echoed.

Jack's smirk blossomed into a full-on smile. "Ah, the sweet sound of arthritic knees," he teases, clearly reveling in the moment. "You're the picture of youth, aren't you, Grandpa?"

Robby rolls his eyes, now more irritated than amused. "You're hilarious, you know that?" he mutters, his voice tinged with annoyance.

Jack grins, relishing the chance to poke fun at his friend. "What can I say? I'm a comedian," he retorts, clearly enjoying the banter. The playful exchange between Jack and Robby prompts you to shake your head and roll your eyes, though you can't help finding it endearing.

With a smirk, Jack pats the bed next to Robby, signaling for him to lie down. "Alright, Mr. Arthritis, go ahead and lie down," he teases. Robby huffs in response but begrudgingly complies, making quick work of his pants and ridding himself of his boxers, leaving him naked.

As Robby lies down, bare and vulnerable, you can't help but appreciate the view. toned and muscular, but also sprinkled with more delicious smattering of freckles.

Jack isn't immune either, his eyes roaming over Robby's body with admiration. "Damn, you look good," he says breathlessly, his tone both appreciative and a little teasing.

Once Robby is settled, Jack gestures to you. "Come on, sweetheart. Climb on top of him," he instructs. You move hesitantly, hovering over Robby. Jack's lips curl into a smirk as he nods. "You know what to do, sweetheart. Robby here needs a little attention." He pats Robby's chest in a mocking gesture.

You understand the task at hand. Leaning down, you press a gentle kiss to Robby's hip, your lips trailing his skin and tracing his defined lines. The warmth and softness of your mouth against his hip bone elicits a low groan from him. You run your lips over his length a few times before taking him into your welcoming mouth. Robby's breath hitches, his hand gripping your hair tightly, holding you in place. Your warm, wet mouth sends bolts of pleasure through his tensing muscles. The room fills with the sounds of his heavy breathing and your quiet, pleasured moans.

Robby's mind is clouded with pleasure, but he doesn't forget his earlier task. He shifts his position, angling his head to reach you. His hand moves to your hips, holding you in place as his tongue slips between your folds. His hot, wet mouth works you, his tongue swirling and flicking against your cunt. Determined to make you feel as good as you're making him feel, the multitasking proves challenging. Your mouth continues working on him as his moans vibrate against you. He tries to focus on pleasuring you, but the sensations you're causing make it increasingly difficult to concentrate.

Jack smirks, clearly excited. Leaning over your back, his chest presses against you. Locking eyes with Robby, his gaze is intense. "Looks like you're having fun down there," Jack says, his tone playful.

He leans in close, his lips just above your ass, and makes a show of letting a string of saliva fall from his mouth. The glistening liquid slides along your hole before slowly making a trail to Robby's eager tongue. Without missing a beat, Jack grins, his gaze fixed on Robby. "You taste that?" he asks.

Robby moans, his mouth and tongue working feverishly against your flesh. His eyes are half-lidded, his expression one of pure pleasure, as his tongue captures the last remnants of Jack's spit. He moans again, the tantalizing taste adding to the intensity of the moment.

Jack's finger traces a gentle, teasing circle just above your asshole. He’s drinking in every shiver and gasp you make.

"You like this?" he asks, his voice soft and laced with desire. As he speaks, he replaces his finger with his tongue, slowly caressing you. His half-lidded eyes are filled with intense need as he feels you instinctively clench around his tongue. "Oh, you really like that, don't you?" he murmurs.

You moan out your affirmation, lost in the sensations. "Yes, oh God, yes."

Their combined efforts have you teetering on the edge, your body humming with desire. Jack and Robby exchange a heated look, their eyes dark with need. Then, unexpectedly, they crane their necks to meet in a rough, urgent kiss - a messy, passionate exchange of crashing lips and intertwining tongues. The taste of you lingers on their tongues as they swap spit.

Robby's bearded face rubs against your sopping pussy as they continue kissing. A sharp gasp escapes you at the rough scratch of his beard against your overly sensitive skin, the pain tinged with a pleasurable burn.

Robby's rough voice caresses your skin as he asks, "You like the feel of my beard on your pussy, don't you?"

You nod, breathless and needy. "Yes... oh God, yes."

He grins, savoring the effect he has on you. "Good girl."

Overwhelmed by Jack and Robby's relentless ministrations, you can hardly focus on pleasuring Robby. Instead, you settle for giving him wet kisses along his thighs, your fingers digging into his skin as each stroke of their tongues sends sparks of pleasure through you. Though you're too lost in the sensations to do much else, the kisses on his thighs are a reminder of your adoration for him.

Jack withdraws his tongue, replacing it with his fingers as he continues his actions. "Look at you two," he groans, his voice thick with desire. "So desperate for it." His other hand grips Robby's hair tightly, though he keeps his attention on you for the moment. "You love it, don't you?" He asks, his eyes flickering between you and Robby.

Jack continues to stretch you with his fingers, his movements slow but deliberate. He looks up, his gaze switching between you and Robby. "You're doing so well," he whispers, his tone low and approving as he watches you. A shiver ran down your spine at his words, Jack's fingers continuing to stretch and prepare you.

Jack can sense that you are close, on the edge of climax, and he uses this opportunity to get dirty. "Come for us, sweetheart," he growls. "Cover his face. Make a mess of him." You are on the verge of releasing, and the way Jack's voice deepens and becomes commanding only pushes you closer to the edge. "Come, darlin'... drench him in it, baby."

There's a split second where Robby is a little stunned; it doesn't last for long. The second he feels your teeth sink into his thigh and he can feel your juices gushing onto his bearded face, he goes feral and starts licking and feasting like a man starved.

“FUCK! OHHHHHH my God!” You scream out, your hand reaching out behind you to try and ground yourself. Robby's tongue is relentless, his lips and beard slick with your juices;

"Fuck, sweetheart...” Robby groans. Jack can't help but notice Robby's glistening beard from your release, and he roughly pulls him into a passionate kiss. He licks over Robby's face, sampling and tasting your juices. The moment is intense and intimate.

"Fuck, you taste good," Jack growls, breaking the kiss. He looks over at you, his eyes dark and hungry. You lie on the bed, spent and satisfied, watching them with hooded eyes. Your body feels like jello, but their display of passion is too much to ignore. Robby's breathing is ragged, his skin glistening with sweat and your release. He looks wrecked, and there's something undeniably hot about seeing him so undone.

MASTERLIST

#michael robinavitch x reader #michael robinavitch #dr. robby #the pitt #jack abbott #jack abbot x reader #reader insert #Jack Abbott x Michael Robinavitch #Jack Abbott x Reader x Michael Robinavitch #Michael Robinavitch x Reader x Jack Abbott

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inseobts · 3 months ago

Note

Hello! Idk if you done this before but could you do a imagine of either the strawhats or heart pirates (your choice) reacting to their newest crewmate die during a battle and then a minute later is up on their feet again cussing how much of a pain it is to deal with this shit. Basically has Deadpool inability to die just without his vulgar attitude and language and a lot less annoying, just seemly chill that they can just, come back to life after being shot? Definitely will give some people a heart attack. (Definitely has their bounty rise a lot after the marines find out they can’t die) plz and thank you!!!!

Surprise, I'm alive!

strawhat crew x gn ! strawhat ! reader (platonic)

words count: 1.7k

tags: platonic, strawhat reader, immortal reader, luffy tries to test your immortality

masterlist || ko-fi

The battle is chaos. Cannons boom, swords clash, and the air is thick with smoke and the smell of gunpowder. You don’t know exactly how it happens, but one moment, you’re blocking a sword swing, and the next, a bullet tears through your chest.

Your body hits the ground with a dull thud.

Silence.

Then, pure, unfiltered panic.

"Y/N!" Luffy’s scream cuts through the battlefield like a knife. His eyes widen in horror, and his usual carefree grin vanishes "Oi! Get up!"

Zoro, mid-swing against an enemy, falters as he sees your unmoving body "Damn it! They got Y/N!" His grip on his swords tightens "I should’ve been watching!"

"Oh no, oh no, oh no!" Usopp’s voice is shrill. He looks like he’s about to throw up "We—we need Chopper! Chopper!"

Sanji’s cigarette drops from his mouth as he turns sharply "Tch—those bastards." His expression darkens, and before anyone can stop him, he launches a devastating kick that sends one of the attackers flying "They’re dead. Every last one of them."

"Y/N!!" Nami’s eyes are wide with shock. She looks from your lifeless body to the enemy forces and then to Chopper, who is already rushing over, tears forming in his eyes.

"No! No, no, no! Hold on, Y/N!" Chopper skids to your side, his tiny hooves trembling as he checks for a pulse "They’re—THEY’RE NOT BREATHING!"

"No," Robin murmurs, brows furrowing "Not like this."

Franky’s hands clench into fists "That’s it! These jerks are SUPER dead!"

Brook, ever the gentleman, removes his hat solemnly "Ah…Y/N, my dear friend… You will be missed."

The crew collectively ignores him.

Luffy’s hands shake "This isn’t funny" he mutters. His knuckles turn white as he clenches his fists "They were my crew! They were—"

Then, right in the middle of their grief, in the middle of the battlefield, you groan.

"God, that hurt like hell."

The silence that follows is deafening.

You push yourself up, rubbing your chest where the bullet hole should be, but there’s nothing. Just a torn shirt and a lot of blood.

"Ugh, I hate dealing with this shit." You stand up, rolling your shoulders like you just woke up from a nap "That one stung."

Luffy’s jaw drops "HUUUUUUH?!"

Chopper looks like he’s about to pass out "B-B-But you were—you weren’t breathing! You were DEAD!"

"Yeah, about that," you say, dusting yourself off "I don’t really stay dead. Kind of a thing I have."

Nami looks like she’s questioning reality itself "Excuse me?!"

"You mean," Usopp wheezes, pointing at you like you’re some kind of horror story, "you just DIE and come back?! Like Brook??"

You nod "Not really... but pretty much."

Sanji, still mid-rampage, freezes "...You mean I just got worked up for nothing?"

"I mean, I appreciate the rage," you say with a grin "Nice to know you guys care."

Zoro stares at you for a long moment "You had us thinking you were gone, dumbass."

"Not my fault! I was shot! I wasn't expecting that!!"

"HOW ARE YOU EVEN ALIVE?!" Franky yells, gesturing wildly.

"Oh, I just don’t die."

"THAT IS NOT AN EXPLANATION!"

Luffy suddenly laughs, his earlier grief completely gone, replaced with awe "Shishishi! That’s so cool! Y/N, you’re like a zombie! But not a creepy one like Brook!"

"Hey!" Brook protests "That’s hurtful!"

Robin, ever the calm one, tilts her head "So you’ve had this ability this entire time?"

You shrug "Yeah, but I never really had to use it around you guys. You all are usually pretty good at keeping me from getting shot or anything deadly."

Chopper is still hyperventilating "I CAN’T HANDLE THIS KIND OF STRESS."

"Well, get used to it, buddy." You pat his tiny head "‘Cause something tells me the Marines are gonna be real interested in me once they find out."

Nami groans "Ugh. I can already hear our bounties going up."

"Not my fault!"

Zoro sighs "You’re a pain in the ass."

You grin "And yet, you’d miss me if I was really gone."

He clicks his tongue but doesn’t deny it.

Luffy laughs again and throws an arm around your shoulders "This is awesome! We’re unstoppable now! Let’s go kick some more ass!"

And just like that, the chaos resumes with the Strawhats now fully aware that their newest crewmate is literally impossible to kill.

The battle wraps up quickly after your "revival", mostly because the enemy forces are too busy freaking out about the supposedly dead person walking around like nothing happened. Some of them flat-out drop their weapons and run. Others just stand there, gaping in horror.

"D-Demon!" one of them shouts before bolting.

"Huh," you say, watching them flee "Didn’t expect that reaction."

Luffy grins "Shishishi! You scared ‘em good!"

Sanji lights another cigarette, shaking his head "I don’t blame them. If I saw a corpse cursing about how annoying it was to die, I’d run too."

Chopper is still clutching his chest, trying to breathe properly "I’m going to need so much tea after this."

Nami rubs her temples "You and me both, Chopper. You and me both."

Usopp finally stops hyperventilating long enough to poke you in the arm "Okay, but like… does it hurt? When you die?"

You nod "Oh yeah. It sucks. But I get over it."

Franky whistles "That is SUPER messed up."

Robin chuckles "It’s certainly rare. The government would definitely want to study you to know how to avtually kill you."

You groan "Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about. If they find out, I’m probably getting a massive bounty."

Luffy’s eyes sparkle "That means we’re gonna be even more famous!"

Zoro crosses his arms "Not necessarily a good thing, Captain."

Before the conversation can continue, a loud explosion erupts from the distance. The remaining enemy ships have started retreating, but they’re firing cannons to cover their escape.

One of the cannonballs heads straight for you.

"Move!" Nami shouts.

"Nah, I got it" you say casually.

The cannonball slams directly into you, kicking up a massive cloud of dust and debris.

The Straw Hats lose their minds for the second time that day.

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!" Sanji yells.

Chopper throws himself to the ground, screaming into his hooves "I CAN’T KEEP DOING THIS!"

"Why didn’t they move?!" Nami shrieks.

Luffy just grins "They’ll be fine. Right, Y/N?"

The dust settles, and there you are, lying on your back in a crater, looking mildly annoyed.

"Okay," you groan "That one sucked more than the bullet."

Brook tilts his skull "Ah, but did you feel it in your bones? Yohohoho!"

"I swear to god, Brook."

Franky shakes his head "I don’t know if this is amazing or horrifying."

Robin smiles "Both."

Zoro sighs "At this point, I don’t think anything can actually kill you."

You give him a thumbs-up "Pretty much hiw it works"

Luffy bursts into laughter and punches his fist into his palm "Alright! That means we really are unstoppable now! Let’s get back to the Sunny and celebrate!"

The crew cheers, except for Chopper, who is still lying on the ground, contemplating his life choices.

As the Thousand Sunny sails away from the battlefield, a transmission crackles to life in a Marine base far away. A serious-looking officer listens to the report with growing concern.

"…Confirmed reports indicate that the Straw Hat Pirates have a new crewmember with apparent immortality. We are still gathering information, but if true, this could be one of the greatest threats we’ve ever faced."

The officer frowns "Increase surveillance on their movements. If this is real, their bounty is going to skyrocket."

The crew is still struggling to process what they just witnessed. Chopper is on his fourth cup of tea, shaking slightly. Nami is already calculating how much higher her bounty is going to be just because of association. Luffy, meanwhile, is grinning ear to ear.

"Alright, Y/N, let’s test it!" Luffy exclaims.

You blink "Test what?"

"Your power! Let’s see how much you can take before you go down!"

"Absolutely not," Nami cuts in immediately "We are NOT using our crewmate as a test dummy."

Luffy pouts "But it’s so cool! Y/N’s like a superhero! Or a really bad zombie!"

Brook raises a hand "As an actual undead individual, I must say that I find this comparison quite unfair!"

Zoro leans back against the mast, arms crossed "I say we let them do what they want. If they really can’t die, it’s useful information."

Sanji glares at him "And what, you just wanna go around slicing them up for fun?"

"Did I say that?"

"You were thinking it."

Usopp waves his hands frantically "Okay, okay, let’s NOT casually experiment with Y/N’s immortality like it’s some kind of game! We should be asking the important questions."

"Like what?" You ask.

"Like… can you drown?"

Silence.

Everyone turns to look at you. Your eye twitches.

"Usopp," you say slowly "Why would you even ask that?"

"Because it’s important! What if we’re in a battle at sea? What if you fall overboard? Will you just come back to life at the bottom of the ocean?"

You pause, then frown "…I have no idea."

"WELL, THERE’S ONLY ONE WAY TO FIND OUT!" Luffy cheers and suddenly grabs you, launching himself off the ship and into the water.

The crew collectively loses their minds.

"LUFFY, YOU ABSOLUTE MORON!" Nami screeches "YOU’RE A DEVIL FRUIT USER!"

Sanji dives in instantly, hauling both you and Luffy out of the sea. Luffy is sputtering and laughing, while you just cough up a lungful of seawater.

"So?" Luffy asks excitedly "Did you die?"

You glare at him "I ALMOST DID, YOU IDIOT!" You shake your head and squeeze water out of your shirt "Looks like I still need to breathe. Maybe I'll just be alive once I'm out of water..."

Chopper collapses in relief "THANK GOD."

Robin chuckles "Well, that settles that. Y/N isn’t entirely indestructible."

Franky grins "Still, that’s SUPER impressive! The Marines are gonna have a fit when they get the full report on this."

Meanwhile, at Marine Headquarters, a high-ranking officer slams a fresh bounty poster onto the table. Your face stares back at them, right beneath a massive new bounty.

WANTED: Y/N Dead or Alive Bounty: 1,200,000,000 Berries

"Find them. Now."

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reiderwriter · 1 year ago

Text

🧺 Any More 🧺

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

For the CM Kink Bingo Challenge 2024

Requested: spencer realizing that he’ll never love someone as much as he loves you. (whether that be because of a case or what have you), his mind is absolutely blown with how much he worships you and how much you love and care for him and he shows you that with the softest most sickeningly sweet sex you and him has ever done. <3

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI! Discussions of case details, case burnout, very close friends to lovers, oral (f receiving), vanilla sex (p in v penetration). Discussions of mental health, and two idiots in love.

A/N: I'm hitting the prompt Vanilla for this one, so please don't be scared off by the KinkBingo tags! I had a lot of fun writing this one (and adding Pride and Prejudice quotes into the smut scene because HELLO). Let me know what you think in the replies~♡

Masterlist || Bingo Board

You hadn't seen Spencer in 100 days. Which in the grand scheme of things wasn't that long, trapped in the purgatory of a ‘what if’ the way you had been for the last eight years.

You'd lived without him for longer than 100 days before. He'd been in prison, you'd been on assignments, you'd lived an entire life before meeting him, but now somehow 100 days was too much time, and you were exhausted. You understood why Spencer had to take some time away from you, from the team in an official capacity after everything he'd been through. You supported him even.

But when even your free time didn't overlap anymore, you wondered if your relationship would ever be the same again.

Spencer was a friend, your best friend, probably. You'd arrived on the BAU team, he'd rattled off some statistics, stammering the way through them, and you'd immediately warmed to the man. He was brilliant, funny, and fiercely loyal, and you tried your best to protect him even when the job seemed designed to break people like him into thousands of little pieces.

You'd tried to convince him to leave before, after Maeve had died. You didn't want to see him heart broken again, but no one else had seemed to agree.

“Reid needs purpose,” they'd said. “Reid needs something to do.”

What Reid needed was to not end up dead before he had a chance to be happy, and happiness didn't come often in your field of work.

You'd been almost vindicated a year later when he'd been shot again, almost fatally. Vindicated, maybe but distraught and inconsolable. Morgan had to carry you screaming and clawing out of his hospital room multiple times. It sounded stupid enough to yourself that it was only then you realized your feelings for the man.

You wanted to be Spencer Reid's happiness, which was why you were so lost without him.

He was coming back on Monday, and at least you had the weekend to sort your feelings out about everything.not just about him, but about the job you'd found didn't fit you well enough anymore, about the team you loved like family, about the relationship you knew would likely never come to fruition.

You dumped your bags at your door when you'd arrived in your house that night, pushed yourself into your bedroom and let yourself collapse on your bed, balling up into as cozy a position as you could. You didn't even bother taking your jacket off, you just let your brain haze over and sleep rush in.

Three quiet raps at your door lifted you up and out of bed again, not an hour later.

You grabbed your phone, grabbed the second go-bag you kept at your house, put your shoes back on, and opened the door, expecting Emily and a new case.

“Where are we going?” You said, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, not even looking up at your guest.

“Hopefully, nowhere? I brought takeout.”

Your eyes widened then, taking in all 185cm of Doctor Spencer Reid, tweed jacket and plastic bag full of chow mein included.

“Spencer,” you breathed out, like a sigh of relief, letting the bag drop to the floor next to the first one and letting yourself into his arms.

He held you carefully there for a second before leading you back into the apartment, wrapping an arm around you and ruffling your hair. It was brotherly, and it made you sick to your stomach.

“What are you doing here?”

“Emily said you were back from a case,” he started, unpacking the takeaway from the containers. “And it feels wrong to eat this without you.”

You rolled your eyes and followed him into the kitchen, pulling two forks out of the drawer nearer you and stabbing them in the top of your two cups.

“Hey, I can use chopsticks now,” he said, defending himself against an inside joke. Spencer was always useless with his hands.

“I don't care if you can use them, I care that they don't accidentally end up stabbing me,” you said, taking yourself back to your bedroom, Spencer following.

“You'd hardly die from being stabbed by a wooden chopstick, maybe a papercut or a splinter but-”

“But you're just bad enough that I don't want to risk it.”

You kicked off your shoes again and climbed onto your bed. Spencer followed.

“Remind me again why we aren't sitting on your couch?”

“Uncomfortable.”

“Or at your breakfast bar?”

“Glorified filing cabinet right now. Eat.”

He shook his head but complied, leaning back against your pillows as you both began carefully eating. Silently, you pulled your laptop onto your bed, opened it up, and pressed play on a movie, one you'd seen more than once, and you'd forced Spencer to watch before as well.

In a comfortable, friendly silence, you finished your food. You stretched out in a yawn once and then curled into his side, letting his mumbling voice, repeating the movie lines as they were spoken, lull you softly into sleep.

Spencer knew he had to leave, but he couldn't bring himself to wake you. The movie had finished hours ago, he'd closed the laptop and turned off the bug lights, but he couldn't leave.

Unlike you, he hadn't counted the days that you'd been apart. He hadn't needed to. He knew you'd be waiting there for him when he returned, knew you'd give him a smile and a pat on the back, and immediately start bouncing ideas off of him. It was what he loved about you.

As he laid next to you in your bed, a place he'd absolutely been before, his heart thumped. Just once, but hard.

Even in sleep, you looked exhausted. Your shirt was crumpled, hair a mess, you were still wearing makeup, and he knew he'd probably get an earful for letting you sleep like that in the morning. You were a mess, and he still wanted you.

The thought came to him suddenly, another painful thump of his chest echoing in his mind. He rubbed absent mindedly at his chest as if experiencing heartburn. In the dim light of the room, he let his head drop to the pillow and wrapped two shaky arms around you and pulled you in closer.

The two of you were a picture - both in suits, both with badges still somewhere on your person, both dearly clinging to the person they feared losing the most.

When you woke the next morning, it was actually the afternoon.

“Spencer,” you groaned, melting under the heat of his embrace. Somehow, during the night, he'd rolled on top of you, pressing you into the bed with a delightful pressure, head nuzzled into your neck, arms tucked around your waist.

“Spencer, we should get up,” you said again, forcing your eyelids apart as your mascara tried to glue them together.

“Mmmmhh,” he groaned, moving to pick himself up off you for a minute but lowering himself again. If asked, he'd blame your hand in his hair, stroking the rogue curls gently, as if he were a prized pet and you their carer.

“Spencer, its 2pm.”

“On a Saturday.” You laughed at how pouty his voice sounded, but he complied and rolled off of you slightly, arms still wrapped around you.

“Come on. Get up. I've got some clothes that might fit you, let's get you out of the tweed.”

He huffed but nodded and lifted himself halfway to upright, eyes still closed lazily as he let in the light millimetre by millimetre.

“God, my face feels horrible,” you said, itching at your nose. “How did we even sleep so long like this? My belt is still on, Spencer, my belt.”

“If you were still wearing a weapon, then I'd be worried,” he smiled.

You shot him a sarcastic look and finally detangled yourself, only to clasp his hands and pull him forward as well, letting him trail you to your closet.

“Here, change in the bathroom,” he nodded and walked away, following directions with eyes still closed, as if it were really his apartment and not your own.

100 days without him, and it was as if it had only been 100 hours. Your entire body chemistry changed when he was around, the stick holding your spine rigidly in place, dissolving into calm, into a smile and a free giggle. It felt right again, and you almost forgot you'd ever felt wrong.

After briefly changing, you swapped place with Spencer, who'd exited the bathroom with a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth and wet hair.

“Dry it for me?” He asked, sitting on your couch, and you nodded your ascent. A shower and a quick change later, and you were doing just that.

As much as he tried to keep his head upright, it kept lolling onto your thigh, yawns stretching out of him as he nuzzled closer to you.

“Spencer, you're like a big kid, keep your head up.”

“I'm not a kid,” he laughed, hooking his arms behind your knees and nuzzling closer into your soft sweats. “I'm just tired.”

“You're right. A child would probably be better behaved.”

“Our child would be,” he sighed, but you'd already turned the hairdryer back on, drowning out everything. Everything but that thump again. A child, he was thinking about children, and more importantly, he was thinking about your children. With him.

He'd always imagined himself with a family, knowing it would ultimately stay in his imagination. But for a second, his visions changed. It wasn't just a child or two. It was you. Thump.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

He only released the image when you finally pushed his head off of you and stood, turning away from him to get a glass of water from your kitchen.

“So, any plans today? Books to read, papers to mark, undergrads to run away screaming from?” You let the ice water cool your hot cheeks, but kept your back to him. You were hot, embarrassed, and you were looking at him in a sickeningly sweet way that could only be described as love struck or struck dumb.

“No, no, I finished all my obligations at the college yesterday,” he said, following behind you and picking up your cup when you set it down, taking a sip himself.

“I was… I was actually hoping we could spend some time together? Unless you had plans, which is totally fine-”

“No, Spencer, yeah, I have no plans, that's…. Well I have to do laundry, which is a bit boring but, no. No plans.”

“Laundry?”

“Two week case in Florida, I don't know how you didn't smell me yesterday, Spencer. I'd be running for the hills.”

He laughed and stepped away again, grabbing the two go bags by the door and coming back into your space.

“How about we get this done now so we can spend the day in a Who-Trek marathon?”

“Make that a Who-Greys Anatomy Marathon, and you have yourself a deal.”

He pouted again, and you snorted at the sight, taking another sip of water to calm yourself before you could react safely to that face.

“Come on, you know you've been dying to know what happens next at the Grey Sloane Memorial Hospital.”

“I thought it was called the Seattle Grace Mercy?”

“Oh we better get to that laundry now. You have a lot to catch up on.”

Grabbing a bag in one hand and his free hand in your other, you made your way down to your building's laundry room. But despite the man by your side and the relaxing day threatening to stretch ahead of you, a gloom caught you in the corridors.

You'd worked for two weeks, practically solid. You'd killed a man two days ago, or at least someone on your team had multiple shots having been fired. Another day on your job, another unsub felled, and everyone else was content with this just being a part of the job description.

It felt like each step towards the laundry room, each thing you did that was normal, that was regular, threw back in your face the pain you endured to save lives.

The bag in your hand weighed you down, pulling you lower and lower by the second.

You reached the laundry room, and you found the weight almost unbearable, stopping just before you could step in. You didn't have to think about what came next though, because suddenly the bag was out of your hands and Spencer was sorting your laundry for you.

“It's a Saturday, so your neighbour's won't complain if we separate the darks and lights into two machines, will they?” He asked, not looking up at you as he worked pouring out the fabric softener and the detergent. “Y/N?”

You hadn't noticed the lightness in your body until the tears hit your cheeks, the weight gone with his support.

“Y/N, what is it? What's wrong?” He said, hands cupping your face, because of course he was immediately at your side.

“I-I can't do it, Spencer…” your voice shook, pitching upwards, your vision blurring with tears.

“Can't do what, Y/N? Talk to me please, let me help?”

“I can't do laundry!” You said, finally bursting into a full fit of tears and burying your head in his waiting chest.

“L-Laundry?” He said, trying not to laugh, but the smile slipping out anyway now you were holding him.

You only sobbed again, nodding into his shirt, aware you were probably leaving snot all over it but not being able to care. It was your shirt anyway. You would just have to add it back to your laundry pile.

The thought set you off on another wave of sobs, and Spencer set about comforting you again. Keeping an arm wrapped around you, he put his quarters into the machines and set them off before quickly ushering you back up the stairs into your apartment.

“Y/N? Y/N, please talk to me,” he begged, smoothing your hair out of your eyes as you tried to gather yourself.

“I don't…. I can't….” You took a breath again, aware of the way your breathing hitched in your chest as you did.

“I don't think I can do this anymore,” you said, and his eyes widened quickly.

“This? Y/N, if you mean this as in us, then I can't-”

“This job,” you clarified, hands digging into the soft flesh of his arms further as he held you, finally sitting back on your couch.

“The job. Okay, the job. That's okay. We all feel like this at some point.”

You sniffed again and refused to meet his eyes.

“But this isn't like the other times this - It's like my whole b-body is protesting, and I can't sleep, and if I don't, then I might get sloppy and an unsub could-”

“Y/N, focus on my voice. You're spiralling. Listen to my voice, let's take some breaths, and think about this for a second.”

He guided you through some breathing, a hand on your back tapping out beats even as his voice grew quiet.

When you finally relaxed, you were sat on top of him, his hand rubbing circles into your back.

“I think it started when you left,” you whispered. “When you went to Mexico, and then, you know,” you've voice thickened, and you couldn't get the words out.

“And then these last 100 days they've just been…difficult.”

“100…difficult,” he echoed, almost breathless as he listened to you.

“It's like I can't do it without you. I never had to try to do it without you, and now I get what people say when they say this job is shitty, because it is when your best friend isn't there.”

You gave him a weak smile and wiped away your tears, trying to climb from his lap. But his firm arms held you still, and you didn't really want out anyways.

“When I get home, everything is different, and I can't make myself do anything. If you weren't here, I wouldn't have done that laundry. I'd let it sit and avoid it for weeks. Do you understand?”

“Y/N, lots of people feel depressed sometimes-”

“It's not - Spencer, I don't think this is something I can medicate my way out of. I don't know what to do because I can't do my job without you, and I can't be happy doing my job, and if I leave my job I'll be without you and then-”

Your voice cracked again.

“And then I still won't be happy.” The words were barely a whisper, but they were a plea, too. You weren't sure what for.

“You can't be happy without me?” He asked, but it was more a statement than anything else. Spencer felt horrible in that moment as his chest rattled, gleeful that he was your happiness.

“I love you,” he said, outloud finally after eight years.

“I love you, too, Spencer, but-”

“No, Y/N. Listen to me. I. Love. You.” The thumping of his heart set the tempo for the choir that was his senses to begin singing, as he finally leaned forward and kissed you.

“I love you, and I don't care if you're working at the BAU or if you're avoiding laundry at home. I, god, you're amazing and wonderful, and you're a human being, and you've our yourself under so much pressure for the last decade to keep me alive, to keep all of us alive really and….”

He took another breath, leaning into kiss you one more time.

“And you deserve a break.”

“W-When we take breaks, people die.”

“Did anyone die when I was teaching for the last three months? When JJ went on maternity leave?”

You shook your head, but your brain was still a mess.

“You all had reasons, I-”

“You have reasons, too. Y/N…. Y/N, let me be your reason.”

For a moment or two, Spencer truly thought you were going to say no. He thought you would get up and walk away, or better yet, ask him to leave and never come back.

So when you pressed your lips to his, he was sure that this was a dream.

But to you, it was salvation. Spencer Reid's love was the lifeline you'd been thrown, and it was buoyant enough to make you start floating.

His hands kneaded the flesh at your hips as he pulled you closer still to him, his tongue slipping into your mouth to explore every part of you there.

“Y/N… love…you,” he mumbled with each spare breath he caught, and you only detangled your lips to hear him say it again as he pressed similarly heated kisses against every inch of your exposed skin.

When Spencer's mind lost its ability to create original speech, he leant back on a lifetime of information, of learning love through books and people and marathons with you.

“I know that all I know right now is that I love you. And I know that I always will,” he whispered, lifting you and carrying you back to the bed you'd only crawled from an hour hence.

A hand slid under your shirt, and slowly pushed it over your head, letting it slowly drop to the floor as he held you tenderly.

“To me, you are perfect.”

His mouth found one nipple, and he gently kissed, then suckled at it, hands softly caressing your stomach, feeling along every ridge of you as you writhed under him.

“Of all the FBI Units, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine.”

“Spencer,” you said, voice still thick with tears, but these ones more tender, more joyful.

His hand eased your sweats over your ass and off, his hips settling between your legs as if he found the place he was made to lie forever.

“The truth of it is, I’ve loved you from the first second I met you.”

His mouth trailed lower until his tongue hit your clit, brushing against it languidly, as if it was his deepest desire to taste you and nothing else ever again.

His tongue flattened and flicked and pushed inside of you as you replayed his words again and again and again. You found yourself repeating them with him.

“I love you,” you echoed as he pushed a finger inside of you.

“I.. love you,” you gasped as he added another.

“I love you,” you screamed as your back arched up off the bed, finding your pleasure in his tongue, just ad you'd found love in his words.

“You have bewitched me body and soul, and I love….” He freed his cock from his pants, and took it in hand.

“I love…” With another kiss, he pressed the tip of it against you, asking for permission silently as you nodded your head.

“I love you.” He pushed in slowly, but it wouldn't matter how he did it because now you knew how he felt, and you didn't want to return to a time of not knowing.

Hooking your legs around him, Spencer dropped his forehead to yours and looked you directly in the eyes as he began moving. In and out, he thrust, mouth open in a moan of pleasure, likely mirroring your own.

The poetry, the movie lines, they were gone now, and Spencer was left with nothing but you, and love, and love for you.

“Spencer,” you moaned out, and he felt his chest swell. Pride. His name on your tongue, his body pressed to yours, claiming you as his ad you claimed him as yours.

He came with a shudder and you were not far behind, his undoing sending a shiver up your spine as his fingers grazed your clit again.

You sat panting for a minute, still attached, still forehead to forehead.

You weren't sure if it was him who giggled first or if it was you, but you were glad it was one of you.

You spent the rest of the night, the rest of the weekend, wrapped in his warmth, dressed in his love, taking each day a step at a time as you basked in his adoration.

2K notes · View notes

ahundredtimesover · 1 year ago

Text

I Want You to Stay (11) | 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; mentions of childhood traumatic experiences, nightmares; sexual harassment, attempted assault; mention of past experience of domestic violence (PLS PLS BE CAREFUL WHEN READING); arts, business/property devt, and book talk that’s probably inaccurate; commitment issues & emotionally constipated characters; cold and detached JK; sexual content (making out - I know, finally) (18+)

Chapter Word count: 23.5k

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 so this was quite the wait! We have come to the climax of the story and I'm both excited and terrified to share this with you. I have nothing more to say other than see you on the other side! 🤭🤭

And as always, my biggest thanks to @wonwoonlight 🥰

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

Whenever Jungkook creates some distance between you and him, you often understand it. It’s his default, you think, and after learning about the pain he harbors from his childhood, you’ve come to accept it. You expect it, even.

Recently though, he hasn’t been doing much of it. He often moves closer; sometimes, he lets you do it. Tonight, it’s both - he stands near you, he holds you, and he lets you slowly close the distance until you’re just a breath away. And for a brief moment, you think that he’d eliminate it altogether.

But you’re not in some fantasy world, so when he pulls away, you’re reminded of who you are and who he is and that sliver of hope goes up in flames.

“I—” he mumbles.

“I should go,” you interject, turning away so as not to see any more of the rejection in his eyes. “Have a good evening, Mr. Jeon.”

You grab your bag then rush outside, exhaling the breath you were holding in and letting the shame fill you up as fast as the elevator reaches the first floor. You want to run to rid yourself of the embarrassment, maybe be irresponsible for once and get drunk just to forget. Maybe when you wake up in the morning, you’ll find out it was all a dream - you didn’t actually want to kiss your boss, you didn’t actually think he’d kiss you back, and he didn’t actually pull away, as if it stung him to touch you, as if it hurt him to try.

But the thought doesn’t last long.

You get on a bus and convince yourself that staying sober tonight is a better option than reporting hungover to work tomorrow. You’ll feel embarrassed either way, but might as well be more professional about it, considering that what you’d almost done - and all the things you thought about - was nothing but that. You settle for just cup noodles for dinner; you don’t deserve anything nicer than that tonight.

Sleep doesn’t come until past one later in the evening. You spend much of your time tossing and turning, trying hard to erase the image of Jungkook so close to you.

But nothing works. All you see are his lips. All you can hear is his breathing. All you can smell is him.

You wake up four hours later, exhausted and incredibly anxious for the day. You want it to be over already, and you half think of calling in sick but you know that’ll be too obvious. It could set off alarm bells to Jungkook and he might call and ask how you are, and that’s something you can’t deal with either. So you power through and nap in the car, not wanting to converse with Mr. Ri because you might tell him everything should he ask the right questions.

Your plan of action is to engage with Jungkook as little as you can, in any way that’s possible. You play around with things in his kitchen and make sure you have your back turned when he exits from his gym. The energy drink and glass of water are on the counter and you sense him lingering before he finally walks to his bedroom. You let some time pass before going to his closet to prepare his accessories for the day, then head back out, cooking his omelet as slowly as you can.

The clearing of his throat lets you know he’s done, and you glance at him before placing the dishes on the table.

This isn’t the routine. You always fix his necktie once he shows up. It’s reflex for you, and you know that’s what he’s come to expect as well.

But you can’t bring yourself to do that right now. It’s basically like re-enacting what happened last night and you can’t promise yourself that you won’t want to kiss him again when he’s that close. You can’t look him in the eyes, you can’t take in his scent, you can’t hear his breathing without remembering how he felt like. You know you can’t have it again, so you won’t even torture yourself even more than you already are.

His tie is slightly off and it disturbs you. He doesn’t move but he doesn’t ask you to fix it.

You sigh to yourself. He’ll live.

You eat quickly and it’s a contrast to him picking on his food. You’re tempted to ask if the dish isn’t to his liking, but you told yourself not to start conversations or engage in anything outside of work matters, and you’ll stick to that for as long as possible.

“___.”

“Mr. Jeon, I’ve prepared your notes for today’s meetings,” you state before he could say anything more. “And I’m meeting with the marketing team about the additional promotional materials you wanted. Is there anything else you wish to add to the ones we talked about?”

“None for now. They can go ahead with my initial request,” he responds, his voice too soft than what you’re used to, but you don’t dare look up and meet his eyes.

You ask a few more questions and he responds accordingly. The silence is deafening and though you miss the playful banter that has become part of your mornings, you know you can’t get into that right now. Somehow, this is when you can’t act like everything’s normal. Your stupid mistake and foolish assumption is where you draw the line. You just hope the day ends quickly enough before you give in.

Both of you head down to the car. Before going inside, you hear Jungkook ask Mr. Ri how he looks and if his tie is fixed, and you internally smack your head for being so petty about this. You didn’t think that something seemingly trivial about your daily routine with him would affect you this much, as if it somehow threw things off-balance just because you were so afraid to be close. You realize now that you would look forward to those few seconds because that was the only time you had a reason to touch him.

But he’s everything you can’t desire and given that you almost crossed a line, you know you’re gonna have to slowly pull back. Not just with regards to your feelings but in everything, as you take a peek of your personal phone and see an email notification about an upcoming book launch from Rkive Publishing. You subscribed to their mailing list right after you met their director, and you’ve been sitting on his email address and the application letter you have yet to submit.

Since that encounter, you’ve been occasionally looking at other job opportunities in different fields. You realize that nothing much excites you. There’s not much you think is worth slaving your way for in this corporate jungle, and that while you’re currently part of that machine, the only thing that got you going these past eight years was the debt you had to pay.

You had your reasons to stay but being at this point when you’re ready to let that go, you’re realizing that there wasn’t much else about the job that got you truly excited. Sure, it was also the people, but they’re why you couldn’t leave. It wasn’t until the planning for the Arts Center that you felt you could truly be invested in a project and have impact on it, too; it just so happens that the man behind it is the reason why you have to step away. You know it’s the only way you could finally choose yourself and pursue what you want. At 31, you owe it to yourself to do that.

Your thoughts are disrupted when the familiar building comes into view, and you exit the car and head to your floor, trailing Jungkook this time instead of walking by his side as what you’ve come to do. You can tell that he notices the distance but you don’t want to address it. Being terrible at any form of confrontation, you don’t really want to acknowledge anything that happened. You’ll deal with him if he brings it up, and for all the times that you screwed up, you wish to the heavens that Jungkook lets this one go.

You head to your desk while he heads to his. You make him his coffee then ask him to sign some documents. You focus on his hands as he flips through the pages, preferring to look at those instead of his face. But it’s those fingers that pressed against you last night, and you shake your head at the memory, even if all you want is to feel them again.

You retrieve the papers, your heart stopping when he doesn’t let them go right away. Your eyes widen and you still don’t look at him, even as you anticipate him to say something.

“___.”

“Mr. Min asked to meet with you after lunch,” you cut him off again before he could say more.

“I know. That email was sent to you and me.”

“Yes, sir. I was just making sure.”

He lets go of the papers now and you bow before quickly heading out. You just know he had his eyebrows scrunched at you. He’s probably trying to make sense of how jittery you seem and though he may know why, you’re not sure if he knows why.

You get through the morning in one piece. You attend your meeting while Jungkook attends his own with his father. You grab a quick lunch with Do-hyun, whose narration of her love life takes up the whole half hour, then you return to your tasks once you finish.

Hyper-focused on the file you’re reviewing, Yoongi’s usually unenthusiastic greeting catches you off guard, causing your lips to miss the hot tea that you’re about to drink. You jerk, spilling all of it on you. You subsequently hit the saucer that’s on the edge of the table; it falls on the floor and breaks.

“Fuck!” You whisper yell, as you feel the drink pool on your skirt.

“Shit, is it burning?” Yoongi asks worriedly.

He immediately rushes to your side and grabs some paper towels from the cabinet, placing them on your lap and on the floor.

“Don’t move so you don’t spread the broken pieces,” he instructs. “Are you hurt?”

“No. I’m just uncomfortable,” you groan, with your knees awkwardly touching each other and your thighs squeezed to keep the liquid from spreading.

You’re at least in a black skirt but you know the stain will still be visible. That’s the least of your problems though, as Jungkook arrives from his meeting and heads to you with a folder, only to find Yoongi kneeling on the floor next to you. Jungkook’s eyes widen, seemingly scandalized at what this looks like, and they flit from you to his friend, whose calm face quickly turns into one of panic.

“She spilled her tea and the saucer broke,” Yoongi explains, raising the soiled paper towels as evidence. He tells you to move back so he can place them over the shards while Jungkook looks on intently. “Are you good? Do you have spare clothes?” Yoongi asks you.

“Uh, ye-yeah,” you manage to say, hating how frozen you seem to be. With the tea having been absorbed, you grab your bag from your cabinet, the one you’ve started to keep and bring with you during trips in case you get stranded again, then throw the towels in the trash bin. “I’ll just go get changed.”

You scurry towards the washroom and leave the men alone, knowing that Yoongi will hold the fort for both of you.

Back inside, Jungkook eyes Yoongi as he calls for maintenance to clean up the mess.

“She spilled her tea and the saucer broke,” Yoongi says again. “She couldn’t move and I just cleaned up.”

“I heard you the first time,” Jungkook states.

“Just making sure, so your mind doesn’t think of whatever it thinks about,” Yoongi shrugs. “But is she okay? She seems a bit out of it.”

“I don’t know,” Jungkook looks away. “Don’t you usually know those things?”

“Well, I assume that since you’ve gotten closer, you would know. Unless it’s about you… Were you mean to her again?”

Yoongi’s unusual scowl is one that Jungkook is secretly terrified of but he acts unaffected, merely shaking his head in response and to dismiss the assumption. He’ll admit that his friend’s statement is quite bittersweet, though. Yes, you and Jungkook have both gotten closer and there hasn’t been an incident in months where you could’ve had a reason to be down because of him.

Unless last night counts, which is something he’s still wrapping his head around.

He thinks back to that moment right by your desk. You were so close. And he was so close to doing something more than just holding onto your waist. He saw you eye his lips and he did the same but the realization of where you both were - in a semi-open space in the office - reminded him of his limits. Sure, it was after-hours and no one would have any reason to be on the floor at that time, but it still felt too exposed and he didn’t want either of you to be put in such a compromising position, even if every part of his body was aching to kiss you.

He wouldn’t have known you were talking about him if it weren’t for the way you held him close and that unfamiliar look of yearning in your eyes. At that moment, he let himself hope that he’s who you wanted, even if he’s also the same man you believed wouldn’t cross his boundaries for you.

Even then, you had been so bold, so honest. He wished he was as brave and as capable to express his desires as you were. He never thought you’d feel anything for him - him, the one who made your life miserable for weeks, the one who treated you unfairly because you made him feel - and want - things he couldn’t understand and control. Your calm and warm nature made him think he wasn’t anyone special. He dismissed whatever part of him that thought otherwise because he couldn’t hope for something he couldn’t have.

But last night, the way you looked at him also made him feel like all he desired was within reach, like you were within his grasp. Your lips were everything he wanted all over him. Your soft breaths were what he wanted to take in. You were all he wanted to taste and touch and hear, and he’d been so, so close to crossing a line that he said he wouldn’t because he was afraid it would push you away and that’s the last thing he wants to do.

He was overwhelmed but he was just as scared, believing that there’s no turning back if something had happened. He almost stepped over the line but pulled back just as quickly, and now it seems that that’s what’s keeping you at a distance. Because as you return to your desk, you merely bow at him then go through the folder of documents he’d given you.

“Yoongi and I will just meet for an hour,” he says. “Please be ready with the Arts Center opening event budget that I’ll go through with Hoseok later.”

“That’s noted, sir.”

Jungkook sighs in disappointment as you don’t spare him a glance. He just wants to see those eyes again, the ones that yearned for him last night, the ones that asked him - almost challenged him - to get closer. But he’d been the coward who let you go, and now he doesn’t know how to turn back from this.

He enters his room then turns around to face Yoongi.

“I feel so much and I don’t know what to do.”

“I know,” his friend hums, feeling relieved that Jungkook can now acknowledge something he’d known for a while now. But Yoongi also knows that it’s not that simple, and while he knows of the possibility that you feel the same, reciprocated feelings don’t always mean happy endings. “Just don’t… just don’t hurt her,” he adds.

“Why do I feel like whatever I do, it’s what I’ll end up doing anyway?”

“She’ll know when you mean it and when you don’t. And you know what helps?”

“What?”

“Letting her know that hurting her isn’t what you want to do. You’ve got a lot to say, Jungkook, I know it,” Yoongi remarks. “Just be brave enough to say them.”

Yoongi’s words linger in Jungkook’s mind for the rest of the day, especially during the times that he peeks through the window to get a glimpse of you. You seem determined not to look his way, as you don’t even attempt to look at his direction all afternoon. There is a lot he’s got to say, he just doesn’t know what they are or how to say them. It’s always been that way when it comes to you - he feels so much, but he's unable to let you know.

Despite your avoidance all day, he feels your absence even more when you leave at 6PM, on the dot, without sparing him a glance. He could run after you and ask to talk. He wouldn’t know how to start that conversation though, but if it would bring you to finally look at him or say his name, then it would be enough.

He just wants to know what last night meant for you. And if it means what he hopes it does, then maybe it isn’t about turning back but moving forward. He knows it will be complicated, but he wants to figure it out with you. He’ll choose the path where he gets to be around you, close to you. Always.

Jungkook pulls out the bottle of whiskey he keeps in his drawer to momentarily drown out these thoughts. For some, liquor gives them courage. For him, he drinks it because he’s afraid to be brave.

As he replays the way you looked at him last night, he wonders to himself what he’s more scared of - never having you close enough, or losing you completely.

The three films you watch in the cinema that Saturday afternoon are a good distraction to all the thoughts in your head. You occasionally do this because watching other people’s lives play out in film gives you something to ponder about. Sometimes, you let it inspire you to live differently. Other times, it allows you a peek into a life much more exciting than the one you have. In some instances, it gives you a sense of relief that yours is uneventful, lacking in drama and intrigue.

At this moment, you’re not quite sure what you want out of it other than to forget. What exactly, you’re not sure. Is it the way you felt when Jungkook held you? Is it the way he seemed to want more and then nothing at all? Or is it the hope you had that you’d found someone you were willing to give a bit of yourself to, only for the glass to shatter because that’s not what you do - you don’t desire for things not meant for you; you don’t open yourself to heartbreak like that.

Jungkook has always made you feel a lot of things. This time is no different. But this time it also means more. You could lose him completely or have something with him that could be beautiful. One would hurt right away and the other could hurt you down the road. You don’t know which one you’re willing to suffer through.

Suddenly you wish you didn’t get to this point at all. You could’ve left when you had the chance. You could’ve let him not mean to you this much.

You continue to wallow in the sadness. You eat dinner at a ramen place before going home and settling in bed with your best friends on video call. You tell them about the past two days and narrate your moments with Jungkook during the team building that you left out when you spoke to them about it. Looking at them through the screen, you see a mix of understanding and frustration on their faces.

“Why are you avoiding him, hun?” Soomin asks, her eyes soft and comforting.

“Because I’m so embarrassed,” you groan, burying your face on the pillow. “I was so… shameless. I don’t even know what got into me. He just looked at me and I… lost all sense. Who was I to assume that moment would end well? That he’d reciprocate that honesty?”

“And you think not talking about it will rid you of that embarrassment?” She wonders.

“No. But it’s at least better than facing it,” you frown. “I’m not good with words nor feelings. And I’m sure that neither is he. I’m just trying to be professional now because I obviously wasn’t.”

You leave out your fears about meeting his eyes and hearing what he has to say. Even if he returns whatever you feel, there’s so much burden tied to that and you don’t think you’re ready for it. You don’t think you’re ready for any of this.

“It doesn’t seem sustainable though,” Soomin points out. “You’re together all the time. You’ve created a routine and a dynamic that you’ve gotten so used to. It takes more effort to avoid the whole thing, don’t you think?”

“I guess but… we’re all busy with the Arts Center opening. And I plan on tending my resignation right after,” you explain. “There’s no time to talk about feelings. I’ll just let it die down. It’s stupid to have them in the first place.”

The prolonged silence prompts you to turn towards her. “You don’t agree with me, do you?”

“I just don’t think it’s stupid to be feeling what you’re feeling,” Soomin replies. “You spend so much time together. You’re bound to form some attachment and develop affection for him, regardless of how things started. I mean, through all the late-nights and early mornings and stresses and comfort in between, there’s something only two of you share and understand. That’s not stupid. That’s how connections are formed, hun.”

Attachment. Connection. They terrify you but they’re things that you desire as well. You don’t know how deep they are when it comes to Jungkook and you don’t know if they’re something he feels towards you, too.

“Maybe you’re just trying to convince yourself that it isn’t that serious,” she adds. “Maybe it’s because you know that it is, and you don’t know if it’s worth pursuing, if it’s worth finding out if he returns it and if being with him is something that can happen.”

You look away, knowing the truth in her words. You turn to Jimin, who’s been unusually quiet all evening.

“What do you think Jimin?” You ask him. “I mean, it’s one thing to feel something and another to act on it and risk everything for it, right?”

“There’s always something you risk once you acknowledge what you feel for another person,” he says after pondering about it. “For me, acting on it just depends on two things. Is it good for me, and is it good for them? In your case, it’s something to really think about. You’re you and he’s him. And you know what I mean. You’ve been wanting to walk away from this company for years, ___. You wanna be something outside of it. How does being with your boss help with that?”

Jimin’s words remind you of something else you’ve been yearning for - that search for who you are outside of your work, outside of all the years you spent working for this family that have become a core part of who you are. For people like you who have to work extra hard for the things you have, it becomes natural for your job to define you as a means of survival. It doesn’t give you power nor influence; it just gives you a means to get to the next day and to give back to the one person who sacrificed everything for you.

As the years went by, it became more difficult to pull away. This family trusts you, and your confidence has only ever increased as an employee of this company, but not as a professional. You’ve been wanting to learn who you are without the burdens you carry, without the need to constantly prove yourself to the people who helped make you, and Jungkook ties you to all this. Whether it’s pursuing him or working for him, you’re afraid you’ll never be brave enough to do things on your own.

You weren’t supposed to be this attached. You weren’t supposed to be this invested. You weren’t supposed to want to be wanted back.

But Jungkook made you care. He made you feel. He made you be brave. And he’s now the one you have to pull away from.

“You’re right,” you sigh. “Maybe in a way, I needed this to happen. I needed this… moment to remind me that I have to leave and I can’t let him be another reason for me to stay, not when I feel what I feel, and not when I don’t know if he feels the same way.”

“What if he does, though?” Soomin asks. “And what if he asks you to stay?”

“Thinking about it now, I hope he doesn’t,” you say. “It’d be much easier for me if he just lets me go. I can finally walk away from all this. And I can get over what I feel.”

“Is that what you really want?” Soomin adds.

You nod in response. “At least I know I’ll be happy outside of working for the company. Who knows what having him in my life would bring me?”

The book cafe in Mapo district boasts of an elegant yet comfortable design. It has three levels that consist of a library and working spaces, but it’s on the first floor that you find yourself in, tucked in one of the corner tables at the back with your iced coffee and fruit tart.

You listen in awe as the author reads excerpts from her newly released book, which she narrates with vigor and emotion. She answers questions about her purpose for writing this specific story, the inspiration for the characters, and interesting things like who she’d cast if it were to become a movie and what the playlist would sound like. It’s the first book launch you’ve ever been to, and despite not being an avid reader, you have a feeling that it won’t be your last.

There’s something about the storytelling and the process of creating something that captivates you. There’s not much of that in your world. It’s all numbers and profits. It’s soulless, if you’re being honest. It doesn’t give you time to feel or live in the moment or actually bask in the work that you do. You’re there to support, to assist, and while that used to be something you were proud of, the past year has made you think that it’s truly time to move on from it. It’s made you desensitized to things like joy and hope and love, which prompts you to realize that those are what have been missing. Working on the Arts Center gave you a taste of it. You’ve come to the point where you want to know how those truly feel like, and the job has hindered you from fully finding it out.

All your emotions for Jungkook take a backseat the more you think about what your life could be, especially while you watch Namjoon gather what seems to be his team, as he congratulates them for a successful launch. They’re all in casual clothes, looking relaxed, relieved, and fulfilled as the event comes to a close and several people approach the author and ask her to sign their books. You can imagine the stress leading up to all this, but there’s satisfaction in putting together something this intimate and meaningful.

“You made it,” the man with the soft smile says, the child-like innocence of his face, a contrast to his very masculine build. “I’m glad those newsletters and email invites work.”

“I think they’re the only ones I actually read,” you say, earning you a brighter smile from him. “But honestly though, it helps that a book cafe is something I wouldn’t mind being in on a Sunday morning.”

“Exactly!” Namjoon beams. “It’s easy to make it a part of your weekend. Whether it translates to immediate sales isn’t the whole point, although that’s great, don’t get me wrong. But as long as there’s foot traffic and increased interest, then it’s a success. Our launches have been gaining traction on social media. And the—shit, sorry. I’m rambling again,” he chuckles. “I doubt you came here with the intention of listening to me talk about what we do and stuff.”

“Oh, I don’t mind at all,” you assure him. “I don’t actually go to things like this but I thought it might be a good way to have a feel of what it’s like working for your company without inconveniencing you. I mean, I haven’t applied yet but I just wanted to see if this is something I’d enjoy doing.”

“And?” He asks in anticipation.

“It kind of is,” you admit. “I don’t know. There’s just something so personal about it.”

“There really is,” Namjoon nods.

His face turns serious now, something that happens when he’s about to go on a speech about whatever it is he feels strongly about. He’s expressive and it’s quite captivating, which is refreshing in a colleague, you realize.

Sitting across from you in your little nook in the cafe, he talks about the journey of this whole process, how he reached out to the author who turned out was trying to contact him as well. He was hoping to publish one of her manuscripts that was shared to him by a friend, but she offered this one instead, a very personal story that she trusted his company would do justice.

“I sat the whole team down and told them what this means for her as an author and as a person, and what that in turn could mean to the readers,” he continues. “There’s so much responsibility but the return is worth more than you could imagine. Of course, it’s not always easy. We have a relatively small team for the amount of things that we have to do but it works. Communication is smooth, accountability is shared, and we build our trust and respect in each other that way. I think that makes it even more worth it in the end.”

“You’re really trying to lure me in, aren’t you?” You laugh.

“Pretty much,” he chuckles. “I just think our meetings are serendipitous. There were two people who were supposed to take on the role but they backed out last minute - on both cases, I see you the next day. The universe probably has plans.”

“It probably does,” you nod, slowly believing him. “The only reason why I haven’t applied yet is because this is all so new to me and I may not be what you’re looking for.”

“But it could be that we’re what you’re looking for,” he counters. “Even if the industry is new to you, if it’s a place you’re comfortable in and that you think will help you grow professionally, then you become what we need. It’s give and take, really. Your approach to the work impacts how you do it. Yes, it’s still a job but it also means a lot more.”

“You’re very good at this,” you say, feeling more at ease as you speak with him, a stranger who has no idea what you’re going through but is somehow saying the exact things you need to hear. “I just have a timeline I’m working around. My company has an important thing coming up in several weeks and I don’t want to leave before then. It’s also why I’ve been delaying applying.”

“Hey, if we see that we’re a good fit for each other, then we can work around your timeline,” he says. “To help with that, maybe we can chat more casually to relieve you of the pressure. I have some things to return to the office not far from here and you can tell me a bit about the work that you do. What do you think?”

It’s a suggestion you take up, so you both start walking a few streets down to a mid-rise building, a structure that sits amidst cozy cafes and small parks.

The Rkive Publishing office is spacious. Instead of solo desks, there are large tables so there are more opportunities for collaborations, but there are small meeting rooms and private spaces as well. There are floor-to-ceiling windows, shelves that are lined with hundreds of books, and quirky art pieces that give the place a unique yet personal touch. It’s leagues different from what you’re used to, and as you appreciate the way the sunlight makes the whole place glow, you start to think that Namjoon may be right - this might just be what you’re looking for.

You disclose who you work for then tell him your functions, narrate how a usual day looks like, and mention the types of people you usually engage with. But you share how you’ve felt lost in the chaos of everything and that you’ve been trying to find purpose in it but have been unable to.

Namjoon purses his lips, attempting to hide a smile, but you call him out on it.

“I’m just trying not to get too excited,” he reasons, giving in and chuckling now. “We need organization, a sense of urgency, a kind of professionalism that someone of your caliber could bring. I don’t want to get my hopes up and yes, there’s a process, but I hope you give us a chance.”

It’s easy to think that this man has no idea what he’s saying, but he’s been talking about going with his gut feeling all morning - he’s said as much that following his heart and doing what feels right for him allowed him to turn the company into what it is right now. Maybe meeting the first time was just a coincidence, but the pull of the universe - of you to this environment and him to you - is just too strong that you can’t help but think that maybe this is the next step for you. For all the challenges you went through all these years, maybe you deserve something a little more smooth sailing this time.

You don’t make any promises but you do assure him that you’ll send him an email. There are obviously other pressing matters that you have to deal with but this has been a good distraction, one that you allow to preoccupy you for the rest of the day.

After saying goodbye, you walk around the neighborhood and spend the afternoon by the river where you wonder about the people surrounding you.

What dilemmas are they facing? What heartbreaks are they trying to move on from? What new adventure are they preparing for? Or maybe, who are they trying to forget? Who’s waiting at home for them? Are they watching the sunset because they know it’s beautiful or because they’ve forgotten that it is?

You let out a breath once the sun has dipped and the sky has turned a dark shade of blue. You feel a mix of awe at its beauty and disappointment because the day has come to an end. You once more have to face the person you’ve been trying not to think about all weekend.

Giving yourself a pep talk, you go to bed that night with the plan of continuing what you did last Friday, which is avoiding any moments and any chances of talking about what happened. If Jungkook brings it up, then you’ll just have to face it and ask him to forget about that night and then deal with the consequences after. But there’s no way that you’ll say anything first; you’ll ride this out for as long as you can.

Avoiding talking to Jungkook about non-work matters - which is really what you only intended to do - is much more difficult when you have to pretend you don’t care about him.

That Monday morning, you stop yourself from asking how he’s doing after spotting the empty whiskey bottle and beer cans in his kitchen bin. While you give him the usual hangover remedy, you stop short of suggesting that he get some rest or buying him his favorite lunch dish.

During the meeting that you accompany him to in the afternoon, you watch him helplessly as his father hounds him with questions about the other projects, adding even more pressure than what he’s currently under, and you look away when he tries to meet your eyes. You used to send him encouragement through your gentle nods and soft smiles but you’re scared you’ll fall into your feelings once again if you do them, knowing that any sign of him needing you is all it would take for you to give in and talk to him, maybe comfort him.

You’ve become so weak for him, you realize that now. His detachment used to put you off and frustrate you, but knowing him the way you do, it’s what makes you want to be there for him; it’s what makes you want to assure him that you’re just there.

But you aren’t, because you’re pushing him away. You’re making him go through his confusion and stress and exhaustion all on his own because you’re a coward, too. You’re scared of your own feelings. You’re scared of them being rejected and you’re scared of them being returned. You didn’t realize just how much you are because you never actually felt something this deeply for anyone, and that terrifies you even more.

Watching him from your desk as he pores through documents on his laptop is hard, too. You’re done for the day but he’s said earlier that he’ll be staying late to finish a few things because there are many distractions at his place. You want to tell him they can wait, that he’ll need to rest and regain his energy for the week ahead, or that some fresh air could help clear his mind.

But you don’t. Instead, you pack your things and head out, knowing that much as it’s your decision to force this distance between both of you, it’s still something you wish you didn’t have to do. You don’t know how long you can sustain it, but somehow you know that once he gives in, so will you, and so all this might as well just be useless or even worse for you.

Mr. Ri picks up on the change the next morning, as he asks if you and Jungkook had an argument on the way to his penthouse.

“There was no argument, ” you answer. “There’s just a lot on my mind and he’s a big part of that. I just… I just don't know how to deal with things, you know?”

“Things like what?” Mr. Ri asks.

“Feelings,” you sigh. “I mean, you said they can’t be helped. And you’re right, I can’t. That’s my big problem right now.”

“Oh, ___,” he says, softly smiling through the rear view mirror.

You can tell he’s trying to comfort you, something he’s told you before he’s unsure how to do. You brush him off, saying you’ll figure it out, and he assures you that you could talk to him and that maybe, you need to just let it out to someone who knows what you’re battling against. You express your appreciation then inhale deeply once you arrive at Jungkook’s building.

The clanking sound of plates surprises you when you enter the penthouse. You walk cautiously towards the kitchen and find Jungkook already dressed in his work attire, placing the basket of toasted bread in the middle of the dining table where you spot the two plates with eggs in each. You wonder if you’re late, given that he’d gone ahead and made breakfast for both of you already.

“You’re on time,” he says after seeing you check your watch. “I was just up early. I couldn’t really sleep. I think I have too much on my mind.”

“I still could have made this for you,” you say so softly, Jungkook almost misses it.

“I didn’t mind,” he answers, wanting to say more, like that he thought it would be nice to make something for you for a change, or that he hopes you could see the effort.

But he keeps them to himself, just like the many other things that he doesn’t feel ready to verbalize. He hasn’t stopped thinking about you since Thursday night, and he thinks that the distance you’re creating has made his desire even stronger, but so has the fear.

He spent the weekend downing alcohol and then boxing for hours to get rid of the hangover. The lemon ginger tea he made didn’t really work. He placed the bandage on his beat-up knuckles incorrectly, not like how perfectly you’d done it once. And the chicken noodle soup he ordered when he wasn’t feeling well last night didn’t taste as good as yours.

His mornings aren’t the same without the briefest touch from you from fixing his tie, or from the casual conversations during breakfast or in the car. There’s not much of your voice or your laughter that he hears, and definitely none of your smile that always encouraged him, that always assured him. This continues for the rest of the day, as he barely feels your presence unless he asks for it. And even then, it almost feels like you’re not there at all.

He feels so lost without you, unable to focus and function properly without your guidance and your care. He doesn’t know how or when he’s allowed himself to need you this much but it all feels so new yet familiar. All he wants is to be near you again but he admits that seeing you consistently pull away hurts him more than anything.

It’s why that Wednesday, he settles for only minimal glances at you in the car, why he conducts his morning meeting in a cafe instead, why he has the blinds on in his room all afternoon, and why he stays to work late and informs you that he’ll go straight to the Arts Center the next day so he’ll just meet you in the office.

He does all those so he’s forced to be around you less, so he doesn’t look up from his desk to find out that you don’t look his way anymore, so that it’s less difficult when you don’t do your usual routine with him. He at least won’t feel as bad when you don’t ask how he’s feeling if you don’t see him look terrible in the morning after not being able to sleep, or when you don’t fix his necktie for the fifth time this past week if he’s not around you in the first place.

You’ve been going out of your way to avoid him and if he had a bit more courage, he’d probably be able to ask what Thursday night was about and if you’d really wanted to kiss him like he did.

But he’s afraid of two things - that you’d ask him to forget all of it, or that you’d both have to figure out how to move forward if the feelings are indeed mutual. There are so many things that could go wrong but just as many that could go right - he’s scared to hurt you either way. And like he’s always said, he doesn’t know how to handle all of this; he doesn’t know how to talk about what he feels.

Thursday morning comes and while you’re relieved that you don’t have to tiptoe around Jungkook again in his own apartment and feel suffocated by the tension, you won’t lie and say that you deeply felt his absence. You also won’t deny that seeing him walk towards his office without sparing you a glance hurt you a little. You know him enough that he’s probably giving you the space that you’ve insisted on, but still, a part of you wonders if he’s just accepted it, too.

And when you hand him his notes for his late afternoon meeting then when he leaves for the CEO’s office without a look of acknowledgment, you worry that he’s become impatient, that he’ll keep pulling away for as long as you are, and that you’ll be so far apart that you’ll start to wonder if you’d come close to him at all.

But you did this, you remind yourself. You’d been the one to get close, to expect, and then to detach because you were so afraid of what would happen next, and what that would mean for you. He’s probably the last thread you’re holding onto, connecting you to this world that you’ve been planning on leaving for so long. Maybe you’re also scared that if he asked you to stay, you would, and the last thing you want is for him to be the reason why you can’t let go, and then resent him for it.

You sigh in your seat as the various thoughts plague your mind. You decide to go to the pantry for a cup of tea, knowing you have some time before Jungkook’s meeting with his father is scheduled to end.

The support team’s office is unnervingly quiet at 7PM with only Mr. Ri around, shaking his leg against the chair while browsing on his desktop. He greets you when you enter and then joins you to make his cup of coffee - his fourth for the day, he says - before you both head out the pantry and sit by the meeting table.

There aren’t any words said as you both blow away the steam from your respective hot drinks, merely letting the tranquility of the evening envelop the two of you. A few minutes pass and Mr. Ri finally looks up and asks why you’re still here, to which you reply that you wanted to be around when Jungkook’s meeting finishes in case he needs you to do something.

“There’s no need to drop me home,” you tell him. “I can manage on my own.”

“You know Jungkook won’t like that,” Mr. Ri responds. “He has strict instructions to drive for you whenever you stay out late. I can’t and won’t disobey those orders.”

You know this, which is why you sit in silence with your hands on your lap as if you’re being scolded, and you nod.

“Okay,” you say softly.

“He’s worried, you know?” Mr. Ri says after a while. “He’s been asking me how you’re doing, as if you’re not at the point in your relationship where he can directly talk to you. But I’ve actually been worried about him this past week. He stays up late to work, then goes home to work out. He’s not himself lately, always out of it and just… sad.”

“Did he… did he say anything else? About us, specifically?”

“He didn’t tell me if anything happened but I’m guessing something did, something serious enough that you’d avoid him for days and personal enough that he won’t confront you about it.”

Your face falls, guilt painting it, something Mr. Ri picks up.

“It’s about your feelings, isn’t it?” He asks. “You like him and you can no longer deny it.”

You nod in confirmation, unable to verbalize the words that your heart has been screaming for weeks.

“Is it so hard to admit? Is it so hard to talk about?” The older man asks. “I mean, he doesn’t tell me anything but I’ve known that man his whole life, ___. I’ll bet a lot and say that he feels the same way about you. Why are you both putting all your effort into avoiding each other instead of talking it out?”

“Because you know us, Mr. Ri. We’re the worst at these things,” you shake your head, choosing to disregard his statement that Jungkook may be reciprocating the feelings, knowing you’re not ready to think about it. “And you know this, too. It’s not just about what I feel. It’s about who he is and who I am and what those imply. It’s this complicated situation that I wouldn’t even be in if I just… if I was just strong enough to leave the first time. Or the second time.”

“Hey, you know it wasn’t about that,” he says. “You were always strong. You held on even when things were difficult—”

“Yeah, I just held on and now I’m here, caught in between liking my boss and wanting to stay away from him, from his family,” you groan in frustration.

But you utter the thoughts that you only rarely entertain, only because they’re what held you back all those years ago.

“Am I being selfish, for wanting to leave after everything?” You ask. “They’ve been so good to me. And now that I crossed the line and fell for their son, I want to let everything go.”

“Is that really why you want to resign? Because you like Jungkook?”

“No… it isn’t just about that,” you sigh. “Or it is. A big part of it, but also not. I… you know I’ve been thinking about this since the whole thing with Mrs. Byun happened, and that was six years ago. But then CEO Jeon asked me to help Hoseok and I stayed. And it was even more important for him that I be there for Jungkook. And I am but now what? How can I continue knowing that I like him? And how can I find myself and learn who I am outside of this when I’m here, when this is all I’ve ever known and all I’ve ever given myself to? They’ll always be good to me. I feel selfish by staying, but I also feel that way if I leave.”

“None of that makes you selfish, ___. You always had a reason to leave and you could have, but there was also always gonna be a reason for you to stay,” he says. “But they were their reasons, not yours. Whether you stay despite what you feel for Jungkook or leave to find yourself and seek the happiness you deserve, you’re not being selfish.”

You look at the man whom you’ve known for years and he sees in your eyes a woman who’s just asking for any kind of comfort, of any kind of assurance because no else is around to do that.

“We do what we can at every moment, and we can live with our choices if we know they’re the best one we can make at that time,” he continues. “Whatever it is you decide to do, I hope you do it for you. You’re the only person you have to look out for.”

Right outside the door, Jungkook remains unmoving as he processes everything he’d heard, while you continue to talk inside, completely oblivious to how you’ve rendered him paralyzed.

Jungkook’s meeting with his father ended much sooner than he expected. They merely discussed some happenings with the Board and the lunch that they’ll be hosting on Saturday to welcome some of their family’s long-time friends who are flying in from Europe.

He headed to the support office immediately to tell Mr. Ri that he plans to go home soon but hadn’t known you were there as well. But then again, you and their trusted aide - who’s been his father’s chauffeur, bodyguard, and personal assistant for decades - spend a lot of time together, so it didn’t feel off to Jungkook that you’d both be talking. He’s asked the older man to look out for you, too, especially with regards to things that he feels isn’t really his place.

Jungkook didn’t hear much at first, initially deciding to just walk back to his office and call, but once he heard Mr. Ri asking you about resigning, he stopped in his tracks. He felt foolish to be listening in on a conversation he’s not a part of, especially since it’s also because of him.

It should’ve delighted him to hear you say that you like him. Jungkook could’ve only dreamt up that reality and it still feels surreal. You didn’t have a reason to lie and the fact that he isn’t the only one seemingly overwhelmed by his own feelings should be a good thing.

But that also seems to be your reason for wanting to leave, and the thought breaks his heart in ways he can’t explain. You’ve apparently been planning on leaving for years but never got around to do so. If you stayed when his father asked you to, would you do the same if he asked? And he believes that up until last week, your relationship had become the most comfortable it’s ever been. You seem happy here, but why did it also seem like you just wanted to get away?

The thoughts make his head hurt, and while a part of him wishes he hadn’t heard anything, he at least knows you plan on leaving. And that’s something he absolutely cannot bear.

The sounds of the chairs being fixed disrupt his thoughts. When he hears Mr. Ri suggest that you should start packing up, Jungkook quietly walks back to his office and nonchalantly calls the older man to inform him that he plans on staying up late and that he should drop you home already. If Mr. Ri notices the odd tone of his voice, he doesn’t say anything. He merely expresses his confirmation and not long after, Jungkook hears some shuffling outside his closed door.

“Is there anything you need from me before I leave, Mr. Jeon?” You call out, the walls in between both of you feeling higher and thicker than ever before.

He knows that you know that he no longer asks you to do anything at this hour, and he comforts himself by thinking that it’s your way of letting him know that you’re still there. But the thought is short-lived, as he once again plays the conversation he’d overheard in his mind.

“There’s none,” he says pointedly. “You may leave.”

It takes a while but he eventually hears you walk out. Jungkook feels himself breathe for the first time in the last 15 minutes, before he feels suffocated once again.

Maybe pulling away last week when he’d been so close gave you the idea that he didn’t want you at all, and maybe that had affected you more than he expected. Maybe him, creating more distance that you’d initiated, made you think that that’s what he wanted after all that. Perhaps his being a coward in facing his own feelings had pushed you away, too, and if you’re scared of what you feel for him, maybe letting you know that he feels the same way is what will make you stay. He could be the happiness you’re searching for, Jungkook convinces himself. He could be what you want and need.

And he already knows that you’re all that for him. Whatever rules he created for himself and the limits he imposed are all pointless if he doesn’t have you around at the end of it. If his life after all this doesn’t have you in it, there’s no happiness for him. A new job for you could take you anywhere, maybe far away from where he is; it could lead you to someone, someone who isn’t him.

He hates that an overheard conversation about you resigning is what will take for him to finally be honest about what he feels for you. And that potentially losing you by his side is the push he needs to let you know that he wants you, that he wants everything with you, and that he hopes you want the same.

It’s 9:30 PM by the time he enters the car, his head hazy from the two glasses of whiskey he had. Mr. Ri calls him out on another night of him drinking in the office and orders him to get straight to bed like he’d done a few times before when Jungkook had been too stressed and too stubborn to rest. He merely nods though but he follows through, skipping dinner then mindlessly taking a shower before falling asleep in bed after finishing a bottle of beer.

The ringing of the alarm causes Jungkook to grunt and turn off his phone for the peace and quiet that he needs, given the throbbing of his head. But in the silence, he hears the soft knocks on his door, so consistent that he decides to just open it and ask the person on the other side to stop.

But of course, it’s you, and the way you quickly turn your head away reminds him that he’s got nothing but his sweatpants on and he’s too sleepy for anything else to register.

“It’s 7AM, Mr. Jeon. You have an executive meeting at 8,” you tell him, voice so soft and so far away.

“Fuck,” he groans, rubbing his temples to massage the pain away. “I’ll just take a shower. Don’t make breakfast anymore. We leave in 20 minutes.”

“Noted, sir,” you say, then walk back towards the kitchen.

It’s 15 minutes later when his bedroom door opens and he nervously walks over to you. Unable to still remove the image of his half-naked form in your mind, you focus your gaze elsewhere, but he forces it on him when he asks you to fix his necktie, the first time he’d ever done so.

“I was rushing,” he explains.

You nod and head to him, hating how your hands slightly shake at feeling so close to him again. You can feel his breath as you watch the rise and fall of his chest. He probably feels as anxious as you, perhaps no longer used to this routine after you stopped it days ago. But you manage without sparing him a glance, keeping your distance and your eyes focused on anything else but him from the walk down to the car and throughout the ride to work.

It’s difficult for you to look at him, not only because you’re ashamed but because you’re afraid of what you’ll see. Maybe his eyes will tell of his acceptance of this new dynamic. Maybe they’ll reflect anger and frustration at how you’ve disrupted his routine. Or maybe they’ll show sadness - which is what you’re most terrified of - because that’s your weakness. Any time he looks like he needs comfort or he needs you, you know you’d give in, you know you’d want to be there even if you’ve spent the past week staying as far away as possible.

You know you don’t have much time left here. The Arts Center opens over a month from now and you’ve decided to tender your resignation soon after. You know you should be savoring whatever moments you have with him and perhaps that’s what saddens you the most because you don’t know what will come after.

Your happiness isn’t here, and staying to find out if it’s with him isn’t worth it, not when there’s baggage you carry; not when your own past and insecurities weigh you down.

Arriving in the office, you rush to your desk then walk to his room to give him the notes he needs for the meeting. You turn towards him slowly when he calls you, your name in his voice suddenly sounding foreign.

“Can you prepare me lemon ginger tea? Please?”

His voice is soft, as if he feels burdensome for making such a request. You want to give in so badly and ask how he’s feeling. But you stop yourself. It’s not the place nor time.

You accompany his tea with pastries, your own request for him to have breakfast, and you get your own, in response to him instructing you to do so. You see from your periphery that he’s trying to catch your attention as the meeting starts, but with this, you hold back. You don’t want to see what you now know would be sadness in his eyes.

Jungkook has entered the deepest nook of your heart, you realize. You don’t know how you let him get there, and you don’t know how to push him out.

“Another night of drinking, huh?” Hoseok’s unusually somber voice disrupts Jungkook’s thoughts as he zones out during lunch. “The Arts Center getting you that stressed and anxious?”

Jungkook looks at his cousin questioningly.

“I know how you look when you’re tired and this isn’t it,” Hoseok responds. “You’re hungover.”

“I’m fine,” Jungkook huffs, not wanting to get into this with a man who would know when he’s lying.

“You should be, Kook. There’s a lot going on these next few weeks and we need you at your best. Your team has worked so hard for the Arts Center,” Hoseok reminds him. “So trust them. And don’t let them down.”

As always, his words hit Jungkook where they should. Whatever’s going on in his personal life - even if it involves you, his assistant - he has to be professional first, and that means making sure that everything is ready for the launch in six weeks. There’s a lot he has to meet and prepare for, and he doesn’t know how you’re able to do it. You may be distancing yourself from him but you’re still able to focus and carry out your tasks accordingly. You’ll be fine without him, he thinks. But if you’ll go on thinking that he doesn’t feel the same way about you, he knows he’ll regret it. He knows he’ll regret it even more if he doesn’t ask you to stay.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” Jungkook assures his cousin. “I’ve been out of it but I’ll get my shit together.”

“Good. I don’t have to remind you that there’s a lot riding on this. But ___ is there to help. I’m here, too. You’ve got people who believe in you, okay?” Hoseok smiles, a slice of comfort that Jungkook didn’t know he needed. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Jungkook nods and heads back to his office after a full morning has passed, tricking himself into thinking that things will indeed be okay. He just needs to find the courage to face you, finally talk to you, ask you about that night, and tell you what he feels.

But even getting you alone proves to be difficult, as you have your own lunch plans that he didn’t want to interfere with, and your own deadlines that he set that he knows you’ll make sure to meet.

Jungkook gets caught up in the afternoon in another meeting with some of the Board members who came to visit. Biting his lip in frustration, he manages to not lose his mind as he sits through it, merely hoping to the heavens that you haven’t left yet despite the late hour.

He speed walks down the hallway once he gets to his floor and almost panics when he sees your work space empty. But he spots your unfinished cup of coffee and he knows you won’t leave without cleaning up. He briefly sighs in relief when he hears shuffling from inside his room, walking closer to find you standing by his desk, with your back facing the door. You place a folder on his tray for signatures and a bound manual for review, then turn around and jerk in surprise when you see him standing there.

“I didn’t know your meeting had ended, sir,” you say, the formality grating his ears. All he wants is to hear you speak to him casually again, for you to call him by his name once more.

“It just did,” he hums. “I didn’t know if you were still here. I wanted to see you before you could leave.”

His words catch you off-guard but you try to look unaffected.

“Is there anything else you need me to do, sir?” You ask, knowing that he’s past giving you work at this hour on a Friday, but you’re too nervous to think of what else he needs you for.

“No. I…” he stutters. “You, uh, you’ve been avoiding me,” he manages to say, his eyes pleading for you to look at him.

But still, you don’t.

“I’m with you everyday, Mr. Jeon,” you insist, your tone cold. “I can’t possibly be avoiding you.”

“You haven’t looked at me all week.”

As if in reflex, you glance at him, then shift your eyes on the couch to your left.

“That doesn’t count,” he says, his voice oozing in desperation for you to just spare him some time, something you’ve never heard before.

So you give in, as you slowly meet his eyes, and you’re reminded why you didn’t want to do it in the first place. They’re so sullen. Tired, it seems, but just lacking in light. They were always so expressive, even when they’re angry, and even more when they’re sad.

“I just…” you start, knowing that with all that’s happened and with all the stress and pressure he has to endure, you can’t be another one in his list to have to try to figure out. You at least owe it to him to be honest.

You look at the door, suddenly conscious of who might wander in your area, and Jungkook takes your cue, closing it once you nod.

“So, why have you been avoiding me?” He asks again, his voice gaining a bit of life now that you’ve given him a chance to talk.

“I was just ashamed,” you admit, looking away as the scene from last week plays in your mind again. “I said things I shouldn’t have and they made you uncomfortable and—”

“How do you know that?” He interjects.

“Because you pulled away!” You say too loudly, lowering your head in embarrassment at the clear frustration you’re expressing. “I thought you wanted to… uh…”

“Kiss you,” he finishes, earning him the slightest of nods from you.

“But you didn’t and I just felt so embarrassed,” you say, your lips quivering now at how much you’re saying, at how much you’re baring yourself to him, unsure if he’ll do the same. “That was completely out of line.”

“You weren’t wrong though,” he almost whispers as he slowly walks towards you. “About what I wanted to do. You seemed to want that, too, but we were out there and I… I was scared that if I’d done anything you weren’t ready for, then I’d push you away. I still did anyway. Because you’ve spent the entire week avoiding me, talking to me formally, not fixing my tie…”

You stop the giggle that you almost let out, but you can’t help your tiny smile as he whines about what you’ve been purposely doing.

“I just didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to face you after that,” you explain, knowing there’s so much more to say but that you’ll start with this. “But you avoided me, too,” you suddenly pout.

“What did you expect me to do?” He exclaims. “You did it first! You know I’m not good with these things.”

“Neither am I.”

Jungkook controls himself from kissing the frown off your face and instead, he walks closer. He gets to appreciate you now as he shamelessly eyes your form, the pastel-colored long sleeved blouse tucked inside your white skirt making his heart race.

He spots your shy smile as you try to turn away, and he steps closer, wanting to see more.

“You still aren’t gonna look at me?” He asks, the soft desperation in his voice prompting you to be bold again.

“I can’t. I might lose my mind,” you admit, groaning right after at your own honesty.

“I’d quite like that,” he hums. “I… I was actually losing my mind all week. It didn’t feel right to have you feel so far away. I wanted to fix things but I didn’t know how.”

“That makes both of us,” you sigh, allowing yourself to finally gaze at him in his black suit, the classic look taking your breath away every time. “But I guess it’s the same with me. I didn’t know how badly I wanted you close until you weren’t anymore.”

You hesitatingly reach out your hand, an attempt to let him know that close is what you want him to be, but also to see for yourself if this is real, if he really is just breaths away from you, and if he could be even closer.

“I’m not pulling away this time,” he assures you, his boyish smile sending your mind in a frenzy.

Your fingers graze his chest, the way it quickly rises and falls telling you that his heart is probably racing as fast as yours. You fiddle with the neck of his tie before pulling it to bring him closer. He follows your lead, stepping forward and meeting your eyes, seeming like he doesn’t want his off of you.

“So uh, are you losing your mind now?” He whispers teasingly.

The way he utters the words with such yearning is a contrast to the shy look on his face. It’s a side of him you’re not ready for, but it’s one you’re thoroughly enjoying. It’s also pushing you to be even more shameless, as you nod and take his hand this time, placing it on your waist so you could feel his touch again. He’s gentle, trailing his fingers up and down your sides.

“I am,” you manage to say, and you wish he could tell by the way you’re panting that his effect on you is way beyond your control now, and that it’s something you want to embrace. You mirror his smile, soft and warm yet full of desire.

He makes his move, placing his hand on your cheek as he eliminates whatever distance is left. And he stands there, just one breath away.

“You have no idea how much I’ve been thinking about that night, wishing I’d done things differently,” he heaves, his eyes flitting to your lips constantly, “wishing I had been brave enough to do what I’ve been wanting to do for so long.”

You lick your lips in tandem with his, and once you feel him thumb your cheek, it’s all over for you. With a whisper of his name, you hold your breath, and the next thing you feel is his mouth on yours.

He kisses you deeply, expressing just how much he’s been wanting to do this. You smile as you return his desire, suddenly feeling like you’re floating, as if he’s some dream that you’re able to reach, like he’s that beautiful thing that’s tangible, that you can touch, that you can taste.

You moan once his tongue gains entrance, entangling with yours and dominating you immediately until he’s all you can breathe in. He cups your face, directing it where he wants, while his one hand trails down your back to knead your ass, as if to keep himself steady as he loses himself in you. Your breathing quickens even more as the pleasure rises, and with your fingers palming his chest and gripping his collar, he pushes you against his table.

He cages you and keeps you in place while he devours your lips, and you feel him all over you just as you wanted. You’re hypnotized by his scent, by his warm breath, and by the large hands that now grip your waist and lift you to sit on the edge of his desk.

Your mind is hazy, high on the drug that is his kiss, lust-filled and passionate and relentless. You yearn for him even more the longer you taste him, feel him, and there’s no part of you that wants this to end. Your moans push him to kiss you harder, leaving you a whimpering mess and with a mind that's truly unable to think a single thought outside of this trance-like feeling. His arms now wrap around you, and his hands, seemingly desperate to touch every part of you that he can, trail up and down your back, as if to caress you, as if to say that he won’t stop, that he won’t let you go.

Finally needing air, he removes his lips from yours only to travel to the most sensitive parts of you - on the shell of your ear that his tongue grazes repeatedly, and on your neck that he licks and sucks vigorously. You feel the chills all over your body, and you grind against him to try to satiate that growing need of yours, as you start to feel the dampness in your underwear. His hardening length makes you want everything he can give you, rules and boundaries be damned.

This isn’t like you but you’ve never felt this much pleasure and desire in all your life. Nothing could’ve prepared you for the ecstasy that kissing and feeling him would give. You feel his desperation and desire for you, as he grunts and moans your name, aching to feel more, to do more. You want to live in this moment, and then live it everyday, just take him in and take everything and give him everything.

But you should’ve known that some things are too good to be true. And much as you hope and imagine for things to turn out a certain way in belief that you deserve good things in this world, they don’t. Those don’t happen to people like you. There’s always something underneath it all, as the fantasy shatters like a glass ceiling breaking at his words.

“Stay, ___. Don’t leave,” he hums against you, the tip of his nose gliding against your neck as he takes in your scent. “Please don’t resign. I can’t… I—”

You feel frozen as you process what he’s said. “Wha-what?” You manage to ask, your mind slowly waking up now.

His lips take a pause at devouring your skin and he faces you, his chest heaving and his eyes glassy and pleading as he repeats his words.

“Don’t leave, ___. Don’t resign. Stay with me. I need you next to me.”

“Where is this coming from?” You demand, your heart racing now for a different reason, your anxiety building at how he could’ve known of your plans. You pull away to get a better look at him, with guilt now painting his eyes.

“I… I overheard you and Mr. Ri talking last night,” he admits shamefully. “I didn’t mean to. I was going to just walk away but you talked about leaving and what you feel about me and I just… I froze. I don’t want you to go anywhere, ___. I need you here.”

The silence drags on as you let his words settle, words you thought you wanted to hear. But not like this, you realize. This isn’t how you imagined he’d tell you he wants to be with you.

He attempts to cup your cheek again but you pull yourself back, the rejection breaking him this time.

“You knew I wanted to kiss you last week,” you start, your voice shaking as the pieces fit together. “You knew yet you pulled away. You let a whole week pass with this distance, with no attempt from you to talk to me about it, or to even tell me what you feel but then you learn last night, after listening to a conversation you had no part in, that I like you. And tonight, you kiss me because suddenly you need me? Because you want me to stay next to you?”

“I—” Jungkook starts, unable to say anything as you put it the way you do.

He’s wanted you for so long and always had reasons to keep his distance. He tried to gain the courage to talk to you this week, even as you avoided him, but he didn’t. There was just so much fear, so much worry about what he should do, about you asking him to forget about it, about possibly pushing you away even more. He didn’t intend for things to happen this way but for you to think that he’s only doing this in an attempt to keep you from resigning is all kinds of wrong, even if in hindsight, that’s exactly what it looks like. He could’ve said something earlier, he could’ve told you what he felt, and he would’ve been brave enough if he really wanted to.

“You knew how I felt and you kissed me so I’d stay,” you repeat. “You hate change and me leaving will change everything for you and this… this is how you make sure I don’t.”

Stepping down from the desk, you realize how much you’d lost yourself in him, with your skirt bunched up and your blouse all creased. You fix yourself, suddenly ashamed, and suddenly unsure where you stand. It took so much of you to admit what you felt for him and now it seems that he hadn’t been into you the way that you thought.

You want him with you, but he wants you here, that’s the difference.

“I… want you,” Jungkook says, the words suddenly hard for him to say, as he gets choked up at the distance you’re creating. “I guess I always have. I just couldn’t do anything because I had to be professional and there were boundaries I couldn’t cross. But I couldn’t help it. Those don’t matter to me anymore. Only you do.”

His pleading eyes ask you to believe him, to understand him this time. But your silence and the way you look at him in disappointment tell him it’s not something you’re able to do.

“I never thought you’d feel the same way,” he continues. “And now I know that you do and that just means we can figure it out, right? Staying means we get to be together everyday. We… we get to have this everyday. Don’t you… don’t you want that?”

This is when you realize that much as you want to believe in his sincerity, it’s hard when he thinks of you as a necessity. You make his life easier. You’re his assistant, after all. And that makes you unsure if he only wants you because he needs you, or if they’re just the same thing to him.

He didn’t even ask you why you wanted to leave. Maybe that should tell you enough.

“___, please. I just want to be with you.”

It’s also at this moment when you realize just how much you’ve fallen for him. You’d feared that if he asked you to stay, you would, and that means putting another person’s needs ahead of yours again, just like what you’ve done all these years. Staying would mean that you’d be unable to find yourself outside of all this, and you’ve given up too much not to choose your own happiness this time, even if it means saying goodbye to the person who also makes you happy.

Finding what little strength you have in you, you turn to him. “I don’t want to stay, Jungkook,” you say, your heart breaking as you utter the words, even more when you ask him to forget about everything that happened tonight. “We can’t do this. I can’t do this with you. Not like this. I’m so sorry.”

With your smashed heart in your hands, you do the hard thing and walk out the door, leaving in your wake a man whose broken pieces that you’ve put together all shattered once again.

Walking down the block to get to the bus stop feels like a marathon, as the street feels so long with the heavy burden you’re carrying weighing you down too much. But you manage to get there, only to decide that you’d much rather spend the ride home on your own. You turn to a street to hail a cab then realize once you get in one that it was the spot where Jungkook had seen you, drenched under the rain with a sprained ankle.

He healed parts of you that night, with his quiet assurance that you didn’t have to go through your struggles on your own. You’d hold on to that thought months later, though you’re unsure about now - much as things hurt at this moment, all you want is to be alone.

You get off two stops early and mindlessly walk towards the convenience store, thinking that some snacks for dinner would do. You don’t really feel like eating but your body’s needs are greater than your own desire to eat. Walking down the aisles, you decide you’re only good for some cup noodles tonight. You don’t even deserve boiled eggs that you suddenly craved, nor honey chips, and you definitely don’t deserve dessert after what you allowed to happen earlier.

You stop your movements once you realize you’re sitting on the same spot where you and Jungkook had eaten when he drove you home that night he took you to the park. It had been a terrible evening after that incident with your ex, but Jungkook was the protective one who helped shoulder all the anger that you were too exhausted to feel. He was a reliable and comforting presence, familiar yet new with his warmth. During the occasional moments in the weekend after when your mind would go to that night, you’d think of Jungkook and how he made you feel safe.

It feels too much, so you take your noodles and finish them on the bench outside. You walk home after, letting the crisp evening air envelop you as your mind replays what happened.

You don’t think you’ve ever wanted to feel someone the way you wanted to feel him, but you suppose that’s why it hurts as much as it does. You wanted him to want you as much as you did, and you were perhaps foolish to think he’d have the same reasons as you. Maybe you were really just stupid for feeling anything in the first place, knowing your place in his world. You’re everything convenient and easy and familiar and despite the week of walking on eggshells around him, you gave in so quickly. He knew what to do when it came to you.

And maybe that’s on you. You allowed yourself to feel so much for a man whose life is so intertwined with yours that it’s hard to know what’s real. Yet you know that despite all that, your desire for him is still too strong. It’s why you had to leave right away.

Another moment of him pleading for you to not resign and you might’ve given in again. Another second of hearing him ask you to be with him and you would’ve believed him - that there was sincerity in all that, that he’d be with you regardless if you stayed in the company or not. Now you’re left with the thought that the convenience was what he wanted, that as he crossed the line, it was all or nothing for him. And that you’d be the weak one, willing to give up what else you could be outside of all this just for him.

Perhaps you’re also asking for too much. He’s used to a life without much consequences to his actions. There’s a lot he doesn’t know, especially what you had to endure and give up to be here and what you want out of life now that you’re old enough to take control of it. Maybe for him, asking you to stay was that declaration and proof of his feelings; doing so took so much out of him already that thinking of what life would be like without being with you everyday was too hard of a reality to accept or work around.

You’re too out of it that you don’t realize that you’ve been standing outside your door. You’re thankful for the weekend at least. You’ll spend half of it in bed, and the other half preparing yourself for how you’ll face him again, and how you’ll finally say goodbye.

You enter and sigh at the warmth inside. Dropping your bag on the floor, you stand by your tiny dining table and take a bite off the apple you find in your fridge. You gaze at your shelf, the one filled with photos of your family and friends and a few more of different sceneries that you took using the disposable camera that Jungkook had gifted you for your birthday. It’s another reminder of how much a part of your life he’s become, how, of all the people in the world, he’d been the one to show you that capturing moments is a gift you shouldn’t take for granted.

You often wondered what moments he liked to capture. He doesn’t have photos in his penthouse other than those of structures and buildings that are artistically taken. There are framed old blueprints and historical pieces but nothing of him and the people in his life.

Maybe he doesn’t have good enough memories he wants to keep. For a short moment, you wished that the times he shared with you are ones he’d like to hold onto. But maybe the idea would hurt more - you’ll just be a memory like he would be to you.

You always wanted to keep only good ones of him, but the sight of him rooted in his spot and in shock as you turned him down is far from something you want to remember. He’s something you didn’t know you wanted, but he stands between you and the life you’ve always wished for yourself - one where you get to decide, to be free, to be happy.

He’ll let you go and forget all this, you think to yourself. You’ll be the one who walked away. And he’ll be the one who didn’t run after you.

Jungkook is stunned as he watches your retreating form. The sounds of your heels against the marble floor disappear as he remains unmoving from his spot in his room where he’d kissed you just moments earlier. You felt and tasted just like he imagined, and the moment his lips touched yours, he knew he’d want to keep kissing you over and over again.

It was the first time in a long time that he allowed himself to be honest about how he felt, giddy emotions included. It felt freeing to be able to admit all of that to you after all these months of denying it and walking around eggshells when it came to you. He’d been sure, after last night, that you felt the same way, even more when he felt how your body reacted and how your heart raced, aching for him as much as his heart was yearning for you.

You sounded hypnotizing, too. The way you’d moaned his name ignited something in him that none of the women he’d slept with had ever done before, and he knows it’s because he’d never felt anything genuine for them. They were good for the moment but he knew, especially the instance that he felt you close, that he wanted you for more than that. He wanted the soft touches and the gentle whispers, the longing looks and the intertwined hands. He wanted more than he thought he would, but during his most vulnerable state, he uttered the words he’d been dying to say since last night when he learned of your plans.

He asked you to stay. He told you he needs you, that he wants to be with you.

They sounded like pleas and maybe that’s what they were. From the deepest and coldest nooks of his heart, he was pleading for you to not leave. He’d finally admitted what he’d been so scared to accept, but all his words did were hurt you.

You insisted that all he cared about was the convenience of being together everyday, that you staying meant he’d get to keep all that was familiar. And he doesn’t know what would be taken away from you if you did.

You wanted him, too, didn’t you? Wasn’t that enough? And wasn’t being with him all that mattered?

Sure, there’d be complications, but those are things he knows you’d both be able to face, they’re things you can navigate around and figure out together because this isn't just a one-time, spur-of-the-moment type of thing. He wants all of you, everything with you, whatever it takes.

He hadn’t realized it until that second he held you in his arms. And then again when you pulled away, looked at him with glassy eyes, and told him you couldn’t stay.

He’d been too hurt to run after you. He didn’t know what to say then. How would he, when you’re the one who couldn’t commit to what you felt by staying around? He felt that betrayal, of that feeling of inadequacy, of his feelings for you not being enough. He bared his emotions to you after being so scared of doing so, and then you crushed his heart just like that, with his broken pieces that you’d just put together, scattered on the floor.

This isn’t like him. It’s been a long time since he’s allowed himself to feel so much for another person, to care for them, to want them in a way that scares him. But you showed him a life where it was possible to open himself up again, to find out what happiness could feel like this time, and in that same breath, you took it all away.

He’s not sure where to go from here. But he decides he’ll think about that tomorrow. Tonight, he just wants to forget. Tonight, he just wants to wallow in his sadness, erase the memory of your touch and the feel of your mouth against his, and let it all go.

Jungkook instructs Mr. Ri to go home. He’ll drive himself, he insists. There’s just no one right now he wants to be around.

He drinks a glass of whiskey for the road and manages to get home in one piece. He settles on the couch as he finishes another half bottle, then chugs down a few cans of beer after. The image of you gets blurry. His mouth numbs and he starts forgetting your taste on his lips, too.

His head falls on the pillow and his hand mindlessly reaches out. There’s no heartbeat that he feels; he’s forgotten how fast yours was already. The sound of your laughter and then of your moans is replaced with a buzzing in his ear as his mind starts to fall away.

The warmth of your body is gone but somehow he feels hot, so hot but he can’t get his clothes off. He struggles a little, his fingers aren’t doing their job so he gives up instead, curls into the corner of the couch, and for the briefest moment, he sees your smile so clearly. And then his mind drifts away completely, taking his confusion and yearning for you along with it.

At least for now, there’s not much of you he remembers. But somewhere deep inside, he knows that’ll all change when he wakes up in the morning and searches for you, knowing you won’t be around to tell him that everything is gonna be okay.

Hoseok massages his temple as his sixth call to his cousin in the last half hour remains unanswered.

“He’s still not picking up,” he groans, the unusual feeling of annoyance bubbling inside him at Jungkook’s irresponsibility.

It’s Saturday morning and some friends of their family flew from Europe last night for lunch at the Jeons’ estate. This gathering was scheduled in time for their grandfather’s death anniversary today, and it’s an event that Mr. Jeon was adamant that Jungkook and Hoseok attend as their respective families’ representatives and as heirs of the company. Those friends had been there when their grandfather built Jeon Corporation from the ground up, and welcoming them is a sign of respect for that friendship and for the memory of the man they’re celebrating today.

Jungkook had informed Mr. Ri that he’ll be driving himself to the estate and promised to be there before 11 AM, as what his father had requested. It’s half past that and he’s still nowhere to be found. He hasn’t been picking up his phone and his friends claim they don’t know where he is. Knowing how important today is, Hoseok wanted to accompany Mr. Ri in going to the younger man’s apartment to pick him up and find out why he’s late. When the elder Jeon asks, which he will, Hoseok would at least have a reason to give. It just better be a good one.

They both arrive at the building and are informed that Jungkook’s cars are still in their respective slots. He’s not in any of the amenities and the guards report that they haven’t seen him since he arrived on his own last night. He may not be a fan of these types of events but Jungkook always shows up. He knows what today means for their family; if not for his father, then at least for his grandfather, a man he respected and looked up to. If, for some reason, he failed to wake up, then he must be in a bad condition, and Hoseok either has to scold his cousin, or cover for him.

With no one answering the door, Mr. Ri uses his access and enters. It’s dark and quiet inside, with the blinds all closed. When he and Hoseok find Jungkook passed out on the couch with an empty whiskey bottle and beer cans on the floor, it’s the same moment that Mr. Ri’s phone rings, and it’s your name that lights up the screen.

“Hi, Mr. Ri,” you groggily say. “I’m sorry I missed your calls. I had a late night and just woke up. Is everything okay?”

“I’m not sure,” he sighs, as he watches Hoseok pull Jungkook from his cowering form in an attempt to get him to wake up.

“What do you mean?” You ask, standing from your bed now, suddenly awake.

“I was calling to ask if you knew where Jungkook was. Their family gathering is today and he was supposed to be at his parents’ house 30 minutes ago but he wasn’t. He wasn’t picking up our calls either.”

“Oh, I… I don’t know where he is,” you say softly, the mention of his name reminding you of what transpired last night, the image of Jungkook’s dejected look appearing in your mind. You worry about him though, wondering what time he got home. “Have you found him? Is he okay?”

“Hoseok and I are at his apartment and he’s passed out drunk,” Mr. Ri states, as Jungkook finally opens his eyes and mumbles some words that the older man has to walk closer to hear. “What happened last night, ___? Why is he calling your name? And why is he asking for you to come back?”

It shouldn’t come as a surprise to you that Jungkook had spent last night drinking his feelings away. You know enough from your time with him that it’s what he does when he’s stressed or mad or frustrated, and then he wakes up the next morning and hits the gym to deal with his hangover. There’s none of that today, apparently, and you stop yourself from instructing Mr. Ri to prepare him some lemon ginger tea.

“What happened last night, ___?” He repeats. “Did you fight?”

“We…” you start, knowing that if there’s anyone who has to know about last night, it’s the man on the other end of the phone. “We, uh… we kissed. And then he asked me not to resign then I pulled away.”

Walking towards the kitchen to hand Hoseok a glass of water, Mr. Ri asks if you’d told Jungkook of your plans, stating that he hadn’t told him about it.

“He overheard us talking last Thursday,” you respond. “He knew what I felt about him, kissed me, then asked me to stay. He said he didn’t want me to go, that he wanted to be with me, and that we could be together everyday. It didn’t feel right,” you continue, your voice shaking now as you recall the conversation. “It wasn’t supposed to happen that way. We were supposed to talk about it. He wasn’t supposed to use my feelings against me like that.”

“Did you tell him why you’re planning on leaving?”

“No… He just went on about needing me to be with him and I… I couldn’t bear it,” you say, feeling the tears dance around your eyes. “You told me that I could always leave but even then, I’d always have a reason to stay but it would be their reason, not mine. I finally built the courage to decide on this because you know I need this. I don’t want him to be my reason this time. Or else I’ll never be able to let all of it go.”

“I know,” Mr. Ri sighs, knowing more than anyone what you mean.

He’ll never be brave like you, but he understands that burden, that desire to just be free; he knows what it’s like to be held back even if it’s your own decision. Because at the end of the day, you’ll always think you have a debt to be paid. He knows he does, but he’ll always believe that you don’t. Surviving was always enough.

“But I think he has to know, ___,” he continues. “He wouldn’t let himself go through this kind of suffering if you don’t mean that much to him. You have to tell him the truth. And I mean everything. You owe it to yourself, too. I know he means a lot to you but you can’t move forward in any way, with or without him, if you’ll just keep him in the dark.”

You let Mr. Ri’s words settle. You told yourself the moment you entered the company that you won’t let your past define you, including your relationship with this family. You’ll work hard and everyone else will know you for that, and not for any other reason. You also knew that you’d spend every second of being here trying to prove to yourself that you’re capable, despite the irony that you were the one defining your time here based on your past that you just somehow couldn’t run away from.

You weren’t supposed to feel anything for Jungkook. You could’ve gone on with your plan of resigning without feeling bad that you were leaving him behind. And even in that alternative reality where he’d ask you to stay, it would’ve been easy to say no. What makes this difficult is that you started to care. You got scared that if he asked you, you would stay. And now that he did, you have to be stronger than your desire to be with him.

Leaving would be hard, but staying would be much harder.

You wish it was easy to make him understand. But you suppose without him knowing the truth, he wouldn’t be able to.

So you give Mr. Ri permission.

“I don’t know how to tell him,” you say. “You would. Make him understand. Maybe he’ll let me go. Maybe he’ll still come after me. And maybe he’ll forgive me, too.”

Mr. Ri hums and drops the call. He returns to the living room where Jungkook is now seated upright on the couch, downing his second glass of water and taking medicine to deal with the hangover. The blinds are now up, causing him to squint his eyes. At least he looks alive now.

“That was ___,” Mr. Ri says. “She was wondering how you were.”

“Did you tell her I look terrible?”Jungkook asks bitterly.

“I did. She also told me what happened.”

“What… happened?” Hoseok wonders. “Did you have a big fight?”

Knowing he has no way out of this, Jungkook tells the truth. “We, uh, we kissed,” he answers, earning him a gasp from his cousin, who clarifies that while he’s not that surprised, he’s curious as to why both of you aren’t together right now.

“___ plans on resigning. He asked her not to,” Mr. Ri answers. “But you… you have to let her go, Jungkook. She needs to learn who she is and what she can do without anything holding her back.”

“If that’s her reason, then she has to know that she can keep learning who she is and what she can do here, with me,” Jungkook insists, slowly gaining clarity, as all the words he couldn’t say last night suddenly come out so easily. “There’s so much she can do. If what we feel for each other is the issue and that means she can’t directly work for me, then there are other departments where she’d fit well in. This isn’t just about convenience for me. I want to see her everyday but having her around means I get to make sure she’s taken care of, that she’s treated well.”

“And then what? She’ll feel indebted to you because of that?” Mr. Ri counters. “This is more than just developing her skills or building her career, Jungkook. This is about being someone outside of this company. It’s about doing something without feeling like she constantly has to prove that she deserves what she has.”

“And she does. Who does she have to prove anything to? We’re beyond that. Everyone knows she’s capable.”

“She has to prove it to herself. It may be hard for you to understand but she… she won’t get to accept all that she is until she’s ridden herself of the burden she carries. For as long as she works for your family, she’ll always feel it.”

The words feel a little too personal, Jungkook thinks, as Mr. Ri talks about your insecurities as if he’d seen you live them, and perhaps he has. The older man witnessed those first few turbulent weeks, and having known you since you started working here through the CEO, perhaps Mr. Ri had seen how your spirit broke a little because of Jungkook.

But still, something about the way Mr. Ri looks sullenly at him says that there’s more to what the older man had seen, as if he himself is pleading for Jungkook to let you go this way, as if the care runs deep and the words carry so much more emotion.

“She needs this, Jungkook,” Mr. Ri continues. “She’s planned on leaving a few times before but her gratitude towards your family always pulled her back. If you really care about her, you won’t let that happen this time. If you want to be with her, you’ll have to do it without her being here. Regardless of what she feels for you, she needs this more. You can let her go without really letting her go, you have to know that.”

It all feels too much and Jungkook’s mind is filled with so many questions. What do you owe his family? How does proving yourself have anything to do with leaving the company? How does he fit into all this? What do you need time away for? And how can he be with you at the end of it? Would you still want that, given that he didn’t even ask you why?

“How are you sure that’s what she needs?” Jungkook asks, curiosity getting the best of him.

“I’ve known her for 20 years, Jungkook,” Mr. Ri sighs. “I know it’s what she believes.”

Jungkook may still be dealing with a hangover, but he knows his ears didn’t betray him. Twenty years, that’s how long you’ve known the man he trusts with his life, the man his father trusts with his family’s life.

The tale is an open secret. Ri Byung-hun was a kid who grew up in the streets. He tried to steal from Jungkook’s grandfather, whose construction business then was slowly taking off. The elder man took pity on the young teen and sent him to school, and Byung-hun showed his gratitude by working for the family, eventually becoming Jungkook’s father’s chauffeur, bodyguard, and closest confidant all in one. The loyalty goes both ways, and it’s stood the test of time.

Jungkook doesn’t know all the details but he knows enough. What he doesn’t know is who you are in Mr. Ri’s life, and why Jungkook hadn’t heard of you before.

“How do you know ___?” Jungkook finally manages to ask. “Who is she to you?”

“I know ___ because of her mother. And over 20 years ago, Cho Hye-soo was your father’s assistant.”

“She— what?”

Jungkook can’t hide his shock, and neither can Hoseok, who looks just as surprised about the truth as he is. His cousin would’ve been in his early teens at that time, and as it was when it came to their family’s children, training to become company heirs starts early, but they don’t get immersed until during their late teenage years.

“I… I know Mrs. Cho,” Hoseok says. “I’ve met her several times but I… I never knew. They never said anything.”

“It wasn’t something they wanted people to know,” Mr. Ri explains. “Other than both of your parents, I’m the only other person who does. Too much time has passed for people to make the connection. It was just better that no one knew.”

“What else did they not want people to know?” Jungkook asks. “What did ___ and her mom do? What… what do they owe our family?”

The elder man knew that at some point, Jungkook was going to have to learn the truth. He just didn’t think it would have to be under these conditions, and that he’d be the one telling the young man about how your lives are intertwined, that whatever pain you both carried growing up, those would always lead you back to each other.

“Your father and Hye-soo were no different to how you and ___ are,” Mr. Ri starts. “He’d just been appointed President and he was under a lot of pressure - from your grandfather, the Board, the rest of your family… He was always stressed and it didn’t help that he was a perfectionist, just like you. That obviously affected your family, but it also affected those who worked for him, especially Hye-soo, who felt that she had a lot to prove.”

She didn’t have a Seoul education but she was smart and resourceful, incredibly hardworking and devoted, something you inherited from her, the elder man shares. The similarities are striking, and Jungkook braces himself, hoping that they end there.

“She always had to work overtime, including weekends, and that took a lot of time away from being with ___. Hye-soo would leave her daughter in the library where her friend worked, and that seemed to be enough. But of course, it wasn’t easy, especially with a partner who lost his job and started drinking to cope.”

As Mr. Ri continues, Jungkook starts to fear something else, and so he asks.

“Did… did he hurt them?”

“He yelled a lot,” Mr. Ri answers. “I’d hear it sometimes during breaks when she’s on the phone with him and it crushed me every time. Hye-soo wouldn’t say much, just that he was a good guy who just didn’t know how to deal with hardships. She never justified his actions until of course, that piece of shit started hitting her.”

Jungkook’s heart breaks at the words, unable to imagine growing up in a household like that - feeling afraid, unsafe, and unfree.

“Hye-soo assured me that Kang-ho never hurt ___. She was good at that, at protecting her child. One time, she was called to work on a Saturday and that didn’t go well with him, but she… she always puts her daughter first, and that meant work would always be her priority because it’s what pays the bills and what sends her to school,” Mr. Ri narrates, his eyes growing more dejected by the second as he recalls those times.

“She was rushing and couldn’t properly conceal the bruise on her face. She was worried that’s why she took ___ with her. Hye-soo kept crying as your father asked her what happened. She apologized for being late and for bringing her daughter to work, and she asked to stay in the office for the night until she figured out where they could go. I had never seen her break down like that,” he says, his voice shaking now. “And I won’t forget how scared ___ looked. She was just 10 years old then, clinging to her mother and not wanting to let her go. We were all strangers to her but somehow, she knew that we were there to protect them.”

The silence goes on, as both men take in Mr. Ri’s words, but it’s Hoseok who asks what happened after, and eventually, what got you here.

“Mr. and Mrs. Jeon didn’t hesitate to help,” the older man shares. “They had Hye-soo and ___ stay at the staff house in their estate for a few nights until they got a new place to stay. I helped them get their stuff after Kang-ho figured out what was happening and ran. The police had a warrant for his arrest but they couldn’t find him for days.”

Turning to Jungkook, he adds, “your parents paid for all the legal and medical fees. Because Kang-ho knew they were helping, you all had to go away until he was found. Hye-soo and ___ went to Busan where he couldn’t trace them; your parents stayed in one of their houses in Gwangju while you and your brother were in Gwacheon.” Mr. Ri sighs at the memory as he recalls those days. “The reason why you were in that cabin was so they could protect you. I know you held a grudge against them for years because you thought they just left you there but they couldn’t stay with you, Jungkook. You were all in danger and they had to keep you and Jeong-sik safe.”

Jungkook looks back at that night when everything changed for him. Things already weren’t going well with his brother; the three-year gap and the way they were always compared kept them from getting along. His parents knew that, yet they still left him with Jeong-sik, who abandoned him in the woods when they played hide-and-seek. That’s where Jungkook was left alone, lost and scared under the rain, the thunder roaring as he yelled for someone to come. He’s always lived with that fear, always carried that memory of anger and blame within him that transformed into a habit of just pushing people away, of keeping them out because that was better to accept than the knowledge that people he trusted left him on his own.

But there’s a reason, he learns now, one that his parents kept from him to protect you and your mother, too. It’s all too much, but he thinks now that maybe there’s a reason why you were so patient with him, why you didn’t judge him that night at the guest house, why you somehow understood what he was so scared of. He doesn’t know if you know that the night at the cabin had anything to do with what you and your mother went through, but regardless, maybe that’s why he always felt so strongly about you. The connection he was yearning for was always there, it’s tied to something, and he realizes it’s tied to your shared past.

“Did the police find the man?” Jungkook asks now, his headache somehow worsening from all the things he’s learning. But he just wants to know that you weren’t even more hurt, that there was a way that his parents kept you safe.

“I did,” Mr. Ri responds. “I still had contact with people in the streets, and I left Gwacheon once I got a call that they knew where he was staying. I hunted him down and I handed him over… with a bloodied face and a few broken bones. They charged him for domestic violence and a few other crimes, including drug possession that would keep him in prison for years, long enough for Hye-soo and ___ to recover.”

“And what about you? Were you charged?” Jungkook wonders.

“No, I claimed self-defense and I—”

“But it wasn’t, was it?” Jungkook counters, knowing there’s more to what Mr. Ri is saying.

“It wasn’t,” the old man admits, turning away as he says the words. “I could’ve done more but I… I couldn’t lose myself to the anger even if it was all I felt. I knew Hye-soo wouldn’t have forgiven me if I did.”

“You loved her, didn’t you?” Jungkook says, dawning on him now that everything Mr. Ri had done was so he could protect your mother and you. He realizes that all the times that the elder man looked out for you was because he was looking out for someone he truly cared about, someone who mattered the most to the person who mattered the most to him.

“I did,” Mr. Ri sighs. “I still do.”

Jungkook recalls the night during the team building and the elder man’s words, about the woman he’d loved for so long, and that moving on from her meant expending all that love to those he cares about, and now Jungkook knows that he was referring to you.

“Did she know? And did she love you back?”

“She… she asked me to move to Busan with her and ___,” Mr. Ri answers, his eyes faraway as memories of that conversation come rushing back, how he’d wanted to just run away and build a life he never thought he could have with the woman he’d fallen so hard for, but how he had to make the hardest decision then, knowing it was going to haunt him for the rest of his life.

“Why didn’t you?” Jungkook wonders.

“I owe everything I have to your family, Jungkook,” Mr. Ri explains. “They gave me a second chance. Your grandfather got me off the streets, your father taught me everything I know, they… they had my records cleaned. They did it when I was a kid and they did it again when I was an adult. The only way I could ever pay them back was through my loyalty. I couldn’t leave, not after everything they’ve done for me.”

“But you loved her. She was your second chance,” Jungkook argues.

“And that love caused me to commit a crime I shouldn’t have. I was going to pay for it one way or another,” Mr. Ri responds. “That’s how I chose to do it, by letting her go, knowing that I’d be able to look after her and ___ better that way. Your father would protect me, and I would protect them. That’s… that’s how things go.”

It’s a tragic love story, Jungkook thinks. Two people who feel so much having to let each other go, their own pasts pushing them towards opposite directions. Decisions were made and that pulled them apart. He supposes that reciprocated feelings aren’t always enough.

“What happened after that?” Hoseok asks now, wanting to know as well how you and your mother managed, and if there’s any more danger that you face.

“They stayed in Busan for a few years. They only returned to Daegu after they learned that Kang-ho died in prison after acquiring some respiratory disease,” Mr. Ri replies. “Mr. and Mrs. Jeon helped with the move, too. They had me check on Hye-soo and ___ almost every month, just to make sure they were doing well. It was hard, of course. Hye-soo wasn’t earning the same as she was so she took another job just to keep ___ in a good school. Mr. Jeon knew that, so he kept offering to pay for her education but Hye-soo always turned him down. That continued until she got to college, and knowing that her mom won’t accept help again, ___ was the one who decided to take the offer. They paid for her tuition, and she eventually got an internship in the company. She took the job offer, too, and she’s just been working hard ever since, thinking that she has everything to prove.”

“Why does my father think he can buy people’s loyalty just like that?” Jungkook shakes his head in disbelief. “It traps people… it gives them no option.”

“I know it may seem that way but your father knows how important loyalty is, and it’s something that he gives, too. He trusts me just as much I trust him,” Mr. Ri defends. “But when it comes to Hye-soo and ___, it isn’t about loyalty but guilt. He blames himself for what happened to them. Even if it was all Kang-ho’s fault, your father always believed that if he hadn’t been so demanding, things wouldn’t have escalated. It was all the overtime, all the unfair requests that took Hye-soo’s time from her partner, from her daughter. He carries that guilt with him and how he treated her. In a way, I think that was his wake-up call. Work stopped consuming him after. He became considerate of his staff, asking about their families and how they’re doing. He tried to make it up to you and your brother but that seemed to be the hardest thing for him; he didn’t know how to get your trust back.”

“But wasnt ___ choosing to work here about loyalty? She stayed every time he asked her to. She wouldn’t have if she felt indebted to our family,” Jungkook remarks, not wanting to delve into his own relationship with his father.

“She wanted to repay them just so her mom would stop carrying that burden,” Mr. Ri says. “They were able to get away and build a new life where they were safe because of your parents and for ___, that always meant everything. She planned to work for them, but even a part of her felt that all the opportunities she was given was out of kindness. She always felt she didn’t deserve it but your parents also think they can’t ever make it up to her and her mother enough.”

At the silence, he continues. “People are complicated that way, I guess. We all have our own burdens to carry, our own past to deal with, our own actions to make peace with and accept. We make decisions based on what we think is best and just hope we don’t regret them in the future. But we also make them as a way to take control of our own lives. Even if I regret letting Hye-soo go, I at least did it knowing that I’ll either have another chance at being with her, or that someone else will. And someone did, and I know for a fact that he loves her and ___ with all of him.”

“In that sense, maybe resigning is ___’s way of taking control of her life this time, don’t you think?” Hoseok turns to Jungkook, understanding where you’re coming from now, as he knows the feeling of not having to constantly prove yourself to others. “She finally wants to let that burden go, to live as she wishes without feeling like she doesn’t deserve what she has, even if it means not being next to you the way she wants to. If you make her stay, how do you think she can move on from all this? How can you be sure she’s happy?”

Jungkook takes a deep breath, knowing it’s not enough to process everything he’s learned this morning. There’s that past he didn’t know he shared with you, there’s his relationship with his father that he doesn’t know how to mend, there’s his feelings for you, one that’s still so strong and inescapable.

And then there’s the thought that you’d known everything all along. You’ve been patient with him, you've been kind and understanding. Was that all because you felt like you had to? Because he’s the son of the people you feel that you owe a lot to?

It’s not that Jungkook doubts your feelings for him, but he wonders if you do. Now that you’re able to make that decision to leave, what if walking away from his family also means you realize that your feelings are tied to that indebtedness, too? How real was it for you? And after you find yourself outside of all this, would you still want him?

The thoughts make his heart break, and this tells him that after knowing everything, he still can’t deny what he feels about you. He still wants you just as much. Maybe the familiarity he always felt was because you are familiar. Maybe the connection was because of a painful past you both share, of a kind of pain you both understand. Maybe the intensity of feelings is a remnant from his childhood, one that’s tied to yours in a serendipitous way.

He’d like to think that even without knowing, you held out for him. You could’ve chosen to leave anytime before he came but you didn’t, and your paths crossed this way and he convinces himself that you were always meant to meet each other, that you were always meant to make up for how intertwined and unfortunate your lives are. You never met then but this time, when you did, it meant so much more. He could only hope that it’s something you hold onto as well, and that when you decide to finally walk away, it doesn’t mean you walk away from him completely, too.

“Kook, I know there’s a lot to think about but you have to get going,” Hoseok disrupts his thoughts. “Your father still wants us at that lunch. I know grandfather would, too.”

“You should go ahead, Hoseok,” Mr. Ri says. “Just make an excuse to your uncle and say I’m helping Jungkook fix up. We’ll head there right away.”

“No, tell him that I know,” Jungkook insists. “If… if he’s always wanted to mend our relationship, he and I have to start being honest with each other.”

“I will,” Hoseok says as he stands up to leave. “Get your head together, alright? You’re gonna be fine.”

Jungkook massages his temples, knowing that he doesn’t have time to get a workout in and rid himself of this terrible hangover. But he tries, as he takes a warm shower and asks Mr. Ri to prepare him a cup of lemon ginger tea and get some ginseng jelly for the ride.

The trip to his parents’ estate starts off quiet, but the thoughts in his head are so loud that the older man asks what else is bothering him.

“How was her time in Busan?” Jungkook asks.

“It was good. She was a shy kid but she found good people she trusted and that meant everything,” Mr. Ri answers. “I visited them often, even when they returned to Daegu. But I stopped once ___ moved back to Seoul after college. I’d ask her about her mother every now and then. It was nice to hear how well they’re doing, and how happy they are with their new family. Min-woo’s a good man and his daughters love Hye-soo and ___ so much. It turned out well for them. When I think about that, it’s really hard not to justify the decisions I made.”

“Will you make them again? If given the chance?”

“If I still think it’s what’s best then, then I would. Sometimes we make decisions because of the other person, not exactly for ourselves. Sometimes that’s how we realize just how much we love them, you know? When their happiness trumps our own.”

Jungkook merely hums. While he doesn’t think he’s at that point with you, he cares enough to want you to have that chance to find your happiness, in whatever form that may be. And if leaving the company is what it takes, then he knows you deserve that and more. It doesn’t change the fact that he wishes you can search for it while being with him, but perhaps it’s better if you find your way back to him instead. He’ll at least know you chose him, and not because you felt like you owed it to him to stay.

They make it to his parents’ estate over an hour late. The guests have arrived and Jungkook greets them before finding his father. When their eyes meet, there’s a look of sadness in the elder man’s eyes. Perhaps it’s understanding; maybe it’s an apology.

His mother gives him a long and tight hug, one that he savors for the first time in a long while. He remained distant from his parents after he decided to pursue further studies and then work in their office abroad. It’s a relationship he’s still navigating. While his mother has always been present and affectionate, Jungkook is the one who stopped reciprocating. It just seemed easier that way, but he realizes that he’s missed her warmth after taking it for granted all these years.

The lunch gathering lasts for a few hours. Jungkook tries to pay attention to the conversations since engaging requires too much from him, especially after the morning he’s had. But his father doesn’t reprimand him this time, and for that, he’s thankful. Hoseok keeps him on his toes though, but Jungkook’s mind constantly wanders towards you. He wonders how you got home last night, if you managed to get some rest, and if you’re spending your time being angry at him or if, by any chance, you’re missing him like he’s missing you.

It’s 5 PM by the time the last guest leaves, and with Hoseok and A-yeong needing to attend a dinner party, Jungkook is left to speak with his parents alone.

“I heard you know the truth now,” his father says as he sits across from Jungkook in the garden. “I’m sorry I kept it from you.”

“Did you intend for me not to know and find out from someone else?” Jungkook asks.

“___ applied to the company with the intention of contributing in a small way,” his father says. “She made it without any say from me and that’s a testament to her skills and capabilities. When we met after her first day, she asked that she not be treated any differently, and I agreed. I stayed true to my word and I kept my distance, but when I heard about how Mrs. Byun treated her, I knew I couldn’t just stand back. I encouraged her to apply for the EA position, knowing that she would be treated well. And with that, she asked me not to say who she is - not to Hoseok, and especially not to you. That’s not how she wants to be known. And I always respected her request.”

“Does it make any difference, son?” His mother asks. “Does knowing who she is to our family change the way you see her?”

“No, but it makes me wonder how she’d seen me all this time,” Jungkook says. “She put up with me despite how I treated her. She was kind even if I was distant. She… she let me open myself up and that’s… that’s why I like her. That's why I asked her to be with me.”

The surprise on his parents’ faces is immediate, but they stay calm, and it’s what prompts him to continue.

“I just hate to think that she suffered all that time because she still felt like she owed us. If you asked her to stay and help me, she wouldn’t have been able to turn you down. And what if… she’s confused her feelings for me for just… gratitude towards you?”

“Oh, my dear son,” his mother sighs, taking his hand as a form of comfort. “We are so sorry that all this has caused you to doubt her sincerity but if there’s one thing we know about ___ is that she’s genuine, and if you felt cared for by her, then she meant all that.”

“Yes, I did ask her to help you, because I knew that if there was someone who could get through to you, it would be her,” his father says this time.

“So you took advantage of her? Because you knew she’d do what you’d ask,” Jungkook huffs.

“I did that because I knew that she would care, that she would understand. Thinking about it now, perhaps I asked for too much,” the elder man shakes his head. “She’s a lot like her mother, and I’ve come to realize that you’re a lot like me. I needed someone like Hye-soo and somehow I just knew that you needed someone like ___. Both of you opening up and finding comfort in each other just happened, I suppose, and that’s not such a bad thing, is it?”

“I don’t know. Because now, she doubts what I feel and I’m not sure about what she feels, too,” Jungkook admits, letting his own insecurities get the better of him. He hates that he’s started to doubt you as well.

“If it matters, I’ve seen how she is with you. She cares about you, she worries about you. And the way you respond to her just means that your heart feels her sincerity, too,” his father responds. “Don’t let anger or fear taint that for you.”

“Aren’t you mad about what happened?” Jungkook wonders. “She’s my assistant and I ended up crossing a line. I kissed her. In my office.”

“Perhaps I should be,” his father hums. “But with her planning on resigning, I suppose you’re already feeling a lot of emotions about that. I don’t want to add anymore. You’re an adult and you know that your actions have consequences. You just have to deal with them now. And don’t ever do that again.”

There’s no anger in his father’s words. In fact, there’s comfort that Jungkook has never heard before. It suspends his worries only for a short moment, as he’s reminded that you indeed plan on leaving. When that is, he doesn’t know. But he’s gonna have to start dealing with your loss just as he needs to deal with his feelings for you. It’s all too complicated; getting together despite what you both feel isn’t that simple. Your happiness comes first. He knows he cares so much that it’s what he wants you to focus on.

“Letting her go now doesn’t mean you have to let her go for good,” his mother tells him. “She’ll choose you if that’s what her heart says. And at least then, you’ll know for sure that she still wants you after everything.”

Jungkook’s parents’ words echo in his mind for the rest of Saturday that he spends in his living room, choosing wine as his companion for the evening. There’s no intention of getting hammered unlike the night before though. The drink calms him down and allows him to have proper sleep this time. He spends the most of his Sunday in bed, thinking about you, then attempting to remove you from his mind.

Not wanting to deal with any more tension, he instructs Mr. Ri that Monday to just drive you straight to the office. Jungkook arrives and sees you stand up to greet him as he walks through the hallway, and he responds with a nod as his own greeting before heading straight to his room.

There’s that feeling again - of missing you, of hoping he could fix things but not knowing how, of wanting to ask you to stay but knowing he has to let you go, and of wishing that when he does, you’ll find your way back to him again. He shakes off the thoughts during that short walk to his desk, feeling himself weaken with every moment that he spends far away from you.

Jungkook takes his seat and sighs as another day starts without his usual routine. Knowing he has no other choice, he pushes on. From his periphery, he sees you glancing at him through the window, and a part of him wishes it’s your attempt at seeing if you could speak with him, maybe ask if you could talk about what happened later on or about what he now knows about you. Or anything, really. He just wants to hear your voice again. Hopefully see your smile. Despite all his doubts about you, the emptiness he feels tells him that nothing’s changed - what he feels for you is real, and he might not know what’ll happen next, but he at least knows that what he wants is to be with you; he hopes he’ll figure out how to do that with you.

He sees you glance at him again and it sparks a bit of hope. That is, until he spots the envelope on his desk, and inside it, your resignation letter.

He tries to act unaffected as he reads what you’ve written. It’s straight to the point, as you narrate your journey in the company, having started as an intern and then working in logistics before finding your footing as the Vice President’s assistant. You list the skills you’ve developed and other things you’ve learned but that you think it’s time to venture into something new and different, noting how you’ll take all your experiences with you in this new stage of your life.

You thank him for his guidance, and he almost breaks towards the end when you mention the Arts Center. You apologize for leaving before its completion, but you’re thankful because it allowed you to appreciate the beauty of things, that it made you understand the value of meaning and connection, and that his passion for it pushed you to find something that you want to be passionate about, too. You’ve given him something, and now he knows that in his own way, he’s given something to you, too.

You type away on your desktop while not-so-discreetly peeking into Jungkook’s office to see his reaction to your letter. Your plan was to resign after the Arts Center was launched, knowing how big of a project it is that needs all of Jungkook’s attention. He can’t be distracted, and a part of you scolds yourself for being selfish about deciding to do this now.

But you also knew that you couldn’t delay it any longer. After what happened last Friday, you didn’t know how you could face him again, especially now that he knows everything. It didn’t feel right to continue on, not just because of your feelings but because you crossed a line - you kissed and did all that in his office. That itself is unacceptable; it almost feels like a betrayal to his family, whom you’ll have to painfully say goodbye to as well.

Mr. Ri visited you yesterday to give you comfort, knowing that you’d choose to go through this on your own again. Jungkook was devastated but was worried about you more than anything, you were told, and somehow that made the decision less difficult but still painful to make. You don’t know if he’ll ever truly understand, especially if finding yourself means letting him go despite the happiness he gives you.

It’s not everyday you find someone you feel so much for, but then again, human beings are complicated - they can want something and be scared of it at the same time; they can have the chance to have it but doubt it all the same. What you feel for him should be enough to dispel your worries about his sincerity but there’s too much going on in your mind at this point. Right now, you just want to get away. With him learning the truth, you suppose he needs time to process all that as well.

You’ll miss him though. You’ll miss everything about this place. But you’ll miss him the most.

Your phone ringing disrupts your thoughts, and your heart races when you hear Jungkook’s voice on the other end.

“Ms. Cho, please come to my office.”

You calm your nerves and find the strength to get off your seat and walk towards him. He’d been expressionless the whole time, and you wonder if he’ll hold off your resignation because it’s terrible timing. Either way, you try to prepare yourself for what’s to come.

But clearly, you didn’t do so enough, as you’re still left speechless when he holds out an envelope for you to take, the sight of his hands that once held you close breaking your heart again.

“I accept your resignation,” he says, his voice low and firm, his eyes not fully meeting yours. “You have a month until your last day but you have two weeks worth of vacation and I urge you to take them before you leave.”

“Thank you, sir,” you manage to say, your voice soft and shaking compared to his. “I… I will.”

“And this is your recommendation letter,” he says, handing you another envelope. “You’ve shown exceptional skills throughout your tenure here, Ms. Cho. Everyone you’ve worked with says so, and I’ve seen that firsthand. I’m sure that wherever you decide to work after this, you’ll be another great asset. And my family wishes you good luck in your future endeavors. Thank you for all that you’ve done for us.”

The words are too formal, too professional for your liking, and this breaks your heart even more. But you suppose there’s no other way to do it. You’re the one leaving; you’re the one who pulled away. After everything that’s happened, you’re the one who walked out to find your happiness when Jungkook needed you the most, and you could only hope that one day, he’ll forgive you for it. That he’ll forgive you for all of it.

“Thank you, Mr. Jeon,” you bow in thanks. “I’ve said it all in my letter but once again, I appreciate everything you’ve taught me.”

You bravely look him in the eyes as he seems to have found the courage to look at you, and the longer you do, the harder it all becomes.

“Shall I commence the process of finding my replacement, sir?” You ask.

“There is no need,” he replies. “I’ve received approval from my father to have Lucas come in as my assistant effective immediately. He’s scheduled to arrive this week, so you can spend the remaining time you have here turning over everything to him. I will announce your resignation to the team before then. You can also begin the offboarding process with HR so that there are no delays.”

“Understood, Mr. Jeon,” you say, the light in your eyes dimming as each second passes by.

“Is there anything else I could do to help you, Ms. Cho?”

There’s a prolonged moment where you and Jungkook just look at each other, his eyes tinged with a kind of sadness that you perhaps mirror, with words swimming in your own heads that neither of you wants to say out loud.

You wish he’d say that he’s okay, that he forgives you, and that he hopes it didn’t have to be this way.

He wishes you’d say that you’re sorry for leaving him, that you’ll be thinking about him, and that you hope you’ll find your way back to him again.

You want to tell him that he’s all you could think about, that you’ll miss him everyday, that you’ll search for beautiful things that are tangible like you said you would, and hope they would lead you back to him.

He wants to say that he’ll look for you everywhere, that he’ll hold onto every good memory you have together, that he hopes you find whatever makes you happy, and that he’ll wait for you until you realize that it could be him.

But the moment passes and then it’s gone. You bow once more and head out the door.

You take your seat and will yourself not to cry. You can’t help it though, even as you press your palms against your ears to drown out the sounds of your own sadness, of your heart’s call of his name even if you’re the one walking away.

You let the tears fall, a reminder that you’d done this, and that for the first time in your life, you’re crying over losing someone, even if he was someone you didn’t have in the first place.

Maybe you weren’t meant to have him at all.

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rootedinrevisions · 7 months ago

Text

Five More Minutes

SUMMARY: You and Jake are headed to The Hard Deck to meet the daggers, but a few things risk making you late.

A/N: Thank you to the person who sent this request in! I apologize that it's taken me a month to get it written. I hope it's worth the wait! I'm working to get requests done as I have time and the inspiration is flowing! Hope you enjoy! xx

WARNINGS: None, smut is implied but none actually happens.

WORD COUNT: 767

TAG LIST: IN COMMENTS

If you would like to be added to any of my Tag Lists please feel free to comment, send an ask, or send a DM and I'll be happy to get you added!

Jake sprawled on the edge of the bed, bouncing his knee impatiently as he watched you at the vanity. He glanced at his watch for the fifth time in the past ten minutes before letting out a dramatic sigh. “Babe, come on,” he drawled, leaning back on his palms. “We’re gonna be late! We were supposed to be there by nine!”

“Five more minutes,” you called over your shoulder, carefully applying the last bit of mascara. Your voice was calm, but Jake could hear the teasing lilt in it, and he knew you weren’t in any rush.

“Five more minutes?” he repeated, raising a brow and letting out a soft laugh. “Sweetheart, you said that twenty minutes ago. You realize they’re all gonna roast me for this, right? Phoenix is gonna have a field day.”

“Phoenix already roasts you,” you shot back, swapping the mascara for your lipstick. “I’m just giving her more material to work with.”

Jake groaned, flopping back onto the bed in defeat. “I knew you’d be trouble the moment I laid eyes on you,” he muttered, though his tone was light and full of affection.

“And yet, here you are two months later, and still with me” you replied, smirking as you caught his reflection in the mirror.

He propped himself up on his elbows, his green eyes narrowing as he watched you smooth a hand over your outfit.

“Here I am,” he agreed, his smirk matching yours. “Sittin’ here, waitin’.”

“You wouldn’t be waiting if you hadn’t joined me in the shower,” you shot back, not even looking at him as you adjusted an earring in the mirror. Your knowing look in the reflection caught his eye, and Jake’s smirk widened into something that made your stomach flip.

He sat up straighter, feigning innocence. “Now, I don’t recall you complainin’ about that,” he drawled, standing and taking slow, deliberate steps toward you.

You met him halfway, tilting your chin up as he closed the distance. “I wasn’t,” you admitted, your voice softening just a little. “But we both know that’s why we’re running late.”

“Not sure what you’re talkin’ about,” he murmured, feigning innocence as he wrapped his arms around your waist. His lips found the spot just below your ear, brushing against it in a way that sent shivers down your spine.

You sighed, trying to maintain your composure as he trailed soft kisses along your neck. “Jake,” you warned, though your tone lacked conviction. “We’re already late.”

Jake pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his smirk now bordering on devilish. “Five minutes,” he said, mimicking your earlier words as he leaned down again. “Hell, I only need two.”

You raised a brow, fighting the urge to smile. “Is that so? Pretty sure I remember you needing a lot more than two in the shower.”

“Let’s give ‘em a real reason to wonder why we’re late.” His mischievous grin returned, and he started tugging you toward the bed.

You raised a brow, laughing as you dug your heels into the floor to stop him.

“What happened to you trying to rush me five minutes ago, huh?” you teased, your voice light and playful. “Weren’t you the one whining about how we’re gonna be late?”

Jake stopped, turning back to you with that signature cocky smirk you both loved and hated. “I realized I had my priorities all wrong,” he said, his tone smooth as honey. His hands slipped to your waist, pulling you closer. “A little late never hurt anybody. But missing the chance to keep you in my arms a little longer? Now that would be a crime.”

You rolled your eyes, your heart doing an embarrassing little flip at his words despite yourself. “Wow, you’re really laying it on thick tonight,” you said, though the corners of your lips twitched upward. “But we’re still not skipping out just because you’ve got no self-control.”

Jake leaned in until his forehead rested against yours, his grin never wavering. “No self-control when it comes to you, sweetheart. Guilty as charged.”

“Okay, Casanova,” you said, gently patting his chest and stepping back. “Let’s get going before your squad decides to start placing bets on whether or not we’re ever showing up.”

“Alright, alright,” he relented with a chuckle. “Just know, sweetheart, that the second we get home, you’re mine.”

“And you’ll still only need a few minutes,” you quipped, grabbing your bag and heading for the door.

“Keep talkin’ like that, darlin’,” Jake called after you, grabbing his jacket with a chuckle, “and we’ll see who’s beggin’ for more time later.”

#Top Gun Hangman #Top Gun Hangman Fanfiction #Top Gun Hangman Fanfic #Jake Seresin #Jake Seresin Fanfiction #Jake Seresin Fanfic #Jake Hangman Seresin #Jake Seresin x reader #Hangman x reader

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mimimui · 13 days ago

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your child's very first day of school (my hero academia)

imagine: bakugo, todoroki, kaminari, sero, shinso, monoma, aizawa, hawks

tags: gn!reader, timeskip, established marital relationship, a little silly, one (1) use of profanity, not proofread

a/n: (ᵕ—ᴗ—) hi... school has been kicking my ass and i haven't been able to get around doing the things i love!!!! being a graduating student sucks, but now that it's my summer break, i can revive my blog again <3 i missed u guys so bad u don't understand. was rushing to get this done so it's ass i'm SORRY

you knew your daughter was brilliant, and so did your husband. he always bragged to his friends and co-workers how advanced she was for her age, and always made sure she knew it, too. he always talked her up and encouraged her to do all the (reasonable) naughty things she wanted. "curiosity never hurt anyone," he tells you.

he'd always wanted to be a strong father figure for his child, especially since his first is a girl. he made sure she was never treated less than and that she grew up in a chivalrous household. he didn't fail to do, obviously, but all that time spent with her meant it was a harder to let her go.

he thought he wouldn't be emotional when dropping her off at pre-school, but seeing her in her little uniform and pigtails and waving goodbye at both of you sent a wave of sadness right through him. you had to comfort him all the way back to the car, telling him that she's going to be okay.

"i know that," he mumbles. he starts the car, but not without some hesitation. he had a hand on his face and another tapping the steering wheel. it was uncharacteristic of him. he had never seemed so... nervous.

"honey?" you call out quietly, trying to be as gentle as you can be. "...are you still worried for her?"

he all but breathes in that moment. he lets out a heavy sigh and leans back in his seat. "yeah. fucking scared. she's never been without us, me, for a day."

he doesn't mean to sound self-centered, but you couldn't blame him. he loved your daughter and saw her as an extension of himself, as silly as that sounds. it was hard for him to let her go.

but it was even harder for you to stifle a laugh. with a glare from your partner, you had managed to calm down, but still had the case of giggles. "i'm sure she's having fun mingling with all her new classmates. but it's funny to think her 'strong' dad is anxious in the car, not having driven off yet."

"not funny," he retorts, finally buckling his seatbelt. "and i don't like the sarcasm you put on 'strong'. it's hurtful." he says the last part with a huff, which makes you giggle more.

"you've dealt with worse things. how come her first day of school is where you break?"

as you're finally on the road, he hesitates to answer your question. truthfully, he doesn't know why, either. perhaps it's an acquired emotion a first-time parent feels. anyhow, his heart just now has a child shaped hole that can only be filled when you pick up your daugher from school later.

thanks for reading (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

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aemondloverr · 9 months ago

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐥𝐟 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡

𝐩𝐭. 𝐈𝐈

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐕𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏 • 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟑 • 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 • 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Upon your arrival, Cregan sees to it that you are comfortable in Winterfell and a deal is struck.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: A sassy Jace and a Reader in denial of her feelings. Tiny bit of angst at the end

𝐰𝐜: 5.5k

𝐀/𝐍: I told yall I would drop again soonnn (had 4.3k words and decided to write 1.2k more smh.) And Ya'll. When you sign up for the taglist, PLEASE. PUT YOU USERNAME!! 😭 Some of you guys are just putting yes or no. I won't be able to tag you because I won't know how you are!!

❆ • ❆ • ❆ • ❆

𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐩: The entire family watches as you and Silverwing take flight, the dragon's wings beating strongly as you soar into the black sky.

A sense of melancholy hangs in the air, the weight of your absence already palpable among those left behind. Rhaenyra's expression is solemn as she watches you disappear into the distance, a silent prayer on her lips for your safe return.

❆ • ❆ • ❆ • ❆

As Silverwing flies through the night sky, you catch a glimpse of another dragon in the distance. You instantly recognize the familiar shape and color as none other than Vermax. He appears to be flying in the same direction as you and is rapidly catching up.

You signal Silverwing to land

Silverwing, sensing your command, begins to reduce her speed and descend towards the ground. She lands gracefully on the soft earth, her wings beating powerfully to ease the impact of touchdown. The moment you dismount, you see Jace jumping off Vermax and hurrying towards you.

“Jace what the fuck are you doing??”

Jace approaches you quickly, his expression serious as he stops in front of you. He takes a moment to catch his breath, running a hand through his messy hair

"What do you think I'm doing? You didn't seriously think I would let you go to Winterfell alone, did you?"

“Mother said-”

Jace cuts you off, his frustration clear in his voice "I know what mother said. But I'm not letting you go on this trip alone, especially not with...him there. I'm coming with you, whether you like it or not."

You roll your eyes at his stubbornness and he rolls his own right back.

"Don't give me that look. You know I'm right. You need me there, whether you want to admit it or not."

“Why do you have to be so difficult. Ugh.”

Jace gives you a cocky grin, his usual playful demeanor resurfacing.

"Because someone needs to be the voice of reason and it clearly won't be you given your emotional state at the moment."

You scoff and get back onto Silverwings’ saddle.

He lets out a huff of laughter, shaking his head becausehe knows he's annoyed you. He hops back onto Vermax, the dragon flapping his wings impatiently, eager to take flight again.

"Ready to keep going, hotheaded?" he yells and you reply with a warning

“Mother will skin you when we get back; I hope you know that!”

He laughs, unbothered by your threat

"I'm sure I'll survive. Besides, it'll be worth it when I get to say I told you so."

Silverwing begins to beat her wings, preparing to take off once again. Jace clearly enjoys the opportunity to rile you up, as brothers always do.

❆ • ❆ • ❆ • ❆

3 and a half days later

“DRAGONS!!” The guards bellow out a startled shout, prompting several other guards and castle folk to rush out into the courtyard to see what the commotion is.

As Silverwing and Vermax touch down on the cold, snowy landing outside Winterfell, you and Jace dismount, your breaths visible in the crisp, cold air. The castle looms above you, its massive walls and towers covered in a thick layer of snow. The sound of voices and activity can be heard from inside the castle, signaling the busy life of the northern capital.

The cold wind beats against you both, it’s chill uncomfortable and unfamiliar.

Approaching the wall, the townsfolk and guards murmur among themselves as you and Jace come into view, their eyes wide with a mixture of fear and awe. You can hear them whispering as they catch glimpses of the mighty dragons resting in the clearing behind you. The guards at the main gate watch you as you approach, their hands gripping their hilts of their swords tightly.

“This is the eldest Princess and Prince of the realm, children of Queen Rhaenyra. We are to meet with Lord Stark” you call out.

The guards exchange glances with one another, clearly uncertain how to respond. One of them steps forward, his gaze flicking nervously between you and the dragons behind you.

"You're here to meet with Lord Stark, you say?"

“Indeed. He had been made aware of our coming.”

The guard nods slowly, still appearing rather nervous in the presence of the dragons. He clears his throat and calls out to another guard standing further back

"Open the gates! The Princess and Prince are here!”

As the gates creek open, down comes Cregan Stark, marching towards you through the crowd of townspeople flanked on either side by a few of his trusted retainers. A cloak of wolf fur is draped over his shoulders, and his expression is stoic as ever. He stops about a few feet away from you, his grey eyes taking in the sight of the dragons behind you in the far clearing.

Your breath catches in your throat and your heart races. You thought you were ready to see him again but clearly, that was not the case.

Cregan's expression remains stoic as he gazes at you, his eyes searching your face intently. He takes in the sight of you standing there, a mixture of emotions flickering briefly in his steel grey eyes. For a moment, the two of you stand there, silently staring at one another, neither of you breaking the tense silence that has fallen over the courtyard.

You observe each other with looks of familiarity. You still remember quite clearly how he looked at 5 and 10 and it definitely wasn’t anything like now.

Before, he was the same height as you, short red-brown hair and soft features. He had the sweetest smile you’d ever seen. It was almost like you could feel the warmth of his happiness.

Now, there is no warmth. His expressions show very little emotion and he’s at least a foot taller than you. His hair has grown out to his shoulders and it still has that pretty red-brown color to it.

He continues to scrutinize you, his eyes roaming over your figure. He does not speak, but his gaze betrays his thoughts.

It's clear that he too is caught off guard by the encounter, memories of your childhood together flooding his mind.

You incline your head in recognition and respect.

“Lord stark.”

"Princess,"

He nods in return, his expression guarded but polite.

He briefly glances at Jace, then back at you, clearly noting the presence of your companion.

You tap Jaces hand to get him to be respectful.

Jace, who has been watching the exchange with annoyance, follows your unspoken order. He steps forward and gives a brief, stiff bow to Lord Stark.

"Lord Stark," he greets in a cool tone, his expression betraying his reluctance to show proper respect.

What a great start to an alliance. Good one Jace.

Cregan raises an eyebrow at Jace's impolite behavior, but he remains impassive as he regards him. He turns his attention back to you, his gaze flicking over your figure once more before he speaks.

"I trust you had a safe journey?"

“Aye. We did.”

He takes a step back, gesturing towards the entrance to Winterfell.

"You must be weary from the journey. I will have my men take you to your chambers for you to rest. We can converse when you have freshened up and settled in."

“Thank you.”

Cregan nods once more, then turns and gives a brief command to a few of the retainers standing nearby. The retainers step forward and begin to usher you and Jace towards the castle. Cregan falls in behind them, still observing you intently, his expression inscrutable as ever.

You speak to Jace in high Valyrian

Jace glances at you as you address him, his brow furrowing slightly. He responds in the same language, his voice low so only you can hear. "He's still as cold and stoic as ever. This should be fun."

“It was rude of you to do what you did, ignoring him like that.”

Jace rolls his eyes, a hint of irritation in his voice

"It wasn't rude. It was the truth. He acts like a block of ice, even towards royalty."

“Jacaerys.” You demand sternly

Jace holds his hands up defensively, his expression contrite. "Alright, alright, I'll stop. But you can't deny that you were practically fawning over Lord Stark."

“I was not. It was rude of you not to greet him like that after sneaking all this way with me. It would be a shame to send you home when you’ve only just arrived, wouldn’t it.” You threaten.

"Fine, I get it I get it I'll be polite. But only for you. Not for him."

“That’s not how this works-”

Jace cuts you off with a dismissive wave of his hand "Yeah, yeah, I know. I'll behave myself. I promise. Can you just stop nagging me for ten minutes now, please?"

“Shall I send raven to mother right now?”

"No, no, no. That won't be necessary. I said I'd behave. I'll be the perfect image of etiquette, I swear it."

“Good then.”

Jace sighs, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He gives you a weary look, accepting that he has no choice but to play nice.

"I'll be on my best behavior. No more rude quips or comments. I'll treat Lord Stark like he's the most charming, most handsome man in all of Westeros. Happy now?"

You just scoff in response.

Jace rolls his eyes, clearly not pleased by your response "Gods, you're impossible to please. I make the grand gesture to accompany you all this way and you're still annoyed with me. I can't win, can I?"

Cregan, who has been quietly listening to the exchange between you and Jace, raises an eyebrow at your bickering. A hint of curiosity flickers in his eyes as he hears the rapid exchange of words in High Valyrian. It's clear that he's wondering what you're discussing that has you so riled up.

Jace has nothing more to say, pouting as you’re lead to where you’ll both stay.

At last, you reach the Great Keep and up a spiral staircase to the guest wing. They escort you to two adjacent rooms, each furnished with comfortable beds, warm furs, and a fireplace to keep away the winter chill. Servants are already inside the rooms, laying out towels and filling a tub of hot water for you to bathe.

“This is much appreciated, especially after our long journey.” You thank Cregan but Jace just goes straight to his room, shutting the door behind him.

He waits a moment, as if considering what to say, before finally speaking in his deep, gruff voice.

"Is your brother always so...irritable?"

“I’m sure you remember.”

A slight smile tugs at the corners of Cregan's lips as he hears your comment. He nods slowly, his eyes still locked onto yours.

There’s that warm smile of his

"Aye, I do remember. Though he seems to be even more ornery than I recall."

“He’s quite the trouble. The older he gets, the more impolite and out of line.”

His eyes widen as he nods in agreement, his expression taking on a slightly amused cast.

"It seems so. But he is certainly loyal, I'll give him that much."

“Well it's clear he never liked you, that's for sure.”

Cregan raises an eyebrow at your statement, his gaze flickering with curiosity. He crosses his arms and leans against the wall, his voice taking on a more serious tone.

"Oh? And why is that, pray tell?"

“Because you stole me away from him. I stopped playing with him everytime you visited King’s Landing.”

"Ah, so he's jealous, is he? I wondered if that was the cause of his animosity towards me."

“Speaking of Jace…I mean to talk with you quickly…”

You’d wanted to ask him if he could keep your brother in Winterfell but with the way Jace is behaving, he might just ruin it for himself.

The corners of Cregan's lips twitch into a smile at your words, his gaze still fixed on you. He nods, gesturing towards your chambers.

"Very well. Let us talk somewhere more private then, shall we?"

“No need.”

He raises an eyebrow at your response, his expression turning curious as he studies your face. He tilts his head slightly

"Oh? You wish to talk here? In the corridor? Are you not concerned about your brother and his listening in?"

“Well…I suppose you’re right.”

Cregan nods in agreement, a hint of a smirk on his face. He pushes himself off the wall and takes a step towards your chambers.

"Aye, I thought so. Come, then."

He gestures for you to lead the way into your room.

You push open the doors of your chambers. The room smells of your favorite flowers.

He remembered.

You smile silently but briefly to yourself at the flowers on the bedside as for him to not notice.

Cregan notices your brief smile anyways, but he does not comment on it. He walks over to the window, peering out into the snowy landscape outside. The moonlight in the darkening sky casts a silvery sheen upon the snow-covered ground, making everything look almost ethereal. He lets out a soft hum, his gaze still fixed on the outside before he speaks.

"It's a clear night tonight.”

You shiver, still cold although already inside. It was somehow colder in your chambers than the halls. Maybe it was because of the windows. You’d greatly underestimated the cold of Winterfell and now, you were suffering for it. “A-aye…”

Cregan notices the shiver that runs through you, his gaze lingering for a moment. He frowns slightly, concern evident in his eyes, even through his usual stoic demeanor.

"Are you cold? Here, come closer to the fire."

He gestures for you to come nearer to the fireplace and you step closer. He feeds the dying fire more wood in order to warm the room faster, moving to stand beside you, his figure casting a long shadow over yours as the firelight dances upon your features.

"Better?" he asks, voice soft and low.

You nod in response and he hums softly, eyes still fixed on you. He studies you for a moment, taking in your chattering teeth and trembling form.

"You're still shivering. Here, let me..."

Without warning, he reaches out and gently grabs hold of your hand, his fingers wrapping around yours.

“It would be a bother-“

He cuts you off with a shake of his head, hand tightening around yours. His voice is firm but gentle as he speaks.

"It's no bother at all. I won't have you freezing to death while you're under my roof."

He gently pulls you closer to him, guiding you to stand right in front of the fireplace. He keeps his hand wrapped around yours, his grip firm yet careful.

"Now, hold on.”

He takes a few moments to remove his cloak, which he drapes around your shoulders. The cloak is made of thick wool and lined with softer furs, making it warm and comfortable to wear. The garment is much too large for you, but it immediately envelops you, trapping the warmth of the fire between the layers of fabric. He stands silently next you, his hand still wrapped around yours, as if to ensure your body heat stays trapped within the cloak.

“I like this…This is nice.” The coat of course. Not his company. In any way. At all.

Cregan smiles slightly in response to your words, his grip on your hand tightening imperceptibly. He gazes down at you, studying your face as you huddle within the warmth of his cloak, a flicker of something warm passing through his grey eyes.

"Good. I'm glad.”

He rubs small circles on the back of your hand with his thumb, his touch gentle and soothing as he keeps you close to the fire.

You can’t help but feel a flutter in your heart at the kind gestures and he can’t help but get butterflies, seeing you in his large furs.

Cregan continues to watch you silently, his gaze lingering on your slightly flushed cheeks and the way his cloak envelopes your body. With each passing moment, a sense of protectiveness and possessiveness begins to rise within him, though he keeps it well-hidden behind his stoic expression. His thumb continues to rub gentle circles on your hand, the gesture becoming almost subconscious at this point.

You pull your hand away and clear your throat. This is inappropriate. You shouldn’t be allowing him to get so close like this. Yet here you are.

He frowns slightly, feeling the loss of your warmth as you withdraw. He glances down at you with a hint of confusion in his eyes, wondering if he may have overstepped some invisible boundary. His gaze flickers down to his cloak, wrapped tightly around your shoulders, an unconscious reminder of his desire to keep you close and warm.

“Are you feeling warmer now?”

“Yes…Thank you”

A hint of relief crosses over Cregan's face at your answer, and he nods silently. Despite the return of the usual distance between you, there's a noticeable hint of reluctance in his gaze, as if he wishes to pull you closer again. He takes a step back, shoving his hands into his pockets, his voice is quiet as he speaks.

"You're always welcome."

The silence between you hangs heavy in the air, charged with unspoken words and lingering tension. Cregan stands facing you, his gaze fixed on your face. The dance of the fire casts shadows across his features, emphasizing the hard set of his jaw and the intensity in his eyes. He opens his mouth to speak, but hesitates, seeming to think better of whatever he was about to say. The silence hangs between you for a beat longer before he finally does.

"You said you wished to talk, didn't you?"

“I need a favor. Well not so much a favor but…”

Cregan raises an eyebrow at your words, curiosity etched on his face.

"Go on,” he prompts.

“My mother will soon be sending a raven.”

"A...raven? What for…?"

“She'll want you to send Jace back to dragonstone”

Cregan lets out a scoff, his gaze flicking around the room before settling on you again.

"She wants me to send him back to Dragonstone? Why?”

“He wasn’t supposed to be here. Mother forbade him from coming with me so he decided to be a half wit and sneak out to ‘protect’ me” You roll your eyes just thinking back to his rebellious flee.

He shakes his head at Jace’s stubbornness and crosses his arms.

"He really never does like to listen to anyone, does he?"

“She’ll surely skin him”

She really might.

"Aye, I can imagine she would be quite displeased to find out he defied her orders. He's really dug himself a deep hole this time."

“Well that’s why I need you to ignore the message…”

"Ignore the message? Are you serious? You want me to ignore your mother's command to send your brother home?"

“Just… don’t worry about it. And if you get in trouble. I’ll vouch for you”

Cregan looks deeply conflicted, his brow creasing as he processes your request. He crosses his arms, his eyes studying your face intently.

"The Queen herself? And you think your word can protect me if it gets out that I disobeyed her?"

“I am her eldest. Besides, It’s nothing you haven’t done already.” You cross your arms, hinting about when you were children.

He rolls his eyes at your remark, clearly understanding the reference.

"Aye, fair point. I suppose I have disobeyed a few royal orders back then. But this is different. We aren't children anymore."

You didn’t want to have to resort to this but you’re almost begging.

"I know this but can't you just do it for my sake? As much as I hate to admit it, I need my brother here." You take his hand once again.

Cregan flinches slightly at the sudden contact of your hand in his, his gaze immediately looking down to where your fingers are intertwined together.

There's a momentary flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, his stoic expression faltering for a brief moment. Your words, spoken with such earnestness and conviction, tug at his heartstrings, and he can't deny the plea in your eyes.

He sighs deeply, a mixture of reluctance and resignation crossing his features. However, as his gaze falls upon your desperate expression, his will crumbles, and he nods.

"Fine…I’ll do it for you."

“Thank you..good. I'll swipe the message before it even reaches your solar. And if she asks you, you won't be lying because you’d not have received it and you’d not have even laid your eyes upon it”.

"Aye, but I have one condition."

Oh gods. It can never be straightforward with him can it?

“And what'll that be?…”

"Your brother will have to be respectful and obey my commands. No more of his sharp tongue or disobedience. I’ll not have him questioning my authority in my own castle. I don’t want any more unnecessary headaches because of that boy."

Cregan takes a step closer to you, his figure towering slightly over you, his gaze fixed solely on your face. His voice is low and quiet, a hint of warning.

Despite your doubts for Jace’s good behavior, you agree

“Easy. Done.”

You mean easier said than done?

Herein lies the problem. How is Jace to do that? He’ll never give up his snarky remarks. Sure maybe temporarily, but not forever. He can’t go long without saying something out of pocket.

Cregan nods in approval, a flicker of satisfaction in his grey eyes.

"and.."

Of course there's more.

"...you give me something in return” He finishes, his voice firm but gentle at the same time. His gaze bores into yours, searching for a hint of protest in your eyes but not letting go of your hand just yet. He continues to study you with intense eyes.

“Which is…?”

"Your company. Everyday."

Fuck.

“What?”

This is the last thing you’d expect and the last thing you wanted to happen. Getting over him does not include spending MORE time with him.

Cregan's gaze is steady on you, his voice still holding a slight gruffness.

"I want your company. I want you by my side. I want you to accompany me to my meetings, to dine with me, to walk with me, to simply…be with me.”

You chuckle nervously in disbelief “Everyday? It is a jest, surely? You cannot expect to-”

Cregan cuts you off, his voice a quiet but firm interruption. His gaze remains steady and intent, his expression serious as he responds.

“Not a jest. I expect you to keep me company. Not all your time, I’m not unreasonable, but a fair share of it. That is my price. Take it or leave it.”

“…And if I refuse?”

An unreadable expression crosses over Cregan’s face at your question. His grip on your hand tightens almost instinctively, like he’s afraid you might pull away. A hint of vulnerability flashes in his eyes, hidden behind a stoic mask, as he responds.

“You won’t refuse…but if you do…then the deal is off and your brother has to leave.”

Using blackmail to spend more time with you is low, even for him.

You ponder for a minute, weighing the decisions and he watches closely as he waits patiently for your response.

“So… blackmail is how you get what you want”

He sighs, letting go of your hand as he takes a step back, creating some distance between you.

"Not blackmail. Incentive." he grumbles in irritation. He crosses his arms, his gaze hardening as he responds.

"I’m not a liar or an oath breaker. You want me to do you a favor? Then I’ll do it. But I’m allowed to have something in return, aren’t I?"

“Fine.”

“Perfect. Then it’s settled. Tomorrow, you will spend the day with me.”

“Now” you sigh and turn your back “I’d like to take a bath now so if it please you…” you give a shooing motion.

Cregan nods, a slight hint of amusement in his eyes as he gazes at your back. He watches for a moment longer before relenting.

“Very well, you may bathe. I have matters to attend to anyway.”

He really doesn’t. He just wanted your company.

He turns towards the door, his hand on the handle as he glances back at you over his shoulder.

“I assume I will see you at supper tonight?”

“No you will not.”

He pauses at your statement, his hand dropping from the door handle. He turns back towards you, his expression slightly surprised by your adamant response.

“No? And may I ask why not?”

“I wish to retire after my bath so you may send for my supper. I will not come down. It’s been long since I slept well.”

He considers your words for a moment, his eyes studying your face intently, his tone slightly reluctant.

"Very well, I suppose you need to rest. But I expect to see you at breakfast on the morrow. We have a few matters to discuss.”

“Aye.”

Cregan gives you a small nod of agreement, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he finally turns to exit your your chambers, muttering something under his breath.

“Bloody stubborn girl.”

The door closes softly behind him.

“I heard that!!”

"Intended it to be heard!" he calls back from the hall, his voice tinged with playful sarcasm.

The room is quiet for a few moments after, the only sound coming from the crackling fire in the fireplace. The stillness is interrupted only by a soft knock on the door, followed by the voices of the servants as they bring in soaps, oils, and towels for the bath.

Every interaction with Cregan just melts at your resolve. You can’t avoid him. He’s made sure of that.

Despite your best efforts, you find yourself struggling to maintain that familiar disdain for him. Somewhere along the line, your feelings towards him have grown more complicated and nuanced.

You continue about your routine, undressing and slowly sinking into the warm water of the bath. As you relax into the tub, you let your mind wander once again, and the memories of your past with Cregan flood your mind. The old feelings of friendship and affection for him bubble to the surface, but you quickly push them down as you remind yourself of what he did.

The maids carefully and meticulously wash your hair, gently massaging the soap into the strands and rinsing it clean. Their touch is soothing as they work, their hands gliding through your locks with practiced ease. The warm water of the bath gently laps against your skin, providing a relaxing contrast to the maids' gentle touch.

You let yourself sink deeper into the tub, the warm water enveloping your body and easing the tension in your muscles. The heat of the water soothes your tired limbs, and the comforting scent of the bath oils swirl around you as they float on the surface. The maids gently massage a soft cloth over your skin, helping you clean and relax even further.

They tend to your arms, legs, and rest of your body, scrubbing all of the dirt and grime away.

After you are thoroughly rinsed, they help you stand and step out of the tub, warm water dripping down your body. One of the maids wraps a drying cloth around your hair, while the other sets out a soft and lightweight silken robe for you to slip into.

“Thank you for your assistance girls.”

The maids nod graciously at your appreciation, their work complete.

"You're welcome, Princess. Is there anything else you need before we take our leave?"

“What be your names?”

"I'm Martha." One says, the tall, brunette maid.

"And I'm Sara." The second maid replies, a soft-spoken blonde with an equally soft face.

“Goodnight, Martha and Sara”

The maids curtsy together as they reply.

"Good night, Princess."

With that, they gather their materials and exit your chambers, leaving you alone in the quiet room once again.

Once you’re done drying yourself off, you put on your silken robe, exiting the bathing room.

As if on cue, there is a knock at the door, followed by Cregan’s voice on the other side.

"Are you decent?"

“Just a moment.”

You cross the room to the bed, your steps quiet on the soft carpet. As you go through the wardrobe, you select a soft and lightweight night shift made of fine silk. You slip it over your head, the fabric feeling cool against your skin and falls just above your knees.

“You may enter.”

Cregan pushes open the door and enters, his eyes scanning the room, almost instinctively searching for your presence. A hint of surprise flickers across his face as he spots you, dressed in a simple nightgown with the fire burning bright behind you.

“I see you come bearing gifts.”

Cregan quirks a smile at your words, holding up a tray of food as he responds.

"As promised. I wanted to make sure you had something to eat before you retire.”

He walks over and sets the tray down on the table near the window, the dishes and cutlery clinking faintly as he places them down.

You do quickly to dismiss him. He’s been around you long enough today.

“Right…Thank you. Goodnight then.”

Cregan pauses, confusion and disappointment crossing his features as you promptly dismiss him. He stands there for a moment, shifting on his feet, as he stares across the room at your form.

"That’s it? I bring you dinner and just like that I’m dismissed?"

Well that backfired.

“What do you want, a piece of my bread?”

“No. I don’t want your bloody bread. I was just….”

he trails off, his expression clouding slightly, as if he suddenly can’t find the words he’s looking for to articulate his thoughts.

He takes a moment, gazing at you, taking in your form by the light of the fire. A hint of vulnerability seeps into his expression, his words suddenly turning quiet and unexpected.

"I was just trying to... spend some more time with you."

“You said that starts tomorrow. Not today.”

He lets out an exasperated sigh, his eyes fixed on your face, his expression mingling with a hint of irritation and stubbornness.

"Aye, the deal we made says tomorrow. But I don’t see why I can’t spend some time with you right now. Why are you so adamant to get rid of me?"

“I’m just tired. And I don’t need this right now”

An excuse.

"You don’t need what? My company? Or is it something about my presence you find so intolerable, Princess?”

You raise you voice at him. “Just stop okay. Stop. I said I was tired and you're acting like a petulant child. I just- I want to be alone.”

The stubborn look in his eyes falters, replaced by a flicker of hurt that he tries to hide behind a stoic mask. But it’s ther for a brief moment. Your words hit a nerve, and he falters for just a second, before his expression hardens once again.

"Petulant? Just trying to spend some time with you, and you’re ready to kick me out as if I’m some lowly servant."

“That was not my intention. But now is not the time to spend time with me-” you try and defuse the situation by apologizing but to no avail.

Cregan lets out a scoff and wounded pride with a reluctant understanding flashes in his eyes.

"Then when is the time? Tomorrow? When do you feel like dealing with me?"

“Yes. Tomorrow. Because that’s when you said.”

He grits his teeth, his jaw tensing as he struggles to hold back a biting reply. Clearly, he’s not too happy about your decision to push him away.

"Fine. Tomorrow it is then." he mutters under his breath, the reluctance in his tone clear. He storms out, shutting the door loudly.

You distanced yourself, like you wanted…but at what cost? You can’t help but feel bad at your blunt words. You feel like you hurt him.

Despite his tough demeanor, Cregan's heart is soft and sensitive, and he's far more emotional than he lets on. Your harsh words, even if unintentionally, have obviously affected him, leaving him confused. He wants to understand why you're pushing him away, why you're being so distant with him.

You don't want to fall back into old patterns, let alone complicate your current situation. It hurt you to hurt him the way you did but you have to be strong...and yet, deep down, something inside you yearns for the familiarity of his presence, the warmth of his smile, the feel of his touch…

*****

You lift the lid of the food he brought and your eyes land on a small piece of paper tucked among the food. It's a note, penned in a neat and familiar handwriting. The ink is dark, the words written with a strong and decisive hand.

As you read the words, you can almost hear Cregan's voice in your mind, the deep timbre of his tone echoing in your ears.

It reads:

"I hope the food is to your liking. Sleep well, princess..."

A note so kind yet you were so cruel.

Tonight was not a night you slept soundly, but rather, a night you pondered your words.

❆ • ❆ • ❆ • ❆

𝐀/𝐍

Bro why does it feel like I’m writing a whole lotta nothing…😭 Cregan barely does anything in this one but pt.4 gets good. I’m still cooking. And next chapter is gonna be deliciousss.

PS. YES. Their childhood will be in the story, probably pt.3 or 4. Still deciding which one because I don’t want the chapter to be more than 6k. (You guys should read the comments for some previews on the next chapter and sign up for the taglistt 😘)

@beebeechaos @iv-vee @aemondwhoresworld @obscure-beauty @cregansfourthwife @6ternalsun @msmarvelknight @melsunshine @littlebirdgot @kingdomzeldaquest @squidscottjeans

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