#waiting and searching for Henry

[kaktusjin]

Waiting and searching for Henry

pt. 1

[christiangeistdorfer]

HENRI TOIVONEN, JUHA KANKKUNEN, CHRISTIAN GEISTDÖRFER, TIMO SALONEN & MARKKU ALÉN in a lift while waiting for WALTER RÖHRL during the 1986 RALLYE DE PORTUGAL

[orangedogsquad]

Waiting for her turn at nose work

[britneyshakespeare]

the boys are back in town

[ctrlsht]

Beneath His Love | Jungkook Two-Shot AU (Part 2)

pairing: jungkook x reader genre: dark romance, psychological thriller, soft yandere

summary: Jeon Jungkook was once just a foreign high school friend until he disappeared without a word after graduation. Years later, he came back, not just to reconnect, but to claim a place in your life as your lover. To everyone else, your relationship is something out of a fairytale, the kind others envy. And for a while, you believed it too until the mask he wore began to slip, revealing a side of him you never saw coming.

warnings: emotional and psychological manipulation, control and possessiveness, obsession, anxiety and mild distress, isolation and coercion, themes of entrapment, smut wc: 20k

parts: (1) | (2)

Your friends haven't noticed yet because they're facing the other way.

“Y/N,” he calls, his voice cutting through the night.

Your friends turn.

“You weren’t answering your phone again.” His tone is eerily neutral. “We have to go home. Now.”

You step forward instinctively, but Mina blocks you.

“No,” she says firmly. “She’s not going with you.”

Jungkook’s gaze flicks to her, his brow arching, lips pressing into a tight line. He stares at her for a long moment before turning back to you.

“Y/N?”

Henry, oblivious to the growing tension, chimes in. “Man, Y/N might stay the night. Chloe booked a room for us since she’s leaving Monday.”

But you wish he hadn’t said that.

Jungkook shifts his gaze to Henry, his jaw tightening. He doesn’t say anything right away, just studies him.

“Henry, right?” Jungkook’s voice is smooth as he twitch is lips. “I haven’t formally met you. I only ever see you when I’m picking Y/N up.” He tilts his head slightly, eyes locked onto him. “How have you been? Last time I heard a news from you is when you were smuggling cocaine into campus during high school.”

Your stomach drops.

Henry’s eyes widen. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Oh,” Jungkook smirks. “They didn’t know? How is that possible, considering they’re your friends?”

“Jungkook, let’s go.” You reach for him, desperate to diffuse whatever the hell this is.

But Mina steps in again, eyes burning.

“Y/N, you’re staying,” she says. “We already talked about this.”

You ignore Mina and head straight for Jungkook, needing to escape the tension pressing down on you. The longer you stay, the harder it gets to breathe.

Your friends react. Voices overlapping behind you but you don’t look back. Your focus is locked on Jungkook, searching his face, trying to figure out what he’s thinking.

Without hesitation, you reach for his hand, ready to pull him away with you. But before you can, his grip tightens, stopping you in your tracks.

You glance up, and that’s when you see it. He’s smiling.

“It’s okay, love,” he says smoothly, pulling you closer, his eyes flickering toward your friends. “You can stay the night.”

Your stomach twists. “No, we can go now—”

“You can stay,” he repeats, his voice calm, too calm. “It’s Chloe’s last night. I get it now. Go ahead, have fun. I’ll wait for you at home tomorrow.”

“But—”

You hesitate, trying to explain, to tell him there’s no need, that you’ll just leave with him. But before you can get the words out, he cuts you off.

“You will stay.” He said firmly. The smile doesn’t waver, but you know better. You know he doesn’t like this.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. I love you.”

He leans in, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. Before you can say anything else, he turns and walks away, leaving you standing there, your pulse hammering in your ears.

Your friends didn’t like what happened. They didn’t like how the situation turned out. But if they thought they were the only ones pissed about it, they were dead wrong. Because out of everyone who hated what just happened, no one despised it more than you.

Shame burned through you. The way you broke down in front of them, the way Jungkook showed up and, without a second thought, you fell right into line. How easily you let him take control. And worst of all, you ruined Chloe’s night.

Pathetic.

You fucking hated every second of it, and the last thing you wanted was to face them now. If the earth could open up and swallow you whole, you’d gladly let it.

But they didn’t let you go.

They didn’t let you walk away, didn’t let you brush this off and deal with it alone. Were they disappointed? Yeah. But they didn’t leave. They stayed.

And as much as you wanted to leave because of Jungkook, because you knew he wouldn’t like this, you realized something else. Maybe it was a good thing he “let” you stay. Because you needed this. More than you even knew.

You’d been so wrapped up in him, so caught in the push and pull of his world, that you forgot what it felt like to just be with your friends. The people who had always been there, long before he ever stepped into the picture.

It hit you then, how much of yourself you’d been losing. How, somewhere along the way, your world had started revolving around him.

But tonight, even just for a little while, you were free.

The party was still on-going, but your friends were done. Without much debate, they decided to head back to the hotel Chloe had booked. You felt bad and offered to stay, but they weren’t having it. They just wanted to get out of there and honestly, so did you.

You already knew what was coming once you got to the hotel. This wasn’t just about tonight. They wanted to know everything. About Jungkook, about the way your life had changed since you started dating him.

And the moment you started talking, it all clicked.

You knew he was controlling. Deep down, you always knew. But you’d convinced yourself it wasn’t that bad. That it was just love. Just care. But standing here, hearing your own words spill out, you realized how much of yourself you’d let slip through his fingers.

Every choice, big or small, it had all been him. And you? You just went along with it.

Chloe, sitting cross-legged on the bed, hugs a pillow to her chest. Her voice is gentle, but there’s frustration laced in it.

“We get that you love him,” she says, watching you carefully. “But you know you’re being manipulated. So why aren’t you doing anything about it?”

“Because she’s blinded by love, Chloe. That explains everything,” Mina says, taking a swig of the beer they snuck out from the club.

“It’s not just that.” Henry leans forward, grabbing a bottle from the table. “She’s not just ignoring the red flags, she’s doing whatever he wants because she doesn’t want to start a fight. It’s easier to just go along with it than deal with the fallout. It’s not always because she’s blinded by love, but she’s being manipulated.”

Mina shoots him a look. “Wow, you talk like you weren’t smuggling cocaine in high school.”

Henry groans, flipping her off. “For the last time, I was broke, okay? I needed cash, and it was a quick way to make money.”

Mina snorts. “Yeah, yeah. I just can’t believe you were out there selling coke to Jungkook of all people.”

You lean back against the bed, half-listening to them bicker, half-lost in thought. It’s been a while since you’ve hung out like this, probably since before Jungkook.

It’s crazy how much your life has changed since him. The good, the bad… and everything in between.

Chloe, who’s been quiet, finally speaks up. “Babe,” she says gently, turning to you. “I get that you love him. But if being with him is messing with your head, that’s not love. That’s control. And if you keep letting it slide, it’s only gonna get worse.”

She holds your gaze, voice softer now. “Love is supposed to make you happy. Not suffocate you.”

Now that you’re actually aware of what’s going on between you and Jungkook, you have no clue how to deal with it. Do you bring it up? Do you let it slide? Do you even want to address it at all?

Your friends make it sound so simple. Just talk to him, stand your ground, don’t let him control you. Or worse, break up with him. But the moment you even consider doing any of that, your mind shuts down. The thought alone makes you want to retreat. What if it makes things worse? What if he gets distant? What if you regret it?

You’re not the type to challenge Jungkook, not when you know how he reacts. He never outright shuts you down, but his silence, his coldness. It’s enough to make you second-guess yourself. So, most of the time, you just let things slide. It’s easier that way.

Still, a part of you was waiting for him to call or text last night. He didn’t. And now, you’re torn between reaching out first or pretending like it doesn’t bother you. Either way, the weight in your chest hasn’t lifted.

And now, it’s morning. Time to face him. And if you’re being honest, you’re nowhere near ready.

But there’s no avoiding it. No matter how much time you’ve had to think about what to say or how to say it, you’ll never be fully prepared.

Your friends dropped you off at your own apartment, unaware that you had no intention of staying. You didn’t want them to know you were going back to Jungkook. Maybe because you didn’t want to hear their protests. Or maybe because, deep down, you weren’t ready to admit to them or yourself that you still couldn’t walk away.

Stepping inside, you’re greeted by the same apartment, the same furniture, the same neatly arranged belongings. But it doesn’t feel like home anymore. It hasn’t been for a while.

It’s past nine in the morning. You don’t know what time Jungkook expects you back, but you do know he expected you to leave with him last night. That’s enough to make your stomach twist.

You sink into the couch, staring at nothing, lost in the spiral of your own thoughts. Flashes of last night replay in your mind. The way your friends looked at you, their words, their concern. And then, memories of Jungkook resurface the good ones, the ones that make it so damn hard to leave.

The idea of walking away terrifies you.

You love him. More than you probably should. More than what might be good for you. And even if this isn’t sustainable, even if a part of you knows something has to change… you’re not ready.

Not yet.

You lost track of time until his message popped up:

‘I cooked lunch.’

That’s it. No questions, no extra words. Just a statement.

As you walk through the lobby of his apartment building, your pulse quickens, your hands trembling slightly at your sides. You tell yourself to calm down, but the closer you get, the harder it is to breathe. You wish you could put this off a little longer, but you can’t.

Your fingers shake as you punch in his door code. You hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

And then, without thinking, you step inside.

The apartment is filled with natural light, curtains drawn open to welcome the crisp autumn air. It’s colder now, the season shifting.

He’s at his desk in the living room, focused on his laptop. The moment he notices you, his face lights up. He gets up instantly, closing the distance between you in a few strides, wrapping you in a warm hug, pressing soft kisses to your temple.

“You’re finally home. You should eat. I made beer-battered fish.”

His voice is light, casual, like nothing happened last night.

You hesitate for a second before answering. "Okay."

It comes out flat, almost lifeless.

You walk toward the dining table, already set with plates and food, and sit down. You expect him to follow, to sit across from you like usual.

But he doesn’t.

And somehow, that makes you even more nervous.

You’re not hungry. Even if you were, you wouldn’t have the appetite for this. But you force yourself to finish the food he made anyway, each bite sitting heavy in your stomach. It’s not the taste, it’s the way your nerves are twisting into knots, making you feel like you might be sick.

He doesn’t come in while you eat. The silence in the apartment is suffocating, pressing in on you like a weight you can’t shake off.

When you’re done, you get up and head toward the bedroom to change, passing through the living room where he still sits. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t say a word, like you’re not even there.

It’s driving you insane.

A while ago, he seemed fine. Now, he feels like a ticking bomb.

You’d rather he just say something, anything than sit there like this. You know his cold treatment too well; it’s his way of controlling the situation, making you come to him first. But this time, something about it feels different.

You don’t know how. You just know it does.

You’ve already showered, organized your closet, done everything you could think of to keep yourself busy. And yet, the apartment feels empty. Or rather, he feels absent.

Maybe he’s just busy.

But you know better.

Steeling yourself, you step out of the bedroom and head toward the dining area. You don’t even make it halfway before you hear it, his scoff, sharp and pointed.

“So you’re really gonna act like nothing happened, huh?”

There it is.

You turn to see him standing up from his chair, arms crossed, leaning casually against the kitchen’s pass-through window. His expression is unreadable, but his tone drips with sarcasm.

“You’re not even gonna explain last night?” His lips twitch as he watches you, waiting.

You hesitate, then exhale. “Nothing happened. They just wanted me to stay. That’s it.”

You keep it short, simple. The less you say, the better. Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

But even now, you can’t believe how hard you’re trying to avoid this.

Jungkook shifts, hands slipping into his pockets as he steps toward you. His face is neutral, unreadable, but his presence alone makes your pulse spike.

When he’s finally in front of you, he leans in just enough, his gaze locked onto yours, dark and unwavering.

Then, in a low whisper, he says—

“Why do you make me feel so stupid?”

“No, I’m not!” you snap, voice shaking with frustration. “That’s really what happened! They found out I wasn’t staying the night because you didn’t let me.” You take a step back, putting distance between you.

His brow arches, his expression unreadable. “So you’re blaming me now?”

“It’s not like that,” you grit out. “I told you I’d come home with you, right? But instead, you made me stay.” Your patience is wearing thin, your hands balling into fists at your sides.

Jungkook scoffs, his jaw tightening. “Because that’s what you wanted to happen.” His voice drop dangerously low. “You didn’t even pick up your fucking phone. You didn’t give a damn that I was losing my mind, calling you hundreds of times, wondering if something happened to you.”

Your breath catches. He’s right. You didn’t answer. You couldn’t because your phone was buried somewhere in your bag. But that doesn’t mean you wanted to ignore him.

Jungkook shakes his head, his gaze piercing through you. “You love doing this, don’t you? Running off, not answering your fucking phone, making me go insane thinking something happened to you.” His voice is like fire, burning through the tension between you.

A sharp pang of guilt twists in your chest. You can’t deny he’s right, but it’s not like you did it on purpose. It was an honest mistake.

“I’m sorry, okay?” you say, exhaling shakily. “I didn’t mean to leave my phone behind. They just—” you pause, searching for the right words, “they cornered me, forced me to stay because they were upset that I kept ditching them.” Your voice softens, hoping to ease the tension. “Of course, I wanted to stay. It’s Chloe’s last night before she leaves.”

But Jungkook doesn’t ease up. If anything, he looks even more pissed. His eyes darken, his lips curling into something bitter.

“Oh, right,” he drawls. “Why don’t you just do what you did before? Go out with them without telling me.”

The accusation hits you like a slap. You blink, momentarily stunned.

He catches it immediately, his smirk sharpening. “Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about, Y/N,” he says, voice low and edged with something dangerous. “We both know you do.”

He’s right but it was one time. Just once. And you never did it again.

“And did I ever confront you after you did that?” His voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it. “I didn’t. And now you wanna question why I don’t like you hanging out with them so much?” He lets out a cold laugh, shaking his head. “Because I know you’d pick them over me.”

“What are you saying? That’s not true!” You shake your head, frustration bubbling up as you take a step closer, reaching for him.

But before you can even touch his arm, he moves away. Fast and deliberate.

"You all act like I’m the fucking villain just because I care about you," he spits, his voice shaking with frustration. "But you never question them, do you? You never doubt your precious friends. Henry did illegal shit before, and you didn’t even fucking flinch. I just don’t get it… Why is it so easy for you to doubt me, but you’d defend them in a heartbeat?"

A lump forms in your throat as you watch the single tear slide down his face. Your body instinctively moves, but something inside you hesitates.

And with that, you see yourself all over him.  

"Love, stop—please.” Your hands tremble as they reach for him, but he turns away. “I… I don’t want you to feel that way. I never meant to make you think that.” Your voice breaks, a lump forming in your throat. “You have to believe me.”

You try to reach him hoping he won’t flinch. Your hands find his face, fingers tracing the sharp lines of his jaw as you gently wipe away the tears, your voice softening. “I don’t think you’re wrong. I don’t blame you. Please don’t believe that.”

He stays silent, letting you wipe his tears, his breathing uneven, his jaw tense. His eyes stay downcast, refusing to meet yours. But when he finally looks up, something in them is cold and distant.

His hands come up, gently wrapping around yours as they rest on his cheeks, but instead of leaning into your touch, he slowly peels them away. His warmth disappears as he steps back, putting space between you.

"I think… it’s better if we take a break," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, yet it cuts through the thick air between you.

He holds your gaze for a moment, just long enough for your stomach to sink, for your chest to tighten before he turns on his heel and walks away, leaving you standing there, frozen, the ghost of his touch still lingering on your skin.

You stand there, frozen, the weight of the last five minutes pressing down on you like a tidal wave. It happened too fast, so fast that even now, as the seconds drag on, your mind refuses to catch up.

Where did you go wrong?

All you ever wanted was to be happy, but it feels like happiness always comes at a price. Like the universe waits for you to smile just so it can rip something away. What did you do to deserve this?

Is this love? A love that confines you, that forces you to choose?

Love is supposed to set you free, isn’t it? But instead, you’re trapped, forced to pick between him and your friends, even when you should be able to have both.

He left. No call, no message, no sign of where he is or if he even cares that you’re falling apart.

That day, you cried harder than you ever had before. You wanted it to stop the exhaustion, the ache in your chest, the way your tears wouldn’t stop spilling no matter how much you told yourself to breathe.

Are you really the one at fault? Or are you just trying to convince yourself you are?

Because when you think back, when you trace every argument, every moment that led you here, the path always leads back to you.

Maybe if you had just done what you were supposed to as his girlfriend, this wouldn’t have happened.

Maybe he was only trying to protect you, and you mistook it for control.

Maybe... maybe this is all your fault.

You waited for him that night, but the door never opened.

Alone in his cold, empty apartment, you curled up in bed, the silence pressing down on you like a weight you couldn’t shake. The room felt lifeless without him, just shadows and stale air, a place that wasn’t home without his presence.

When you couldn’t take it anymore, you reached for your phone, fingers trembling as you dialed his number. The ringing felt endless, each unanswered call chipping away at the hope you were holding onto. Message after message went unread, each one met with nothing but silence.

With every call he ignored, your chest grew heavier. With every text he didn’t even bother to open, your tears only fell harder.

Is this what he felt when you didn’t pick up those nights? When your phone sat forgotten in your bag while you laughed with your family and friends, unaware that he was here, alone, drowning in the same silence that’s now swallowing you whole?

The thought broke you.

You sobbed into the pillow, exhaustion creeping in, but no matter how drained you felt, the tears wouldn’t stop.

��Love, I’m really sorry. I promise to understand you better. Please come back.’

That was the last message you sent before sleep finally took over as your phone slipping from your grasp.

A soft touch brushes your cheek, warm and featherlight. It pulls you from your sleep, but the pounding in your head makes you wish you could slip right back under. Your eyelids feel like they weigh a ton, but when you force them open, the first thing you see is a blurred figure sitting beside you.

Jungkook.

Even though you feel awful, the second you recognize him, you push yourself up, ignoring the ache in your body.

“Kook.” Your voice cracks as tears spill down your cheeks. Without thinking, you throw yourself into his arms, gripping him tightly. “Where have you been? I’m so sorry.” The words tumble out between sobs, raw and desperate.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, he gently pulls away, his expression unreadable as he wipes the tears from your face. His touch is slow, deliberate, his eyes locked onto yours.

You reach up, pressing his hands against your cheeks, needing to feel him, to make sure he’s really here. You have a lot to say, but nothing comes out. His presence alone is overwhelming, so instead, you lean into him again, wrapping your arms around him, seeking comfort in the familiar warmth of his body.

“Did I worry you that much?” His voice is soft, almost teasing, as he pats your back.

You nod, burying your face into his shoulder. “I’m really sorry.” 

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes before leaning in, his lips brushing over yours in a soft, kiss. His kiss is soft at first, teasing, but the second you open up for him, his grip tightens, one hand cupping your face while the other slides down your back, pressing you flush against him. He groans into your mouth, deep and needy.

You could feel the heat radiating off of him and he pressed you back against the bed, his body pinning you in place. Your heart was hammering in your chest, and you couldn't help but arch your head back, giving him even more access to your neck. You let out a small gasp as he began kissing and biting at your collarbone as his mouth continue to explore your body with his mouth. 

His hand slides lower, fingertips grazing the waistband of your shorts, playing with the fabric but not moving further. His lips ghost over yours, teasing, as he watches the way your chest rises and falls beneath him.

Before things could go any further, he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. You both stayed like that for a moment, caught in the stillness, before you gently guided his body to lie next to you. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close. He let out a soft chuckle, but you weren’t focused on that. Instead, you rested your head on his chest, your fingers finding his, intertwining them tightly as you settled into the comfort of his presence.

And just like that, everything is back to normal. At least on the surface.

You apologized over and over, making sure he knew you never meant to hurt him. You reassured him that he was right, that everything he did was only for your sake. You didn’t push back, and didn’t ask questions. Instead, you accepted the blame like it was yours to carry.

He never said sorry. Not even once. Not even for leaving you alone the entire night.

But you let it slide because, in the end, it was your fault… wasn’t it?

After that, you chose your words carefully, avoiding anything that might set him off again. You never wanted to feel that kind of loneliness again, the kind that settles deep in your bones, creeping through the empty, dark space he left behind.

You had already made him feel that way before. Twice, actually. So who were you to complain?

Yeah, it’s all on me.

You tell yourself that, over and over, until it almost feels true. But somewhere in the back of your mind, a small voice whispers. Is it, though?

Why is it always you taking the blame?

Why does it feel like your feelings don’t matter?

Why is it always you bending, apologizing, making things right?

But before those thoughts can settle, you push them away. It’s easier that way. Easier than starting another fight.

You've come to realize that in this relationship, it's always you who has to bend. And maybe that's fair. After all, every problem you've had somehow traces back to you, doesn’t it?

And just like that, everything is back to normal. Just the way you wanted. You've pushed aside all the doubts, all the nagging thoughts, and focused on the present. You're okay again. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

The next day, you spend the entire day at his place, filing another leave of absence. You would have gone to work, but with his influence in the company, you didn't really have a choice. He wanted you to stay with him, so he made sure of it, calling in on your behalf. It should bother you. It does bother you. But you let it slide. Another argument isn’t worth it.

“Love, I’ve been thinking,” his voice is low, and smooth, as he moves behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. The warmth of his body presses against yours as he pulls you closer. “We haven’t gone on vacation in a while.” His hold tightens slightly as he nuzzles into your neck, his lips nibbling your skin just enough to make you shiver.

You keep your focus on the pan in front of you, stirring the glossy red sauce of the spicy gochujang dish he once taught you to make. 

“And where do you want to go?” you ask, keeping your voice light, as if this is just another conversation. 

“I want to take you to my hometown.” His voice is smooth, as his chin settles on your shoulder. His arms stay firmly wrapped around your waist. “You’ve always wanted to see where I grew up, right?” His breath tickles your skin.

“Lately, things have been… overwhelming,” he continues, his voice softer now. “I think we could use a break. Just the two of us. What do you think?” He tilts his head slightly, eyes watching you closely, waiting.

You don’t hesitate. “Yes, of course. I’d love that.” The words leave your lips before you even process them.

He grins, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “That’s perfect! We’ll leave this Wednesday. Tomorrow, let’s wrap up a few things before we go.” His tone is light and excited.

You froze.

Wednesday? 

You glance at him over your shoulder.

“This Wednesday?” You ask as if you misheard.

He nods, his expression unreadable. “Yeah.” Like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Something in his voice shifts ever so slightly as he studies your face. “Why?” He tilts his head, and though his lips curl into a small smile, there’s something else lurking beneath the surface. “You don’t want to go?”

The way he says it, it’s not a question. Not really. It’s a warning. A test.

And you already know the right answer.

“N-no… Of course, I like it. But isn’t this a little… sudden?” You try to sound reasonable, careful not to make it seem like you’re pushing back. “Korea is on the other side of the world, love.”

Jungkook tilts his head, watching you with an unreadable expression before raising a brow. “I don’t see the problem.” His voice is calm and dismissive.

You take a breath. “I have work.”

At that, he smirks, like you just said the funniest thing. “And?” His fingers lazily trace patterns on your arm, his touch light but distracting. “You can file a vacation leave, right? Or…” He pauses, his eyes locking onto yours. “If you still want to work, we can set up a work-from-home arrangement.” He says it so easily. 

His thumb touches your wrist. “You don’t have to worry, love. Even if you resigned tomorrow, you’d still be fine. You have me.” He smiles, pressing a feather-light kiss to your forehead. “I can give you anything you need. Anything you want.”

Your chest tightens, and yet, the words slip from your lips before you can stop them. “Okay.” Because what else are you supposed to say?

“How long are we staying?” You ask, hoping for a solid timeframe, something to hold onto.

Jungkook shrugs, lips curling into a small smile. “I don’t know yet.” His voice is light, almost playful. “But don’t worry, we’ll stay as long as you want.”

Something in your gut tells you the choice isn’t really yours to make.

You’re not expecting anything extraordinary from this trip with Jungkook. To you, it’s just a regular vacation. Your first one together, sure, and your first time traveling so far, but still, just a trip. Something to look forward to, a break from everything.

You tell yourself it’s just that. A getaway.

But what you don’t know is that Jungkook has plans of his own. Plans you wish you had seen coming. Plans that won’t just shift your view of him but will change your life in ways you never imagined.

If only you had realized it sooner, before it slipped beyond your control.

—

Jungkook loves you to the point of obsession. To the point where the thought of losing you tears at him like an ache that never fades. He already has you, but it’s not enough. Not yet. Because if he doesn’t hold on tight, you might slip away.

He tells himself he’s only taking care of you, keeping you safe the way no one else can. But care isn’t enough. He needs all of you. Your body, your mind, and your heart trapped so deeply in him that escape isn’t an option.

You’re fast asleep beside him, your head tilted slightly toward him as the plane hums steadily through the air. Jungkook glances at you, his fingers instinctively adjusting your blanket before brushing away a few stray strands of hair from your face.

His chest tightens just looking at you. His heart beating a little too fast, a little too hard. His fingertips trace the curve of your cheek, lingering for a moment, memorizing the warmth of your skin.

He loves you, so much that it gets under his skin. The thought of you slipping away, of someone else touching you, laughing with you, knowing you the way he does, it makes his blood run hot. It’s possessive, a little unhinged, but he doesn’t care because as long as you're his, everything feels right.

He sat there in the dim glow of the cabin lights, watching you. Just watching. Your head rested against the seat behind him, your slow, steady breaths syncing with the quiet hum of the plane. You looked so peaceful, so his.

Jungkook’s fingers twitched, aching to touch you. Carefully, he reached for your hand, his touch featherlight to avoid waking you. His fingers slipped between yours, securing them. He exhaled slowly, lowering himself beside you, his body finally at ease. With your warmth so close, he allowed his eyes to close.

Seoul welcomed you with open arms.

The city was electric, alive in a way that made your eyes shine. Jungkook had seen Seoul a thousand times, but seeing it through you made it feel new. You marveled at the skyline, the pulse of the streets, the way everything felt both familiar and foreign. He loved that look on your face, pure, unfiltered awe.

He wanted to give you a tour, let you soak in every inch of this place, but exhaustion clung to you after the long flight. He wasn’t about to let you wear yourself out. You had all the time in the world here.

Jungkook’s Seoul penthouse was larger than the one back home. More luxurious. The moment he led you inside, he saw the way your lips parted, your gaze sweeping across the expansive space. The floor-to-ceiling windows framed the city like a moving painting, streaks of gold and blue reflecting off sleek marble floors. The chandelier overhead cast a warm glow, elegant yet imposing.

Unlike his other penthouse, which leaned toward a more minimalistic style, this one felt fuller, like a place meant to be lived in, not just visited. And now, with you here, it finally felt like home.

Jungkook watched as you moved through the space, your fingertips grazing the polished surfaces, curiosity flickering in your eyes. His stomach tightened. He wanted to freeze this moment, capture the way you looked standing there, fitting so perfectly into his world.

Before he even told you about this trip, he had already made sure everything was perfect. The penthouse, his Seoul home wasn’t just renovated. It was transformed. Every detail was designed to make you feel more at home here than anywhere else. More than the other penthouse. More than the place you called home.

Jungkook didn’t just want you to love this place. He wanted you to feel like you belonged here. That leaving wasn’t even an option.

“Kook, I thought I knew how rich you were, but damn, this is way more than I imagined!” you said, swirling the wine in your glass as you lounged on the couch. The city lights stretched out through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, Seoul alive beneath you.

Jungkook leaned in, taking your free hand in his before pressing a slow kiss to the back of it. But even that wasn’t enough. Sitting beside you wasn’t enough. He wanted more, needed more. Holding your hand was just a weak substitute for what he really craved.

“This is where I lived for six years," he murmured, brushing his lips along your knuckles. “So I wanted it to feel like home.”

Your home.

You tilted your head, watching him with curiosity. “Where are your parents? Do they live separately from you?”

“They’re in Busan,” he answered smoothly, taking a sip of his wine. “That’s my hometown, but I moved here when I started my business.”

You hummed, nodding. Then, the question came.

“Are we going to meet them?”

Jungkook stilled. His lips remained against your skin, but his movements stopped. He tilted his head slightly, a slow grin spreading across his face as he held your gaze.

“Yes,” he said after a moment. “One of these weeks.”

It wasn’t a lie. He had plans for you to meet his family eventually. But not now. Not yet. Right now, he wanted you all to himself, with no distractions, no outside influences. If you met them too soon, they might say things, ask questions, things that could make you think too much.

And he couldn’t have that.

Not when everything was falling into place so perfectly.

His parents were good people. Sweet, jolly, loving. Just like yours. And they loved him, he knew that.

But love didn’t always mean understanding.

Everything changed when they decided to move him away from you after high school. That was their mistake.

His family used to own a food company. It was doing well, until it wasn’t. Bankruptcy hit hard, and they had to pack up and start over in another country, relying on relatives to get back on their feet. Then, years later, some investor showed up, talking big about bringing the company back. His parents ate it up, convinced this was their second chance.

And just like that, they dragged him back to Busan.

For what? A company that was never going to make it? He knew from the start it wouldn’t work, and surprise, surprise. It didn’t.

But that wasn’t even the worst part.

The worst part was being away from you.

That shit messed him up.

The years without you were torture.

They twisted his mind, frayed the edges of his sanity. Every single day without you bothered him, turned his thoughts into something negative, something desperate. He had spent so many nights thinking of you, wanting you, missing you so badly that he almost left everything behind just to find you again.

But, of course, it wasn’t that simple. It wasn’t that easy. He needed a plan.

And now?

Now, everything he had, everything he built, it was all for you.

And he wasn’t going to lose you again.

Your first few days in Seoul were everything you imagined. New places, new experiences, a whole different world to explore. You wanted to do everything at once, squeezing a week’s worth of plans into a single day.

Jungkook found it cute. Exhausting, but cute.

Still, he didn’t like how restless you were. There was no need to rush. You had all the time in the world here with him.

“I saw this huge library in Gangnam,” you said over dinner in Hongdae, eyes practically glowing with excitement. “I think it’d be nice to spend a whole day there, just working and reading. What do you think?”

Jungkook glanced at you, chewing slowly. “You wanna work there for a day, hmm?” His voice was gentle, but his grip on his chopsticks tightened slightly.

He wanted you to enjoy Seoul, but he preferred to pace things out. He had everything planned, not just for the city, but for the rest of South Korea. And you’d explore it all his way.

“Yeah, I just wanna try working outside your apartment for a change. I think that’d be cool,” you said, sipping your drink.

Of course, your job let you work remotely. Because of him.

It wasn’t difficult to pull some strings, to make sure your company gave you that freedom. Jungkook could’ve had you quit altogether if he wanted, but he wasn’t reckless. He knew better than to push too hard, too soon.

He had limits. The kind that kept you from slipping away.

“Okay, you can do that tomorrow.”

As much as he wanted to be with you every second of the day, he couldn’t. He had business to handle too. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t keeping an eye on you.

You weren’t familiar with Seoul yet, and he needed you to be. He wanted you to settle in, to feel at home here the same way you did back in your country because that’s exactly what he planned for. 

Of course, he wasn’t reckless. He wouldn’t just send you off on your own without precautions. He had someone watching, just in case. It wasn’t about control, it was about keeping you safe. People might think he was being overbearing, but they didn’t understand. If you have something precious, you don’t risk losing it. You protect it.

And he already lost you once. That wasn’t happening again.

—

Sitting in a high-rise conference room, discussing market expansion with Seoul’s biggest executives, Jungkook casually checked his phone under the table. His screen lit up with your activity, a habit he never planned to break.

You were at home. That was good. But you’d been on a phone call for almost an hour.

His jaw tightened. Who the hell were you talking to for that long?

He didn’t have full access to your conversations, just enough to know where you were and what you were doing on your phone. Usually, it was nothing out of the ordinary. But this? This was new. And he didn’t like surprises.

Jungkook locked his phone and leaned back in his chair, eyes unreadable as the meeting droned on.

It could be your friends. It could be your family. It could be anyone.

But the fact that he didn’t know was driving him insane.

“We’re positioning ourselves as a premium alternative. Market research shows a gap in high-end offerings for this industry, and we intend to fill that space,” Yoongi, the CEO, said, but Jungkook barely heard him.

His grip tightened on his phone as he stared at your activity log. The timestamp kept ticking up. Forty-five minutes, then fifty, then an hour. Who the hell were you talking to for that long?

Mina? Chloe? Fine. He could tolerate that.

But it could also be Henry.

Fuck him.

Jungkook clenched his jaw. He knew Henry was “just a friend,” but that didn’t mean he had to like it. He didn’t like you talking to any man, let alone being friends with one. If it were up to him, he would’ve cut Henry off years ago.

“Mr. Jeon?”

Jungkook blinked, snapping out of it when he heard his name. He glanced up from his phone, locking the screen before looking at Yoongi.

“Come again?” he asked, voice steady despite the irritation simmering beneath it.

“As I mentioned, we’re positioning ourselves as a high-end alternative. Market research reveals a lack of premium options in this industry, and we plan to capitalize on that opportunity,” yoongi repeated, watching him carefully.

Jungkook exhaled, slipping his phone into his pocket.

“Good,” he said coolly. “But I want clear numbers. Expected ROI, break-even timeline, and contingency plans if the initial launch underperforms. Email them to me by my Monday.”

Yoongi nodded, but Jungkook wasn’t paying attention anymore.

He cut the meeting short without a second thought, pushing back his other appointments. He needed to go home. Now.

The thought of you on the phone for over an hour, laughing, talking, confiding in someone while he was stuck in a boardroom made his blood boil. He couldn’t stand not knowing. He needed to be in control, needed to know every little detail, even the things that weren’t his business. Because when it came to you, everything was his business.

When he stepped into the penthouse, the sight of you greeted him instantly. You were in the receiving area, vacuuming, completely unaware of how restless he’d been.

You’d been here for a week already, and as much as he was letting you do whatever you wanted, he was also watching. Watching what you did, who you talked to, how you spent your time.

“You’re home early. I thought you weren’t coming back until dinner,” you said, smiling as he walked toward you. He pressed a quick kiss against your lips, but his mind was elsewhere.

“Yeah, I am,” he said smoothly, shrugging off his coat. “How are you doing, Y/N?”

You turned off the vacuum, stretching your arms a little. “I’m good. Just cleaning up a bit.”

Jungkook’s eyes flickered around the room until he spotted your phone on the center table.

“What did you do today?” Jungkook asked, watching you closely, waiting, hoping you’d tell him without him having to drag it out of you.

You glanced at him briefly. “Just cleaned up a little and got some work done this morning.”

Not the answer he wanted.

If you were going to tell him about that damn phone call, you would’ve said it by now. But you didn’t.

He couldn’t ask outright, not yet. He knew how easily thoughts could plant themselves in your mind, and he didn’t need you questioning things. He’d find another way to figure it out.

Then you hesitated, inhaling like you had something to say. Your lips parted, but no words came out.

Jungkook leaned against the counter, loosening his tie. “You wanna say something, love?”

You finally spoke. “We’ve been here for a week already, but… we haven’t really done much for a vacation.”

Ah.

You didn’t even need to finish. He already knew where this was going.

“I know you’re really busy with work, but I was just wondering… how long are we planning to stay here?”

Jungkook stared at you for a moment before tilting his head slightly, lips twitching in amusement. “Why? You wanna go home already?”

Your eyes widened, and you shook your head. “Of course not! I was just curious… I mean, we’re here for a vacation, but you work a lot.”

He knew what you meant, but that didn’t mean he liked hearing it.

“Oh? I didn’t realize we weren’t allowed to work during a vacation.” His voice dripped with sarcasm, one brow raised.

“That’s not what I meant,” you huffed. “I just—I was just wondering—”

Jungkook cut you off, nodding as if he was mocking you. “I get it. You want us to go out more instead of me working.”

“N-no, that’s not—”

“It’s okay, Y/N.” His voice was smooth, sharp eyes locked onto you. “I get your point. We’ll do things your way.”

Except you didn’t need to say it. He already knew what was on your mind. But he wasn’t going to let you say it.

True to his word, Jungkook made sure to give you what you wanted.

For the next week, he took you around the city showing you Seoul through his own curated version of it. He noticed the way your mood shifted, heavier than before, and he knew it was because of that conversation.

But he didn’t have to address it.

Because soon enough, you’d forget about it.

Just like right now.

—

You were sipping a hot coffee, eyes locked on the dazzling view from Namsan Tower. The city stretched beneath you, glowing under the deep night sky, and Jungkook knew exactly what you were thinking.

“Wow. Seoul is really beautiful, Kook,” you murmured, your voice full of wonder.

But he wasn’t looking at the view.

He was looking at you.

You were glowing under the soft moonlight, the city lights reflecting in your eyes. He should be admiring the skyline, but you were the only thing worth looking at. He hated how much he loved moments like this, how much he wanted to preserve them.

So, without a word, he pulled his phone from his pocket, aimed the camera at you, and snapped a photo.

You notice Jungkook taking a picture of you, and without hesitation, you step closer, snatching his phone from his hand. A grin spreads across your face as you switch to the front camera.

“Come on, Kook, smile!” you say, glancing at him before snapping a quick selfie. The first shot catches him off guard, his expression unreadable, but you don’t stop there. You take a few more. Three, to be exact until you're satisfied.

Jungook watches you quietly, letting you have your moment.

“Honestly, a picture doesn’t even do justice to how beautiful this city is,” you say, handing his phone back before turning to admire the view again.

His gaze lingers on you for a second longer before he finally looks at the skyline, pretending to take in the same sight you are. “Yeah, you’re right,” he says, voice smooth, controlled.

You glance at him, eyes curious. “Since you’ve lived here most of your life, are you used to seeing this view?”

Jungkook leans against the railing, watching the city lights flicker. “Hmm… I’d say yes, but I still find it beautiful.”

You hum in response, sipping your coffee. “Our city is nice too, but maybe I appreciate this more since it’s my first time here.”

A slow smirk tugs at Jungkook’s lips. Good.

Because you’d be here longer than you expected.

And by the time you realized it… you’d already have fallen in love with it.

You both linger around Namsan Tower a little longer, strolling past the endless sea of love locks. The air is crisp, carrying the quiet hum of the city below. You stop at a small booth selling locks, eyes lighting up as you pick one.

“Kook, let’s do one,” you say, already reaching for a marker. You scribble your initials on the lock, then his, before securing it onto the fence. With a grin, you toss the key away, watching it disappear into the night.

Jungkook watches you, amusement flickering in his eyes. You think this lock is what symbolizes your unbreakable bond? That’s cute. But it’s unnecessary. 

With or without it, you’re his. He’ll make sure of that.

Jungkook slips an arm around your waist, pulling you in as he looks down at the love lock you just attached. “Unbreakable, huh?” he murmurs, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

If only you knew how true that was.

You’ve done almost everything there is to do in Seoul, and he knows you’ve loved every second of it. From the food to the culture, every little thing has captivated you. And watching you take it all in, smiling like this city is your new home, it’s a sight he could never get tired of.

One of the things he’s grown to love about you is how easily pleased you are. The smallest things make you happy, and that makes you easy to care for. Easy to keep close.

Even back in high school, you saw something in him that others didn’t. When people distanced themselves, you stayed. When they looked away, you looked closer. You chose him, even when no one else would.

Maybe it was a pity. Maybe it was something deeper. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that you loved him, and that was enough. Enough for him to hold on, to fight for this, to shape this love into something unshakable. What others thought of him was irrelevant. The only thing that mattered was you, your choices, your opinions. And as long as he could help it, your choices would always align with his. Even if that meant guiding them himself.

He took you around South Korea, but on his terms. It wasn’t the kind of vacation where every day was a new adventure. No, he kept it balanced. Some days for exploring, some for work. That was how it had to be.

You never argued. Never complained. Whether it was because you didn’t mind or because you simply chose not to voice it, he didn’t care. Silence was compliance, and compliance meant control.

And that’s exactly how he wanted it. 

Jungkook followed a step behind you as you traced your fingers along the cold metal railing, your gaze lost in the beauty of Nami Island. The soft autumn breeze played with the hem of your pleated skirt, your oversized knitted sweater draping over your frame in a way that made you look so warm, so delicate. He couldn’t wait to take you home, wrap you up in his arms, and keep you there for as long as he wanted.

You stopped suddenly, turning to him with a soft smile. It was enough to make his heart stutter, but there was something in your eyes. Something distant. He quickened his pace, closing the space between you, and without a word, he took your hand in his, lacing your fingers together as you walked side by side.

“Thank you for bringing me here, Kook,” you said, your voice light but careful.

He glanced at you, studying your expression. You were smiling, but he knew you too well, something was off. 

“It’s a pleasure, love.” He waited, expecting you to say more. But you didn’t.

He hated that.

“How much do you love your stay here?” His tone was casual, but the question wasn’t.

“I really love it here, Jungkook. I really do. Korea is so different from home, but still, I love it here.”

Home.

The word made something dark coil inside him.

He pulled you closer, guiding your head against his chest before pressing a kiss to your forehead. He held you there as you walked together, feeling the warmth of your body against his, the way you fit so perfectly against him. You were his home, his peace. His.

But no matter how tightly he held on, he couldn’t control everything. He could make every decision for you, shape every choice in his favor, but there was one thing he hadn’t accounted for:

The possibility that you might make a choice of your own.

And that was the one thing he wasn’t prepared for.

Jungkook barely had time to remove his coat when he saw the worry in your eyes. You looked like you’d been waiting for him for a while, pacing, rehearsing your words. He already didn’t like where this was going.

“Jungkook,” you started, your voice edged with hesitation. “I just had a meeting with our senior. They need me back for a presentation with new investors and stakeholders. I also have to report to the board—”

He stopped listening. He didn’t need to hear the rest. The way your voice wavered, the way you clutched your hands together, he already knew what you were about to ask.

“Then let someone else handle it.” His tone was clipped, final, like it was the simplest solution in the world.

“I can’t!” Your frustration spilled over, your voice rising slightly. “I’m the Investor Relations Manager. It’s my job, Kook! No one else can do it.”

Jungkook’s jaw tightened.

He had already let you keep your job even though he preferred otherwise. It was his choice to allow it. And now, you were asking him to choose again? To let you go back?

“When are we going home?” Your voice softened, practically pleading now. “Kook, they really need me this time.”

He held your gaze for a moment, his expression unreadable, then casually looked away as he removed his coat, his movements slow, deliberate.

“I’m not sure,” he finally said, shaking off invisible creases in the fabric. “I’ll be busy for the next couple of weeks. I have deals to close, business meetings to attend. You know how it is.”

You swallowed hard. “Then can I go home first?”

That made him stop. Completely.

His fingers curled around the fabric of his coat, knuckles whitening as the air between you turned still. His dark eyes lifted to meet yours, and something flickered behind them. Something unreadable yet unmistakably dangerous.

“You’re leaving me?” His voice dripped with sarcasm, but underneath it was something else.

Panic.

You stepped closer, shaking your head quickly. “Kook, I’m not leaving you. I just— I really need to go back. Just for work.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he let out a slow, humorless scoff.

“Wow,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “After everything I’ve done for you, is it that easy for you to leave? Just because they called you? What? Once?”

“That’s not—”

Jungkook’s fingers twitched at his side, his breathing slow, controlled—too controlled. He could feel his patience thinning, unraveling like a loose thread he was trying desperately to keep together.

“They told you before?” His voice was quiet, almost calm, but there was something beneath it. Something sharp. “And you didn’t tell me?”

You flinched slightly. “I didn’t want to ruin your mood,” you admitted.

He let out a slow breath through his nose, jaw locking. “And now you’re blaming me?”

You pressed your lips together, frustration flickering across your face. “No, of course not! I just—I didn’t want to ruin our vacation, Jungkook. That’s why I kept it to myself. But I have to tell you now.”

He scoffed. “And you don’t think telling me now ruins it?”

“That’s not what I meant—”

“Well, that’s exactly what you meant, Y/N!” His voice was sharper now.

You blinked at him, startled by the sudden shift. He rarely raised his voice, but when he did, it was like a storm brewing, low, intense, unpredictable.

“I’ve been here, juggling everything. Work, time with you, making sure you have everything you need. And you—” He let out a dry laugh. “The second they call, you’re ready to drop everything. Just like that.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. No words came out.

Jungkook tilted his head, studying you. The way your hands trembled slightly at your sides, the way your throat bobbed as you swallowed back emotions you were trying so hard to hide.

He should feel guilty. He should care.

But he didn’t.

“The worst part?” His voice was softer now, but it was the kind of softness that made the air feel heavy. “You prove to me, over and over again, that I will never be your priority.”

A tear slipped from the corner of your eye, but he didn’t move. Didn’t reach for you.

Let you feel it. Let you sit in it.

Because this wasn’t just about work. This was about control.

And he refused to lose it.

“If you’re so desperate to leave,” he finally said, turning away, his voice cold and detached, “then go.”

He didn’t wait for a response.

Didn’t need to.

Because he already knew that you won’t leave.

He couldn’t understand why you insisted on working. It wasn’t like you had to. He was here, ready to give you everything. Yet, you kept holding on to something so insignificant when he had already built an entire fucking empire for you. Every deal, every dollar, every sacrifice, it was all for you.

When he started making real money, it wasn’t greed that drove him It was you. You were the reason he clawed his way to the top, the reason he burned through sleepless nights, the reason he never let himself fail. He stayed away, kept his distance, let you live your little life because he wanted to come back when he was ready, when he was powerful enough to make sure you could never slip through his fingers again.

The person you knew in high school? He buried him. In his place stands someone unrecognizable, someone untouchable. And yet, no matter how much money, status, or control he has, the thought of you walking away still eats him alive.

So before that can happen, he’s already making sure it won’t. Because what’s the point of having everything if he doesn’t have you?

You’re the only fucking reason he has to live.

Jungkook yanked his phone from his pocket, his fingers moving swiftly as he dialed the CEO of your company. He knew you wouldn’t leave. Not really. You couldn’t. But he wasn’t the type to sit back and hope. He made sure of things. He always did.

“Y/N won’t be coming back,” he said the moment the call connected, his tone cold, final. “Fire her. Tell her she’s being replaced by someone more competent.”

There was no hesitation on the other end. Just immediate agreement. As it should be. The moment the call ended, he exhaled slowly, satisfied.

He worked too hard, built too much, just to have you run back to a life that no longer served his plans. Everything he had, his success, his power, it was all for you. But if your choices didn’t align with his? Then you didn’t need choices at all. He still let you think you had them, of course. As long as they led exactly where he wanted.

And sure enough, he was right. You didn’t leave. Because for what? Work? You didn’t have one anymore.

He watched as you withdrew, as you curled in on yourself, as you let the weight of everything settle in. He didn’t stop you when you pulled away, when you cried, when you let yourself crumble under the reality he created for you. He let you feel the loss, the loneliness. Not because he didn’t care. Of course, he cared. He always cared.

But sometimes, he had to let you break on your own. Because only then would you finally see, he was all you had. Just like you were all he needed.

Of course, he didn’t let you cry alone the whole time. He gave you space just enough to let the weight of everything sink in, to let you feel small, lost. But he was always there, lingering in the background, ready to be the only comfort you had left.

Because he would never leave you to suffer on your own. Not when he was the one who put you in this position in the first place. But you didn’t need to know that.

Now, in the dim glow of the bedroom, he held you close, feeling the way your body trembled against his. His arms were firm around you, securing you exactly where you belonged. Right here, with him. He leaned against the headboard, his fingers tracing slow, soothing patterns on your arm, his presence steady, inescapable.

“I know it hurts now, love,” he murmured, his voice soft, patient, the perfect contrast to the chaos he caused. “But maybe it’s for the best. Maybe this happened for a reason. You’ll be fine… Trust me. As long as you’re with me, you’ll be fine.”

He wiped the tears from your cheeks with gentle fingers, studying your face as if memorizing every vulnerable detail. And you didn’t say a word. You didn’t ask for help, didn’t fight to get your job back, didn’t even question why it all happened so suddenly.

Nothing.

Only quiet sobs escaped your lips.

And that was fine. More than fine.

Because as long as this kept you here, exactly where he wanted you. He could live with that.

You stayed home for the following days. Barely leaving the bedroom. Jungkook let you be, giving you space while he handled business, but that only worked in his favor. You weren’t going anywhere, and he didn’t have to worry too much. Not when he had eyes on you the entire time.

Of course, you didn’t know about the hidden CCTV in the apartment. You didn’t need to.

Most of the time, when he checked the feed, you were either sleeping, mindlessly scrolling on your phone, or watching TV. You looked drained, distant. Maybe even depressed. But he wasn’t too concerned. You’d be fine. You always were.

He also monitored your phone activity. He saw the messages, the way you still kept in touch with your friends and family, updating them on your life. But he noticed how carefully you chose your words, how you left things out.

And that? That satisfied him.

You defended him without being asked, without him even having to plant the idea in your head. You already knew what he wanted. You knew exactly what to say, how to make them believe that everything was fine. That’s how he knew you loved him just as much as he loved you.

You were such a good girl for him. So obedient.

He knew your friends didn’t like him especially Mina. Not that it mattered. If anything, it thrilled him to watch you choose him over them every time. To watch you stand by him, no matter what.

It felt so good.

And he wasn’t going to let you drown in misery forever. No, he made sure of that.

For the past week, he took you out every day. Five-star restaurants, designer boutiques, all your favorite places. He made sure you were surrounded by luxury, by comfort, by him. He wiped away every trace of sadness, covering it up with indulgence, making you forget, if only for a moment what had been taken from you.

But he wasn’t blind. He saw the shift in you. The way your smiles were forced. The way your laughter lacked its usual warmth. The way you were starting to notice.

But he didn’t have to do anything about it.

Not yet.

Because sooner or later, you’d understand. The life he was giving you was far better than the one you had before.

And when that realization finally sank in?

You wouldn’t want to leave.

—

Just like he promised, he was taking you to Busan to meet his family. It felt like a necessary step. An assurance of his love for you. A way to solidify things, to remind you that he was willing to give you everything, even parts of himself he didn’t care for.

He also figured this trip would help. A change of scenery. New faces. Because lately, the only person you had been around was him. Not that he minded, but he didn’t want you to feel isolated. Even if, in reality, that was exactly what was happening.

His relationship with his parents had never been close. Even as a kid, there was always distance. But after they dragged him back to Korea, forcing him away from you, that’s when he truly cut them off.

The only reason he still tolerated them now was simple.

They were the reason he worked so hard. The reason he built everything from the ground up. The reason he clawed his way to the top, just to have you in his arms again.

If not for that, he wouldn’t even spare them a second thought.

"I'm really glad you finally visited us after so many years, son. And you even brought your girlfriend with you," Jungkook’s mother said, her voice warm with nostalgia.

Jungkook barely reacted, keeping his expression smooth as he sliced through his food. You and he sat at the dining table with his parents, the scent of simmered broth and fresh side dishes filling the space. His parents were thrilled, probably thinking this visit meant something.

They had no idea how he really felt. And they didn’t need to.

“What do you do for a living?” His father’s voice cut through the quiet clatter of utensils. The question was aimed at you, and instantly, Jungkook felt your body tense beside him. Your hand, which had been resting lightly on the table, twitched just slightly and he clenched his chopsticks tighter.

Before you could even answer, he spoke for you. “She’s taking a break right now. That’s why we’re here for a long time.” His voice was even, but his grip had turned rigid.

You turned to him, your expression unreadable, but he refused to meet your eyes. Instead, he continued eating, slow and controlled.

“Really? But what did you do before?” His mother chimed in, her curiosity laced with harmless interest.

He wanted to shut this conversation down. Shift it away. Stop them from prying. But he had to play along.

“I was an Investor Relations Manager,” you answered, offering a small, polite smile before turning your focus back to your food.

His father hummed in acknowledgment, then turned to Jungkook. “Investor, huh? As I recall, your business is in the same field, isn’t it?”

Jungkook stabbed his chopsticks into a piece of meat, his jaw tightening.

“You never tell us much about your life. Even your business,” his mother added.

"All we know is you’re making millions and millions every day. If only you invested in your own parents’ business, that would be great.”

Jungkook mentally rolled his eyes, keeping his expression unreadable.

He would never invest in something like that.

And he sure as hell would never invest in the very thing that tore him away from you.

Jungkook could feel your eyes on him, waiting for a response. But he kept his gaze fixed on his food, forcing himself to chew slowly. It wasn’t worth talking about. Not now. Not ever.

Sensing the silence stretching too long, you spoke up instead.

“Actually, Jungkook and I met at work, and before that, the last time we saw each other was in high school. That’s where we really got to know each other.”

His mother giggled, a soft, nostalgic sound. “I still can’t believe you two are high school sweet—”

“Honey, they were only friends in high school!” His father cut in with a laugh.

“Oh, right! But if we hadn’t moved back here, maybe you two would’ve been dating since then!”

Jungkook tightened his grip on his chopsticks. The conversation was light, harmless even. But he wasn’t stupid. He noticed how you shifted in your seat, how your fingers grazed the table absentmindedly like you were holding something back. He could read you too well. He knew there was something you wanted to say but you didn’t.

And he had a feeling he knew exactly what it was.

“If only he had introduced you to us before!” His mother sighed wistfully before turning her gaze to Jungkook. “You know, he was different when he was younger. More… open, I suppose. But ever since we moved back here, he became quiet, distant. We knew he wanted to stay in your country, he even begged us to go back but it wasn’t that simple.”

She looked at him then, a sad, longing expression crossing her face. “We’re proud of the man he’s become, of course. We just wish he could be open with us again. Let us back into his life.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenched. The sound of his father’s spoon clinking against his bowl suddenly felt too loud. The warm aroma of the food became nauseating.

This. This right here was why he had kept his distance. Why he loathed them.

Pathetic.

They sat there, spewing bullshit, acting as if they were the victims. Acting as if they deserved his time, his emotions, his fucking pity. They had no idea. They never took responsibility. Instead, they pointed fingers at him, as if it was his fault that everything turned out this way.

But it wasn’t.

It was theirs.

He was already done with this conversation. Done with this entire visit. He needed to get out of here.

With you.

The lunch dragged on longer than Jungkook would have liked. His parents kept the conversation going, moving from small talk to stories about their old business. Their grand rise and inevitable failure. They spoke as if reminiscing about something tragic, but all Jungkook heard was noise.

He barely touched his food, his jaw tightening every time they brought up the past. He masked his irritation well, but the tension in his grip against his chopsticks was telling. He just wanted to leave.

This was exactly why he never wanted to come here. Why he never wanted you to meet them. They talked too much. About things that didn’t matter. About things he never wanted you to hear.

And now, he could already tell. You had questions. You always did when something didn’t add up. And right now, after everything his parents had carelessly spilled, your mind must be full of them.

Of course, you didn’t ask in front of them. You wouldn’t. But he knew you too well.

And he was right.

Because the moment the car was back on the road, heading toward Seoul, your voice broke the silence.

“Your parents are nice.” Your voice was light, but Jungkook could hear the underlying curiosity.

“Uh-huh.” His response was flat, laced with sarcasm.

“They even wanted us to stay. They’re really accommodating, Kook.”

He saw you glance at him from the corner of his eye, but he kept his gaze locked on the road. His grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly.

“I have a meeting first thing in the morning.”

Without warning, he overtook the car in front of him, the sudden movement making you flinch. 

“Sorry, love.” His voice softened, one hand briefly leaving the wheel to rest on your thigh. A gentle caress.

He had spent all his patience back at that house. The last thing he wanted was to talk about his parents again.

“I didn’t know you had an older brother.” Your tone was casual, but there was something beneath it. An unspoken challenge. “It sucks that I only found out now. I just realized… I barely know anything about your past.” You sighed. “I feel bad.”

“That’s why I brought you home to meet them,” he said, hoping it didn’t sound as sarcastic as it felt.

You studied him for a moment, like you were trying to read him. He gave you a small smile, his hand still resting on your thigh, fingers tracing lazy circles. A distraction. A way to keep you comfortable.

Then, you caught him off guard.

“Kook, why didn’t you invest in your parents’ business?”

His grip on the wheel tightened. He didn’t expect that.

You continued before he could answer. “You’re a big-time investor, right? It would help them a lot.”

“It’s not worth investing in. It’s already a failed business.” His tone was neutral, controlled.

“But they loved that business. Losing it broke them. Isn’t there any chance of bringing it back?”

“No.” His voice was sharp, final. “If there was, I wouldn’t hesitate.”

That was a lie. Even if their business was worth saving, he still wouldn’t do it. They didn’t deserve it. They didn’t deserve anything from him.

You looked at him again, hesitant, like you wanted to push further. To unravel the parts of him he kept hidden. But then, you seemed to realize he wasn’t in the mood to talk about it.

So you stayed quiet.

Good.

As much as he wanted to tell you everything, how his parents ruined his life, how they ripped him away from you, he couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t risk you looking at him differently.

He’d rather keep you in the dark than let you see the parts of him he didn’t want you to understand.

—

It’s been a week since you and Jungkook visited his parents. And two weeks  since you lost your job.

You haven’t told him about it. You haven’t asked about going home either. Not once. And it’s better that way. If you did, he already had an answer prepared, but he preferred that you didn’t ask at all.

You’ve become more obedient, following his lead without hesitation. You don’t ask for anything anymore. You don’t make requests. You just… comply.

It should make him happy. He decides what’s best for you, after all. But he doesn’t want you to turn into a lifeless doll, either. You should still function like a normal girlfriend and hold onto him like you need him.

And you do need him.

Jungkook wants to give you everything, especially now that you’re finally settling into his rhythm. He wonders if you realize how much he adores you like this. Maybe you don’t. Maybe you think this is just another day, another morning, another moment.

But to him, it’s everything.

You’re sleeping beside him, curled up and peaceful, completely unaware of his gaze lingering on you. His love for you grows stronger every day, so intense it nearly overwhelms him. It consumes him.

He rests his head on his arm, watching you, memorizing the way your lashes flutter faintly with every slow breath. His free hand moves on its own, fingers ghosting over your cheek.

His heart pounds in his ears.

The back of his fingers trail down to your lips, tracing the soft curve of them. You don’t even stir. He tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering longer than necessary.

Then, his fingers drift lower, down your arm, feeling the warmth of your skin. So soft. So delicate. His.

He could feel a familiar sensation growing between his legs as he touched your soft skin. He tried to ignore it but failed. The more he touched you, the more he thought about how much he wanted to be with you. He couldn't stop imagining all the ways he wanted to touch you, to be inside you. He felt his self-control slipping away as he placed his thumb finger on your lower lip, imagining how it would feel wrapped around him.

He couldn't help but look at your body, the outline of your breasts visible through your flimsy pajamas.

He have touched you several times but the sensation and feeling of your body was so intoxicating and addicting he couldn't get enough.

Fuck, Y/N.

He can barely keep himself from losing control. He desperately wants to bend you over and taste your lips but he knows that's not what he's supposed to do, so instead he slowly pulled his dick out and began to slowly stroke it while you sleep beside him, teasing himself.

He can’t help it but want to press you against the bed, taking in and enjoying every curve of your body, but he knows he can’t do that. Not now. He takes your hand softly in his, holding it warmly. His other hand slowly teases his dick, imagining how you’d feel under him, as he stares directly at your pretty face, his thoughts filled with nothing but how desperately he wants you, yet he holds himself back.

Damn it, love. 

He gripped himself tightly, his dick throbbing and leaking a small amount of cum that he eagerly spread over himself, slicking his movements as he pumped it harder and harder, his eyes locked onto your peaceful sleeping face, silently begging for you to wake.

His hands, despite his best efforts to keep them still, began to roam down your body, splaying out over your stomach and slowly inching lower until his fingers splayed out over your pussy through the thin fabric of your sleepwear.

He wanted you to wake up as his body already halfway there even without your touch. He hoped your eyes would flutter open and catch him like this, his pants tented, his hips subtly humping the air, his hands twitching with the urge to grope your body again unconsciously.

"Fuck..." he hissed under his breath, losing control as his hand moved faster over his length, the wet sounds filling the room.

"Love..." he moaned your nickname, imagining it was your hand, your mouth, your heat around him rather than his own hands. 

The soft, sensual moan that escaped your lips in your sleep sent electric jolts through him, making his grip on his dick tighten as he continued to stroke himself feverishly. He scooted closer, his fingers teasing your pussy through your clothes, rubbing slow circles over it.

His breath hitched as he felt the dampness seeping through your thin pajama bottoms, signaling your body's unconscious response to his touches. He gently slipped his hand inside, finding your folds slick and warm, a soft whimper escaping his lips at the contact.

As your eyes flutter open, you catch the erotic sight before you. Jungkook was furiously pumping his dick, clear fluid leaking steadily from the tip. The wet, obscene sounds of his strokes filled the air.

“K-kook, what are you doing?” Your voice was low and husky and your arousal was obvious, making him lose control faster.

Without warning, he covered your body with his, capturing your lips in a deep, hungry kiss. His tongue plunged into your mouth, dominating it as his body pressed you into the mattress. His weight pushed your smaller frame down, causing your chest to rise and fall rapidly.

He humped against your center like a wild animal, marking your neck with hot, open-mouthed kisses and sucking hickeys onto your jaw. His lips traveled down your chin, your jawline, your neck, leaving red, passionate marks. He was practically dry humping you, his control shot.

"Love..." He growled softly, hearing your shaky voice. Your arousal made him hungry. He yanked your shirt off, his mouth latching onto your breast without warning. You threw your head back with a loud moan as he sucked hard, his other hand pinching and rolling your nipple.

He could feel your softness against his tongue, the way you filled his mouth perfectly. He sucked harder, his hand squeezing your other breast possessively.

He kissed lower, trailing his lips down your stomach, his hands pulling your pajama bottoms down slowly. He peppered kisses on your pelvis, his hot breath tickling your lower belly. "Lift your hips, Y/N..." He whispered, his voice muffled against your skin.

He spread your thighs wider, diving between them. He flattened his tongue against your entrance, licking upwards to catch your wetness. "Damn," He muttered, watching you toss your head back. He wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking softly while pushing two fingers inside you.

God, you’re so fucking beautiful.

He watches you play with your breasts. Your fingers twisting your hard peaks made him harder. He pushed his fingers deeper, his mouth suctioning around your clit. Your moans grew louder, your back arching off the bed. His free hand spread your thighs wider apart.

Your nails dug deeper into the bed as you neared the edge. He suddenly pulled back, leaving you empty and disappointed. Before you could protest, he pulled his pants down and pressed the tip of his hard dick against your clit. His head rested on top of you, grinding his tip against you.

"K-kook… please?" He smirked wickedly, watching you throw your head back. He ground his tip against your sensitive nub, teasing you. 

He paused his tease and grabbed your face, staring harshly into your eyes. "Remember this...you're mine." He grumbled, crashing his lips against yours. The kiss was desperate and hungry, his tongue dominating yours immediately. He pushed his tip inside you slowly before thrusting hard. “Do you understand that?”

"Do you understand?!” He growled, his deep voice echoing. He thrusts his hips harder, watching your breasts bounce. He repeated himself slower, "Answer the damn question." His fingers dug into your hips painfully. "Use your words,"

"Yes!” You answered with a tear in your eyes as his movement became faster.

"Fuck, Y/N," he panted against your lips, his body shaking when both of you reach orgasm. He remained buried deep inside you, his eyes locked onto yours. "You're mine. Only. Mine." He enunciated each word slowly, leaving no room for misunderstanding.

He leaned down and kissed you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth. When he broke the kiss, he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes filled with love and adoration. “I love you, Y/N. I love you so fucking much it hurts.”

—

You’re such a good girl. So obedient. So perfect for him.

Jungkook always knew you’d get there eventually. You’re adjusting—slowly, but that’s okay. He can be patient. He understands that change takes time.

But he’s not blind. He sees how quiet you’ve become, how your laughter has faded into silence. You talk less, do less. Even when he offers to take you out, most of the time, your refuse. You spend most of your time curled up in bed, staring at your phone or watching TV, lost in some world that isn’t his.

That’s fine. You’ll come around.

He tells himself it’s just part of the process. Your adjustment period. You’re still settling into your new reality, learning to accept that this is your home now.

But even if he understands, that doesn’t mean he likes it.

He misses the way you used to be. The spark in your eyes, the way you used to tease him, the way you’d reach for him without thinking. That version of you is slipping away, fading like a dream upon waking.

Does he regret this? Is he having second thoughts?

Never.

This is only temporary. He knows that if he wavers now, if he lets himself get soft, he’ll never have what he truly wants.

So he won’t.

Instead, he’ll remind you.

He’ll give you all the attention you need, fill every empty space in your mind until there’s no room left for doubt.

“Lately, you’ve been watching a lot of baking videos,” Jungkook muses, his voice casual. It’s a quiet Friday afternoon, and he got home earlier than usual. You’re curled up on the couch, a snack in hand, eyes fixed on the TV.

He moves closer, pressing a lingering kiss to your neck before catching your lips. He feels you relax beneath him, just slightly.

“Nothing really to watch,” you reply, brushing it off.

Jungkook settles beside you, his gaze never leaving you as he reaches for a snack. His fingers trail absentmindedly along your thigh, slow and deliberate.

“I was thinking,” he starts, his tone light, “maybe you’d like to take baking lessons? Learn how to do it yourself.”

“That’s not necessary, Kook,” you say with a small laugh. “I just find it entertaining, that’s all.”

He hums, rubbing slow circles into your skin. “Then do you want to do something? Yoga classes, maybe?”

Silence.

You hold his gaze, but there’s something in your expression that makes his stomach tighten. You hesitate, as if weighing whether to say what’s really on your mind. And suddenly, he regrets even asking.

He should change the subject. He should pull you back into something softer, safer. But before he can, you speak.

“Well, if you have something in—”

“When are we going home?”

His whole body stills.

For a second, he doesn’t move. The words settle between you, heavy and suffocating. He exhales, slow and measured, before finally standing.

“I’m not sure yet,” he says, already walking toward the dining hall. “I told you, I have a lot to handle, love. I’ll let you know when.”

Jungkook doesn’t wait for your response. He turns on his heel, heading toward the dining hall. He pulls the refrigerator open as he grabs a bottle of water, twisting the cap off before pouring himself a glass. The sound of liquid hitting glass fills the silence.

He knows you're there before he even turns around.

Your presence lingers, hesitant but heavy. He takes his time, swallowing the water then he finally turns to face you.

“I miss home, Kook.”

Home. That fucking word again.

Ever since you started mentioning home, Jungkook has felt a slow, burning irritation clawing at him. The word itself is harmless, but coming from your lips, it feels like a blade. You and he have different definitions of home, and every time you say it, it grates against his nerves.

“We’ve been here for three months already, and I really, really miss home.” Your voice wavers, eyes shimmering with unshed tears, and it makes his irritation flare hotter.

“Aren’t we living in the same home either way?” His voice drips with sarcasm, his patience thinning.

“That’s not what I mean. I miss my family, my friends, my country—”

“And you don’t think I feel that too?” He cuts you off, his tone sharper now.

The glass in his hand meets the kitchen island with a dull thud, his fingers tightening around the rim before he releases it. His gaze, dark and unreadable, locks onto yours.

“Do you think I don’t want to go back?” He exhales harshly. “I planned to stay here for a vacation. But I had to handle so many things because, for what? To fucking build the life I want for us!” His voice rises, his frustration cracking through the surface. “I’m not doing this for myself, Y/N. I’m doing this to secure our future.”

Tears finally spill down your cheeks as you look at him, and something about it. The way you’re crying, the way you’re making him feel like the villain making his jaw tighten.

“Tell me,” he steps forward, closing the distance between you, his presence towering over you, “do you really think I’m keeping you here just because I want to?” His voice dips lower, but the intensity in his stare is suffocating.

You shake your head quickly. “Kook, that’s not what I meant!” Your fingers tighten around his, desperate, pleading. “Of course, I appreciate you! I’m sorry if that’s how it sounded, but that’s not what I meant—”

You keep talking, rushing to defend yourself, but Jungkook isn’t listening anymore.

His mind is elsewhere.

Your words dissolve into the background as something deeper stirs inside him. He watches your lips move, watches the way you hold onto him like you’re afraid of slipping away. 

Before you can finish, he pulls his hands away, wiping his own tears like he’s trying to erase the moment entirely.

Then he steps back.

“I think we should give ourselves some space.” His voice is quieter now, but distant, detached. He turns, ready to walk away.

But before he can take another step, you do something that surprises him.

“Jungkook, no!”

Before he can take another step, your arms are around his waist, locking him in place. Your grip is desperate, too tight, too frantic, like you're afraid he'll vanish the second you let go.

“N-no… please, let’s talk about this now! Please don’t leave me again.”

The way your voice breaks sends a thrill through him. You’re crying—really crying—and he didn’t expect it. Not like this.

“Please don’t leave me again! Let’s talk about this now. P-please don’t leave me alone.”

Your hands clutch at his back, fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt like you're trying to anchor yourself. When you pull back to look at him, your face is soaked, lips trembling, eyes blown wide with fear. Fear.

His heart pounds so hard it’s almost painful. A rush of something hot, something intoxicating, swirls inside him. You need him.

You really need him.

“W-we can talk about this now. Just please, don’t leave me alone.”

You bury yourself into him again, squeezing so tightly he almost forgets to breathe.

Jungkook stands frozen, overwhelmed by the moment, his pulse hammering in his ears. His breath comes out unsteady as his lips curl into a slow, hidden smile. He wants to laugh. Fuck, he wants to celebrate.

Because this. This is exactly what he’s been waiting for.

You’re clinging to him. Begging. Terrified at the thought of losing him.

You get it now, don’t you?

After a long pause, he finally moves. His hands glide up your back, soothing, reassuring. He exhales softly, letting just enough warmth seep into his voice.

“Okay, love. We’ll fix this.”

He’s too happy. A little too happy.

Your reaction, it was unexpected, raw, perfect. The way you clung to him, the way your voice cracked, the way you begged, fuck, it’s all replaying in his head like a song on repeat. It was beautiful. You need him just as much as he needs you. You just proved it.

And that means one thing: You’ll never leave. Not really.

You might resist, you might hesitate, but in the end, you break exactly how he wants you to. He doesn’t just control you, your whole existence is wrapped around him now, woven into his life so tightly there’s no escape.

But then, why?

Why did you suddenly bring up home? Why now, after all this time?

His jaw tightens. Something triggered you. Something. Or someone.

He doesn’t need to guess. He already knows.

It’s past 2 AM when he finally moves. The room is quiet, bathed in the soft blue glow of the nightlight. You're asleep, curled up in the king-sized bed, your breathing slow, steady and peaceful. Completely unaware.

Jungkook reaches for your phone on the bedside table, unlocking it effortlessly with his Face ID. He leans back on the couch, screen illuminating his face, and scrolls straight to your messages.

He knows exactly where to look.

And of course, he was right.

His smirk is slow, dangerous, curling at the edges as he reads.

You: I miss you too! I’ll see you soon once I return.

Mina: As you should. I’m so sick of being with Henry all the time! When are you even coming home? You’ve been there since forever.

Chloe: Yeah, Y/N. I thought you’d only be there for a vacation? You never said you’d stay this long.

You: Not sure with Jungkook. He has a lot of business to do as of now.

Henry: Are you even part of his business? Last time I checked, you and he were there for a vacation, not for business. Seriously, Y/N, he’s caging you at this point.

His smirk twitches.

And then, there it is. A missed video call, two fucking hours.

Yesterday. While he was too busy working to notice.

His fingers tighten around the phone. Of course. They filled your head with bullshit. 

How stupid of him to let this slip.

It won’t happen again.

He locks the phone and sets it back on the table, gaze flickering toward you. You’re still fast asleep, unaware that your little secret is no longer a secret.

Jungkook leans back, exhaling through his nose, his mind already working.

He’ll fix this.

He always does.

Jungkook doesn’t waste time.

The moment he discovers what your so-called friends have been whispering in your ear, he takes action.

First thing in the morning, before you even stir awake, he makes a call. The kind of call that isn’t exactly legal. By noon, he’s holding a sleek, black signal jammer in his hands, fresh from the black market. Compact, powerful, and silent.

He won’t resort to something as obvious as taking your phone away. That’s not the game he plays. No, no, no. He wants you to believe you’re still in control. That your world isn’t shrinking. That nothing’s changed.

Because that’s the key, you can’t miss what you don’t realize you’ve lost.

He positions the device in a discreet spot, its range wide enough to swallow every signal in the apartment. But, of course, he’s thought ahead. He installs a high-power signal booster for himself because while your world goes dark, his remains crystal clear. He still needs to monitor things. Track things. Track you.

It doesn’t take long for you to notice. The way your fingers swipe at your screen again and again, waiting for something to load. The way your brows knit together when nothing does. The way you glance around, confused, frustrated.

He sees it all. 

Your world is already shrinking, and you don’t even realize it yet.

Jungkook leans back in his chair, a slow smirk forming.

“Weak signals happen sometimes, love. It’ll come back. Don’t worry.”

He pressed a soft kiss to your cheek before pulling you onto the couch, wrapping you in his arms as the TV played in the background. What else could you do, really? Without a working connection, entertainment options were limited, and he had to pretend he was dealing with the same issue. TV was the perfect distraction. One that kept you close to him.

In a way, he liked this. No phones, no interruptions. Just the two of you, undisturbed. The thought alone made his heart flutter.

The next day, the situation hadn’t changed, and he knew frustration would start creeping in again. So he took you out. All day, keeping you occupied, keeping your mind off things. You didn’t resist. Why would you? There was nothing to do in the apartment without the internet, no one to talk to, nowhere else to turn.

A museum date. He half-expected you to get bored, but to his surprise, you didn’t. You wandered through the exhibits with wide, fascinated eyes, taking in every detail, pointing out the ones you liked best. Jungkook watched you more than the art. Watched the way your lips curved in a smile, the way your fingers traced the air as you spoke. You weren’t hard to please. Anything he laid out in front of you, you embraced, appreciated, accepted.

That was what made it so easy to love you.

And that was what made him tighten his grip.

Because something so easy, so pure, could be taken away in an instant.

He wouldn’t let that happen. Not now. Not ever. You were already his, and keeping you meant protecting you. Even if you didn’t realize it yet.

For the third, fourth, and fifth day, nothing changed. The signal jammer stayed on, and you stayed unaware. He kept you entertained when he was home, making sure there was always something to distract you. Movies, dinner, his arms wrapped around you on the couch. But when he wasn’t around, all you had was the TV.

That was fine. That was good.

Whenever he was out, he tracked your location. He never mentioned it, of course. He played dumb when you casually told him where you went, what you did to pass the time. It made things easier. It reassured him. You were still being good, still keeping him in the loop, still showing him without even realizing it that you loved him. That you weren’t going anywhere.

And that was all he needed.

Because as long as you kept being this obedient, this trusting, you wouldn’t even notice the strings wrapped around you, pulling you exactly where he wanted.

But of course, no matter how much control he had, some things still slipped through the cracks.

He thought he had everything covered. That as long as you stayed close, as long as you kept looking at him the way you always did, nothing would change.

But even the most perfect plans had flaws.

It was a cold Thursday evening when Jungkook stepped out of the shower, steam curling around him as droplets clung to his skin. A towel hung low on his waist, and the heat from the water still lingered on his body, contrasting the chill in the air. He had just returned from a long business meeting. Another deal closed, another win under his belt. You were in the kitchen, insisting on making dinner, and he let you.

As he pulled on his nightwear in the walk-in closet, he instinctively reached for his phone. But his fingers met empty space. His usual spot? Empty. Bedside table? Nothing. Maybe he left it outside? That was unlikely. His phone was always with him.

The frustration simmered. His brows furrowed as he searched every possible surface in the bedroom. It wasn’t there. His chest tightened. And then—

A ringtone.

Not from inside the room. From outside.

His breath caught. His phone wasn’t on silent. You were hearing it.

A sharp pulse of panic shot through him as he shoved the bedroom door open. The sound grew louder, the vibrations almost rattling in his ears, until he saw you.

Standing at the dining table.

Staring at his phone.

A cold sensation crawled up his spine, harsher than the evening air. His fingers twitched. His heart pounded, slamming against his ribs, too fast, too loud.

Without thinking, he strode forward and snatched the phone off the table, immediately declining the call. His grip was tight, white-knuckled. He could feel your eyes on him, could see the way your expression shifted, shock, realization, suspicion.

Then, you moved.

You pulled your phone from your pocket, swiped through the screen, and then your jaw clenched.

Slowly, you looked at him.

Brows furrowed.

And then, without a word, you turned your phone around and showed him the screen.

“How come you can get calls when I can’t even reach you?” Your voice had that sharp edge, like you were daring him to slip up.

Jungkook’s grip on his phone tightened for a second. Just a second before he let out a slow breath. One you wouldn’t even notice.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged, meeting your gaze without hesitation. “I’ve had signal since yesterday.”

Your brows furrowed. “What? That doesn’t make sense. I don’t have network service. No internet, either.” You scrolled through your phone, frustration seeping into your voice.

“Maybe it’s your phone. Not the network.”

“Huh? How does that even—”

“I don’t know, love. I’m not a technician.” His tone was casual, a little too nonchalant, as he turned to walk away.

But you weren’t letting it go.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice was sharper now, accusing. “You knew I’ve been complaining about this for days!”

Jungkook exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening, but his voice was still even. “I didn’t notice right away. And I’ve been out, haven’t I? Besides—” He scoffed. “Do you even see me using my phone when I’m home?”

Your frustration boiled over. “Ugh, this is so annoying! What the hell?” You jabbed at your phone aggressively, like pressing harder would somehow force it to work. When it didn’t, you let out a groan, tossing it onto the table with a thud before running a hand through your hair.

Jungkook clenched his teeth, trying to suppress the irritation crawling up his spine. “Y/N, can you calm down? It’s just a phone. We’ll fix it.”

“You don’t get it!” You snapped.

Your voice cracked slightly, your chest rising and falling with every frustrated breath. “That’s my only way to keep in touch with my friends and family while I’m stuck here! It’s the only thing I have to pass the time! I have nothing to do, Jungkook. It’s draining! I feel exhausted just… existing like this!”

His stomach twisted.

Not because of what you said, but because of the way you said it. This was the first time he’d seen you this raw since your last big fight. It was like catching a glimpse of something real. Something he wasn’t supposed to see.

And honestly? He didn’t know how to feel about it.

His fingers curled, nails pressing into his palms, but his face remained unreadable.

“Okay,” he finally muttered. “We’ll get your phone fixed.”

That was all he said before turning on his heel, walking away, leaving you standing there, stunned.

The moment Jungkook stepped into the bedroom, he lost it.

His phone hit the bed with a dull thud, but it wasn’t enough. His hands went straight to his hair, fingers tangling in frustration as he paced back and forth, his mind spiraling.

Anytime now, you could put the pieces together.

Anytime now, you could realize everything.

No. No. No. That cannot fucking happen.

His jaw clenched so tightly it ached, teeth grinding as he tried to force himself to think. He needed a solution. Fast. But every scenario felt like a loose thread, something that could unravel the carefully built illusion he had created around you.

His breath came out sharp and ragged, his chest rising and falling as panic crawled up his spine. His hands curled into fists, nails pressing into his palms.

Calm down. Think.

Would replacing your phone be enough? Could he make it seem like it was just a defective device all along? Should he play dumb, act as if he had no clue what was going on?

Fuck. Think!

He’d always been careful. Always one step ahead. So why was he unraveling now?

Why did this feel different?

He sucked in a slow, shaky breath, trying to steady himself. He was just being paranoid. That’s all this was. He had handled worse. He had controlled worse.

This was just another obstacle.

And like always, he’d find a way to make sure you stayed exactly where you belonged.

But he was wrong.

Because the moment he woke up, you weren’t beside him.

It felt like a bucket of ice had been dumped over him, freezing him in place. His body tensed, fingers gripping the sheets as he blinked, trying to process the empty space next to him.

No. No, no, no.

He had stayed up late, trying to think of a way to fix things. He didn’t even realize he had slept in. And now, you were gone.

His hands were already shaking as he pushed himself out of bed, his heart pounding.

“Y/N?”

The bathroom, empty. The closet, empty. The longer he searched, the faster his panic grew.

He stormed out of the bedroom, checking every corner of the apartment, but you were nowhere to be found. His breathing turned ragged, his vision tunneling. His fingers fumbled as he reached for his phone, opening the tracking app.

There you were. Not far.

A mall.

Fuck.

His jaw clenched so hard it ached. He already knew what you were doing.

His mind raced, self-loathing creeping in. How the fuck did I let this happen? He had been so careful. He had planned everything so perfectly. And yet, somehow, you slipped away.

His grip tightened around his phone as he immediately dialed a number. The person he hired to watch you.

“Find her,” Jungkook ordered, his voice dangerously low. “Now. And tell me exactly what she’s doing.”

Ending the call, he exhaled sharply and let his body drop onto the couch, his knee bouncing as he tried to steady himself.

Calm down.

He had dealt with things like this before. He knew exactly what to do. You were easy to convince, easy to pull back into his world. You always had been.

There was no reason to panic.

Because no matter what, he wouldn’t let this ruin everything.

He had come too far, done too much. What was the point of stopping now?

Minutes later, his phone buzzed. An update.

You had bought a new phone.

Of course, you did. He expected it. He had already planned his reaction, the perfect lie to feed you. He knew how to twist things, how to shape reality into something that made sense to you.

He was ready.

This was just another obstacle, a minor inconvenience. Soon, everything would be back to normal.

Or at least, that was the illusion he forced himself to believe.

Because the moment you walked through that door, his world shattered.

All the confidence, all the carefully built lies, gone.

The second you speak the truth, everything he worked for started to crumble.

You stood in front of him, unmoving, while he lounged back against the couch, arms crossed over his chest. The apartment felt colder than usual, the lack of sunlight casting a dull, gray shadow over everything, including you.

You looked drained.

Dressed in a white knitted sweater under a long black coat, paired with jeans, you slowly unwrapped the scarf from your neck, gripping it tightly in one hand while your other held a paper bag.

He already knew what was inside.

The new phone.

Your eyes locked onto his, unblinking, unwavering. There was an intensity in them that made something deep inside him churn, but he didn’t let it show. Instead, he was the first to break the silence.

“Was it really that hard to wake me up and let me know you were going out?” His voice was laced with sarcasm, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You just couldn’t wait to get your phone fixed, huh? Had to rush out and buy a new one?”

He scoffed, shaking his head.

You didn’t answer.

You just stood there, staring at him with eyes filled with something far worse than anger. Disgust. Your jaw clenched so tightly he swore he could hear your teeth grinding, and then he saw it.

A tear.

His smirk twitched, faltering for just a second.

“What’s with the face, love?” he drawled, tilting his head. “I thought you fixed your little problem?”

His voice dripped with mockery, but something inside him twisted, because he could feel it.

Your tears fell silently at first, but then you inhaled sharply, steadying yourself before speaking.

“My phone was jammed,” you said, voice shaking. “Both my phone and the internet connection were jammed.”

Jungkook felt a flicker of something. Surprise, irritation, but he masked it, tilting his head as if your words were nonsense.

“How would your phone be jammed?” His tone was casual, almost amused, like he was humoring you.

You let out a bitter laugh. “I don’t know. Ask yourself.”

The sharpness in your voice sent a ripple of irritation through him.

“How the fuck is my phone jammed while yours isn’t?” You took a step closer, eyes burning with fury. “Does that make any sense to you? Both my laptop and my phone had no signal the entire fucking week, while you were just fine.”

His jaw tightened.

That bastard. The man he hired had left out important details. He hadn’t reported that you had your phone checked.

Fucking useless.

“What the hell are you talking about?” He scoffed, forcing his voice into something more natural. “I didn’t have service either. You know that. We were both—”

“No!”

The single word sliced through the room, loud and unwavering. It caught him off guard.

“I checked your phone this morning,” you continued, voice shaking with restrained rage. “I checked your laptop, too. And both of them had WiFi.”

His fingers twitched. His mind raced.

“Then that’s not my problem anymore—”

“You don’t get it, do you?”

Your voice dropped to a whisper, slow and deliberate.

Jungkook felt a chill run down his spine.

“Or…” You took another step forward, your eyes locking onto his like you were staring into something dark and rotten. “Is this just what you wanted me to believe?”

Jungkook didn’t say a word at first. He just watched you, his gaze unwavering, calculating.

He couldn’t afford to make a mistake now.

“I can’t believe you’re blaming me for this.” His voice was measured, carefully laced with disbelief, like he was hurt. “Why would I even do that?”

Then, quieter, like he was nursing a wound only he could feel. “Why do you always blame me when things go wrong for you? Even when it’s your own fault?”

You scoffed, tilting your chin up defiantly. “And how exactly is it my fault that my phone was jammed? That’s not something I could have done to myself, intentionally or unintentionally!”

“No, Y/N.” His voice hardened. “I’m not just talking about the jammer. I’m talking about everything, all the accusations, all the times you’ve turned on me, made me the villain in your little stories.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why are you even bringing all that up? We’re talking about the jammer—”

“Because that’s the problem!” His voice rose suddenly, sharp and unwavering. “You always blame me. The moment something inconvenient happens, it’s Jungkook’s fault. Like it’s second nature to you.”

He took a step forward, but you stood your ground. Your eyes locked onto his, unflinching, before you exhaled and turned to leave.

Panic flashed in his chest.

No.

In an instant, he was behind you, gripping your wrist, firm, but not enough to bruise. 

“Are you seriously walking away right now?” His voice was dangerously low, breath uneven. “We’re still talking.”

You yanked your hand free without hesitation. “There’s nothing left to say. This isn’t going anywhere.”

Jungkook clenched his jaw so hard it hurt.

His fingers twitched at his sides, the rage bubbling beneath his skin.

“What?” His voice was strained, barely holding back his temper. “You accuse me of this bullshit, throw it in my face, and then just walk away?”

You took another step toward the door of the bedroom, but this time, you hesitated. Then, slowly, you turned back to face him.

Your expression was unreadable. Empty.

“Yes,” you said, voice hollow. “Because you’ll never admit it. You’ll just twist everything, turn it all around, like you always do.”

Jungkook felt his stomach twist at the way you were looking at him. It was like you were seeing him now, really seeing him.

And then, without another word, you turned your back on him and walked away.

For the first time in a long time, Jungkook didn’t know what to do.

Jungkook felt like his mind was slipping. Too many thoughts, too many emotions crashing over him at once. He couldn’t process what just happened. He needed clarity, needed to understand you. Because suddenly, he couldn't read you anymore.

He hated that.

He stormed into the bedroom without hesitation.

“Why are you doing this to me, huh?” His voice was sharp, cutting through the tense air the moment he stepped inside. “Is this your way of getting back at me? Because I didn’t let you go home when that’s all you’ve been crying about for months? Is that it, Y/N?”

You turned to face him, brows furrowing. “What are you talking about? I never said that!”

“Oh, so you don’t say it, but you show it instead?” His heartbeat pounded against his ribs, his breathing growing heavier. “You think I like watching you change? Seeing you drift further away when all I wanted was for you to wait? You think I enjoy having you next to me when I can tell your mind is somewhere else? That you’re just enduring being with me?” The words poured out of him, unfiltered, his voice trembling with something raw.

“I’m not pulling any act, Jungkook. That’s all in your head.” Your tone was flat, detached.

That only set him off more.

“Oh, fuck it, Y/N! Just tell me the truth—”

“No, you tell me the truth!” You cut him off, voice ringing through the room. “Tell me why you jammed my phone! Tell me why you’re tracking me!”

Jungkook froze. His breath caught in his throat.

His head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing, but he said nothing.

You took a step closer, pointing at him with a shaking finger. “You think I didn’t know? There’s a tracking chip inside my phone. And what? You’re going to sit there and twist it around again? Pretend it’s my fault that a tracker magically ended up in my phone? Just like how you jammed my signal?”

Your voice was sharp, relentless.

Jungkook didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

He just stood there, staring at you. Eyes dark, jaw clenched, mind racing.

Jungkook watched you with hollow eyes, his mind spiraling as your words cut through him like a blade.

Enough.

You’d had enough of him.

He should’ve seen this coming. The way you looked at him differently, the way you hesitated before answering, the way you started pulling away, piece by piece. But knowing didn’t make it any easier to hear.

“I ignored all the red flags,” you said, voice shaking, tears slipping down your cheeks, but you didn’t wipe them away. “I kept telling myself you were doing it because you loved me. I swallowed every truth right in front of me, thinking it was for my sake. But everyone was right.”

Your lips quivered as you exhaled shakily.

“You’ve been manipulating me. You’ve been making me blind to everything you’ve done.”

Jungkook’s fingers curled into his palms, his nails digging into his skin.

His jaw clenched. His breathing slowed.

“And you know what?” You let out a bitter laugh, eyes glassy. “You are right. This is my fault. Because I let you do it. I let all of this happen.” Your voice cracked, but you kept going, pushing the knife in deeper. “I loved you. I fell so fucking deep that I couldn’t even pull myself back up.”

That’s when he noticed—

You were packing.

You weren’t just throwing words at him, trying to wound him.

You were leaving.

You grabbed your phone, your wallet, a small pouch, only the essentials. Because you weren’t planning to come back.

The thought made his vision blur with rage.

Something inside him snapped.

His breathing turned eerily calm. The thick mask he had been wearing, the patient, loving, understanding Jungkook you thought you knew, shattered in an instant.

"You think you can just leave like that?"

His voice was soft, almost tender. But it sent ice down your spine.

You froze, fingers gripping your bag. When your gaze met his, your whole body tensed.

He took a slow step forward. Then another. But he stopped midway, slipping his hands into his pockets like he had all the time in the world.

"After everything I’ve done for us—" his lips curled into something twisted, "you think I’m going to let you walk away that easily?"

He let out a quiet chuckle. Low. Cold.

Your breath hitched.

And then he saw it—

The way your eyes darted to the door. The way you shifted ever so slightly, like you were ready to bolt.

He tilted his head, gaze darkening.

"Why are you stepping back?" His voice dropped even lower. "Are you scared?"

You didn’t answer.

His smirk widened, his steps slow and deliberate as he closed in on you.

He backed you into the wall, trapping you in place.

"Because you should be."

Jungkook's grip on reality was slipping, but he didn’t care.

He loved you.

Loved you so much that if keeping you meant becoming the villain in your story, then so be it. If he had to be the bad guy to make you stay, he’d do it without hesitation.

His lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk.

“Is this what your friends planted in your head?” His voice was calm, too calm. Each word rolled off his tongue deliberately, like he was savoring them. “They’ll say anything, won’t they? Whisper the nastiest things to break us apart because they don’t understand. They don’t matter in this relationship.”

He took a slow step backward.

"That’s why I didn’t want you around them in the first place.” His tone was gentle, almost affectionate, but the weight of his words was suffocating. “The more time you spend with them, the more they poison your thoughts. Filling that pretty little head of yours with lies.”

Jungkook sighed, shaking his head like he was disappointed.

“But you just had to be stubborn. Kept pushing my buttons. And now look where we are.”

His gaze flickered down to your parted lips, to the way your throat bobbed as you swallowed hard. He move closer to you once again and leaned in just enough to catch the way your pupils dilated.

His smirk widened.

“So yes,” he whispered, voice dripping with satisfaction. “This is your fault.”

You flinched.

He saw the way your body trembled, the way your fingers curled into your palms like you were trying to steady yourself. But what made him really grin, what sent a shiver of satisfaction down his spine, was the quick, fleeting glance you threw at the door.

You were considering running.

How cute.

A quiet chuckle left his lips as he watched you inch back, your breathing shallow, your mind scrambling for an escape.

Too bad.

You weren’t going anywhere.

Jungkook tilted his head, watching you with something between amusement and disbelief.

“I can’t believe you’re still thinking of leaving when you have nowhere else to go.” His voice was light, almost teasing, as if the idea of you escaping was a joke.

Then, without warning, he ripped the phone from your hand and tossed it across the room. The sharp crack echoed as it shattered against the floor.

Your breath hitched. “Jungkook, please. You’re scaring me.”

But he wasn’t listening.

He grabbed your laptop from the coffee table, eyes dark with something unhinged, and in one swift motion, hurled it against the wall. The device split in two on impact.

You screamed.

Your breath hitched as you stared at the shattered remnants of your phone and laptop. The metallic clatter of destruction echoed in the room, but it was the eerie silence that followed that made your blood run cold. You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. The only sound was the erratic pounding of your heart.

Jungkook exhaled slowly, his eyes locked onto yours with a satisfaction that made your stomach twist. 

It was done.

There was no turning back now.

His fingers twitched at his sides before he took a step forward, closing the distance between you two. You flinched, instinctively stepping back until your legs hit the edge of the bed.

“You don’t need them anymore,” Jungkook murmured, voice dangerously soft. “I’m all you need.”

You shook your head, your voice barely a whisper. “Y-you… you didn’t have to do that.”

He tilted his head, watching you, drinking in your helplessness like it was a drug. “I did,” he said simply as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Now, there’s nothing left to come between us.”

You wanted to scream, to fight, but the weight of his words pressed down on you like an immovable force. There was no way out. No reaching for help. He had stripped you of everything, piece by piece until all that remained was him.

Jungkook reached out, his fingers grazing your cheek, a mockery of affection in the way he cradled your face. “You’re mine,” he whispered, the words sinking deep into your skin, your bones. His grip tightened just enough to make your breath hitch. “Say it.”

You trembled, lips parting, but no words came. A flicker of something dark passed through his eyes before he crushed his mouth against yours.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft. It was raw and possessive, his lips crashing against yours with bruising force. You struggled, hands pushing against his chest, but he was stronger.

“J-Jungkook, no—”

“You’re mine, Y/N.” His breath was hot against your lips, his grip unrelenting. “You’re fucking mine, and no one will ever have you but me.”

His mouth trailed down to your neck, teeth grazing over your skin before he sucked harshly, marking you like a brand.

You fought. You squirmed. But he didn’t care.

Because in that moment, the last of his carefully crafted mask shattered.

This was him. The real him.

And now, you finally saw it.

You had seen glimpses before, but you ignored them, forced yourself to believe they were nothing. That he was nothing more than a man who loved too much.

You were wrong.

You had unknowingly created a monster. A monster that could no longer be controlled.

And now, it was too late.

Because every path that once led to freedom was gone, every exit sealed shut.

And you were trapped.

Trapped in the darkness with him.

As he pulled away, he wiped a stray tear from your face, his smile almost gentle. “That’s my good girl.”

The finality in his voice made your stomach drop. There was no escaping him.

Not now. Not ever.

-end-

I hope you enjoy this fic as much as I enjoy writing it! This was supposed to be a one-shot, but when I started writing, it turned into a two-shot lmao. And just when I was about to finish it, I thought about making it a three-shot, but then I realized it wasn't really necessary hahaha

If you have any comments or suggestions to help improve my writing, please don't hesitate to let me know. Thank you!

taglist: @llallaaa @strawberryberrygirl @taekritimin123 @minimoninini @lachimolalajeon @jincapableoflove @jenniebyrubies @sunshineishopejihyo @kooayu

[maudie-duan]

Summary: "It was everything, all at once, it was you, it was him, it was the broken girl inside you, crying to be healed, to be wanted, to be needed, to be loved, because you wanted to be loved, you wanted to be seen, you wanted someone to love you the way you deserved. You had always had so much love to give, but no one who could reciprocate, the world always taking, but never giving back."

Word Count: 11.6k

A/N: Plus-sized!reader x Trainerry based on this request <- To the Anon that requested this. I hope it's everything you wanted and more. I really had to pull at some feels for this one. Thanks you so much for this!!

Warning: Angsty self-hate with a happy ending, and a mild sweet smut scene at the end that you can skip if that's not your cup of tea. (Heavy themes centered around hatred of body-image/body shaming. All self-induced)

It wasn’t that you wanted to change yourself entirely. You just wanted to be able to look into the mirror and, for once, like what you saw. It wasn’t a size or a number you were after, you wanted the peace of mind, the relief, the weight of the stigma lifted for more than just the occasional, oh yeah, I look good kind of moments.

 Because let’s face it, we all know those moments were fleeting, but what if you could feel it for longer? What if your eyes could roam over your body, and maybe, just maybe, you could spend less time picking yourself apart. What if you could try on those jeans and this time they fit just perfectly—none of the excruciating cut of the waist digging into your belly while you sat, or the fear of not even being able to button them in the first place. 

You wanted freedom, you wanted joy, you wanted less days of the mental prison that your brain held you in every time you looked into the mirror, or binged on that food you knew you should avoid. That was what this would be, the journey you were ready to embark on—a journey to confidence, a journey to loving yourself, a journey back to you. These were the words you were filling your head with, the prep talk you had given yourself that morning as you got ready, and now that shit was laughable, you thought as you walked through the gym doors, eyes already darting around as a gust of cool air spread over your bare arms. 

This was the part you hated, the part you were dreading. It hadn’t even been two seconds and you were already tugging at the hem of your oversized tee, your gaze scanning over bodies in motion, most fit as fuck, some laughing and moving about, some focused forward in the zone, their eye on a prize that felt out of your reach, bending and flexing with an effortless ease you couldn’t even wrap your mind around, let alone even conceive the amount of energy you knew went into making each rep look like a walk in the park.

And now you felt crazy, because you were signing yourself up willingly, putting yourself out there for what? To fail? To be judged?

Was this really what you wanted? Did you really hate yourself this much? Was this even considered hate, or was this self-love? Because suddenly, the line was becoming blurred, and here you stood, waiting by the front desk on full display, following the instructions given via email, because you were too weirded out to set up everything in person. Hell, you didn’t even know where the bathroom was. It wasn’t like you could disappear until you were ready.

So maybe you couldn’t run and hide, but you could hide behind your phone, and wait for your trainer, god, what was his name again? Henry? Harris? Fuck, how could you be blanking, and as you took to searching for your welcome email, a deep voice sounded through your frantic thoughts:

“Hey there! ” a cheerful voice called out.

That’s when you turned to see a tall figure approaching you, his bright smile lighting up the room as he ran a hand through his tousled dark hair, green eyes reflecting the light, and holy shit, that physique, that body screamed fitness. And as you peered over your shoulder to see if he was signaling for someone else, your heart skipped a beat, cheeks flushing, because there was no way in hell this dude was going to be your trainer.

“Oh… were you talking to me?” you stammered, trying to maintain eye contact but failing miserably, hands already fidgeting with the him of your shirt.

“Yes, you have a training session at 9, correct?” he asked, extending his hand. His grip was firm yet gentle, and you felt a jolt of electricity the second your hands collided. “I’m Harry, it’s really nice to meet you. I can’t wait to help you on this journey.”

“Thanks,” you replied, trying not to drool over his British accent as your voice came out small. Your palms were sweaty, and you quickly wiped them on your pants, hoping he didn’t notice.

“So, what are your fitness goals?” Harry asked, his tone encouraging and friendly, and just by the way he was making eye contact, you could tell that he was genuinely curious, like it wasn’t just his job to know.

For a second, you hesitated, your mind racing. You had so many thoughts swirling around this very question. What was it that you wanted again? To lose weight? Feel healthier? Gain some kind of confidence? But the words felt stuck in your throat, your mind going blank as you said, “Um, I just want to… you know, get in shape and feel better about myself,” you finally managed to say, your voice trembling slightly.

Harry nodded, his expression holding a warmth you weren’t expecting, maybe an understanding, like he knew exactly what you meant to say, a sort of grace given that sent a flutter to the pit of your stomach.“That’s a great start! Remember, it’s all about progress, not perfection. I’d love to work together to set some goals that suit you and your lifestyle. I’m all about sustainability for the long-term, not the instantaneous results that rarely last long.”

And even though his words sent a flicker of hope through you. You could feel the self-doubt trying to creep back in. “I’m not really sure about all this,” you admitted, eyes moving around the room. “I’ve never been good at working out, and honestly, this place isn’t really my vibe. Like a place I feel like I belong... I guess.”

Yet as you said the words, Harry’s smile never wavered. “I get it. Change is always a little uncomfy at first, but you know everyone starts somewhere. The important thing is that you’re here, ready to take that first step, and as cheesy as it sounds, I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

For a moment, you looked at him, holding his gaze, and that’s when the nervousness seemed to fade. There was something about his confidence and the kindness he exuded that was infectious, and you felt a small spark of determination ignite within you. “Okay…” You breathed.

“I’ll try my best, but I can’t promise you anything,” you told him with a small smile, feeling a bit more resolute, like yeah, maybe you could actually do this, like there was hope for the self-loathing bitch within you, because fuck her, she couldn’t have it all, you deserved a little light, some time away from the shadows of your self that kept stealing tiny moments of joy you could never get back. 

At some point, you had to live, right?

“That’s the spirit!” Harry answered, his enthusiasm making your smile grow despite the lingering insecurities. “Shall we get started?”

And as he led you deeper into the gym, you couldn’t shake that feeling of awe, that mix of anxiety threatening the surface. You were about to do it, finally take that leap, about to be trained by this gorgeous guy, and while the thought made your heart race for maybe all the wrong reasons, you also felt a sense of possibility, like maybe, just maybe, this could be the beginning of something great, something to make you feel alive again. 

But it’s crazy how quickly excitement can fade.

The first week was pure torture, and the second week was no better. You wanted to quit, but you didn’t know what you wanted.

That was the problem, wasn’t it? You had walked through those gym doors with all these grand ideas about transformation, about becoming someone new, but now, three weeks in, you were just as sweaty, still a breathless mess who couldn’t even do a proper squat without Harry having to adjust your form for the millionth time. 

And god, those hands, always professional without a doubt, but there was something about the way they would ghost over your shoulders, the way they corrected your posture, or lightly pressed against your lower back to guide you, that had your skin burning from everything but the workout.

“Let’s try something different,” Harry said, and you could hear that patient tone, the one that never made you feel like the failure you knew you were. 

He grabbed a bench, positioning it behind you. “…Seated squats. They’re gentler on the knees, and the bonus is they’ll help you build the strength for the full movement.”

Your first instinct was to prove yourself, to convince him you were able to do a full fucking squat like every other person in this gym, but somehow the words died in your throat when you caught sight of yourself in the mirror—red-faced, sweat pooling in places you didn’t want to think about, your oversized shirt clinging to rolls you had been spending years trying to hide, and lets not even get started on your arms, fucking hell, your arms felt like they were made of jello, wobbling with each movement. Not to mention your thighs had already been chafing with every step, that familiar burn a reminder of exactly why you had been avoiding this place for years.

It was torture, pure fucking torture, but you sat anyway.

“Hey,” Harry called out, pulling you from your thoughts, and suddenly he was in front of you, those green eyes level with yours as he crouched down. “Where’d you go just then?”

“Nowhere… I’m fine,” you lied, because what were you supposed to say? That you were having a mental breakdown over a squat? That you could feel every pair of eyes in the gym judging the “chubby girl” who couldn’t even do basic exercises?

But Harry just nodded, like he knew exactly what you weren’t saying. “Right then, seated squats it is. And after that, we’ll work on some upper body stuff. Sound good?”—The thing about Harry was that he never seemed to push when you shut down. His superpower was to redirect, adapt, and move on to something else, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. 

Never an ounce of judgment.

You had noticed other things too, in these first three weeks—like how sometimes he shifted his weight to his left side during demonstrations, or how he would choose specific exercises over others without explanation. Once, when he was showing you how to do lunges, he distinctly favored his right leg, the change so evident that you almost asked about it, but something in his expression had stopped you.

One day, near the end of week three, the gym’s usual crowd of fitness models decided to make their appearance. You had recognized them by now, you know the type, the group of women who looked like they just stepped out of a Lululemon catalog, all tight abs and perfect ponytails, not a jiggle in sight. They were hard to miss, and even more apparent the way they gravitated toward Harry like moths to a flame, and why wouldn’t they? He was gorgeous, British, and had the kind of body that made you wonder what he looked like without a single scrap of clothing.

And these were the kind of thoughts that you had to shake from your head, because you didn’t want to go there.

Not when he was that close.

“Harry!” one of them shouted, her outfit like a latex glove, leaving little to the imagination as she bounded over. “Could you check my form on these hip thrusts?”

And fuck, you would have laughed if you weren’t trying to make yourself invisible, focusing on your water bottle like it held the secrets of the universe, but you couldn’t help watch them from the corner of your eye. Harry glanced at his watch and then back at the woman.

“Sorry, Melissa, I’m with a client right now,” he said, and was it your imagination or did he step slightly closer to you? “Maybe check with Tom at the front desk about booking a session.”

That was when the woman’s eyes flicked to you, and you could practically feel the onset of her assessment, knew the exact look she was giving, that up-and-down glance that was cataloguing every flaw, every roll, every reason you didn’t belong here. But Harry had already turned back to you, already demonstrating the next exercise like the interaction hadn’t even happened.

“Right, so for this one, you’ll want to keep your core engaged to protect your low back,” he was saying, but all you could think about was how he had just dismissed her, how he had chosen to stay focused on you when he could have just as easily given her five minutes of attention, and you chalked it up to professionalism without a second thought. He was getting paid to train you, after all.

This was his job.

But then why did your stupid heart skip when he smiled at you after you completed your set?

Week four started like any other, except it felt harder as you dragged yourself through the gym doors, already anticipating the torture ahead. You felt like shit... not good at all, more like death had warmed over you. Even though your body was starting to recognize the routine, your brain was still screaming at you to run every time you saw the weight rack.

“Morning!” Harry called out, and damn him for always being so cheerful at 9 in the morning. “How’re you feeling? Any soreness from last session?”

“Just my entire body,” you groaned, but there was less bite to it than before. “Who knew your ass muscles could be this sore.”

He laughed, that genuine sound that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Well, that means you’re doing it right, and that’s a win, ay? Today we’re going to work on some balance exercises, really activate those stabilizer muscles.”

You were halfway through a set of single-leg stands, wobbling like a baby giraffe and cursing Harry’s name in your mind when it happened. It was quick, you losing your balance—again—and you stumbled backward, your elbow connecting with Harry’s leg as he moved to steady you, and out of nowhere, he made a sharp, pained, involuntary sound that made your blood run cold.

“Oh my god, I’m so, so sorry!” and when you whirled around, he was gripping his knee, face tight with a pain that looked too familiar to be from your clumsy elbow. “Harry, I—”

“It’s fine,” he said quickly, but his voice was strained, and he was still holding his knee like it might shatter if he let go. “Just an old injury acting up. Nothing to do with you. I promise…”

But you had seen that kind of pain before, in your own mirror when your body would decide to remind you of all the ways it had been pushed too far. “Sit down,” you tell him, taking charge of the situation, surprising even yourself in the process. “Seriously, sit.”

For a second, he looked like he might protest, but something in your expression must have convinced him because he lowered himself onto the nearest bench, still favoring that right knee. The gym suddenly felt too quiet, too exposed, and without thinking, you positioned yourself between him and the rest of the room, like you could shield him from all the curious glances.

“It’s an old football injury,” he said finally, the words coming out reluctant, like he was still trying to hold them back. “Soccer… I mean—sorry, I know you Americans call it soccer. Tore my ACL completely about six years ago. Had surgery, did all the physio, but...” He shrugged, a gesture that looked too casual for the weight of what he was sharing. “Sometimes bodies don’t heal the way they’re supposed to.”

Startled by his words, you stared at him, this perfect-looking trainer with his perfect-looking body, and it was like something shifted inside your chest. “But you’re... you’re a trainer. I always pictured you all so—”

“Perfect?” He finished, looking up at you with a wry smile. “Yeah… that’s what everyone thinks. But the truth is, I can’t even run anymore. Can barely kick a ball without my knee giving out. Gosh, some days I wake up and have to spend like twenty minutes just trying to convince my knee to work properly.”

The words seemed to linger, weighted with an openness you hadn’t expected. Here was Harry, this beautiful, confident man, admitting to being broken, and somehow it finally made him real in a way that his encouraging words, or the professional distance he kept, never had, and that seemed to scare you.

“Is that why you became a trainer?” you asked, settling onto the bench beside him, your workout forgotten. “Because of the injury?”

He nodded, absently rubbing his knee. “Yeah… I guess in a way…I couldn’t play anymore, but I couldn’t stay away from fitness entirely… it was kind of my life, so I started learning about adaptive training, about working with bodies that don’t fit the typical mold. Turns out I’m better at helping people find their own path than I ever was at following mine.”

In that moment you wanted to say something, wanted to match the encouragement of his words, but all that came out was, “Well, that feels really fucking unfair.”

He laughed, surprised, but sincere. “Yeah, it really fucking is.”

And just like that, something changed. That professional distance he had been maintaining cracked just a little, and you saw him, not Harry the trainer, but Harry the person, a man who had his dreams ripped from under his feet, but still learned how to build new ones from the scraps.

“I should probably tell you,” he said, his voice lighter now, “this is why I modify so many exercises. It’s not just for you—half of them I can’t do the ‘proper’ way anymore. Those seated squats? I do them on my bad days, oh, and those knee-friendly lunges? Learned those during my physio.”

And fuck, there it was beating at your insides, that crush, that you had been desperately trying to ignore, suddenly felt less like a schoolgirl fantasy and more like... god dare you say it… Something else. Something deeper. Because now, when you looked at him, you didn’t just see the attractive trainer who was nice to the “fat girl”. You saw someone who maybe understood you more than you knew, who probably knew your body better, knew all the ways it betrayed you, the frustration of every limitation, and the slow, painful process of finding acceptance.

“Thank you,” you breathed, really wanting him to know you meant it. “For telling me.”

He stood to his feet then, eyes sweeping over your face, before offering you a hand up. “Come on, let’s finish your session. But maybe we’ll skip the jumping jacks today, yeah? My knee’s not the only one that needs babying.”

After that day, everything shifted, not just in your mind. Harry, of course, still maintained his professionalism, but there was a warmth now, an understanding that hadn’t existed before. Your workouts became less about pushing through pain and more about finding what worked for your body—and his.

“See, the thing about traditional training,” he explained during week five, while demonstrating a modified plank that didn’t make your wrists scream, “is that it assumes everyone’s working with the same equipment. But we’re not, are we? You’ve got your challenges, I’ve got mine… but the trick is finding what works for us.”

Us… 

And, damn it was such a small word, but boy did it seem to carry weight.

That’s when you started noticing more things, like how he would ice his knee between clients, or how he would shift positions during longer demonstrations, or how his jaw would tighten on particularly bad days. But you also noticed how he never let it stop him, how he moved through it, and adapted his entire life around this limitation without a trace of self-pity.

So why couldn’t you?

“After my surgery,” he told you one day while you struggled through a stupid resistance band exercise, “I spent months being angry. Angry at my body, at the universe… I guess at everyone… everyone who could still do what I couldn’t. It took me a long time to realize that anger was just fear wearing a different face.”

“Fear of what?” you asked, breathless from exertion but curious nonetheless.

“Fear that I’d never be enough again. That, without soccer, without that, I guess that identity, I was just... nothing.” He told you, adjusting your form gently, his hands warm through your shirt. “Sound familiar?”

He had you there; it was all too familiar. Because wasn’t that exactly what you felt every time you looked in the mirror? That without the body you thought you should have, you were somehow less than? And the parallel hit you like a ton of bricks, because was this not him basically telling you that he understood, that he had been where you were, just in a different way—that maybe not all trauma was the same, but it still hurt, even when the two weren’t comparable.

“So what changed?” you asked during a water break, after you finally digested the realization, watching him absently massage his knee.

“Perspective,” he said simply. “Started focusing on what my body could do instead of what it couldn’t. Yeah, I can’t play soccer anymore, but I can help people like you find their strength. That’s not nothing, is it?”

People like you… And maybe the phrase should have stung, but the way he said it, with such an honest warmth, made it feel more like a compliment.

“You know what I love about training you?” he asked suddenly, and your heart did a stupid flutter in your chest. “You’re honest. You don’t pretend like it’s easy or fun. You show up even when you hate it. Do you know how rare that is?”

This makes you laugh, wiping sweat from your face with a towel. “Yeah, I’m a real inspiration... The girl who nearly cried doing wall sits yesterday.”

“Maybe… but you still finished them, though,” he pointed out. “That’s what matters. Not how pretty it looks or how easy it is. Just that you don’t give up.”

With perfect timing, the gym hotties made another appearance, a new group this time, but technically the same, all giggling and hair-tossing as they tried to catch Harry’s attention. One of them even “accidentally” dropped her water bottle right by where he was spotting your chest press, and for a second you held your breath, waiting for him to look, to give them the attention they were so desperate for, but he just kicked the bottle gently out of the way and kept his focus on you.

“That’s it, three more,” he encouraged, and maybe it was your imagination, but his voice seemed a little louder than necessary, like he was making a point. “You’ve got this.”

Later, as you were packing up your things, you overheard one of them complaining to her friend: 

“He’s always with that girl. Like, what’s the deal? Is she paying him extra or something?”

It was one of those times you wished you could roll it off, but the words pricked at your skin, and before you could spiral into self-loathing, Harry appeared at your elbow. “Ready for the cool-down stretches?” he asked, and his hand touched your lower back, guiding you away from the women who were still whispering their gossip. 

“I’ve got a new routine I want to try—it’s specifically designed for people with knee issues, but I think it’ll help with your hip flexibility too.”

People with knee issues. 

Like him, like you, like your fucking body that creaked and fought you at every turn, but now what was once a negative connotation had shifted, had become a positive acknowledgment, a thing you both shared. All the modified movements, the limitations, yes, they were real, but gone was the judgment, and the monster you could make of them.

By week six, you had developed a routine. You still hated mornings, still wanted to die during cardio, but there was something else now, a sense of anticipation. Not for the workout itself, god no, but for the hour you got to spend with Harry. 

A growing anticipation for the way he would light up when you managed something you couldn’t do the week before. All the terrible jokes he would tell to distract you during the dreadful planks. The way he would casually touch your arm or back—always appropriate, always professional, but still, there was something that made your skin tingle, a curious wonder that had your mind reeling.

“You’re getting stronger,” he told you one morning, watching as you completed a set of squats—real ones this time, not the shitty seated ones. “Can you feel it?”

And honestly, you could. Not just in your muscles, but in the way you carried yourself. You still had times when you tugged at your shirt, still felt your thighs rub together, but it was different now. Maybe less shameful, more just... fact. Your body was what it was, but it was capable of more than you thought.

“My knee’s been acting up this week,” Harry had admitted during a demonstration of a new exercise. Mentally, you had already noticed that it was less fluid than usual, but you didn’t say anything. 

He cleared his throat, trying to hide the wince of pain, “Probably the weather change. But look—” Then, he showed you how to modify the movement, turning what should have been a jumping exercise into a step-touch pattern. “Same muscle activation, less impact. All of this to say we work with what we’ve got, yeah?”

We…

And there was something in the way he said it, like he was trying to bind you both together through all the tiny imperfections. That’s when you found yourself, starting to stay a few minutes after your sessions, helping him reset equipment or just chatting while he iced his knee. It was during one of these moments that he opened up a little more about his injury.

“The thing is… the pain wasn’t even the worst part…” he said, pressing a bag of ice into his finicky knee. “It was watching my mates continue on without me. I mean, of course, they would visit the hospital, tell me about matches, and I was grateful… really I was… and I would smile and nod, hit all my marks… but the truth was I was dying inside… Took me years to be able to watch soccer again without feeling bitter.”

“Do you still feel bitter?” you asked, organizing dumbbells to avoid looking at him directly.

“Sometimes,” he confessed. “On bad days, when my knee won’t cooperate and I see people running without thinking twice about it... Yeah, it stings. But then I remember that without this—” he gestured to his knee, “—I’d never have become a trainer. Never have met the people I’ve helped. Never have...” He paused, and when you looked up, he was staring at you with an expression you couldn’t quite read. “…Never have met you...”

You couldn’t help the heat creeping up your neck, your face burning with it, and like an idiot, you fumbled the dumbbell you were holding, completely giving yourself away. “I’m sure you say that to all your clients,” you muttered, trying to keep your voice from wobbling, but he shook his head.

“No,” he said simply. “I don’t.”

And as his words settled, the world around you seemed to pivot, the air now filling your lungs, charged with something that felt dangerously close to desire, but then someone dropped a weight plate across the gym with a thunderous clang, and the spell was broken, but you held onto that moment for as long as you could, because you felt it, felt the need beginning to ache in your bones.

But the one question that would always remain was:

Could he ever want a girl like me?

Week seven was when you nearly quit. It had been a bad week all around—work stress, family drama, and your fucking period decided to show up with a vengeance. You had barely slept, your body hurt in ways that had nothing to do with exercise, and the last thing you wanted was to squeeze into workout clothes and pretend like everything was fine, when it wasn’t.

“I’m sorry… But I don’t think I can do this today,” you told Harry the moment you walked in, not even bothering with a greeting. “I just... I can’t.” And there was shame in the way the words came out, like maybe this was your true self after all, and the rest was just an act.

He took one look at you, like, really looked at you. Not the quick bullshit assessment most people did, and nodded. “Okay. Tell me what you need?”

And his words nearly blindsided you. It wasn’t the “you have to push through” or “you’ll feel better after.” It was just a simple acceptance of where you were at, and you stood there trying to gather your words, feeling the burn at the back of your throat. 

“I don’t know,” you forced, feeling tears prick at your eyes. “I’m honestly so exhausted and everything hurts, and I looked in the mirror this morning… I don’t know… it’s just been a shitty week, and I’m just not sure what the point is anymore, and—”

“Hey,” he gently interrupts, steering you toward a quieter corner of the gym. “Breathe for me, yeah? Just breathe.”

And you did, gulping in air like you were drowning, and maybe it was his hand on your low back, but gradually the panic receded just enough for embarrassment to creep in. “Sorry. I’m being dramatic.”

“You’re just being human,” he corrected. “We all have these days. Hell, I had one last week—woke up and my knee was so stiff I could barely make it down the stairs. Wanted to throw things, and cry, and give up. You know what I did instead?”

“What?”

“Called in sick and spent the day on the couch watching terrible reality TV and eating biscuits.” Your brows shot up, and he grinned. “What? You thought I was going to say I powered through with positive thinking? Fuck that. Sometimes you need to just feel what you’re feeling.”

You felt overwhelmed. His answer was so unexpected, so honest, that you found yourself laughing despite the tears. “So what should I do?” You asked, wiping at your eyes.

“Today? If you want to stay, we can modify everything. Gentle movement only, nothing that makes you want to die. We can do some stretching, maybe some light resistance work if you’re up for it. And if at any point you need to stop, we stop. No judgment, no pushing. Just listening to what your body needs.”

And thank the heavens up above, because it was by far the easiest session you had ever had, physically speaking. But emotionally? God, emotionally, it was everything. Harry had adapted every single movement to match your energy level, never once making you feel weak or pathetic for needing the modifications. Everything was intuitive, even when the gym hotties walked by and gave you pitying looks, he shifted positions to block their view, talking louder about muscle groups to draw your attention away.

“You showed up,” he said at the end, as you were doing your final stretches. “On a day when everything in you said to stay home, you showed up. That’s a huge win.”

“It feels like nothing,” you muttered, but he shook his head.

“Six weeks ago, would you have come in feeling like this?”

And as you gazed into his green eyes, you thought about it. Six weeks ago, you would have used any excuse to avoid the gym. “No… I would have stayed home.”

“Then that’s progress. Not all progress looks like smaller jeans or bigger muscles. Sometimes it looks like showing up when you don’t want to.” His hand rested on your shoulder, warm and steady. “I’m proud of you.”

His words seemed to hit you harder than any physical exercise could ever touch the surface. When was the last time someone had said that to you? When was the last time you had given someone a reason to?

By week eight, something fundamental inside you had changed. Not just in your body, though you had to admit, you were feeling stronger, more capable, but in how you existed in your skin. You still had all the same insecurities, all the same soft places and jiggly bits, but they felt less like failures now and more like... just parts of you.

Which is why, when you got dressed that morning, you reached for the new workout outfit you had bought on impulse—fitted leggings and a tank top—there would be no hiding behind excess fabric, not today. Of course, your reflection still showed everything you usually hated—the belly that refused to lie flat, the arms that continued their gentle wobble, the thighs that would always touch. But for once, you didn’t want to reach for the oversized shirt.

“Fuck it,” you told your reflection. “Let’s see what happens.”

And what happened was Harry nearly dropped his water bottle when you walked in.

“You look—” He caught himself, his professionalism snapping back into place like a rubber band. “That’s a great color on you… It really brightens up your complexion.”

And try all he wanted, but you had seen that first reaction, the way his eyes had widened, tracked over your curves before he could even remember himself. It sent a thrill through you, gave you a sense of power that had you on cloud nine.

“Thanks,” you said, trying to sound casual even as your heart hammered. “Figured I would switch things up a bit…”

“Yeah… It’s a nice change for sure,” he said quietly, and there was something in his voice that made you look at him. I mean, really take in his expression, because it said it all. “Just... for what it’s worth, you should wear whatever makes you comfortable. But this—” He gestured vaguely, carefully not looking directly at your body. “This confidence suits you.”

He had you soaring, and the workout that followed ignited a new kind of tension growing between you. Harry had always been hands-on with corrections, but now each touch felt loaded with a new possibility. When he adjusted your hip position during bridges, his fingers seemed to linger a beat too long, and fuck, when he spotted your chest press, he stood closer than strictly necessary. And when he demonstrated proper form for a new exercise, you caught him glancing at you in the mirror, checking if you were watching.

You were. You always were.

“You know,” he said during a water break, his own face flushed from a particularly intense movement, “I’ve been training people for five years, and I’ve never seen someone transform the way you have.”

“I haven’t really transformed, though,” you told him, gesturing at yourself. “I mean, I’m maybe a size smaller? If that?”

“That’s not what I mean.” Then he sat on the bench beside you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his skin. “When you first walked in, you looked like you wanted to disappear. Moved like you were apologizing for taking up space. Now look at you—wearing what you want, taking up all the space you need, moving like you have a right to be here. Because you do.”

The sincerity in his voice made your throat tight. “It’s because of you,” you said quietly. “The way you teach, the way you... see me. Not as a project to fix, but as a person. Like I don’t have to fit into the mold I thought I did.”

“Fuck the mold. It’s boring,” he said, and his hand covered yours on the bench, just for a second. “Lifes too short to try and keep up with all the bullshit.”

That was when the gym hotties chose that moment to make their appearance, a trio of them this time, chest high, all sports bras a size too small, stretched across their fucking boobs with an obvious intention. You watched as the tallest one made a beeline for Harry, her trajectory as clear as a heat-seeking missile.

“Harry! I was hoping you could show me that lunge from the other day during our session… it seems to have totally slipped my mind.”

“I’m with a client, Bridgette,” Harry said, not even looking at her. His hand had left yours, but he shifted closer, his knee touching yours. “Like I tell the others, you can book a session at the front desk if you need personal instruction.”

Bridgette’s eyes flicked between you and Harry, taking in the minimal space between you, the way Harry’s body was angled toward yours like a plant seeking sun. “Right. Sure. I’ll do that.”

And just as she was about to turn to leave, she says, “Oh… and it’s Courtney, by the way…” then she stalks off, and you couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. 

“You know, I think they’re all convinced I’m either paying you extra or sleeping with you.”

Harry’s amused expression fell. “Have they been saying things to you?”

“No… no more than I expected,” you confessed. “You know how it is.. heaven forbid the chubby girl get any personal attention from the hot trainer? It’s probably not realistic in their world… and I guess in mine either… but of course, they’re going to talk.”

“You’re not—” He stopped, jaw clenched, and when he continued, his voice held a careful control. “First of all, I don’t think your chubby… if that’s what you want to call it… so fuck them. Second, you’re not just nothing. You’re a client who works harder than anyone else in this gym, who shows up even when it’s hard, who—” He cut himself off again, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “And I’m not just giving you attention because... Christ, I’m making this worse.”

“Because what?” you urged, heart racing.

He looked at you then, and for a moment, you saw past the professional mask he was trying to hold, to something real and wanting underneath. “Because it’s my job,” he said finally, but the words sounded hollow. “Come on, let’s finish your session.”

The rest of the workout passed in tense silence, both of you overly aware of every accidental touch, every shared glance in the mirror. When he helped you stretch at the end, his hands on your calf as you lay on the mat, the tension was almost unbearable, and you bit the inside of your cheek to keep yourself grounded.

“Same time Thursday?” he asked when you were gathering your things, and there was something helpless in his expression, like maybe he was afraid you might say no.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Same time Thursday.”

As you left, you caught sight of yourself in the mirror by the exit, flushed and sweaty, curves on full display in your fitted outfit, looking like someone who belonged here. Not because your body had dramatically changed, but because maybe you were actually starting to believe you had a right to exist in places like this, exist in your own skin, like maybe it could be okay.

And just as your eyes were about to move forward, you caught sight of Harry watching you go, and the look on his face...

Yeah. You were definitely in trouble.

But for once, you didn’t want to run from it. You wanted to see where this path could take you, just as you were.

When week nine rolled around, you were back on track, your mind totally on board, and everything was going great. Even you were amazed by yourself, the way you were hitting every mark. Harry still kept a professional distance, but it wasn’t taking from the attraction you felt, now a low hum over your skin, signalling an obvious draw to him, that sent a pulse between your thighs every time his hands touched your body.

It was becoming a problem, actually. The way your body responded to him now—not just the flutter in the pit of your stomach, but it had turned into a full-body awareness every time he was near. When he corrected your form, his fingers grazing your hip or pressing against your back, you had to bite back sounds that had nothing to do with exertion. And you were pretty sure he knew it, too, from the way his jaw would tighten, the way he would step back a little quicker than necessary, like he needed the distance just as much as you.

One day, you were in the middle of box step-ups, feeling strong, feeling capable, feeling like maybe you were actually becoming the person you had wanted to be when you first walked through those doors. The fitted workout clothes were your new normal, and while your body hadn’t dramatically changed, the way you moved in it had. Confident. Taking up space. Belonging.

Because like Harry said “Fuck them all.” 

“That’s it, drive through your heel,” Harry encouraged, and god, his voice when he got all instructor-mode did things to you. “Really activate those glutes.”

You were focused, you were in the zone, you were—

And then your fucking ankle rolled.

One second you were stepping down, controlled and strong, and the next you were falling, your right ankle giving way beneath you with a sickening pop that you felt more than heard. The sound that tore from your throat was raw, primal, and suddenly, you were on the ground, hands clutching at your ankle as pain shot through it like lightning.

“Fuck!” The word came out high and sharp as a sob ripped from your throat, and then Harry was there, dropping to his knees beside you, his professional calm never wavering even as his hands hovered over you, not quite touching.

“Don’t move,” he demanded, his accent thicker with urgency. “Let me see—can you wiggle your toes?”

You tried, gasping at the pain that radiated up your leg. Around you, the gym had gone quiet, and you could feel every pair of eyes turning your way. The fat girl has fallen, was all you could think, because, of course, she had. Everyone was probably thinking you couldn’t handle the exercise, probably pushed too hard, probably—

“Hey, look at me,” Harry whispered, cutting through your thoughts. His hand cupped your face, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Just me, yeah? No one else matters right now.”

But they did matter. You could hear the whispers, feel the stares, and like another betrayal, the tears of frustration burned at your eyes, already threatening to spill over. Not just from the pain—though fuck, it hurt—but from the humiliation of it all. Nine weeks of progress, nine weeks of building yourself up, and here you were, crumpled on the gym floor like every stereotype you had been fighting against.

The stares felt like the harsh truth of ‘I told you so,’ feeding that inner monologue you had been trying to suppress.

“I need to check if it’s broken,” Harry said, his hands gentle as they ghosted over your ankle. You hissed at even the lightest touch, and he pulled back immediately. “Right, we’re going to the hospital. Can you stand at all?”

“I don’t—I can’t—” The tears came then, hot and angry. “Everyone’s watching.”

“Fuck them,” Harry said fiercely, and the sharpness startled you enough to look at him. His green eyes were blazing with something protective, something furious, something lighting a fire within him. “Marcus!” he called to another trainer. “I need you to clear this area. Now.”

Then, to you, his voice softer now: “I’m going to help you up, okay? We’ll go out the back exit. Can you put your arm around my neck?”

The next few minutes were a blur of pain and movement. At that point, Harry was essentially carrying you, your weight supported against his solid frame, and for a moment, you forgot about everyone else because all you could focus on was how strong he was, how easily he held you up despite his own bad knee. When he got you to his car, he helped you into the passenger seat with a gentleness that made your chest tighten.

“I need to cancel my appointments,” he muttered, pulling out his phone as he started the car. “Sarah? Yeah, it’s Harry. Let’s go ahead and cancel the rest of my appointments for the day...”

And you listened, dazed, as he gave her instructions. “You know you don’t have to—” you started, but he cut you off with a look.

“Yes, I do. You’re hurt, and you need to get to the hospital. End of story.”

The hospital was a whirlwind of X-rays and ice packs, and doctors with cold hands. Your ankle wasn’t broken, thank goodness, but a bad sprain that would have you off your feet for at least a week, and even though the news was disheartening. There was joy in the way Harry stayed the whole time. He even held your hand during the x-ray, kept you distracted with silly stories while you waited for results, and graciously helped you fill out paperwork when your hands were shaking too much from residual adrenaline.

“You know,” you said at one point, watching him charm the nurse into bringing you an extra ice pack, “most trainers would have just called an ambulance and been done with it.”

He looked offended at the proposal. “What kind of person would I be if I did that? Besides,” his expression softened, “I needed to make sure you were okay.”

The drive to your apartment was quiet, your ankle propped up in the backseat, wrapped in an ace bandage, throbbing with every heartbeat, or sudden bump in the road. Harry had insisted on driving you home, waving off your suggestion for an Uber, and now here you were, trying not to think about how normal this all felt, him driving you home, eyes flicking to yours in the rearview mirror, every time you stared too long.

“Third floor,” you said when he pulled up to your building, and then realized what that meant. “Shit. I’m on the third floor. With no elevator.”

“We’ll manage,” Harry said, already getting out to help you.

‘Managing’ turned out to be a slow, painstaking process. Harry’s arm was around your waist, taking most of your weight, and you had never been more aware of your body—not in the usual self-conscious way, but in how it pressed against his, how his fingers splayed across your hip to hold you steady. He smelled good, inviting even. You liked this proximity, enjoyed the feel of the muscles in his shoulders working as he nearly carried you up each step.

Halfway up the second flight, his knee buckled slightly, and you both had to stop, pressed against the wall, breathing hard.

“Your knee,” you gasped, guilt flooding through you. “Harry, I’m too heavy—”

“Don’t,” he said sharply, his arm tightening around you. “Don’t do that. You’re not too anything. My knee’s just being a bastard today. We’re both a bit broken, remember? We’ll make it work.”

And you did, step by careful step, stopping when his knee was cranky, adjusting when your ankle screamed, a quiet give and take, you both seemed to be savoring, and by the time you reached your door, you were both sweating and trembling, but something about doing it together, about both of you pushing through your limitations, made it feel like a victory rather than the anguish of a struggle.

Harry helped you inside, getting you settled on the couch with your ankle elevated, and for a moment, you just looked at each other, both breathless from more than just exertion. The silence felt weighted, thick in the air, heavy with the words unspoken, and you found yourself saying, “Do you want to stay? Like hang out, I mean? I could order food or—”

“I should get back,” he said too quickly, but he looked reluctant. “I probably need to get back. Sort out the schedule for tomorrow, since I canceled on everyone today. Figure out how to rearrange things…”

That’s when reality crashed back in. Right. Of course. This was his job; you were just a client, and he had definitely already gone above and beyond. The disappointment must have shown on your face because then he quickly added, “But we’ll need to talk soon, yeah? Go over modifying your workouts for your current situation. Once you’re healed enough to come back, I mean.”

Situation…

The word like a fucking knife to your gut… “Your situation,” he said, like you were some kind of problem to be solved, a complication to work around. Just like always, too much, too difficult, too... everything, and all at once, you felt the warmth of the last few hours evaporate, leaving you exposed, foolish in the way you thought there could be more, but silly you.

“Right,” you said, your voice coming out flat. “My situation.”

Harry’s brow furrowed, clearly sensing the shift but not understanding it. “I just mean with your ankle—”

“No, I get it.” And you forced a smile that felt like plastic. “Thanks for everything today. Really. It was... above and beyond.”

He stood there for a moment, looking like he wanted to say something else. Then he reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone. “Here, let me... I don’t normally do this, but...” He seemed to be fighting with himself. “Can I give you my number? Just in case you need anything or have questions about the ankle?”

Your heart sank. He was giving you his number out of pity. Poor chubby girl who hurt herself, better make sure she doesn’t feel completely abandoned, god, it was so obvious—it was charity, wrapped up in the typical nice guy package.

“Sure,” you said, typing it into your phone with numb fingers. “Got it.”

“Text me so I have yours,” he said, and you did, sending a simple “Hi, it’s me” that felt like swallowing coals.

The awkwardness stretched between you like taffy, both of you unsure how to move the moment forward. Harry shifted his weight, favoring his good knee, clearly wanting to leave but not knowing how. “So... rest, ice, elevation. Doctor said a week minimum before trying any weight-bearing exercises. We can work with that when you’re ready.”

“Yeah, definitely.” You told him, trying to keep that plastic smile in place. “I’ll let you know.”

After he left, you sat in the growing darkness of your apartment, ankle throbbing, and did what you always did when things got too real—you retreated. But you did send him a text that night: 

Y/N: I appreciate you shifting your day around. It was really kind. I’ll reach back out when I’m ready to come back. Thanks for everything.

Professional. Distant. Safe.

And his response came quickly: 

H: Of course. Rest up and let me know if you need anything. We’ll get you back on track in no time. 

But you didn’t reach back out. Days turned into a week, then two. Your ankle had healed, but your mind had spiraled back to old patterns. Every time you thought about the gym, you remembered falling, remembered everyone staring, remembered Harry having to literally carry you because you were too much for your own body to handle. 

To your surprise, his texts came sporadically:

H: Hey, how’s the ankle?

H: Just checking in. Doctor cleared you yet?

H: We got some new equipment that I really think you’ll like. Excited to try it when you’re back.

H: Hope you’re okay. Miss having you in sessions.

That last one even made you cry, but you still didn’t respond. It was easier to ghost him than to face the humiliation of going back. Easier to order takeout and binge Netflix than to deal with the messy feelings he seemed to stir up. You had been down that road with guys like him; it never works. Always the friend but never the lover. You were stupid to think there was something there, stupid to believe you were anything more than a client he felt sorry for.

Two and a half weeks after the ankle incident, you were deep in the trenches of doubt, sucked in by yet another self-loathing pity party, when the doorbell rang, but you ignored it at first. Then it rang again, followed by a knock.

“If that’s Mrs. Gladys about the rent, it’s in the mail!” you called, not moving from your cocoon of isolation.

“It’s not Mrs. Gladys.” You froze. That accent, that voice, fuck, it was Harry at your door. 

“I know you’re in there,” he continued. “I can see the TV light under the door. And... I brought Chinese.” He spoke up again.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

You hauled yourself up, catching sight of yourself in the hall mirror, and immediately regretted it. But it was too late, he already heard you moving, and it would be worse to leave him standing there, so you opened the door just a crack, trying to hide your body behind it.

“Harry, what are you doing here?”

He looked good. Of course, he looked good, in jeans and a worn tee that clung to his chest in ways that should be illegal, especially on a Tuesday night. He was holding a massive bag of takeout in one hand, and wait… were those flowers?

“I’m sorry,” he said, and the genuine worry in his eyes made your chest tight. “I know this is weird, but I wasn’t sure what I should do. You hadn’t answered any of my texts, and I was worried about you…”

“I thought it was just protocol,” you answered, your voice tight.

He shifted, looking uncomfortable. “Well, I mean I was asking from a trainer’s point of view, yes, but I was hoping that it would come across as... I don’t know... more?”

“More? What do you mean?” You asked, cracking the door open a bit more.

“I thought when I gave you my number, you were catching the vibe that I was trying to put out...” He laughed, looking down at his feet, and the bashfulness was so startling on him that you almost forgot to breathe as a strand of hair fell loose. “What I’m saying is I thought there was a vibe between us?”

“Mmm,” was all you could manage, stunned. “A vibe?”

“Honestly, I thought you gave everyone your number?”

This made him laugh, looking back up at you with those heartwrenching green eyes, and fucking hell, those dimples. “No, trust me, I’ve learned my lesson with that one... Have you seen some of those ladies at the gym? A little persistent, yeah? Trust me, they’re not my type. I’m not interested.”

“I see...” You were mesmerized. This guy, this gorgeous, sweet, amazing guy, was standing at your door with flowers and food, talking about vibes.

“I can go, though... if this is too weird... but I’d hate to eat all this Chinese takeaway by myself,” he said, holding up the bag, and it did indeed look like enough to feed a small country, and it took everything in you not to make a fat joke, but something in his expression stopped you. 

He was nervous. Harry was nervous.

“No. Please... come in... I never pass up... what did you call it? Chinese takeaway...”

When he came in, you shut the door and immediately examined the bag. The smell was incredible, and your stomach reminded you that depression meals of cereal and toast weren’t actually sustaining.

“I do think you bought enough to feed a small army, though...”

“I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I ordered a little of everything...”

This got a laugh out of you, the first real laugh in weeks. “Well, lucky you, I like everything... You don’t get curves like these being a picky eater...”

“I see...” He said with a sexy smirk, that had you giddy as his eyes roamed your body with the same heated look you had seen that day in the gym mirror. He wasn’t hiding it now, wasn’t trying to be professional. He was just a man, looking at you like you were something to devour, pajamas and all.

“Yeah... there was definitely a vibe...” You teased, narrowing your eyes at him while taking the flowers from his hands and bringing them to your nose. They were simple, but the gesture made your heart flip.

“I’ll put these in water...” And as you moved toward the kitchen, you felt his eyes following you, suddenly aware of how small your apartment felt with him in it. 

The energy you guys had been dulling in the past was present, making itself known as it filled the space. Now you had a new hunger growing in your belly that had nothing to do with Chinese food and everything to do with the way Harry was looking at you like you were the only thing in the room worth seeing.

Fuck it you thought, and you set the flowers down in the sink for later, “I’m not usually this forward… but I’ve been dying to kiss you?” you asked pressing your back against the sink, and you said the words with an air of confidence that seemed to flee the second your eyes found his. Sending you right back to that place of self-doubt.

Harry didn’t answer, and you watched as he silently pushed himself away from the counter and closed the small space between you.

 It felt like every movement slowed, every breath hollow, as if the sight of him before you was a figment of your imagination, and you couldn’t quite bring your eyes to meet his, not yet. You just stared at his broad chest, his strong stature like stone before your gaze, unmoving except for the slow rise and fall of his breath, like maybe he was waiting for you to make the move.

But it was something about the way he stood there, that same gentle patience he had exuded all along. It was devastating, the kindness now an ache that deepened inside you, the second you pressed your palm flat to the center of his chest. 

Yet his stillness remained as you felt the warmth of his body, the beating of his heart, but you still couldn’t look, because here was the fear telling you that you couldn’t have it, that you weren’t worthy, that this wasn’t real, but god he was real, and the breath that left his body was real.

And it hurt, and you were scared, and when his hand moved to yours, pressing your palm into his chest, you felt yourself breaking. Then you braved a look, your eyes finding his, and it was like something cracked within you, a well of every insecurity you had ever had, came spilling from your chest with a gasp, as a sob rose, and it wasn’t even him that you were crying about.

It was everything, all at once, it was you, it was him, it was the broken girl inside you, crying to be healed, to be wanted, to be needed, to be loved, because you wanted to be loved, you wanted to be seen, you wanted someone to love you the way you deserved. You had always had so much love to give, but no one who could reciprocate, the world always taking, but never giving back.

Then his hand was cupping your face, his eyes on your mouth, and the second his lips pressed to yours, delicate and soft, he drew in a deep breath, like you were the air he needed to fill his lungs with, like suddenly here you were, and as your mouths begin to move, the chatter in your head began to fade away.

As the kiss deepened, hands roaming, you felt yourself letting go, slipping to a place of peace, to a place you had only ever felt with him, to those times when he had you in a room full of people, yet the world always seemed to narrow to just the two of you. This was that moment, a universe that belonged to you and Harry.

And for the first time, maybe ever in your life, you allowed yourself to just exist.

When you pulled away, your eyes met, making a silent exchange, and you grabbed his hand with a slow nod, ready to make sacred what you felt in your heart, give him the pieces that he had made whole with the kindness of his spirit. You wanted to give yourself in the only way you knew how to convey what words couldn’t say.

And when he laid you down on the bed, he was gentle, hands moving over your curves like they were the most sacred gift you could give, and maybe they were in that moment, and when he kissed your lips, you felt the passion and the need in the delicate balance of his control. It felt safe. Harry was taking his time to explore the plains of your body, no rush, just a tender embrace that had tears streaming down your face.

“Is this okay?” he whispered against your skin, and the care in his voice made your chest tight. Always checking, always making sure, like you were the most beloved artifact, instead of too much.

You nodded, but your hands were already moving to guide his away from your stomach, that soft place you had spent years hating, years hiding. He noticed, you knew he would, and he paused, his green eyes searching yours in the dim light of your bedroom.

“Talk to me,” he said softly, his hand stilling on your hips. “What’s going through that beautiful mind?”

“I just...” You said, turning away, and the look in his eyes was too much for the shame pricking at your skin. It wasn’t like you hadn’t had sex before, but there had never been this level of positive vulnerability on both parts. The feeling reminded you of your first time, and maybe almost every time, actually.

The good times, few and far between.

Yes, the fear was there, and so was the desperation, but that was the part you didn’t want to be there. You didn’t want that desperate feeling of doing, just to feel wanted. You knew this wasn’t the case now, but it was hard to shake that pattern of thinking when this was the only relationship you had to sex. “You’ve probably been with so many girls who are... who look...” And the words stuck in your throat. 

Skinny. Fit. Perfect. Everything you weren’t.

“Hey.” His finger gently turned your chin back to him. “I’m here with you. Only you. And I’ve wanted to be here, exactly here, for weeks.”

But when his hand moved again, you caught it, redirecting it away from your middle, and this time he didn’t let you. Instead, he slowly lowered down your body, holding your eyes as he did, and before you could stop him, his lips were pressing against the soft flesh of your stomach, right where you were trying to hide.

“Harry—”

But he was already kissing every inch, every delicate place, every roll and curve you had spent years despising, and as he continued, your body trembled with sobs beneath his lips, overwhelmed by the adoration in his touch.

“God,” he breathed against your skin, “Every inch of you is beautiful. I can’t believe how lucky I am.”

And just when you thought you couldn’t break anymore, here was another wall crumbling, and when he moved back up to kiss you, you could taste the mingling of your tears on his lips now, salt and beauty, a messy mix of his devotion and time.

“Can we just...” you start, then stop, embarrassed by what you wanted to ask. This was the part you wanted to skip, the lead up, you didn’t think you were strong enough for it, not right now, not in this moment, not when you were barely hanging by a thread, your emotions everywhere.

“What do you need?” He pulled back slightly, studying your face. “Tell me.”

“Can we just... be together? I want to feel you, to kiss you. Is that okay? I don’t need...” You gestured vaguely over your body, unable to say the words.

Then you watched as understanding dawned in his eyes. “If that’s what you want,” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “But… hopefully you’ll let me take care of you another time—”

“Another time?” You repeated, a little too excited, because god, the hope in your voice was already embarrassing.

He smiled, that dimpled smile that had you out of your mind from the beginning. “Yeah, love, there’s no way this is a one-time act. I’m already hooked. You have me completely. Trust me.”

That was all you needed, because then you were reaching with a shaky hand to your nightstand, pulling out the condom you had optimistically kept there. He took it from your trembling fingers, and the care he took with everything—with you—made fresh tears spring to your eyes.

And it was like a light switch flipping on in your brain when he pushed inside you, like something waking. At first, you weren’t sure what to do, whether you should just lie there, and let him lead like you had usually done in the past with others, or if you should use your words. But everything in you wanted to take some kind of control, to show him that you weren’t just passive, that you could give as good as you got.

The feeling built slowly, his hands mapping your body like he was trying to memorize every curve, every response. And just as you felt yourself getting close, that familiar tightening, a surge of confidence unlike anything you had ever felt before, flooded through you like a line of fire.

That’s when you pushed your hands into his shoulders, trying to be smooth about the move, hoping he would get the hint, but then he stopped without hesitation, concern flashing across his face. “Do you want me to—”

But you were already moving, pushing him onto his back and climbing on top, not giving a fuck that your stomach was visible, or that your boobs would bounce, that hell, maybe everything would jiggle, but for once, you didn’t care, because the way he was looking at you, like the fucking goddess you were and felt, was everything. It made you feel powerful, turning what was already pleasure into a feast that fed the famished hunger within.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his hands gripping at the flesh of your hips, as he bucked up to meet you, and the awe in his voice was already pushing you to the edge. It didn’t take long until you came hard, crumbling forward, and his arms wrapped around you immediately, holding you tight against his chest as he followed you over.

Even though you were aware of everything, all the flaws, all the thoughts, the way your body felt pressed against his, you stayed like that for a long moment, giving your body time to meld with his, no matter how uncomfortable it was or if you felt like your body would crush him. You wanted to be with this man in every way, maybe even savor the way his hands still moved up and down your body, caressing over every curve as both of you caught your breath. When you finally lifted your head, he was looking at you with such tenderness, such wonderment that it made your chest ache.

“You’re incredible,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Absolutely incredible.”

Later, after he had cleaned you both up with a warm washcloth, yes, you let him, because he insisted on taking care of you despite any objections, and damn he was a sweet talker, you knew you couldn’t resist the power of his words. Because you knew he meant them. Afterward, when you lay curled against his chest, his bad knee elevated on a pillow, and you with all your insecurities knocking at your mind’s door. You knew in that moment that you were two broken people, but even two broken halves can make something whole together, and that was the devastating truth you held onto.

And as you drifted off to sleep, his arms around you, his heartbeat steady under your ear, you thought maybe the universe was finally giving you something good, giving you someone who saw you, saw the real you, not just as a project to fix or some kind of problem to solve, but as someone worth loving, exactly as you were.

You knew the journey to confidence wasn’t over. You knew that you would still have your bad days, still struggle with mirrors and fitted clothes, and that fucking voice in your head that said you were never enough. But for now, you had someone who wanted to be there for those days, too, someone you knew would remind you of your worth when you forgot it yourself.

Someone who would love every inch of you, especially the parts you’ve allowed yourself to hate. Someone who made you believe that maybe, just maybe, you deserved to take up space in this world—and in his heart.

And that was worth more than any number on a scale could ever be.

Taglist: @mads3502 @matildasatellite @likea-silhouette @lizsogolden @manna86 @chelseatpwk @aileen1237 @aglimpseofharry @olvsbee @bibltch @xnthld @cherrycolas-things @avas-daniel @mellamolayla @caroll-94 @montse1608 @hellohowareyouearthlings @bentley-119 @harrymatcha @girlslovejahseh 

@peach-x-petals @boredhsblog

Other One-Shots<-

[littleslaywrites]

morning run | aaron hotchner x reader

nsfw, mdni

summary: hotch comes home from his morning run to you waiting for him 

word count: 1.6k

cw: smut, afab reader, f!masturbation, fingering (f receiving), thigh riding, hand job, slight spanking (f receiving), breast/nipple play, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, slight cum play, no use of y/n

Aaron had always been a morning person. He liked to get to the office early, so it seemed like he was always out of bed hours before you woke up. Now that he was training for his triathlon, he was starting his day before the sun was up. 

With Jack spending the night at JJ’s for a sleepover with Henry, you’re determined to meet him after his run. You fight to keep your eyes open when his alarm goes off and he begins to get dressed.

“Are you watching me?” he asks when he sees your open eyes. 

“Maybe,” you say sleepily, reaching your arm out to beckon him over. Pulling his shirt on, his hand finds yours as he leans down to kiss you. 

“I’ll see you when I get back, okay?” he says as he walks out your bedroom door. You hum in response and roll over, stretching your arms above your head. You rub your thighs together, already anticipating his return. 

You give it your best effort to fall back asleep, eyes closed for a good half hour before giving up. Your hands found their way into your pajama pants, running your index finger through your folds. You circle your clit until you're squirming, arousal coating the tip of your finger. Your finger makes its way down and pushes into your pussy, thrusting in and out sleepily. Adding a second, you become frustrated. You know that you can’t do it like Aaron. 

Unfulfilled, you get up and walk to the kitchen. You wash your hands before starting the coffee machine. As you wait for it to brew, your mind wanders, thinking of all the things you were going to do to Aaron when he got home. Checking the clock, you're sure he’ll be walking through the door within ten minutes. 

Coffee finished, you sit down on the couch, slipping into the meditative state as you sip. You’re still sleepy, but unable to go back to bed until you get your hands on Aaron. When the door opens, you almost jump. 

He doesn’t notice you until you speak up. “How was your run?” you ask, and he turns to face you on the couch. 

“What are you doing awake?” he smiles and walks toward you. 

“Waiting for you.” You set your mug down on the table and grab at his hand, pulling him to stand between your spread legs. He leans down to kiss you, but pulls away saying “I’m going to shower and be back out.”

Aaron is absolutely glistening, shirt darkened with sweat, droplets beading on his forehead, bringing back memories of times you worked him out yourself. You refuse to let go of his hand, not allowing him to move. 

“Not yet,” you tug at his hand, pulling him back towards you. Your hands grip the back of his head as you kiss, playing with his hair. He groans into the kiss, forgetting his plan of a shower. His fingers find a place between your spread thighs and you grind down on his palm to find some much-needed friction.

Feeling your wetness, he smirks to himself. “Got yourself worked up thinking about me, huh?”  He towers over you, leaning down to kiss you when he’s not talking. He brushes his middle finger over your clit, amused as you buck your hips at the slightest touch. 

“Tried to take care of myself,” you whimper out, “but nothing fills me like you.” 

Your words stroke his ego as he strokes your pussy, teasing you but not sliding his fingers in. Your hips undulate in search of any relief. 

Unsatisfied by your current position, Aaron sits on the couch and hurriedly pulls you into his lap. Your thighs are on either side of his and you begin to grind on his bare thigh, his shorts ridden up from sitting. 

“Let’s get these off of you,” he says, hands snaking under your pajama pants and grabbing your ass. You stand up, sliding them all the way off, before pawing at Aaron’s shirt. You get on your knees in front of him as he takes it off, pulling down his running shorts. You run your thumb along his slit, admiring his now hard cock. He groans, and you lick your hand before it finds its way back to start jacking him off. Your thumb follows the line of the veins running from the base to the head, slowly squeezing him. His head falls back onto the back of the couch, and a groan leaves his lips. New beads of sweat bud on his forehead, joining the dampness from his run. You meet his eyes, and he gently grabs your jaw to pull you back up to kiss him as you keep ahold of his cock. 

He pulls away from you while keeping ahold of your hand, sliding to the side so he’s now laying down on the couch. He moves you back into his lap while you rid yourself of the pajama top you were wearing. You sit on his stomach and bite your lip, admiring the view under you, hips slowly moving mindlessly. His hair is messy from the sweat from his run and your fingers playing with it earlier. His deep brown eyes sparkle, long lashes fluttering.

His hands run along your back, sending chills down your spine. He gently pushes you down and kisses you tenderly as his hands explore your soft skin. His tongue pushes through your lips and you moan into his mouth. Your hips move faster as the kiss intensifies. You nip and suck at each other's lips, filthy moans and whimpers filling the living room, making you grateful you’re home alone. 

His hand makes its way into your hair, and he pulls you up until your breasts are in line with his mouth. Both of his hands go to grip a breast in each, squeezing. You moan, arching your back, and he takes the opportunity to sit up and take one into his mouth. He runs his tongue along the underside until he reaches your nipple, circling it before closing his mouth and dragging his teeth along it. You cry out, walls clenching around nothing. He suckles at your tit while he pinches the other nipple. 

The hand that isn’t working on your breast moves to stroke himself. Aaron lies his head back and you whimper at the loss of his mouth. He lines himself up with your pussy, moving his feet up to bend his knees so he can push himself into you. He gets about halfway in before stopping himself to let you adjust. His cock is thick and long, so it always makes you feel like you’re being split in half. He knows not to make you take him all at once, but your arousal is so plentiful this time that he slides in with more ease than usual. 

He gives you a moment, before you start to whine. He knows that’s his signal to push himself all the way inside. His hands grip the globes of your ass and he thrusts up into you once. You both sigh with pleasure. His length hits your sweet spot as he starts to thrust rhythmically. Laying on top of him, each thrust rubs against your clit, adding to the pleasure. 

The house is filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin. His hand pulls back from your ass cheek before bringing it back down quickly. The spank makes your pussy grip him like a lifeline, him moaning in response. 

His head falls back onto the couch while your back arches from the building pleasure. His hands slide up until he’s gripping your waist as an anchor while he relentlessly thrusts up into you. 

He’s the perfect size to hit your g-spot every time he thrusts, and you feel your climax approaching. Aaron knows you’re getting close from the way you’re clenching him. His thrusts slow down, intensely and purposefully bucking into you. You look down into his eyes and feel your muscles tense. The coil in you snaps and you let out a sob as you cum on his cock. Your muscles give up, laying down flat on Aaron. 

The way your walls flutter and spasm cause his own release to follow. He lets out a sinful moan, one last thrust pushing his cum into you. He wraps his arms around you as you shudder with aftershocks. His large hands run up and down your back as you sigh into the side of his neck. 

He brushes your hair behind your ear to get you to look at him, leaning in to kiss you. You both smile into the kiss, giggling when he playfully squeezes your ass. Aaron glances to the side to see the clock and sighs. “I think it’s time to take that shower I was planning on,” he reluctantly says. 

He slowly pulls out of you, causing you to whimper at the loss. His cum drips down your thigh as your pussy clenches one final time. His thumb gathers it all as it drips down, making its way up and pushes it back into your cunt. He drags it up to your clit, brushing against it.

He squeezes your thigh to tell you it’s time to get up, and you slowly roll off of him. He sits up, admiring the sight of you laying on the couch. 

“Mind if I join you?” you ask, not wanting to let him go just yet. 

He smiles and leans back down, his hands sliding down your back to pick you up bridal style. You wrap your arms around his neck and lean up to nip his shoulder. 

When you make it to the bathroom, he sets you down before turning on the shower. You admire his body, and he notices your stare. He leans down to kiss you one more time before pulling you into the shower. 

[gatheringbones]

[“Magnificence in clothes was considered a prerogative of the nobles, who should be identifiable by modes of dress forbidden to others. In the effort to establish this principle as law and prevent “outrageous and excessive apparel of divers people against their estate and degree,” sumptuary laws were repeatedly announced, attempting to fix what kinds of clothes people might wear and how much they might spend.

Proclaimed by criers in the county courts and public assemblies, exact gradations of fabric, color, fur trimming, ornaments, and jewels were laid down for every rank and income level. Bourgeois might be forbidden to own a carriage or wear ermine, and peasants to wear any color but black or brown. Florence allowed doctors and magistrates to share the nobles’ privilege of ermine, but ruled out for merchants’ wives multicolored, striped, and checked gowns, brocades, figured velvets, and fabrics embroidered in silver and gold. In France territorial lords and their ladies with incomes of 6,000 livres or more could order four costumes a year; knights and bannerets with incomes of 3,000 could have three a year, one of which had to be for summer. Boys could have only one a year, and no demoiselle who was not the châtelaine of a castle or did not have an income of 2,000 livres could order more than one costume a year. In England, according to a law of 1363, a merchant worth £1,000 was entitled to the same dress and meals as a knight worth £500, and a merchant worth £200 the same as a knight worth £100. Double wealth in this case equaled nobility.

Efforts were also made to regulate how many dishes could be served at meals, what garments and linens could be accumulated for a trousseau, how many minstrels at a wedding party. In the passion for fixing and stabilizing identity, prostitutes were required to wear stripes, or garments turned inside out. Servants who imitated the long pointed shoes and hanging sleeves of their betters were severely disapproved, more because of their pretensions than because their sleeves slopped into the broth when they waited on table and their fur-trimmed hems trailed in the dirt. “There was so much pride amongst the common people,” wrote the English chronicler Henry Knighton, “in vying with one another in dress and ornaments that it was scarce possible to distinguish the poor from the rich, the servant from the master, or a priest from other men.”

Expenditure of money by commoners pained the nobles not least because they saw it benefiting the merchant class rather than themselves. The clergy considered that this expenditure drained money from the Church, and so condemned it on the moral ground that extravagance and luxury were in themselves wicked and harmful to virtue. In general, the sumptuary laws were favored as a means of curbing extravagance and promoting thrift, in the belief that if people could be made to save money, the King could obtain it when necessary. Economic thinking did not embrace the idea of spending spending as a stimulus to the economy.

The sumptuary laws proved unenforceable; the prerogative of adornment, like the drinking of liquor in a later century, defied prohibition. When Florentine city officials pursued women in the streets to examine their gowns, and entered houses to search their wardrobes, their findings were often spectacular: cloth of white marbled silk embroidered with vine leaves and red grapes, a coat with white and red roses on a pale yellow ground, another coat of “blue cloth with white lilies and white and red stars and compasses and white and yellow stripes across it, lined with red striped cloth,” which almost seemed as if the owner were trying to see how far defiance could go.”]

barbara w. tuchman, from a distant mirror: the calamitous 14th century, 1987

[mitraoki]

hi hi, how does mydei get jealous ?? 🤭🤭 i hope i’m not asking for too much 😣 take your time btw!! 🙌🏻

mydei, come on (mydeimos x reader)

note; hiiii anon!!! nooo not at all, i loveeee your request!!🤍 my brain was flowing with ideas when i saw this i'm so EXCITEDDD🥰 thank you soo much for requesting and being patient with me🥺 i really hope i did justice for you AND our beloved boy mydei :3 have a great day/night!!❤️⭐

title inspired by lana's new song, 'henry, come on'!

masterlist. (check profile if requests are open!)

mydei does, in fact, get jealous 🤭 it's just SOOO hard to catch him red handed.... because it's so subtle yet so impactful you get me

and of course he's never going to back down. of course he's going to go on about how 'kremnoans don't really get jealous' or 'romance is not our strongest suit'.

lies. he's the most hopeless romantic out there. that's the only time you'd catch him lying

though i certainly wouldn't call him possessive, i think. he likes it when you're happy, when you're doing the things you love. besides, he's always out and about handling affairs, and is just so in love to see you patiently wait for him, no matter how long.

i also think that's where the two of you began establishing a very healthy relationship.

but sometimes? sometimes he's not afraid of showing it off either. say in a scenario, you're in a party, chatting away with your friends or perhaps the chrysos heirs. he's not worried one bit - he's aware of said people and trusts them enough with your safety.

until he sees an unfamiliar face. strike 1.

okay, maybe he's just asking about something else - someone else. he'll sit this one out. but he's certain time passed by quite a while and you're clearing your throat, looking in every direction. strike 2.

he's sat in a corner, shaking his leg just a little too much. he has one hand placed under his chin while watching you intensely, the other hand against the arm rest, finger scraping against the marble. none of his friends are around either.

the man's leaning in. strike 3.

he almost knocked the chair down upon his abrupt action, but he couldn't care less. he sees you from the crowd and he's now marching over.

but i don't think he'd throw a tantrum, he's more of a smooth operator. he's not that worried - almost everyone knows you're his, and he's yours. he sees you and him as soulmates bound by birth.

he slows his pace down, reaches out towards your hand and brings it up towards his lips. as soon as he captured your attention, he already knows the man from earlier backed off way before he could react. is anyone in amphoreus not aware of the crown prince? exactly.

"any trouble here?" he queries, as if he did not just witness absolute tomfoolery just moments ago.

"n-no," you searched far and wide for the individual, but sighed deeply. though, you paused in your movements.

"how did you get here so quickly, mydei?"

"hm? i have my ways."

"no- you saw that guy, didn't you?"

"....of course i did, y/n."

again with his red ears because he knows you're about to tease him till the day ends. oh well, he doesn't like lying to you, either. what harm is there in hearing you speak, anyway?

"oh you are so jealous, mydeimos. couldn't you just admit it already? i get jealous when other women talk to you."

"i told you, we kremnoans-"

"don't get jealous! our dictionary does not have the word 'jealous'! heard it all, my love. i'm just glad you made your way here. any longer and i would've poured my drink on him."

which earned a chuckle from your lover. his free hand lightly treads through your locks, a small smile on his lips.

"i'll always find a way to be with you."

wrapping an arm around your waist, he decided to keep you close through the evening.

***

"you get jealous, too, dearest?" he questions you once more.

"too? so you are, aren't you?!"

all created content belongs to mitraoki. reposts/remakes are not allowed.

[audentesfortunaiuvatt]

It still strikes me how incredibly romantic this scene is without being explicitly so, the line they walk here is SO fine. It's about devotion through love (be it platonic or romantic) rather than duty. And after being brushed off by Hans earlier, this is the closest they can skirt to a confession without the desperation of Suchdol.

So, Henry's confession. 'Maybe more than you know...'

Is this a response to be brushed off by Hans in their earlier conversation? Hans who previously reaffirmed he can't wait to go chasing wenches and drinking together when this is over. Henry is saying their relationship means more than the frivolous joy they'd once enjoyed together, that while Hans had once brought much needed levity into Henry's life, what they have now is in sickness or in health. Hans doesn't need to bring anything to their relationship, Henry will care for him regardless. Exactly what Hans needs to hear, after a myriad of fuck ups, after watching his sense of self crumble- something he tries to build back up with fragments of his old self, such as wenches and drinking and trying to reestablish their old rapport, but Henry sees right through that.

The sincerity Hans meets him with here is everything. It's what Henry had been searching for in their earlier conversation atop the walls, an acknowledgement that things have changed between them, but at their core they still hold fast. Hans still needing to hear that Henry cares for him as a person rather than a Lord, words of affirmation necessary to chase away his doubts and dissuade the specter of loneliness that still threatens him every time Henry risks his life. It requires a disclaimer this time, that Hans isn't the best at expressing his feelings (which makes it even more endearing that he tries at Suchdol), but they're always there- Henry shouldn't doubt them.

So, is this intentionally romantic from either of them? I go back and forth on whether I believe Henry wants this to be heard with a romantic undertone- or even if he's aware that it carries one. It's such a complicated moment for them, one where I believe Hans is letting himself lean into those feelings rather than running away from them (by burying them under promises of wenches and booze like he did before when Henry tried to speak like this). But Henry? I am very open to hearing about people's reads on Henry in this scene, I go back and forth on exactly how I read it.

[autemis]

I couldn't take it any longer and decided to check out the romance scenes with Rosa and Katherine in my game. And I really have to say something about the clear atmospheric differences between all three romance outcomes! (Pls keep in mind, I'm not talking about the whole romance walkthrough – I'm just focused on the "bed" scenes.)

Let’s start with Rosa:

Her scene take place right after she and Henry have cleared out her old home from some bandits. Everything is chaotic and most of her belongings are gone – it’s no longer the safe place she grew up in and everyone she knows and loves is missing. She’s sad but not hopeless. She’s a strong and smart woman who doesn't easily lost her strength to move on. It’s a “if you fall, you have to stand up again” situation and you can really see this willpower in her. What starts as a somewhat depressing situation develops into something playful and lighthearted. The way she hugs the book that she and Henry finished, how she swings around a bit with a little smirk before they kiss and her light chuckle when Henry picks her up and carries her to bed all contribute to this. Finally, the main act is also filled with laughter and some lusty but still playful passion.

Now, let’s move on to the first of the two end-game romances: Katherine:

Rosa's romance strikes a great balance between lust and emotion in a very lighthearted way – just as it should be for a mid-game romance. It’s not impactful enough for something bigger, but it’s perfect for what it is. I absolutely love Rosa and I think this quick outcome with her suits her character perfectly. She still has so much to achieve, and her path and goals are not the same as Henry’s. So their paths must part, which is why it can’t be more than a little rendezvous between them – at least at this point in the story.

After her tearful talk with Henry in the yard, she meets him by the wall, where he’s waiting for Sam - because “she can’t sleep.” Clearly, she’s not up there just for that, but expressing those emotions isn’t easy for her. Katherine is a victim of her own past, a broken woman who never received the help she desperately needed. At this point, it’s irrelevant whether Henry romanced her or not - she will have feelings for him, but are those feelings genuinely what they seem? Katherine seems to believe she loves Henry romantically, but it’s likely fear that drives her. Fear of losing another important person in her life - anxiety about being alone again. She wants to keep him close, struggling against this overwhelming fear, which ultimately leads to a lustful act born from desperation.

Last but not least: Hans:

It’s not about romance or deep emotions; it’s just anxiety and desperation that draw these two to each other that night. Neither Katherine nor Henry looks happy because it’s not a cheerful moment. They are simply searching for comfort in one another due to the dark future they are facing. I’m deeply convinced that Katherine loves Henry, but not in the way she thinks. It’s more like the love you feel for family or a very close friend. Henry, on the other hand, is still young. It’s exciting for him to engage with an older, wiser, and more mature woman. It was lust that drove him, and it was lust that made that night happen. There are no deep emotions or a sustainable love affair.

Hans’s romance scene is significantly different from Katherine’s. It begins with no music at all. The scene that follows the little story Hans just told Henry about two knights starts mostly in silence, much like the Rosa scene. You just can hear their voices and some background noise, like the crackling of the fire. The atmosphere is filled with a mixture of hope and fear as Henry takes Hans’s hand. A smile on Hans’s lips - hope filledwith fear. Henry hurriedly stands up, seemingly wanting to leave the room - perhaps because he can’t bear the tension any longer? The fear he feels, as well as the fear he sees in Hans’s eyes? After that, things happen so quickly - there’s no time for thinking, just pure acting based on real emotions.

I’m truly biased towards the Hans romance, but please understand that this post is not about saying “this romance is better than that one” – that’s not the case at all. Each of these three is unique in its own way and beautiful for what it is. Rosa’s romance is light and fresh, like a wink of hope. Katherine’s is lustful and deeply melancholic in a realistic and truthful way. Hans’s is filled with big emotions, many feelings, and an uncertain outcome for a long and deep relationship – like the beginning of a new chapter or the next step.

The kiss itself clearly confuses both of them – Hans is unable to comprehend what he just did and Henry is completely overwhelmed by his own emotions. Shame, joy, curiosity, anxiety – both of them are clearly experiencing these emotions right now, but in the end, true desire wins. Henry’s hurried movements, the music kicking in, the big steps back to Hans and his direct consent to Henry’s actions show the heavy emotions that have been hanging over them. The lusty act itself is just blurred in the background, as it should be. This night is not about lust, it’s about emotion and connection.

In the end, nothing about any of these romances is very clear – they all ended before they could truly begin. No one knows if that night meant anything more or had deeper significance. This makes it somewhat frustrating on one hand, but also deeply intriguing on the other. Rosa is the one who somewhat breaks this pattern a bit because Henry was able to talk to her and say goodbye – at least for now. But Katherine and Hans? Everything is still open for them. It’s up to us to decide what we think the truth is – at least for now, until we hopefully get some answers in the future.

[theholmwoodfoundation]

Welcome to the Holmwood Foundation

The Holmwood Foundation is a Found Footage Horror-Fiction Podcast created by Fio Trethewey @fiotrethewey (Big Finish: Gallifrey War Room, 18th Wall Productions) and Georgia Cook @georgiacooked (Big Finish: The Eleventh Doctor Chronicles, Gallifrey War Room, BBC Books, The Dracula Daily Sketch Collection). It is a modern day sequel to the gothic novel Dracula. 

What is the Holmwood Foundation about?

Our story follows Jeremy Larkin (Played by Sean Carlsen) and Maddie Townsend (Played by Rebecca Root), two co-workers at the mysterious Holmwood Foundation, as they are possessed by the ghosts of Jonathan and Mina Harker, and embark on a road trip across the country in an effort to achieve their ghost's wishes: to stop Dracula once and for all. This is a story about identity and self discovery, family loyalty and devotion, all wrapped around a nightmare of a road trip with a rejuvenating severed head, incredibly sincere Victorian ghosts, and an analogue recorder. (Content Warnings for blood, horror themes and possession)

Where can we listen to The Holmwood Foundation?

Find our pilot episode on Acast, here:

Season one will be airing bi-weekly from June 10th to August 17th 2025.

Follow our feeds for updates and to receive the latest episodes as soon as they drop!

Who are the Cast and Crew?

In Season One we have:

Rebecca Root as Maddie Townsend and Mina Harker, and Seán Carlsen as Jeremy Larkin and Jonathan Harker.

In Season One, we will also be joined by:

Basil Waite as Tom Van Helsing Michelle Kelly as Henri Martin Samuel Clemens as Arthur Jones Andrew Biss as Jonathan Harker 3rd Jackie Calistaah as Elena David Ault as Dr Timothy Lake Candace Marie as Magdalena Swift Robyn Holdaway as Cam / Finn Karim Kronfli as Dave Anusia Battersby as Francesca Royale Lou Sutcliffe as Collins Flloyd Kennedy as Fay Townsend/Lucille Young Alasdair Stuart as Farmer Andy Dan Tyrie as Security Officer Elliott Crossley as Extraction Officer Alex Galdwin Becky Wright as Thralls & Phone Voice Jessica Carroll as Newsreader / Ruby Helen Stirling-Lane as Sophie Peter Wicks as Computer Voice Luke Kondor as Robert Swales Jonathon Carley as Francis and featuring Attila Puskás as Dracula

Joining our crew we have Samuel Clemens as Director, Katharine Armitage as our Script Editor and Benji Clifford as our Sound Engineer and Designer

Extra Content:

If you would like to discuss/post about/critique Holmwood without us seeing or interacting, we block the words Holmwouldn't, holmwouldn't, Holmwouldnt and holmwouldnt from all of our searches. Use any of the above as a DNI tag and your post will be blocked from our sight.

As well as episodes, we also release small pieces of content related to the Holmwood Foundation. These might be emails, or obituaries, maybe even interviews. Follow the links below to find all of that content together:

Extract List - Updated as of 30/03/25

Tags: Frequently Asked Questions Release Schedule Production Updates OOC Answered Asks Extracts Foundation Emails Holmwood Foundation Art

Social Media Links here: https://linktr.ee/theholmwoodfoundation

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Broken Mind, Broken Soul

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.6k

Warnings: heavy angst, abuse scars, post-prison!spencer, parent/domestic violence (explicit), pretending to be fine when you're not, smut (maybe considered CNC? i'm not sure but better but that on here)

Summary: Spencer is back from prison so he’s trying to pick up the pieces and get back into his old life. Something is off about you but he respects your boundaries until he sees what you’ve been hiding from him.

Square Filled: cold-blooded torture for @badthingshappenbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

Spencer is home. He’s home and everything is going to go back to the way it was. He’s not going to find you. He’s not going to hurt you anymore. You want to be happy that your boyfriend is out of prison after nearly three months of being locked up for a crime he didn’t do. He suffered in there and you couldn’t do anything about it. He’s home now, and everyone is so happy to see him.

You stare at your reflection in the mirror and try not to break down in tears. This day is for Spencer. He’s home. You can take a break from your personal shit to give him a proper welcome home. If you can do that, you might make it out of this alive. You shake your head and plaster a smile on your face, one that looks like you’re not dying inside.

You leave the bathroom in search of your boyfriend who is spending time outside away from everyone. Spencer must have gone through hell inside the four walls of the prison so it’s a bit overwhelming to be back to his normal life. Everyone must understand that because they’re inside having a good time and giving Spencer his space.

You push past everyone and walk over to Henry’s small playground. Spencer is swinging lightly on the swings and you stand by him, waiting for him to look at you. When he does, you can see how empty they are. God, Spencer, what happened to you? You hope your eyes aren’t as empty as his. You’re really trying hard to put on a brave face but you’re not sure how much longer you can do this.

“Hey,” you say softly.

“Hey, yourself.” You walk around the other swing and sway in sync with Spencer. “Tell me what you’ve been up to since I was gone?”

You were and are afraid of this question. You’ve been preparing yourself for this question since hearing he was coming back but you never knew how to answer it. One wrong word and he’ll know exactly what you’ve been up to.

“You know, working cases like normal. We helped a lot of people but it wasn’t the same without you. I just tried to get through the day every day.”

“Yeah, I get it,” he sighs.

He believes you. He has no reason not to. Spencer looks at you to see a faraway look in your eyes. Maybe it’s just him but something might not be right. The look is gone in a split second and you’re back to pretending. Maybe it’s just him.

“Look, I know Rosis wanted to throw you this party but want to go home?”

“Yeah, I do,” he nods.

You two say your goodbyes to everyone before heading home. The drive is silent like you two don’t know how to talk to each other anymore. Sure, it could be the fact that Spencer has been in prison this whole time but he suspects something else happened. You two didn’t talk much but he doesn’t know what could be bothering you.

It’s been nearly three months without you in his bed, and he can’t help himself when he sees you in his bed. It’s been three months since he’s touched you so he walks over to you and crawls up your body. You want to enjoy this. You want to be here for him but you’re stuck inside your own head. You don’t dare let him know what you’re thinking so maybe if you go along with it, you can slip further into the facade you’re putting up.

You two kiss but he’s so wound up that he doesn’t register that you’re not as into it as he is. You’re here for him, that’s all that matters. You’re okay with this even if your body is telling you no. He reaches for your shirt but you’re quick to grab his hands to stop him.

“Keep the shirt on.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just want my shirt to stay on.”

“Okay,” he nods respectfully.

He kisses you in all the right spots and touches you where he knows you like to be touched. He is doing absolutely everything right so why do you want to break down in tears right now? Get it together. Just give him what he wants. It might fix you. So, you listen to that part of your brain. He flips you so you’re on your stomach and fucks you from behind. You grip the sheets tightly and put your face in the bed so he doesn’t see the tears, so he doesn’t hear your cries.

You love Spencer and you’re trying hard not to let him see your true feelings. You don’t want to hurt him. It has nothing to do with him but you’re scared to let him see just how broken you are. Thankfully, he’s spent by the time he’s done so he doesn’t see the tears on your cheeks. You immediately roll over and put your head over his heart, and he runs his fingers through your hair. He moves his hands down to your back but you immediately spring away from him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just need to shower.” He goes to move. “Alone.”

He watches you disappear into the bathroom with a frown. Since the BAU is requesting that Spencer take some time off, he is forced to stay home while you go to work. Everything seems to be the same but this time, you’re gone before he can wake up, and you get home right before he goes to bed. You don’t change in front of him anymore which is the first red flag. He has seen every intimate part of your body, tasted every part of you, so why are you hiding from him now? He’s not going to be a dick and force you to do something you don’t want to do, but why now?

What happened to you while he was in prison?

“Hey, are we okay?” Spencer asks one night after you had just gotten home from work.

“Of course we are.”

“Okay, because if we aren’t, you’d tell me, right?”

“Yes.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine, Spencer.”

You walk into the bathroom to take a bath, leaving him to pick up the pieces you didn’t know you dropped. I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. It’s the “be” part that is setting off alarm bells. If you had said, “I’m fine”, he would have passed it off and left you alone. The fact that you added the word “be” means you’re definitely not fine. The last time you said, “I’ll be fine” was when he had to pry you from your cold-hearted and evil father’s arms right before he went to prison for what he did to you.

Damn, he should have seen the signs before. You had shut everyone down. You didn’t want to be kissed or touched. You stayed in bed for seventy-two straight hours before Spencer had to force you out of it. Your father is and was an evil man who did untold cold-blooded torture to his own daughter. Your emotional scars don’t show but the physical ones do--whip marks, cigarette burns, and stab wounds. Anything to get his anger out.

Spencer walks to the bathroom carefully and knocks twice on the door. When you don’t answer, he pushes the door open to see you with your back turned toward him. There are newer and fresh scars on your back from the same kind of torture. Some are pinker than others. These ones are recent but how can this be? He hasn’t let you out of his sight since… Prison. He kneels next to the tub and looks at you but you’re not seeing him. You’re staring at the faucet as a single drop of water leaks from it.

“Who did this to you?” Spencer asks angrily. You don’t answer. “Was it your father?”

“He got out of prison when you went in. He found me at work and took me back to that farm,” you whisper. “I was just about to take two weeks off so no one questioned why I was gone. He kept me for three before he just let me go. I got back just days before you did.”

It takes Spencer five minutes to say something because of how angry he is, and he has all this pent-up anger that he’d love to get out.

“Is he breathing?” You can only nod in response. “Not for long, he won’t.”

Your head snaps up at his response but he’s already by the door.

“What are you going to do?”

“Something I should have done the first time around. That man will never touch a hair on your head ever again.”

Spencer leaves the bathroom door open so you can see what he’s doing. You get a flash of his FBI gun before he’s out of frame. You don’t stop him.

You’re in bed when he finally comes back. If you didn’t know where he was going, you’d think he went to the store. There is not a speck of blood on him or an ounce of regret on his face. You don’t ask where he’s been or if your father is alive even though you know he’d tell you if you did. Spencer climbs into bed and pulls you into him, and you rest your head on his chest.

I’m safe now. Spencer is home and everything is right with the world.

It’s going to take a long time until you’re okay again but with Spencer by your side, you know you can get there.

x

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @@aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[toyboy-molloy]

Henry quietly slipped out of bed, carefully dressing so as not to wake his sleeping companion. Lover? Whatever they were now. Hans stirred as Henry finished pulling on his gambeson.

"Is it time?" Hans murmured sleepily, rubbing his eyes. Henry nodded, crouching beside the bed.

"Aye. Sam will be waiting."

Hans reached out, taking Henry's hand in his. He swallowed, his voice shaky with emotion, "before you go, I- I just...I need you to know..."

Henry gently shushed him, kissing him softly. Hans reciprocated just as affectionately; he wanted to grab Henry and pull him back into bed, forgetting the world outside their room. But he couldn't.

"You can tell me when I return," Henry whispered when they separated. 

Hans nodded, unable to watch as Henry extracted his hand and disappeared into the night. For the longest time, Hans lay in the silence, listening the crackling fire until he could stand his own thoughts no longer. He dressed quickly and went in search for a distraction. He'd never been so desperate for a drink in his life.

[sabrinasopposite]

cruelest summer ☀️

charlie baker x reader (enemies to lover)

summary of the cruelest summer;

☀️ the baker boys were forced to go to summer camp. charlie knew this tradition would continue, but he wasn’t the only one who didn’t want to go. he would have much preferred to stay in midland and and try to work things out with beth. yet tom insisted.

as soon as the baker boys arrived at the summer camp, chaos ensued. it was typical for the bakers' arrival, and charlie had to get things under control — though it was hard to focus with his old childhood crush working at the camp as a counselor. ☀️

"No—end of discussion," Tom said as he walked down the stairs of the big house where the Bakers were currently living. The family had slowly adjusted to their new surroundings in Chicago. It had been difficult for each of the Bakers, but somehow, they made it work. 

Yet for Charlie, it was still hard being so far from Beth. They hadn’t broken up—not yet. 

That’s what Charlie hoped, though Beth seemed to see things differently. It was difficult for both of them, not being able to see each other and share kisses on the lips and cheeks. Now they had to wait until every second weekend just to be together. For Beth, it was tough, but Charlie tried at every opportunity to be in Midland. He loved her dearly, but maybe that wasn’t enough.

“But Dad, I wanted to visit Beth. It doesn’t make sense to go to this stupid camp every year,” Charlie protested as he followed Tom.

“Charlie, I know you’re upset about it, but it’s a tradition. Your grandpa always took me to that camp every summer, and I loved it.”

“You stopped going to that camp when you were 15. I’m 17, and it doesn’t make any sense,” Charlie scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“Charlie, it’s not going to change my mind. Now go pack your stuff.” Tom entered the kitchen—or more accurately, the chaos.

“But why are Nigel and Kyle staying home?” Charlie wasn’t about to let that slide. He searched for any excuse not to go to the camp, but it seemed like he was constantly losing the battle.

“Your mother and I thought they’d go next year. They’re still too young for it.” Tom shrugged as he cleaned the mess on the kitchen counters.

“That’s okay? But I have to go? Come on, Dad—”

“Charlie.” Tom’s voice raised a little more than usual, and that’s when Charlie knew there was no changing his mind. Furious, Charlie shook his head and headed to his bedroom to pack.

If it were just one week, Charlie could have dealt with it. But three weeks? That was off-limits. It wasn’t that he hated summer camp—it was fun. When he thought back to previous summers, he remembered being one of the most mischievous kids there. He pulled pranks on the counselors, snuck out to the lake, played truth or dare with the girls, and made out in the tents until a counselor threw water inside. Most importantly, though, he always teased a girl who made his heart race—Y/N Y/L/N.

Y/N and Charlie were the definition of chaos. People said the Bakers were the perfect example of it, but they hadn’t seen Y/N and Charlie together.

Sometimes, Charlie teased Y/N so much that she once stuck a gooey marshmallow in his hair.

Another time, Charlie pushed Y/N into a bush full of bugs.

Then there was the night Y/N snuck into his cabin in the middle of the night and put makeup on his sleeping face.

Or the time when he was dared to kiss Y/N in the tent while she had her eyes closed.

Ever since that summer before high school, they hadn’t seen each other. For some reason, Y/N never returned to camp, and Charlie still thought about that kiss. Maybe it was the reason she never came back.

But she didn’t know it was Charlie—that’s what he told himself.

Henry knocked on Charlie's door and peeked his head inside. "Did you convince Dad?"

"Does it look like it? If I had, I'd already be gone—maybe even throwing a big party," Charlie chuckled, though disappointment tinged his voice.

"Man….I was hoping he’d change his mind this year. I mean, even I get bored," Henry sighed.

"I'm sorry, H, but let’s make the best of it." Charlie walked over and ruffled Henry’s hair affectionately.

☀️

The next day was pure chaos. Everyone was running around the house while Tom packed up all the boys' belongings.

"Jake, you can't take your skateboard with you. You know that," Tom said.

"It's me with the skateboard or nothing," Jake replied, raising both hands in protest. Tom sighed and placed the skateboard in the car.

Charlie adjusted his cap and took one last look at his message to Beth, who still hadn’t replied. She was upset that Charlie couldn’t make it to Midland, and she had every right to be. But at the very least, she could have texted "I love you" back.

Kate walked over to Charlie and patted him on the back. "Are you alright, Charlie?"

"Do I look alright?" he snapped, then sighed. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"I understand you're grumpy about it, but believe me, it’ll be fun! Maybe this time you can join the counselor group instead of pulling pranks on them," Kate suggested, looking at her son, who managed a small smile.

"Don’t worry, Jake has studied my pranks—I’m sure they’ll be fine."

"Please, do me a favor and keep them under control," Kate said, giving Charlie a concerned look. "...I promise."

"Okay, now let’s get to the car. We need to say goodbye to you guys!" Kate smiled. 

The ride to camp wasn’t very long. Tom kept talking about his funny moments at camp to try and keep the boys excited, but they all wore the same uninterested expression—except for Mark, who was thrilled. He loved nature, especially the animals, and he was excited to reunite with his old friends who joined the summer camp every year. The thought of group activities in nature filled him with joy.

Charlie stared out the window, watching as the scenery blurred past. Everything looked the same. He had hoped there might be something different this time, but it was all exactly as he remembered—the same trees, the same signs, the same winding road to the camp.

By the time they arrived, it was 3 p.m. Tom had been chatting the whole time with Derek, the camp’s owner. They had met at the camp when they were younger, and now Derek was running the place.

The boys grabbed their bags from the car. The camp buzzed with energy as kids and counselors moved around, unloading luggage and searching for their assigned cabins. Mark eagerly rushed ahead, already spotting some of his friends. Jake and Henry dragged their bags behind them, looking less enthusiastic but still chatting about what they might do first.

Charlie, however, moved slowly, his bag slung over his shoulder. He wasn’t in a rush. As the others searched for their cabin assignments, Derek approached him with a smile. "Charlie! Good to see you again," Derek said, clapping him on the back. "I’ve got something special for you this year. You’ll be in your own room—kind of a reward for being one of the older kids now. You’ll have a bit of privacy."

Charlie forced a smile and nodded. "Yeah, thanks," he mumbled. Derek seemed proud of the gesture, but Charlie didn’t share his enthusiasm. His own room sounded like more isolation, not a reward. He glanced around at the other kids already settling into their shared cabins, laughing and joking with their friends.

It didn’t feel special to him—it just felt lonely.

"Derek, is there a possibility that Charlie could maybe work here as a counselor? Maybe organizing sports?" Tom asked with enthusiasm, catching Charlie's attention. Work with kids? Sure, he could handle his siblings, but spending the summer interacting with other kids wasn’t exactly on his bucket list.

"Dad—" Charlie began, but Derek cut him off.

"That's not a bad idea. Actually, I just got a call that one of our counselors couldn’t make it—he wanted to visit his boyfriend in Texas. You know how long-distance relationships go," Derek explained casually, while Charlie shot a pissed glance at Tom.

Derek clearly understood what the camp counselors needed. Why couldn’t Tom see that this wasn’t something Charlie wanted?

"If you’re up for it, Charlie, you could take that spot. It’s not too much work, and hey, you'd get paid $20 an hour," Derek added with a grin.

Charlie’s mood shifted slightly at the mention of money. Maybe that could save the summer after all. If he saved up, he could visit Beth sooner than planned.

"Alright, fine. I’ll do it," Charlie finally agreed, his voice lacking excitement but at least sounding resigned.

Tom’s face lit up with approval. "That’s the spirit, son! You’ll do great," he said, patting Charlie on the back. "Well, I better head out. Keep an eye on your brothers, and try to have some fun, alright?"

Charlie nodded and gave a quick goodbye to his dad, watching as Tom got back in the car and drove off. As soon as the car disappeared down the dirt road, Derek turned to him with a more relaxed smile.

"Glad you’re on board, Charlie. You know, the counselors this year are much younger—most of them are around your age, so I’m sure you’ll bond with them pretty easily. They’re a fun group," Derek said.

Charlie raised an eyebrow, unsure if that would really make a difference. He wasn’t here to make friends, but at least he wouldn’t be surrounded by people way older than him. Maybe, just maybe, the summer wouldn't be a total disaster after all.

"Yeah, we’ll see," Charlie muttered, grabbing his bag.

☀️

After settling into his cabin, Charlie tossed his bag onto the bed and took a deep breath. The room was basic but comfortable enough—just a bed, a small dresser, and a window that looked out onto the campgrounds.

Once he was done unpacking, Charlie decided to head out and explore his surroundings. The camp looked just as he remembered: the lake shimmering in the distance, canoes lined up by the dock, kids already running around, and counselors setting up activities. Nothing had changed, yet somehow, it felt different now that he was one of the staff.

As he wandered through the camp, he spotted a familiar sight—an art station, complete with easels and colorful paint splatters covering the ground. He hadn’t given much thought to it until he saw someone adjusting the easels. She was facing away from him, but something about her posture and the way her hair caught the breeze felt oddly familiar.

Then it clicked.

Y/N.

Y/N Y/L/N, the girl who used to challenge him at every turn, the one who teased him just as much as he teased her. The one he hadn't seen since that infamous summer before high school, when they shared that awkward but unforgettable kiss.

He was about to call out her name when she turned around. There she was, looking even better than he remembered. She had grown up in all the right ways—confident and sharp-eyed, with a smudge of blue paint on her cheek that made her look even more vibrant.

But when her eyes locked onto Charlie’s, her expression quickly shifted from neutral to something bordering on annoyance. It was as if all the memories of their past antics came flooding back.

"Well, if it isn’t Charlie Baker," Y/N said, folding her arms and raising an eyebrow. "Here I was hoping my summer would be free of your brand of chaos."

Charlie blinked, momentarily taken aback. "Y/N? You’re a counselor here? For—" He glanced at the easels. "Art?"

"Yeah. Not that you'd know anything about it," she shot back, wiping the paint off her cheek with the back of her hand. "What’s your excuse this time? Did they finally run out of people to put up with your pranks, so now you're stuck with running the sports program?"

Charlie smirked, trying to maintain his cool, though her teasing stung. "Nah, just filling in for someone. But wow, Y/N, you haven’t changed a bit. Still packing that same fiery attitude."

Y/N narrowed her eyes, though a reluctant smile tugged at her lips. "And you still have that same cocky grin. Must be exhausting to keep that up all these years."

Charlie chuckled, shaking his head. "I figured you might have mellowed out by now. Guess I was wrong."

"Disappointed?" she asked, arching a brow.

"Not really," Charlie admitted, though his eyes lingered on her a moment longer than he intended. If anything, he thought she looked better than ever, but he wasn’t about to let her know that. At least, not yet.

Y/N sighed dramatically, tossing a rag onto the art table. "Well, try not to make too much trouble this summer."

Charlie grinned. "Wouldn’t dream of it."

As Y/N turned back to the art table, Charlie couldn’t resist the urge to follow her. He sauntered over, hands in his pockets, and leaned casually against the table.

“So, Y/N,” Charlie began with a playful lilt, “where have you been hiding all these years? Haven’t seen you since that unforgettable summer before high school.”

Y/N didn’t look up from her work but let a sarcastic smile creep onto her face. “Oh, you know, just off having a blast and avoiding people like you. It’s been a full-time job.”

Charlie chuckled. “Avoiding me? Surely, I’m not that memorable.”

“Yeah, well, it’s amazing how quickly people forget the endless stream of pranks and trouble you caused,” Y/N shot back, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “I’ve been busy with school like every normal high schooler.”

As she turned to grab more supplies, Charlie noticed the array of vibrant paints on the table. An idea sparked, and he grabbed a pot of red paint. With a mischievous grin, he gave it a quick shake and, with a flick of his wrist, let a splash of red land right on her shoulder.

The children around the art table burst into laughter, their amusement evident. Y/N froze, her eyes widening as she glanced down at the paint splotch. Slowly, she turned to face Charlie, who was struggling to hold back his laughter.

“Seriously?” Y/N said, her voice a mix of irritation and exasperation. 

Charlie’s grin widened. “Just thought I’d brighten up your day a bit. You know, you’re looking even more colorful now.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed. “And you’re still as charming as ever. Must be exhausting trying to stay that annoying.”

“Ah, come on. You know you missed me,” Charlie said with a wink. “Can’t let you forget about me that easily.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a reluctant smile. “I wish I could.”

Charlie laughed, feeling a rush of nostalgia mixed with excitement. As Y/N grabbed a rag to clean the paint off her shoulder, Charlie’s playful grin stayed in place. Maybe this summer would be more interesting than he’d thought, especially with Y/N around to keep him on his toes.

☀️

Later that afternoon, Charlie found himself in the middle of a lively soccer game with a group of energetic boys. He was reveling in the game, showing off his skills and thoroughly enjoying himself. The boys cheered, their laughter echoing across the field as Charlie deftly maneuvered the ball.

Meanwhile, Y/N and a group of girls watched from the sidelines. They exchanged sly glances and whispered among themselves. ,,Okay girls, like we planned it out alright?” ,,why are we doing this again Y/N?” one of the girls asked Y/N with a giggle.

,,Cause we are independent women and we are better than them” ,,What does independent mean-“ ,,Be quiet Maya” Another girl snapped at Maya.

With a smirk, Y/N decided it was the perfect time for some well-deserved payback. She quickly gathered some flour and a water balloon launcher, and the girls readied their arsenal.

As Charlie focused on scoring yet another goal, Y/N signaled the girls to launch their surprise. Flour-filled balloons soared through the air and exploded over the soccer field, coating Charlie and the boys in a cloud of white powder.

“What the—?” Charlie’s shout was muffled as flour covered his face. He blinked through the haze, spotting Y/N and the girls hiding behind a tree, barely containing their laughter.

“Oh, look at that,” Y/N called out, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Charlie Baker, covered in flour. Who would’ve thought your soccer skills would include a new career as a walking pastry?”

Charlie, trying to wipe the flour from his eyes, shot her a playful glare. “Nice aim, Sweetheart. I see you’ve perfected the art of pastry warfare.”

The boys erupted into giggles, turning the prank into a full-blown flour fight. Charlie joined in, tossing flour back at the girls with a grin. “Guess you’re the reigning champion of the prank league now.”

Y/N smirked, hands on her hips as she surveyed the mess. “Just thought I’d give you a taste of your own medicine. You didn’t think I’d let you get away with that paint job, did you?”

Charlie laughed, shaking his head. “No, I guess I should’ve expected this. I’m impressed.”

Y/N rolled her eyes dramatically. “Well, it’s not like you’re the only one who can dish it out. But don’t get too comfortable. I’m just getting started.”

As the flour fight reached its peak, with kids running around covered in powder and laughter filling the air, a stern voice cut through the chaos.

“Alright, that’s enough!” Counselor Mark stormed onto the field, his face a mixture of frustration and disbelief. 

Mark, known for his no-nonsense attitude, took in the scene of flour-covered kids and smirking counselors with a raised eyebrow. Charlie and Y/N, still covered in flour, stopped mid-throw and turned to face Mark. 

Charlie, his face smeared with white powder, tried to suppress a grin, while Y/N wiped a bit of flour from her cheek and put on a sheepish expression.

“Seriously, guys?” Mark said, his tone sharp. “This is not what we’re here for. I get that it’s all in good fun, but look at this mess.”

Charlie shrugged, still trying to keep his playful demeanor. “It was just a bit of fun, Mark. We were trying to keep the kids entertained.”

Mark’s gaze shifted to Y/N, who raised an eyebrow in a mix of defiance and amusement. “And I’m sure Y/N was just doing her part to make sure everyone’s summer here is memorable, right?”

Y/N folded her arms and tried to look contrite, though her eyes betrayed her amusement. “Yeah, you could say that. I guess we got a bit carried away.”

Mark sighed, his frustration not entirely masking his grudging admiration for their creativity. “Well, carried away is an understatement. Next time, let’s keep the pranks out of the organized activities and focus on making the summer fun without turning it into a disaster zone.”

Charlie nodded, trying to look apologetic. “Got it. We’ll keep it in check. Just thought we’d add a little excitement.”

Mark’s expression softened slightly as he glanced around at the kids, who were now eagerly helping clean up the flour. “Alright. But remember, the real goal here is to be role models. Let’s show these kids how to have fun without making a mess.”

“Understood,” Y/N said, giving a small, rueful smile. 

Mark nodded and turned to help with the cleanup, leaving Charlie and Y/N standing in the middle of the field, still covered in flour.

,,What a great role model you are” Charlie smirked.

,,Shut up, Baker.” Y/N shot him a glare.

☀️

☀️

☀️

helllooooo simps for tom welling! as the end of summer (its september so it means autumn season idgaf) I wanted to release this short one-shot with this hottie (:

if you are interested for a series or another part hmu ☀️

x nellie

[grimestime27]

Find Me Part One

Pairing: Daryl x reader

Rating: So far fluff

Warnings: Angst, fluff

Aaron returned to Alexandria along with Kelly and Jerry. Anxious to see your now husband again, you came out from the house you shared together. But there was several people missing—Carol, Connie, Magna, and Daryl. Aaron could see your face scrunched up for miles it seemed like, your brain running a hundred miles a minute. It was trying to rationalize why your husband hadn’t returned. It was surreal to call him your husband. You both hadn’t been married a long time—just a few weeks. Gabriel had officiated a small ceremony for you both at the church in Alexandria, the whole thing being intimate. Just you and Daryl.

“Aaron.”, you immediately began, heading towards him.

“Y/N, wait—I can explain—.”

“Where the hell is my husband?”

Daryl had found an old wedding band, just his size. It was important to you that you both wore rings as a symbol of your love for one another. That’s why Daryl did it. He did it for you. Had he gotten married before the apocalypse (which he wouldn’t have), he wouldn’t have worn one at all. If something happened to Daryl, at least someone knew he was married and belonged to someone. Someone would be missing him. 

Aaron sighed. “Y/N, hear me out—”

“Aaron, where the hell is he?!”, you repeated, gritting your teeth.

“Y/N.”, Aaron responded calmly. 

“Is he dead?”, you repeated, softer this time as your voice was beginning to break.

“No.”, Aaron responded, quickly. “He’s not dead.”

The look on your face told Aaron you wanted more answers. The kids began coming outside, including Gracie, Judith, and RJ.

“He’s out searching for another way into a cave. We were led into a cave by Alpha. She tried to kill us—Connie and Magna are still stuck. The cave—Carol was—I don’t know—all I know is she accidentally set off some dynamite and the cave collapsed just as we got out.”

“So my husband is out there searching for another way into this cave? Again, cleaning up someone else’s mess?”

Aaron sighed as Gracie ran over to him, calling for her daddy. “I’m sorry Y/N.”

You knew that Daryl and Carol’s friendship was taking a turn for the worst. Daryl was tired of talking some sense into her. There had been no reasoning or rationalizing with her. Things had became difficult for her and Ezekiel since Henry was killed. Their marriage was clearly strained, them seeming to avoid one another. One stayed in Alexandria and the other at the Hilltop. All Carol was focused on was getting revenge, killing Alpha.

Aaron gave you a sympathetic look as he walked off with Gracie. You were trying to give him some grace. You had a feeling who was at fault here and it wasn’t Aaron. 

“Where’s Uncle Daryl?”, Judith questioned, coming up beside you.

“Trying to help some of our friends, Jude.”

Judith pursed her lips, clearly not pleased with the answer. “Why don’t you go look for him? I can go too.”

Michonne was on a trip to take someone who had invaded Oceanside back to their home. She said she would keep in contact with Judith, but it had been days since you all had heard anything. Michonne made you and Daryl promise that you both would look after Judith and RJ, keeping them safe no matter what.

“No.”, you said firmly. 

“Why not?”, she whined, just like a normal child. “I’m a good shot and I need more practice.”

It almost caused you to smile.

“No Judith—I told your mom I would keep you safe and that’s what I’m going to do.”

Judith frowned, beginning to storm away. She was having a normal childhood temper tantrum, something you never knew you would miss until now. It made life seem somewhat normal. She had Michonne’s determination even if she wasn’t biologically hers. Once she had an idea in her head, she was going to do it come hell or high water, something she got from Rick. You began to follow after Judith, bending down to pick up RJ. 

“Judith.”, you called after her, but she ignored you.

“Judith!”, you repeated.

She still ignored you, walking into their home. She stormed up the stairs, slamming her bedroom door shut. You sighed, holding RJ. Life was simpler when Judith was younger. You closed the door, smiling softly at RJ. 

“At least you still like me.”

“Yes, I love you.”, RJ smiled before you kissed his head, going into the kitchen to make them something for lunch. You were also going to try and get your mind off what your husband might be getting himself into. 

______________________________________________________________

As RJ was finishing up lunch, Judith’s plate was left full. She was still visibly upset with you but you had good reason. She just didn’t know it yet. 

Suddenly, you heard footsteps racing down the stairs. You perked up, hoping they were Judith’s. Of course they were hers, silly. Who else’s would they have been? But this world had taught you to always keep one eye open. You could never be too sure.

“Is this why we can’t go?”, Judith held up the white stick.

The white stick you had apparently left in the bathroom on the sink. Dammit.

“Where did you find that?”

“You left it on the sink.”, she crossed her arms. “Not a very good hiding place.”

You sighed. 

“And I know this isn’t mom’s.”

You nodded in agreement, trying to think of what to say next. “No, it’s not.”

“You’re pregnant.”, Judith stated matter-of-factly. 

“You know what that means, huh?”

Judith came over to sit down at the table, laying your very positive pregnancy test on the table in front of you. “Does Uncle Daryl know?”

“Not yet.”, you sighed. “I wanted to tell him when he got home today but he didn’t come home yet.”

A knock came to the door, interrupting your conversation with Judith. You got up from the table, heading towards the door. Slowly opening it, you found Aaron standing at the door. 

“Hey.”

“Hey Aaron.”

“Look, I’m sorry about Daryl. If you want, we can both head out and look for him together.”

“She can’t.”, Judith chimed in from behind you, causing you to look back at her and give her the ‘hush’ look. 

As you turned back around, Aaron wore a confused expression on his face.

“She’s pregnant.”

“Judith!”, you looked back at her. 

“You’re pregnant?”, Aaron asked. “Does Daryl know?”

You sighed, closing your eyes. “No. I was going to tell him when he got back today.”

Aaron sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing his face. “I’ll go find him.”

“I want to go too.”, Judith stated. 

TO BE CONTINUED....